^MTii^s^^ '^-. 
 
 i^iAiii|Mi ^^ III I I ni i M ii^iii f 
 i n i innjiiiiiiiiiyiy i i i iir i iil r i i nliinin iin 
 
 
 
 ittSiMliMfeMHi 
 
 *IIW*Wf«l*»»*"
 
 L I B R.AFIY 
 
 OF THE 
 
 U N IVER.5ITY 
 
 or ILLINOIS 
 
 V. \
 
 \.^'
 
 LIEUTENANT BARNABAS. 
 
 A NOVEL. 
 
 BY 
 
 FRANK BAHRETT. 
 
 AUTHOR OP " FOLLY MORRISON," ETC. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 RICHARD BENTLEY AND SON, 
 
 NEW BURLINGTON STREET. 
 
 1881. 
 
 Right of Translation Reserved.
 
 GOyiEXTS 
 
 THE FIRST VOLUME, 
 
 cmonz 
 
 EACB 
 
 L — A Rogne and a Fool 
 
 1 
 
 n.—Ai The - Black Bor^ 
 
 11 
 
 HL— Dr. Bkndly 
 
 28 
 
 IV.— BroUierB 
 
 45 
 
 T— TlieKrsfcVieir 
 
 61 
 
 TL— OntheCoMA .... 
 
 75 
 
 V ii.->Fram Edmonton to Winclimofe 
 
 92 
 
 Vnx— At - Tlie GhesnnfcB.- 
 
 IC'7 
 
 IX.— Jfight and Morning . 
 
 . 122 
 
 X.-AYiai 
 
 li« 
 
 XT.— Oil and Yin^zir .... 
 
 . lt>2 
 
 \ir.— Coonaels 
 
 . 17S 
 
 \ 1 LL— Premonitory Symptoms 
 
 - 19S 
 
 XIT_« Hie Best iMd Schemes" 
 
 . -217 
 
 X\ .—The ]^*abl«:5br=^rt i- ^ -- Laaae . 
 
 . 237 
 
 XVI.— Tom Prop; 5^fs—L IKsposes 
 
 . 24*5 
 
 XV IL—G^rajd Crewe .... 
 
 . 2^ 
 
 X\ IlL— Soncie e: "r -^ - : r : : 
 
 . 276 
 
 M \ -_T^^ T^vi: 
 
 . -3^9 
 
 XX-' _ :_ ; ^_ 
 
 :3Ci5
 
 LIEUTENANT BARNABAS, 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 A ROGUE AND A FOOL. 
 
 KNIGHT - ERRANT and his 
 
 Squire rode along the Green 
 Lanes, Hornsey. The Knight 
 had a face deeply pitted with small-pox, 
 a short nose, a square jaw, a straight 
 mouth, high cheekbones, large ears, and 
 eyes so close together that they were of 
 necessity unusually small. He wore a 
 mangy beaver hat with a military cockade, 
 
 YOL. I. 1
 
 A ROGUE AND A FOOL. 
 
 a bob-wig, a long coat with a cape, and 
 a pair of riding-boots. There had been a 
 hard frost for four days, nevertheless coat 
 and boots were plentifully bespattered 
 with dry mud ; and their dilapidation was 
 such that they looked better with mud 
 upon them than without. 
 
 He had the facial expression of an old 
 man — a cunning old man, who has seen 
 all that there is to be seen of the worst 
 side of life ; but he sat in the saddle like 
 a young man, and whistled an Irish air 
 with lively turns in a jaunty and youthful 
 style. 
 
 He whistled, not for want of thought, 
 but because his reflections were of a 
 speculative, agreeable sort. 
 
 He was a knight, not in the old chivalric 
 sense, but by reason that his life was de- 
 voted to adventure. He was not in the 
 Grreen Lanes to redress the wrongs of suf- 
 fering virtue, to help the weak, to relieve
 
 A ROGUE AND A FOOL. 
 
 the oppressed ; far from it. He had no 
 sympathy with virtue ; if he were lucky 
 enough to meet with an unprotected lady 
 he would pick her pocket, and if anything 
 were to be got out of the weak and 
 the oppressed, he would get it. 
 
 The squire was of quite a different 
 kind of man ; a stout, young fellow of 
 eighteen or twenty, with hair of an honest 
 red, and a face turned out of Nature's 
 simplest mould — a face broad and expan- 
 sive, with no undercut, and which one 
 might model pretty easily by making a 
 few indentations on the surface of a round 
 Dutch cheese ; he wore a long livery coat, 
 sound boots, and a hat worth, say, about 
 forty of his master's. The horse he 
 bestrode was an excellent animal, whereas 
 the knight's was as sorry a flea-bitten 
 grey as ever shambled along the road, 
 and habitually carried his head down 
 in dejection, as if looking with sorrow 
 
 1—2
 
 A ROGUE AND A FOOL. 
 
 upon the abnormal proportions of his 
 knees. 
 
 The squire did not whistle; indeed, 
 he looked as miserable as if he were 
 already on the road to Tyburn, and occa- 
 sionally he opened his mouth to let a sigh 
 escape. Beyond the fact that he had 
 accepted service under the knight, there 
 was no point of resemblance between him 
 and the ancient squires. He had no reve- 
 rence for his master, except such as arose 
 from fear, and he had no taste for the 
 profession he had adopted. The experience 
 of twenty-four hours had completely 
 changed the colour of his views, and he 
 heartily wished that he had never been 
 born. He trotted along about fifty yards 
 behind his master — a distance he would 
 fain have increased but that the knisfht 
 occasionally turned in his saddle to see 
 how he got on, and constantly kept one 
 hand under his cloak on his pistol holster.
 
 A ROGUE AND A FOOL. 
 
 Thej had passed Wood Green, and tlie 
 grey tower of Hornsey Church could be 
 seen above the red-brown branches of the 
 intervening trees, when the squire drew 
 up to his master, and spoke. 
 
 " Here be another 'pike, master," he 
 said. 
 
 " You may go on in front and pay." 
 
 " Please, your worship, I can't." 
 
 " What, disobedient already ! Can't pay 
 —how's this ?" 
 
 " It's beca'se I haven't any money, for 
 I spent the last of the crown-piece you 
 gave me for myself to pay for your 
 honour's bread and cheese and ale at the 
 ' Jolly Butchers ' ; and so being, my 
 money's all gone, I haven't any left." 
 
 " Hum ! Here take this shilling, pay 
 the toll and keep the change." 
 
 " It's something to serve a generous 
 master," said the squire to himself, as he 
 trotted forward to the toll-gate ; "that
 
 A ROGUE AND A FOOL. 
 
 makes six shillings lie's given me for myself 
 to-day ; if I had not to spend it I should 
 get rich quickly at this rate." 
 
 " Is there ever a good inn along this 
 road, where a gentleman can put up for 
 the night?" asked the knight of the toll- 
 keeper. 
 
 The toll-keeper was a heavy-eyed, phleg- 
 matic man : he looked at the knight from 
 head to foot, keeping his hands in the 
 pockets of his short apron, and turning 
 over his money before he answered. 
 
 " There's a house good enough for you 
 about a mile furder on. ' The Black Boy,' 
 West Grreen— keep to your left," he 
 said. 
 
 The knight dug his heels viciously in 
 the ribs of his horse, and made a sign to 
 his squire, who stood by the gate waiting 
 to take his place in his master's rear, to 
 come to his side. 
 
 " We are getting near London, and I
 
 A ROGUE AND A FOOL. 
 
 don't know the inns hereabouts, so you 
 will have to be careful," said he. 
 
 " Yes, your worship." 
 
 " In the first place, you must drop that 
 habit of addressing me as your worship. 
 I have told you my name a dozen times, 
 Lieutenant Barnabas Crewe." 
 
 " Lieutenant is such a long name to re- 
 member ; I could think of captain, if it's 
 all the same to you." 
 
 " Captain won't do. Every rascal on 
 the road calls himself captain now. I 
 don't mind your calling me ' your 
 honour.' " 
 
 " I can recollect that, beca'se Justice 
 Thornton is always called your honour, 
 and I can think of nothing but the bench 
 of magistrates since I stole this horse." 
 
 " Haven't I told you that you didn't 
 steal the horse ? The horse was given 
 you when you entered Admiral Talbot's ser- 
 vice, and so in leaving it you were justified
 
 A ROGUE AND A FOOL. 
 
 in taking the horse with you. That's 
 plain ain't it." 
 
 " It would be right enough if everyone 
 looked at the thing as generously as your 
 honour ; but you see, all folks haven't got 
 the same way of giving and taking, and 
 if Master Blake the steward caught sight 
 of me, I wager he'd have me hanged for 
 not thinking as he does." 
 
 " Well, my lad, just to ease your mind, 
 we'll change horses at once. You can 
 ride my mare with a light heart, for you 
 may be certain no one will accuse you of 
 having stolen her. It's as good as giving 
 you ten guineas, my man," he said, as he 
 dismounted and handed the rein over to 
 his servant, "I've had as much offered for 
 her again and again." 
 
 " That makes ten guineas and six 
 shillings in one day," said the squire to 
 himself; " why that's more than some 
 servants gets in a year."
 
 A ROGUE AND A FOOL. 
 
 " I wonder I didn't think of that 
 before," thought Lieutenant Barnabas. 
 " He looks more like my servant on the 
 old mare, and there's less chance of his 
 giving me the slip. I could run him 
 down in five minutes on this horse." 
 'Turning to his servant, he surveyed him 
 with satisfaction, and then said : " And 
 now about your name." 
 
 " Tobias Slink, your honour. Toby for 
 short." 
 
 " Tobias won't do. Toby is too 
 familiar. Slink — well, there's a sneaking- 
 sort of sound about that, but Slink must 
 do. Now, Slink, if anyone at the inn we're 
 going to asks questions about me, you 
 must say I am Lieutenant Barnabas Crewe, 
 late of the Royal Blues ; that I sold out 
 upon coming into my present estate, which 
 is situated in L^eland — Crewe Castle, 
 County Cork. No, you'd better say 
 Munster, that's not so well known — that
 
 10 A ROGUE AND A FOOL. 
 
 I think of settling in England, and am 
 looking about for a suitable seat." 
 
 " Your honour had better write that 
 down, for I shall never remember it all. 
 I was always back'ard in learning." 
 
 " On second thoughts, it would be ad- 
 visable to give an evasive answer." 
 
 " What's that, your honour !" 
 
 " You can give indirect replies — and 
 intimate that I am a nobleman wishing to 
 travel incog.'' 
 
 " Incog. Is that in Ireland too, your 
 honour?" 
 
 " No, fool 1 Look here ; if anyone says 
 to you, ' Who's your master ?' you can 
 answer, ' He's a nobleman travelling in 
 disguise, and I can tell you no more than 
 that.' Now do you understand that ?" 
 
 '' Oh, if its only telling lies, I under- 
 stand well enough." 
 
 " Yery well. Now fall back, for I see 
 the sim-board of the inn."
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 AT THE " BLACK BOY." 
 
 lEUTENANT BARNABAS 
 CREWE trotted into the stable- 
 ^ yard of tlie '' Black Boy," fol- 
 lowed by liis servant, and having seen his 
 newly-acquired horse well stabled, and 
 given instructions to Slink relative to the 
 feed, he cocked his dilapidated beaver 
 rakishly over one eye, and marched into 
 the sanded passage of the inn, smacking 
 his leg with his riding-whip, and looking 
 about him with an assumption of arro-
 
 AT THE ''BLACK BOY:' 
 
 gant authority, calculated, as he thought, 
 to inspire respect. 
 
 " Your best room, madam, if you 
 please, and what can I have for dinner ?" 
 he asked, still smacking his boot, and 
 looking at the landlady fiercely from 
 under the corner of his beaver. 
 
 The hostess, a fat widow, with a healthy 
 face and short ringlets projecting from 
 the front of her cap, carefully set her 
 glasses on her nose, and then looked at 
 her interrogator critically before respond- 
 ing. It was annoying to be examined 
 in this manner, but Lieutenant Barnabas 
 was accustomed to it. Everyone looked 
 at him thus before replying to his first 
 questions. 
 
 '' Ah !" she said, taking off her glasses 
 and putting them in her pocket. " The 
 best room for you is the parlour. And 
 as for dinner, there's no butcher's meat 
 in the house, so you must make shift with
 
 AT THE ''BLACK BOVr 13 
 
 eggs and bacon, if jou choose to stop 
 here." 
 
 " It would seem that you are not in 
 the habit of seeing gentlemen at your 
 house, madam." 
 
 '' Oh, we see as many of your kind 
 as we want, thank you, Sir," replied the 
 hostess, tartly. 
 
 Without replying, the Lieutenant swag- 
 gered into the parlour. There he stirred 
 the fire, piled more coals on the back, 
 drew a Windsor chair well in front, seated 
 himself, stuck his feet on the hobs, and 
 then having with some difficulty deter- 
 mined which was the top and which was 
 the bottom of a newspaper, pretended to 
 be deeply engrossed in its contents when 
 the hostess came in to lay the 
 cloth. 
 
 " Will your companion dine with you r" 
 she asked. 
 
 " My servant will dine in the kitchen ;
 
 14 AT THE ''BLACK BOVr 
 
 and I will trouble you to bring candles, 
 and ligbt a fire in your best bedroom." 
 
 " Are you going to stay all night ? 
 London is only five miles off." 
 
 " It pleases me to stay here, madam," 
 replied Lieutenant Barnabas, turning his 
 chair to give his hostess the full benefit 
 of his frown. He refolded his paper, still 
 looking at her, then returned to a deep 
 study of the news, blessedly unconscious 
 that the paper had got upside down. 
 
 " Hum !" murmured the hostess as she 
 left the room. *' Four o'clock, and bright 
 weather — a strange time for a gentleman 
 keeping a servant to put up at a small 
 village inn so near London." 
 
 The old hostler was breaking the ice 
 in the horse-trough in front of the house, 
 she opened the half-door and beckoned 
 him. 
 
 ''Billy, is the stable closed?" she 
 asked.
 
 AT THE ''BLACK BOYr 
 
 " No, marm. Young chap's a-grooming 
 the hosses down." 
 
 " You go round there at once, and 
 when the young man's done, lock the door 
 and bring me the key ; and don't you let 
 those horses be taken out until I tell you 
 the bill's paid." 
 
 These words coming to the capacious 
 ears of the studious lieutenant, he 
 snatched his wig off and dashed it on the 
 floor, with an oath — ''not loud, but 
 deep." 
 
 Slink groomed his horses, and forgot 
 his sorrows in the pleasure of his occu- 
 pation. The stolen horse he got away 
 from as quickly as possible— it wanted 
 little grooming, and despite his master's 
 assurances, he felt uneasy every time he 
 touched the beast ; but the horse that 
 had been presented to him, required more 
 attention.
 
 i6 AT THE ''BLACK BOY:' 
 
 '' It'll take a sight of brushing to make 
 you look worth ten guineas," he mur- 
 mured, and then he hissed as grooms do, 
 and rubbed the wretched nag with all his 
 strength, until nothing more could be 
 done to improve appearances. After- 
 wards he washed himself in a bucket of 
 water, reduced his shock of hair to 
 smoothness by means of a wet mane- 
 comb, and betook himself to the kitchen, 
 where he sat by the fire-side in his shirt 
 sleeves, and gave himself up to silent 
 meditation. The kitchen-maid, who was 
 cooking the eggs and bacon, did not dis- 
 turb him — she was deaf and busy; so he 
 sat there with his hands on his knees 
 looking into the fire, where he conjured up 
 the saucy face of the girl who had won 
 his heart by her kindness, and then driven 
 him away from her by cruelty. 
 
 To say that he frequently heaved a sigh 
 would be less correct than to say that a
 
 AT THE ''BLACK BOY:' 17 
 
 sigh frequently heaved him, for on these 
 occasions his whole frame expanded, his 
 body rose, the gustj sigh came from his 
 parted lips, and then he subsided into his 
 normal condition. 
 
 " What's the matter, young man — are 
 you hungry ?" asked the cook, her atten- 
 tion at length attracted by these signs of 
 distress. 
 
 Slink nodded; the natural cravings of 
 nature were not yet removed by love. 
 
 " Well, you can draw up your chair to 
 the table and begin. Your master's 
 served, and this is for you. There's a 
 mug of beer, and if you want more you 
 can go up to the bar and ask for it. I'ni 
 going up to light a fire in your master's 
 bedroom." 
 
 Slink cut himself a huge slice of bread 
 
 and attacked the food with avidity, and 
 
 did not pause until he had wiped the dish 
 
 clean with the last crust of his half- 
 
 voL. I. 2
 
 i8 AT THE ''BLACK BOY:' 
 
 quartern loaf; tlien he turned again to 
 the fire, taking with him his brown mug 
 of ale, and resumed his melancholy con- 
 templations, sighing and drinking in fitful 
 alternation, until the beer was all gone, 
 when he set aside the empty mug, rested 
 his arm against the chimney-piece and his 
 face upon that, and gave vent to his 
 sorrow in copious tears. He was weep- 
 ing thus when the kitchen-maid returned. 
 
 " Haven't you had enough to eat?" sbe 
 asked, in a tone of sympathy. 
 
 " It isn't the victuals, it's my heart," 
 sobbed Slink. 
 
 The words were indistinct, and she 
 w^as deaf ; but she divined the cause 
 of his wretchedness accurately enough. 
 For what w^oman needs more explana- 
 tion than a man carries in his face, as 
 to the state of his heart. Love is the 
 study of her life, and she detects at a 
 glance the types of its votaries, as a
 
 AT THE ''BLACK BOY." 19 
 
 naturalist knows by a single bone the phy- 
 sical aspect of the creature that possessed it. 
 
 '' Never mind, young man !" said she. 
 '' It comes to all of us, cooks and grooms, 
 just as it comes to lords and ladies, to 
 fall in love, and to laugh, and then weep. 
 Dry your eyes, lad, and run up-stairs, 
 your master has sent for you." 
 
 Slink ran up-stairs, rubbing his eyes 
 with his sleeve, and, touching his forelock 
 to the hostess, entered the parlour. 
 
 Lieutenant Barnabas had resumed his 
 place before the fire — his feet on the hob, 
 his chair tilted back, a long clay pipe in 
 his mouth, and his wig over his eyes, so 
 that the tie stood out from the back of 
 his head, exposing the lower part of his 
 shaven skull. 
 
 '' Is that you. Slink ?" he asked, without 
 changing his position. 
 
 "Yes, your honour." Slink was con- 
 tent that his master did not see his face. 
 
 2-z
 
 20 AT THE ''BLACK 507." 
 
 " Open the door sharp, and see if that 
 old cat of a hostess has got her ear at the 
 keyhole." 
 
 " No one there, your honour," said 
 Slink, having opened the door and looked 
 at the keyhole. 
 
 " I want you to tell me about your late 
 master, and the family, and all that." 
 
 Slink gasped a sigh. '' You want me 
 to tell you why I left— and all about 
 Jenny." 
 
 '' Hang Jenny — we had all about her 
 yesterday. I see I must cross-question 
 you as if you were in the dock. Now 
 then — how long have you been at Talbot 
 Hall ?" 
 
 " Four years come Christmas, I went — " 
 
 " Admiral Talbot resided at the Hall, 
 then?" 
 
 '' Him and Mr. Thomas — I was " 
 
 " Mr. Thomas was the Admiral's only 
 son ?"
 
 AT THE ''BLACK BOY." 21 
 
 " I think so." 
 
 " You think so," — the Lieutenant turned 
 hastily and spoke with eagerness. " You 
 only think so — why do you think so ?" 
 *' Because he hadn't got any other." 
 " A fool ! How old was Mr. Thomas 
 Talbot ?" 
 
 " Never axed him, your honour." 
 " How old do you think he was ? plague 
 take you." 
 
 Slink considered for some time, and then 
 said he thought about eight and twenty. 
 " He does not stay at Talbot Hall ?" 
 '* 'No, he is always travelling in foreign 
 parts ; sometimes London, sometimes 
 Cambridge, and such like. He comes to 
 the Hall for a few days to shoot pheasants 
 and things, and off he goes again. It was 
 just the same with his father. He'd send 
 word a couple of days befor emaybe to 
 have a couple of rooms got ready, and 
 then "
 
 AT THE ''BLACK BOY:' 
 
 " There was never anyone constantly 
 living in the Hall, no women ?" 
 
 " Oh ! yes, there was." 
 
 Again the Lieutenant turned quickly, 
 saying : 
 
 " You never said a word of that before, 
 what kind of women ?" 
 
 " The prettiest that ever lived, and her 
 name is," — with a sigh that made the 
 candles flicker — " Jenny !" 
 
 The Lieutenant bit an inch off his pipe 
 stem and dropped a few oaths. 
 
 " You told me yesterday that Doctor 
 Blandly came to the Hall to tell the 
 steward of Admiral Talbot's death, when 
 was that ?" 
 
 ''Yesterday." 
 
 " I mean, when did Doctor Blandly 
 come to Talbot Hall, with that news ?" 
 
 " Two months ago," answered Slink, 
 after performing an arithmetical calcula- 
 tion with his fingers.
 
 AT THE "BLACK BOY." 23 
 
 The Lieutenant finished liis pipe without 
 putting further questions. 
 
 *' It is something more than a mere 
 coincidence" he muttered, as he rose and 
 threw his pipe on the fire. 
 
 "What did your honour say?" asked 
 Slink. 
 
 " Nothing. You never heard the 
 steward, or the Admiral, or Mr. Thomas 
 Talbot, or anyone, ever mention anything 
 about the Crewes ?" 
 
 " T never heard the old Admiral talk 
 about anything else." 
 
 " What !" exclaimed Barnabas, suddenly 
 arresting his hands in the act of setting 
 his wig straight. " You never mentioned 
 a word of that, what did he say? 
 quick !" 
 
 " He said such a lot," answered Slink, 
 confused by his master's manner, " some- 
 times he'd say ' we've had a plaguey 
 bad cruise,' and sometimes he'd say "
 
 24 AT THE ^^ BLACK BOY." 
 
 " Oh ! go to the . Fetch me my 
 
 cloak and hat !" he growled. 
 
 Slink brought the cloak in silence, 
 without attempting to fathom his master's 
 petulance. 
 
 The Lieutenant stood before the glass 
 arranging the ragged lace of his cravat, 
 to hide its worst edges and conceal the 
 dirty shirt beneath. 
 
 " Snuff the candle," he said. " This 
 confounded light makes me look as if I'd 
 had a barker blazed in my face." 
 
 As Slink extended his hand to take the 
 snuff from the candles, the Lieutenant 
 caught sight of his clean stout shirt. 
 
 " That's a good shirt, Slink," he said, 
 taking a part of the sleeve in his fingers 
 to feel the texture ; " did you buy it your- 
 self?" 
 
 " No, your honour ; shirts was given 
 me with my livery." 
 
 '' Like the mare, eh ? Ah, Slink, you
 
 AT THE ''BLACK BOVr 25 
 
 won't get the magistrates out of your 
 mind while jou wear that !" 
 
 "IhaVt gotno other." 
 
 '' Well, we must arrange that for you, 
 my good fellow ; I will give you one of 
 mine — the one I've got on my back. You 
 leave yours in my room to-night — and 
 those boots, Slink !" 
 
 " They're just the same as the mare, 
 your honour," Slink whimpered. 
 
 " Don't snivel, my lad. Your foot looks 
 about the same size as mine, and I'll give 
 you mine rather than you shall go with- 
 out. Off with them. What, do you wear 
 socks. Slink ? You will find my boots 
 more comfortable without any, that's why 
 I haven't worn them, but with yours it 
 will be different. Pull them off." 
 
 " There's my coat and hat downstairs, 
 perhaps your worship wouldn't mind 
 taking them." 
 
 '' No, Slink ; you must wear them your-
 
 26 AT THE ''BLACK BOVr 
 
 self; and don't override the willing liorse, 
 my man. I've given yon a liorse and the 
 best part of a suit of clothes. Don't ask 
 for more !" 
 
 Slink, painfully conscious of his own 
 ingratitude, blushed as he helped the 
 Lieutenant put on his coat. 
 
 '' You can sit here in my absence," said 
 Barnabas, '* and if the old woman asks 
 any questions, you know how to answer 
 her. You can have whatever you like to 
 call for." He cocked his hat on one 
 side of his head, took his heavy-handled 
 riding- whip, and opening the door, added, 
 " I'm going out for a stroll. Pish ! what 
 a stench of stale beer." Then with a 
 fierce glance at the hostess, who was 
 sitting at the door of the bar-parlour 
 with her knitting on her lap, he strolled 
 leisurely out into the open air. 
 
 " Ah, you wouldn't go a-foot, if jou 
 could get at your horse, I'll warrant,"
 
 AT THE ''BLACK BOY:' 
 
 27 
 
 soliloquised the hostess, looking after her 
 ill-favoured guest. 
 
 She was quite right in this conjecture.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 PH. BLANDLY. 
 
 lEUTENANT BARNABAS 
 
 lounged along idly until he had 
 passed the little general shop 
 which marked the end of the village, then 
 he pulled up his collar, set his hat firmly 
 on his head, and smartened his pace. 
 Ten minutes brisk walking brought him 
 to the end of Black Cap Lane, and into 
 the high road opposite the cluster of trees 
 known as the " seven sisters ;" here he 
 turned to the left, and continued his 
 " stroll," passing Tottenham Cross, Lower
 
 DR. BLANDLY. 29 
 
 Tottenham, and Upper Edmonton with, 
 undiminished speed until he reached the 
 " Bell " Inn, where he paused to recover 
 his breath and wipe the perspiration from 
 his face. Five minutes later he rang the 
 bell at the garden-gate of Dr. Blandly' s 
 house. 
 
 '' No light to be seen," he muttered, 
 looking over the gate at the house which 
 stood back behind a large cedar. '' He 
 can't be in bed yet awhile, it has only 
 just gone seven ; yet he's such a queer 
 old put. Ah, thank goodness, there's a 
 light." 
 
 A bent old man came from the house, 
 and opening the little square door behind 
 a grating let into the gate, peered 
 through. 
 
 '* You needn't be afraid, Jerry, it's* only 
 your young friend. Is your master at 
 home ?" said the Lieutenant, who spoke 
 civilly to no one unless he was obliged.
 
 30 DR. BLANDLY. 
 
 " Ah !" grunted Jerry, who evidently 
 recognised the speaker, " if it's only you 
 you can wait there while I go and see 
 if master be at home." He closed the 
 grating and walked slowly back to the 
 house, chuckling audibly in response to 
 the curses of the gentleman on the other 
 side of the gate. The old servant scraped 
 his shoes carefully, closed the door, and 
 rubbed his feet on the mat in the same 
 methodical manner, stopped in his passage 
 across the hall to see what the time was 
 by the dark-faced, long-bodied clock, and 
 finally tapped at the door of Doctor 
 Blandly 's sitting-room. 
 
 ''Come in," said the Doctor ; " fifteen, 
 two, fifteen four, a pair's six, and jack, 
 queen, king — that makes nine. Is that 
 you, Jerry?" 
 
 "Yes, master; shall I wait till the 
 
 game's finished?" 
 
 What do you want?"
 
 DR. BLANDLY. 
 
 31 
 
 Jerry stood by the door ; a screen stood 
 between him and Doctor Blandly. He 
 stepped forward to the side of this screen 
 and stood there, smiling blandly on the 
 comfortable tableau before him, while 
 Doctor Blandly continued to count his 
 " crib." 
 
 A sea-coal fire was blazing cheerily up 
 the chimney. A dog sat behind the high 
 brass fender, with his muzzle resting on 
 the top. Between the fire and the folding 
 screen which shut out the darkness and 
 cold draughts, a card-table was set. On 
 one side of it sat Doctor Blandly, pegging 
 his score on the cribbage-board ; opposite 
 him sat the Reverend John Baxter, with 
 a churchwarden pipe in his mouth, and a 
 stern eye fixed on the Doctor's pegging. A 
 kettle sang merrily on the fire, and its pur- 
 pose was betrayed in a couple of steaming 
 rummers set within reach of the players 
 upon brackets adjutting from the side of
 
 32 DR. BLANDLY. 
 
 the fire-place. The Reverend John Bax- 
 ter, Vicar of Edmonton, wore his clerical 
 dress and bands; Dr. Blandly wore a 
 plum-coloured coat, a long, embroidered 
 waistcoat, a snowy shirt frill and neck- 
 handkerchief, knee-breeches, and thick, 
 grey knitted stockings. Both were com- 
 fortably fat and red ; the vicar had a jolly 
 cheeriness upon his pleasant face, as, in- 
 deed, at this moment. Dr. Blandly had 
 also, but it had not the same expression 
 of habitual content and sleepy satis- 
 faction. 
 
 " Well, Jerry, what is it ?" said Doctor 
 Blandly, looking up. 
 
 " You look so comfortable and cosy, 
 master, I don't like to disturb you. Shall 
 I come again m five minutes ? It'll do 
 him good to wait." 
 
 "Him! Who?" 
 
 " It's only that there Mr. Barnabas 
 Crewe. He's not in the house, Sir."
 
 DR. BLANDLY. 33 
 
 A loud ring of the distant bell added 
 confirmation to this announcement. 
 
 '' Show Mr. Crewe into the library, 
 Jerry." 
 
 " When you've finished your game, 
 Sir ?" 
 
 " No ; now. The Yicar threatens to 
 go after this game, and I know he won't 
 before, for I have not turned the corner 
 yet, and it is his crib next time." 
 
 "Well done, Doctor; and it's past 
 seven," chuckled Jerry, leaving the room. 
 
 " That Jerry makes himself too familiar. 
 Blandly," said the Vicar. " Dear me, 
 past seven ! Mrs. Baxter will be growing 
 anxious." 
 
 " I'll warrant she's not half so anxious 
 as you are, Jack. I declare that when 
 the clock strikes seven you look as if the 
 Day of Judgment was dawning." 
 
 " Ben ! Ben ! I'll give you a sermon 
 next Sunday upon profanity !" 
 
 VOL. I. 3
 
 34 DR. BLANDLY. 
 
 " Do, Jack ; and I promise to keep 
 awake if you can invent any greater 
 punisliment for the wicked tlian that of 
 having a scolding wife and faint heart." 
 
 " Faint heart, Ben, what do yon mean ? 
 Do you think I'm afraid of Mrs. 
 Baxter ?" 
 
 " I'd give my best punch-bowl to hear 
 you tell her you're not. If your sermons 
 were only half as powerful as hers, what 
 a well-ordered congregation you would 
 have." 
 
 " Ah, Ben, you're not married !" 
 
 ** Thank Heaven!" 
 
 *' But you're as big a fool as I am." 
 
 " That's saying a great deal." 
 
 " Let me speak. I contend that you 
 are every bit as weak as I am. Grant 
 that I — that I — well, that I yield to the 
 wishes of my wife " 
 
 *' Oh, that's beyond dispute." 
 
 " You dare not listen to me, knowing
 
 DR. BLANDLY, 35 
 
 what evidence I can bring to convict you 
 of the fanlt for which you condemn me. 
 I may yield to my wife, but you yield to 
 everyone." 
 
 " You must admit that I only give way 
 where I see something to admire." 
 
 " Hem ! that's a dig at Mrs. Baxter ; 
 thank you ! Tell me what you see to 
 admire in old Jerry, for you submit to 
 his guidance entirely. If he tells you to 
 go fishing for the day you go, though you 
 catch nothing but a cold, and have to 
 stop in bed all the next day by your 
 servant's orders. He talks to you as 
 though he were your equal." 
 
 '' And so, by George ! he is. A more 
 faithful, honest, good-hearted man never 
 breathed. Not a word against Jerry, 
 Jack, for I love him, and he doesn't 
 take me away from my friend at seven 
 o'clock." 
 
 "I find fault with you, not with Jerry ; 
 
 3—2
 
 36 DK. BLANDLY. 
 
 though I admit his charms are less ap- 
 parent to my eyes than to yours." 
 
 "If you appreciated charms with my 
 eyes, you would have more reason for 
 self-congratulation ; there would be no 
 Mrs. John Baxter." 
 
 '' You would have me believe that you 
 were always a woman-hater, but you 
 won't succeed. I believe that you are not 
 married just because at one time you loved 
 too well." 
 
 A kitten was sleeping on the Doctor's 
 broad knee ; he lifted it gently and put it 
 on the rug, rising from his chair without 
 replying to the Vicar. The genial smile 
 passed away from his face for a moment, 
 as the old wound bled under the rough 
 touch. The Yicar, inhaling the fragrant 
 steam of his grog, noticed only the silence, 
 and continued in a tone of triumph : 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! I've hit this time ! It's 
 clear now why you think all women mean.
 
 DR. BLANDLY. 37 
 
 cunning, deceitful ; you have trusted and 
 been deceived." 
 
 The Doctor, drowning his old memory 
 in the remainder of his grog, set down 
 the empty glass, and with his former 
 cheerfulness responded : 
 
 " If your conjecture is right, I have 
 still the advantage over you. Jack. Say 
 that I awoke one day to the fact that the 
 woman was a fiend whom I had foolishly 
 taken for an angel, one thing is cer- 
 tain " 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 *' I did not marry her beforehand." 
 
 With this Parthian shot the Doctor left 
 the room. 
 
 There was a solitary candle alight in 
 the library, where Barnabas Crewe walked 
 up and down impatiently, while at the 
 door sat old Jerry with a grim smile of 
 satisfaction on his face. The Doctor dis- 
 missed the janitor with a nod, entered
 
 33 DR. BLANDLY. 
 
 the library, and closing tlie door behind 
 him, said in a cold, formal tone : 
 
 " Now, Mr. Crewe, what do jou want 
 with me?" 
 
 Barnabas regarded the sturdy Doctor, 
 who stood with his feet parted, his hands 
 in his pockets, and a stern unflinching 
 expression in his face, as he might have 
 looked at a constable while determining 
 whether he should show fight or bolt, and 
 then he growled in sullen remonstrance : 
 
 *' IVe been waiting, outside and in, half- 
 an-hour and more." 
 
 *' For your own convenience, I suppose. 
 No one asked you to come, or requested 
 you to stop. What do you want ?" 
 
 " Money." 
 
 ''You might have saved yourself the 
 trouble of coming to me for it; I have 
 none for you." 
 
 " But I must have it. There's my 
 horse locked up in an inn stable at West-
 
 DR. BLANDLY, 39 
 
 Green, and I can't get it out until I have 
 payed my score." 
 
 '' Then you must do without a horse, 
 or get a friend to help you ; I am none." 
 
 '' You will let me have a few guineas ?" 
 
 " JSTot a farthing. I gave you fifty 
 pounds in September." 
 
 '' And it was gone in October." 
 
 " You should have guarded it better. 
 I constantly warned you that the allow- 
 ance might be discontinued." 
 
 "A deal of difference that makes to 
 me ! When I have money I spend it like 
 a — like a gentleman." 
 
 "It is a pity you do not sustain that 
 character in other respects. However, 
 that is not to the point. You came here 
 six weeks ago for money, and you did 
 not get it ; you will get none to-night." 
 
 "It is December now, the next fifty 
 will be due on the 25th ; I only ask for 
 an advance."
 
 40 DR. BLANDLY. 
 
 '' I told you when you were last here 
 that the individual who has made you 
 this quarterly allowance, no longer lives ; 
 and that the continuance of the payment 
 depended upon the generosity of his 
 son." 
 
 " And is the son disposed to be 
 generous ?" 
 
 " I cannot say. I hope to know his 
 decision before the quarter day." 
 
 " Will you tell me why this money is 
 paid me ?" 
 
 " No." The Doctor spoke with em- 
 phasis. 
 
 " Supposing this money is mine by 
 right, and supposing I choose to take my 
 fortune in a lump, instead of having to 
 come here like a beggarly tax-collector to 
 take a fourth of my income every three 
 months." 
 ''Well?" 
 " And supposing I know from whom I
 
 DR. BLANDLY. 41 
 
 have received this money." Barnabas 
 fixed his eyes on the Doctor to see what 
 impression his words made. " And sup- 
 posing I went to a certain hall, not 
 ten miles from Sevenoaks in Kent " 
 — the Doctor started, and Barnabas, 
 satisfied with his observation, continued : 
 *' and asked Mr. Talbot the question I 
 have put to you — what would be the 
 result ?" 
 
 " Mr. Talbot would say to you, ' I know 
 nothing about it.' " 
 
 " Know nothing about it, when he pays 
 me two hundred a year !*' 
 
 " Exactly so." 
 
 " But you know Mr. Talbot — it's no 
 good denying that — Mr. Thomas Talbot, 
 son of Admiral Talbot." 
 
 " Who was killed in the battle off Cadiz. 
 Certainly. Now listen. If you go to Mr. 
 Talbot he will say, ' I know nothing about 
 it— you must ask Dr. Blandly,' and when
 
 42 DR. BLANDLY. 
 
 you come to me, I shall say, ' I will give 
 you not another farthing so long as you 
 live.' Do you understand me ? I will make 
 it clear to you. I desire that you shall never 
 speak to Mr. Thomas Talbot. While you 
 conform with my wishes in this respect, I 
 will continue the payment of two hundred 
 pounds per annum to you and your brother 
 Gerard, supposing that Mr. Talbot con- 
 sents to pay the sum granted by his father ; 
 but the moment I find you have departed 
 from this condition, I shall stop the pay- 
 ment. Is that plain to you ?" 
 
 " Do you mean to say that it is optional 
 to you ?" 
 
 '' I do. So now, Mr. Crewe, you will 
 see that your policy is to behave yourself 
 decently. I do not suppose that you under- 
 stand what gratitude is, or I would point 
 out to you that you have reason to be 
 thankful you have not an ordinary man of 
 law to deal with. There are few men
 
 DR. BLANDLY. 43 
 
 who would take the trouble I am taking 
 to secure you two hundred a year after 
 receiving such impudence as I have 
 endured." 
 
 With the bad grace of a hound who 
 swallows an unsavoury morsel, fearing the 
 consequences of refusal, Barnabas Crewe 
 gulped down the moral of this lesson and 
 departed. He refrained from cursing the 
 old servant who let him out, and turned 
 moodily to return to the " Black Boy." 
 
 He felt no gratitude towards anyone in 
 the world, but at the same time he was 
 not disappointed with the result of his 
 visit to Doctor Blandly. He had assured 
 himself of a fact which might serve as 
 the stepping-stone to fortune ; there was 
 the hope of many things — money, ease, 
 orgies. 
 
 Coming into the warm glow of light 
 shed from the window of " The Bell," he 
 paused. Walking and subsequent talking
 
 44 DR. BLANDLY. 
 
 had made him dry ; waiting had also 
 made him cold. Never in his life had he 
 felt more inclined to drink hot spiced ale ; 
 but not a penny-piece could he find in any 
 of his pockets, he had given his last coin 
 to Slink. So he was compelled to make 
 the long return march — thirsty, which he 
 took as a warning to be less generous in 
 future.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 BEOTHEES. 
 
 EST GREEN is now a busy settle- 
 ment, with a railway station in 
 its midst. Possibly it has lost 
 even its name. At the beginning of this 
 century it was a quiet rustic village on the 
 edge of a pleasant green, where geese fed in 
 the summer morning, and young fellows met 
 to play cricket and quoits in the evening. 
 In one corner stood a village pump, the 
 village stocks, and the cage just where 
 Black Cap Lane made a junction with 
 Throttle Street — significant names, which
 
 46 BROTHERS. 
 
 the builders of genteel villas have euphe- 
 mised considerably. 
 
 The stocks were in good repair, and the 
 cage had lately received a new set of 
 stout bars. These facts were noted by 
 Lieutenant Barnabas Crewe as he returned 
 to the " Black Boy," for he stopped by the 
 pump to refresh himself, and were re- 
 membered the following morning when he 
 came to consider what was next to be 
 done. 
 
 " I'm not afraid of the old hostler, and 
 I'm not afraid of the old woman," he 
 reflected, shoving his chair from the 
 breakfast table. " When Slink goes to 
 feed the nags we might clap the saddles 
 on and bolt ; that's the simplest way out 
 of the difl&culty. But there's a baker 
 o' one side and a blacksmith t'other — 
 and there's that cage and the stocks on the 
 green. I'll warrant the old woman's on 
 good terms with her neighbours. She's
 
 BROTHERS. 47 
 
 outside talking to someone now. Wonder 
 who ? Oh, there you are, you old tabby, 
 are you ; talking to two men, and one 
 as like a constable as needs be. Bolting 
 won't do with these gentry about. Might 
 take the mare and leave Slink here with 
 the old screw ; but I shouldn't get any- 
 thing by that bargain. Besides, I don't 
 want to lose my young friend Slink yet 
 awhile. He may be a plaguey good cat's- 
 paw for me. Halloa, a man on a horse to 
 add to the party, and he looks as much 
 like a cursed catch-thief as the other. It 
 would be pleasant to sit in the stocks a 
 day like this ! I must pay my reckoning 
 somehow. I wonder if Gerard's in town. 
 I must go and see ; it's my only chance. 
 Shall I attempt to get the mare out ? 
 Ten to one she'd refuse to let either leave 
 the house until her bill's paid. Better 
 not try ; it might lead to unpleasant con- 
 sequences."
 
 48 BROTHERS. 
 
 Tlie result of this decision was that 
 Lieutenant Crewe presently lounged out 
 of the inn to take another stroll. After 
 walking from one end of the village to 
 the other with affected carelessness, he 
 turned down Hanger Lane leisurely, 
 whistling a tune and slashing the air 
 with his whip. At the bend of the lane 
 he turned round, and seeing no one, at 
 once ceased whistling and strode out 
 rapidly. From Hanger Lane he turned 
 into the West-end Road, passed Hornsey 
 Wood, and so after an hour's stiff walking 
 he came to Charing Cross. Thence he 
 walked to St. James's, and at length 
 arrested his steps before a highly- 
 respectable private house in St. James's 
 Street. 
 
 *' There's a dry march and violence to 
 follow if Gerard's not at home," he mut- 
 tered, as he pulled the beil. 
 
 A servant opened the door.
 
 BROTHERS. 49 
 
 "Is Mr. Gerard Crewe in toTvn?" 
 asked Barnabas. 
 
 The man looked at him from top to toe, 
 and then asked : 
 
 " What do you want ?" 
 
 " Want to see him. If he's in town 
 I'll run up to his rooms. I know them," 
 answered Barnabas, putting his foot in 
 the doorway. 
 
 " Take your foot away, and I will see. 
 What name ?" 
 
 " You can say Mr. Barnabas," replied 
 the Lieutenant, withdrawing his foot 
 reluctantly, after looking at the servant as 
 if he would like to strangle him. " It's 
 always the same," he muttered, as the 
 door closed, leaving him on the safe side 
 of the threshold. " If I was a bum-bailiff 
 they wouldn't look at me more suspi- 
 ciously or take greater pains to keep me 
 out of the house." 
 
 The servant presently returned, and led 
 
 VOL. I. 4
 
 50 BROTHERS. 
 
 the way to the first floor, where he opened 
 a door and admitted the scowling visitor. 
 
 There was no one in the room. Bar- 
 nabas threw himself in the most com- 
 fortable chair he could find, tilted his hat 
 forwards to rest his head against the back, 
 crossed his legs, and looked round the room 
 from under his hat with envious dis- 
 content. The apartment was heavy and 
 dark, the furniture and appointments were 
 ugly, but all was in keeping with the 
 taste of those days, and betokened the 
 proprietor's wealth and " elegance." 
 While his eyes were yet wandering 
 from one costly article to another, 
 a door communicating with an inner 
 chamber opened, and Mr. Gerard Crewe 
 entered. 
 
 Mr. Gerard Crewe was a tall, delicate- 
 looking gentleman of five-and-twenty, 
 with sharp clean cut features, a pale com- 
 plexion, and dark brown hair tied with a
 
 BROTHERS. 51 
 
 ribbon. The expression of his face was 
 cold and severe ; his dark grey eyes were 
 well sunk ; his mouth was firm ; his teeth 
 particularly white and regular. He looked 
 like a student, a poet, an artist, anything 
 indeed but the brother of the heavy- 
 browed rascal before him. A fine cambric 
 handkerchief was round his throat, secured 
 with a long, narrow diamond-set brooch, 
 the ends edged with lace, fell upon his 
 embroidered waistcoat. He wore an open 
 dressing-gown, black silk stockings and 
 morocco shoes. 
 
 " Well, Barnabas," he said, closing the 
 door behind him. 
 
 " And well, Grerard," answered the 
 Lieutenant, still examining the expensive 
 articles of furniture, and not moving his 
 position in the least. " We won't 
 embrace. That would be about as unplea- 
 sant to you as me. I'll warrant you're 
 not pleased to see me." 
 
 4 — 2 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 UNiVERSITYnP in [Mm
 
 52 BROTHERS. 
 
 The fact was too obvious to need com- 
 ment. Mr. Gerard Crewe sat down, 
 crossed his legs, clasped his thin white 
 fingers over his knee and looked at his 
 brother with a faint expression of disgust 
 in the angles of his lips. 
 
 " Pictures, books, chanej, gimcracks, 
 gewgaws, everywhere,*' growled Barnabas, 
 then turning his evil eyes upon Gerard 
 and scanning him, he continued, " silk 
 and satin, cambric, lace, diamonds." 
 
 " Do you want an inventory of my pos- 
 sessions ?" 
 
 Barnabas brought his hands from 
 behind his head, sat upright, and with a 
 sudden accession of malice, struck his fist 
 on his knee, exclaiming : 
 
 "It's a cursed shame. Here are we, 
 brothers, and the younger lives like a 
 prince, while the other fares like a dog, 
 and worse. One has to read books and 
 look at pictures, and dangle about my
 
 BROTHERS. 53 
 
 lady this and my lord t'other, to pass the 
 time away, while the other has to trudge 
 a dozen miles, to beg a few pieces to pay 
 for his night's lodging." 
 
 '' You have no one but yourself to 
 blame, Barnabas. You never would be 
 led, and if of your own accord you insist 
 upon walking in unclean places you must 
 put up with soiled clothes. We started 
 with the same advantages — except that 
 your ambition was to be a blackguard, and 
 mine was to be a gentleman. You always 
 scorned my ambition, why do you envy 
 me the result. You have no desire appa- 
 rently to become a decent member of 
 society." 
 
 " Oh ! plague take your decent society. 
 A pothouse and plenty is my motto. You 
 keep your scents and civets, your powder 
 and lace, your sneaking, crmging, bowing, 
 scraping, lying, fiddling, squalling — What 
 are you laughing at ?"
 
 54 BROTHERS. 
 
 " At your envying me the possessions 
 you detest so heartily." 
 
 " Hang your possessions, I wouldn't give 
 a fig for them all. It isn't them that 
 galls me." 
 
 " Then what does ?" 
 
 " Why it galls me that two thieves 
 should be so unequally paid. Here am I, 
 who drudge in the profession and starve, 
 while you — " 
 
 " Control your tongue, or leave my 
 room !" said Gerard, sternly. 
 
 '' A man may tell the truth, I suppose," 
 said Barnabas, dropping his voice, and 
 speaking with dogged sullenness. '' You 
 don't want me to believe that you live 
 like this on two hundred a year. 
 Why, those diamonds in your hand- 
 kerchief are a year's income at that 
 rate. I'd have stuck to ciphering and 
 reading, and quids and quods, had I 
 known that they would show me how to
 
 BROTHERS. 55 
 
 cheat and keep a clean face to the 
 world." 
 
 " Do you want me to throw you down 
 stairs ? That is not the purpose with 
 which you usually favour me with a visit." 
 Barnabas gnawed his dirty tliumb-nail in 
 silence, and G-erard asked : 
 
 " What have you come for ?" 
 
 '' Money." 
 
 '' What have you got in your pockets ?" 
 
 Barnabas thrust his hand into his pocket, 
 and then held up a piece of black crape, 
 with a coarse laugh. 
 
 Grerard took a couple of guineas 
 from his fob and laid them on the table, 
 saying : " Take them, and go." 
 
 " Wait, I've something more to say. 
 Sit down." 
 
 " I can listen, standing." 
 
 Barnabas finished his thumb-nail, and 
 said : 
 
 " Did you ever wonder why Doctor
 
 56 BROTHERS. 
 
 Blandly pays us two hundred a year, 
 a-piece ?" 
 
 " I have never troubled myself to 
 consider." 
 
 '' I have. You may take your oath he 
 wouldn't pay me unless he was compelled 
 to." 
 
 "What then?" 
 
 Barnabas began upon his other thumb- 
 nail, and instead of answering the ques- 
 tion, put another. 
 
 " Do you know anyone named Talbot ? 
 Thomas Talbot — the son of Admiral 
 Talbot, of Talbot Hall, near Sevenoaks." 
 
 '' I may have met him." 
 
 " Will you take your oath you know no 
 more than that ?" 
 
 " I know no more." 
 
 Barnabas gnawed silently for a minute, 
 then put another question. 
 
 " How far back can you remember ?" 
 
 *' I can remember nothing beyond the
 
 BROTHERS. 57 
 
 school where we lived from year to 
 year." 
 
 " Nor I, worse luck ! Have you 
 
 ever heard of penitance penny ?" 
 . "No." 
 
 "It's a penny that thieves give to the 
 poor when they have stolen a pound. I 
 know men who never pass a church without 
 slipping a penny under the door. They 
 think it will make it all right, and square 
 them at the last. Well, I'm pretty sure 
 that its the same thing which led our 
 ' benefactor,' as Doctor Blandly, an old 
 fool ! calls him, to provide for us while we 
 were youngsters, and give us our present 
 income. It relieved his conscience. We 
 were cheated and robbed when we were 
 too young to know anything about it, and 
 this paltry two hundred a year is a restitu- 
 tion to me." 
 
 " To you ?" 
 
 " To me. I am the elder, and if any-
 
 58 BROTHERS. 
 
 thing was taken, it belonged to me. Now, 
 mark my words, Gerard — if you help me 
 to recover it, I will give you half ; we will 
 share and share alike, and I'll put my 
 mark to any paper you like to draw up." 
 
 " That would be a valuable voucher," 
 laughed Gerard. 
 
 *' Don't you sneer at it ; I may be a 
 fool, but I've got cunning for all that. 
 I'm on the true scent; and if you find 
 anything out about young Talbot — if you 
 meet him in society, and can get at his 
 history — it shall be to your good. I'll 
 go on my knees and swear to go halves, so 
 help me " 
 
 " Take your guineas and go. I know 
 nothing of Mr. Talbot, and I refuse any 
 kind of partnership with you." 
 
 The objectionable visitor was gone, but 
 Gerard Crewe sat in the room still in 
 sombre meditation. He was not thinking
 
 BROTHERS. 
 
 59 
 
 of Mr. Talbot, nor of the source from 
 whicli he had derived his education and 
 part of his income, the subject had gone 
 from his mind the moment that Barnabas 
 quitted the room. He was asking himself 
 if the charge brought against him by his 
 brother was not true. His eyes were fixed 
 upon a piece of rusty black crape that 
 lay upon the rich carpet — the crape that 
 Barnabas had exhibited, which had by 
 accident slipped from his hand in return- 
 ing it to his pocket. 
 
 " Are we alike, we two ; thieves tainted 
 and damned in our own conscience, and 
 differing only in fortune ?" 
 
 He rose and took up the crape with 
 the tongs and put it upon the fire, and 
 watched it smouldering away in moody 
 abstraction. " And that is all the dif- 
 ference," he murmured, coming to the end 
 of his reverie ; "a piece of crape ! He 
 wears the villain's mask : I don't."
 
 6o BROTHERS. 
 
 He turned from the fire with an 
 impatient movement, and returning to 
 the adjoining room with a quick step, sat 
 down to breakfast.
 
 CHAPTER Y. 
 
 THE FIEST VIEW. 
 
 Ill 
 
 HE hostess of the '' Black Boy " 
 crossing the stable-yard to cut 
 
 Ei^iSL' a savoy in the garden beyond, 
 found Slink vigorously grooming his 
 horse. 
 
 '' A decent looking young fellow that, 
 and works well," she said to herself, stop- 
 ping to watch him. 
 
 Finding himself under observation, 
 Slink raised his hand and touched his 
 forehead with his knuckles respectfully. 
 
 "Where's your master?" asked the 
 hostess.
 
 62 THE FIRST VIEW. 
 
 " Grone for a stroll, raarm." 
 
 " He seems mio^lity fond of strolling. 
 What is his name?" 
 
 ''Now what did lie tell me?" SUnk 
 asked himself, scratching his ear thought- 
 fully with a corner of the curry-comb. 
 '' It wasn't captain, and it wasn't mister 
 nor squire, for I can remember them." 
 
 " He is a gentleman, I suppose ?" 
 
 "I'm not so sure of that," answered 
 Slink, suddenly recollecting the caution 
 his master had given him ; '* and now I 
 come to think of it I'm sure he isn't." 
 
 " Well you know what he is then ?" 
 
 " He's a nobleman travelling in — what 
 the Dickens did he tell me he was travel- 
 ling in? I've got such a plaguey memory 
 that unless everything's written down for 
 me in my book it all goes clean out of my 
 head." 
 
 " You can read ?" 
 
 ''No, I'm no scholar; but if I've got
 
 THE FIRST VIEW. 63 
 
 a thing written down in my book, and 
 anyone asks me a question, I just let him 
 read my book till lie finds out what he 
 wants to know. It's not a bad notion 
 for a young fellow just turned nine- 
 teen." 
 
 " I should like to see your book," said 
 the hostess, trying to keep a grave 
 face. 
 
 "So should I. I forgot to bring it 
 with me. However, I've hit on another 
 capital notion that I'll be bound will 
 answer as well. I've put a dozen horse 
 beans in my near-side pocket ; my off-side 
 pocket's empty — no it isn't, there's one 
 there. Now what's that for ? Oh, I 
 know. The young woman in the kitchen 
 told me not to forget to wipe my feet 
 when I came in. You see how it acts ; 
 and I'm bound to find it out, because when 
 I'm not doing anything I have a knack of 
 putting my hands in my pockets."
 
 64 THE FIRST VIEW. 
 
 The hostess nodded approval, and 
 Slink, highly-delighted with this testi- 
 mony of his sagacity, continued : 
 
 " I'll just get his honour to tell me 
 what he is, and what he's travelling in ; 
 then I'll clap a couple of beans in my 
 pocket to remember by. Thafs pretty 
 good for a young chap, isn't it." 
 
 " Hum. And how long have you had 
 this master ?" 
 
 " Ever since the day before yesterday." 
 
 *' Where does he live ?" 
 
 "Im pretty certain he told me, but 
 don't remember now. If I'd only thought 
 of my beans before !" 
 
 " And where did he engage you ? Do 
 you remember that ?" 
 
 •'' Oh, yes, well enough. It happened 
 we were both waiting at the blacksmith's to 
 have our horses shod, and his honour came 
 up and patted the mare, and beginning 
 to talk in a sociable way about one thine
 
 THE FIRST VIEW. 65 
 
 and t'other, asked me where I came from, 
 and so on." 
 
 " And what did you reply ?" 
 
 " I said I came from Talbot Hall, but 
 I hadn't got a master, seeing that Doctor 
 Blandly had wrote to the housekeeper to 
 say he was killed in a battle by the 
 French — plague take them ! Then he 
 seemed more interested than ever, and 
 more kind, and said, seeing as I hadn't a 
 master, he would take me into his service, 
 and give me four times as much for wages 
 as I had at the Hall." 
 
 " And you agreed ?" 
 
 " Yes ; but it were not for the wages 
 altogether." Slink gave vent to a deep 
 sigh, and hung his head. 
 
 " Mary tells me you've been crossed in 
 love." 
 
 '' And so I have ; Jenny, the steward's 
 daughter, the loveliest, prettiest maid in 
 all Kent. She's pretty near broke my 
 
 VOL. I. 6
 
 66 THE FIRST VIEW. 
 
 heart ; one day smiling at me till I felt 
 prouder and happier than the king on his 
 throne, and the next day making fun of 
 me, till I wished I was dead and buried. 
 I threatened to leave her often, and she 
 was always asking me why I didn't, and 
 daring me to it, and the day before yes- 
 terday she crowned it all by calling me a 
 fool, so feeling right down desperate, I 
 accepted his honour's service." 
 
 " Tell me what has happened since." 
 " Well, we took a long ride that night, 
 and stopped at an inn to sleep. Yester- 
 day we crossed a river by a ferry, and 
 then we rode until we came here." 
 '' Did anything occur upon the road ?" 
 " Nothing. I jogged and thought of 
 Jenny all the while, except when I raced 
 the baker." 
 
 ''Eacedthe baker?" 
 "Yes, while master went into an inn 
 to drink something, and I was waiting
 
 THE FIRST VIEW. 67 
 
 outside minding the horses, a baker 
 stopped to give his nag a drink at the 
 horse-trough, and he began to make fun 
 of this horse as I'm a-grooming on now. 
 * Why don't you get a pair o' crutches for 
 him?' he says. 'Because,' I says, 'he 
 can run faster without 'em.' Then his 
 honour came out, and says he, ' I'll wager 
 a pound my man can strip you and your 
 cart between this and the next milestone, 
 and give you up to yon elm for a start.' 
 ' I ha'n't got but a crown, but I'll wager 
 that and start level,' says the baker. 
 'Done,' says his honour, 'jump up; but 
 mind, if there's anything in the road we 
 make a fresh start.' ' All right,' says the 
 baker, chuckling and laughing, and up he 
 gets into his cart, and up I gets in the 
 saddle. His honour got up on the mare, 
 and says ' One, two, three, off, you 
 devils !' There wasn't nothing on the 
 road, for why, it was nothing but a 
 
 5-2
 
 68 THE FIRST VIEW. 
 
 ragged, country-side, out-of-the-way kind 
 of a place. By the same token there 
 wasn't any mile-stones. Well, the baker 
 went ahead like the wind, and whack 
 my horse as I might I couldn't gain on 
 him, seeing that every moment he got 
 more ahead of me. However, master 
 kept up with the baker, and I just 
 managed to keep in sight, when the baker 
 pulled up his horse, for why, we'd run a 
 couple of miles at least. When I came 
 up I found his honour and the baker was 
 having high words. ' I've beat him,' says 
 the baker. ' No you ha'n't,' says master. 
 'I've done a couple of miles and more, 
 and your man's been getting furder and 
 furder behind every minute,' says the 
 baker. 'What do that argufy?' says his 
 honour, ' you ha'n't come to the first 
 mile-stone.' ' And shouldn't for a couple 
 of hours if we keep along this plaguey 
 road,' says the baker. ' Then you've lost,'
 
 THE FIRST VIEW. 69 
 
 says his honour. ' P'raps,' says the 
 baker, ' but, anyway, I don't pay ; why 
 the horse ain't had a chance.' ' We'll put 
 a end to this discussion,' says his honour ; 
 ' gentlemen always pays their debt of 
 honour, and I'll take care you pay yourn. 
 Just lay hold of the horse's head,' he 
 says to me. The baker made to hit his 
 horse and bolt, but his honour outs with 
 his " 
 
 Slink's narrative was interrupted at 
 this point by the approach of his master. 
 
 '' Madam, I will trouble you to let me 
 have my bill at once. Slink, saddle the 
 mare," he said, looking angrily from one 
 to the other. 
 
 '' You don't want a bill, my fine fellow ; 
 I reckon you're not likely to pay twice. 
 Your score comes to six shillings," said 
 the hostess. 
 
 " And dear too, for a scurvy pot-house. 
 Take it out of that."
 
 70 THE FIRST VIEW. 
 
 He pulled out a guinea with an air of 
 contempt, and as tlie woman went off to 
 fetch the change, he said to Slink : 
 
 *' What have yon been gossiping 
 about?" 
 
 " She wanted to know your honour's 
 name, but for the life of me I couldn't 
 remember it, but " 
 
 "Is that all?" 
 
 " I was just saying how we raced the 
 baker, and I was just coming to the part 
 where you promised to blow out his brains 
 if he didn't behave like a gentleman " 
 
 *' Hang you for a fool ! Didn't I tell 
 you you were to hold your tongue or give 
 indirect answers ?" 
 
 " To tell lies ! to be sure you did ; I 
 forgot it altogether, but it shan't occur 
 again, your honour," and to remember it 
 well Slink transferred a bean from his 
 near-side to his off-side pocket. 
 
 When the hostess returned with the
 
 THE FIRST VIEW. 
 
 cliange the Lieutenant and his servant 
 were in the saddle. Giving a key to the 
 hostler, she said : 
 
 " You can open the yard gates, Billy, 
 the bill's paid." Then addressing Slink, 
 she added, " You take an honest woman's 
 advice, my lad ; go back to your Jenny 
 as soon as you can, and leave your fine 
 gentleman to wait on himself." 
 
 Barnabas raised his whip as if to 
 execute the wish of his heart, and strike 
 the speaker, but prudence prevailed, and 
 he let it fall upon the bony back of Slink's 
 gift-horse instead, and the two sallied out 
 of the yard. 
 
 They returned by the road they had 
 come the day before as far as Southgate, 
 where they dined ; afterwards they left 
 the main road, striking out towards 
 Ware. 
 
 " Let me see what kind of a whip you 
 carry," said the Lieutenant.
 
 72 THE FIRST VIEW. 
 
 '' I stand a good chance of getting 
 another present," said Slink to himself, 
 as he obeyed. 
 
 "Not a bad whip," said Barnabas, 
 testing it on his leg, " but you will find 
 your horse answer better to this," — lie 
 handed his own — *' he knows it." 
 
 " God bless your honour !" Slink re- 
 plied, knuckling his hat. " My word ! 
 It's as heavy in the handle as if it was 
 loaded with lead." ! 
 
 "All the good whips are like that. 
 Now listen to me. Slink; I'm looking 
 about for a man that owes me money, or 
 his wife." 
 
 " And your honour expects to find him 
 in these lanes — well I never?" 
 
 " Perhaps. However, I'm bound to 
 find him sooner or later. I daresay he 
 will pretend he don't know me, and 
 doesn't owe anything, but I shall make 
 him pay all the same."
 
 THE FIRST VIEW. 73 
 
 *' In tbe same way you made tlie baker 
 behave like a gentleman ?" 
 
 " That's it ; and if it comes to an 
 argument, or he tries to bolt, you'll just 
 step in and give him a rap with the butt 
 of your whip." 
 
 '' Aye, if we're not lucky enough to 
 have a constable near us." 
 
 " That's not probable, so keep your 
 wits together." Barnabas flicked the 
 mare, and they trotted forward. 
 
 They traversed the lanes without meet- 
 ing anyone but a labourer, who, to give 
 the approachiog riders more room, scram- 
 bled through a gap in the hedge, and 
 passed them on the other side. 
 
 It was getting dusk when they came 
 into the high road, between Waltham 
 Cross and Cheshunt. The Cambridge 
 coach passed them at full speed, the 
 horses' hoofs ringing sharp and clear upon 
 the frost-bound road. The Lieutenant's
 
 74 THE FIRST VIEW. 
 
 mare was resting, Slink was fifty yards 
 behind him. The moment the coach had 
 passed, Shnk put his horse to a trot, and 
 not daring to look behind him, said in a 
 tone of fright : 
 
 " Master, is the coach stopping?" 
 
 "No; what's the matter?" 
 
 '' Is an3^one looking round ?" 
 
 " Yes, the passenger behind the driver." 
 
 " It's the Admiral's son, Master Tom. 
 For mercy's sake let's take to our lieels." 
 
 But Lieutenant Barnabas Crewe waited 
 until the coach was out of sight, trying 
 to fix in his memory all he could see of 
 Mr. Thomas Talbot.
 
 CHAPTER yi. 
 
 ON THE COACH. 
 
 HE coacli had left Cambridge with 
 four insides and two outsides, 
 besides the driver and guard. 
 One of the outsides was a burlj farmer, 
 who sat on the seat next to the driver; the 
 other was Mr. Thomas Talbot. 
 
 As they neared Royston, three female 
 servants suddenly darted into the middle 
 of the road, and with unanimous cries and 
 gesticulations signalled the driver to 
 stop. 
 
 " Peter !" called the driver, raising his
 
 76 ON THE COACH. 
 
 chin from his collar and turning his head 
 about three inches. 
 
 " Halloa !" responded the guard from 
 behind. 
 
 *' It's the gals' school; your insides is 
 full, ben'tit?" 
 
 " Yes, but as three of the insides is 
 males, I'll be bound they can make room 
 for some gals. Males can be wonderful 
 obliging sometimes." 
 
 As the coach pulled up, the servants 
 threw wide open the gate of the garden 
 as if they expected the coach to enter, 
 and ran up to the house beckoning and 
 calling at the same time in a state of great 
 excitement. There was a group of girls 
 standing at the door of the large square 
 house kissing and bidding farewell to one 
 in their midst. One meagre lady of 
 middle age stood on the path imploring 
 Miss Elizabeth to hasten, while a second, 
 equally meagre, though possibly more
 
 ON THE COACH. 77 
 
 middle-aged ladj consulted with the 
 guard. 
 
 " Can you make room for one young 
 lady as far as Edmonton ?" asked the 
 guard, in an insinuating tone as he opened 
 the coach-door. 
 
 '' No, guard," cried a shrill voice that 
 came from the further corner, behind the 
 shoulders of an extremely stout old 
 gentleman who sat with his hands on his 
 knees and his arms akimbo, " we are 
 already four, and that's too many." 
 
 '' As for me," said the stout old gentle- 
 man, " you may stick in as many as you 
 like ; it will make no difference to 
 me." 
 
 " What sort of young lady ?" demanded 
 a mild-looking young gentleman, who 
 wore glasses and a simper. The guard 
 slipping back allowed him to judge for 
 himself. 
 
 The young lady had left the group, and
 
 78 ON THE COACH. 
 
 with a composed and stately gait was 
 walking down the path ; a young lady 
 apparently about eighteen, with a little 
 white impudent nose, a saucy mouth, and 
 large dark eyes. 
 
 " I've no objection to her sitting on 
 my knee," said the gentleman who had 
 not yet spoken ; " but I tell you candidly, 
 guard, I'm not going outside to oblige 
 anyone." 
 
 " Nor I neither," said the young gentle- 
 man with the simper ; *' especially if the 
 young lady intends coming inside." 
 
 *' I shall ride outside," said the young 
 lady, after a glance at the closely-packed 
 interior. 
 
 '' But my dear Miss Elizabeth !" said 
 the two meagre ladies in a breath. 
 
 " The afternoon is fine — I shall ride 
 outside," answered the young lady, firmly. 
 
 " Well, guard, you must take great 
 care."
 
 ON THE COACH. 79 
 
 The guard bustled off to unhook the 
 short ladder and place it. 
 
 " I shall sit on the front seat." 
 
 '' But, my dear Miss Elizabeth, there is 
 a gentleman there." 
 
 " That is precisely why I intend sitting 
 there. I prefer gentlemen to guards. 
 Place the ladder here, if you please, 
 guard." Having given this instruction, 
 the young lady turned round to the 
 house. 
 
 " Grood-bye, Lady Betty!" called twenty 
 youDg voices. 
 
 The young lady made the three steps 
 and curtseyed to the ground, with the 
 majesty of a princess. 
 
 " Thank heaven, we're not to have any 
 more inside," said the shrill voice from 
 the corner ; " the coach is insufferably 
 small." 
 
 " Large enough for me," said the fat 
 man, " and it makes no difference how
 
 8o ON THE COACH. 
 
 many they choose to pack in. I always 
 take my share of the room." 
 
 The coach started, and Tom Talbot 
 commenced making his companion com- 
 fortable. 
 
 " Permit me to give you one of my 
 rugs," said he. 
 
 '' You have two?" 
 
 " Yes ; would you like two ?" 
 
 " Yes ; but I would like you to have 
 two also. They look large enough for 
 both," she said, coming a little closer to 
 his side, with a laugh. 
 
 " That is admirable economy I Tuck 
 the edge under you — so. Are you 
 comfortable?" 
 
 '* Quite. Are you ?" 
 
 " For the first time in my life I am 
 content." 
 
 " Content ; is that all, Sir ?" asked the 
 young lady, pouting her pretty round 
 under lip.
 
 ON THE COACH. 8i 
 
 " Happy, if you will ; the words are 
 synonymous in my mind. When I am 
 content I want nothing to alter, and so I 
 should like this coach to run on and on, 
 until — until I saw you growing weary. 
 Then my content would end." 
 
 The young lady smiled very sweetly. 
 
 " Such a pretty sentiment is worthy a 
 more elegant name than content," she 
 said. 
 
 '' But you see I am not elegant," said 
 Tom ; ''I am the son of an English 
 sailor, who to his last hour fought the 
 nation whose fripperies our fine gentle- 
 men imitate, and I think I have inherited 
 from him my hatred of elegance — the 
 elegance of society, which leads men to 
 cloak kindly thoughts and generous 
 actions in such trappings that one cannot 
 distinguish them from the artifices of the 
 entirely heartless and selfish ; that is the 
 elegance I mean, and not the elegance 
 
 VOL. I. 6
 
 82 ON THE COACH. 
 
 which is born in the lily and the lady 
 alike." 
 
 Again the young lady smiled ; then 
 looking at Tom, she said with an accent 
 of regret : 
 
 '' You don't like society." 
 
 '' I like the society of Esquimaux ; I 
 prefer the society of Red Indians ; I like 
 the society of Swedes, of Dutchmen, of 
 Germans, of all simple people. I like the 
 society of horses and doo^s ; but I hate 
 the society of men who powder and paint, 
 who have only just given up wearing 
 muffs, and who still shave their heads that 
 they may wear the hair of somebody 
 else." 
 
 " Everyone hasn't such nice hair as 
 yours." 
 
 ''It's a good serviceable crop — keeps 
 my head cool in summer and warm in 
 winter, and so serves the purpose that 
 Nature intended it for."
 
 ON THE COACH. 83 
 
 '* You have travelled much ?" 
 
 '' Yes, ever since I left college." 
 
 '' College !" said the young lady to her- 
 self ; '' he can't be the son of a common 
 sailor, then." 
 
 " I prefer travelling to hunting, and one 
 must do something," continued Tom. 
 
 " He must certainly be rich to travel 
 for amusement," thought the young lady. 
 
 "And I have no particular talent." 
 
 " It seems to me you are in every way 
 fitted for society," said she, responding to 
 her own train of thought rather than to 
 his last observation. 
 
 " Well, in being a fool, perhaps I am," 
 he replied, laughing. 
 
 The young lady looked vexed ; she was 
 not accustomed to being laughed at. 
 
 " I fear you are annoyed." 
 
 " ISTo ; only I don't agree with what 
 
 you say. Society, with all its faults, is 
 
 not below the horses and dogs which you 
 
 6-2
 
 84 ON THE COACH. 
 
 prefer ; and, if I may be allowed to say 
 so, one who relinquishes the society of 
 Enghsh ladies alone, for Esquimaux and 
 Eed Indians, is not himself without a 
 fault." 
 
 Tom opened his eyes in astonishment 
 to find a pretty young lady, who was 
 clever besides, and sufficiently wise withal 
 to see the weak point in his character. 
 
 " I accept your reproof," he said. 
 *' Conscience has accused me before now 
 of egotism in setting myself apart from 
 the society w^iich includes much that is 
 good and admirable. After all, it is innate 
 repugnance rather than reason which has 
 actuated me. But I owe you my apolo- 
 gies none the less; will you accept 
 them ?" 
 
 She drew her hand from under the 
 rug and gave it to him with a gracious 
 smile. 
 
 '* And now our hands are linked," said
 
 ON THE COACH. 
 
 Tom, " may we not introduce ourselves ? 
 My name is Tom Talbot." 
 
 "And mine Elizabeth St. Cyr, better 
 known as Lady Betty." 
 
 " I am your ladyship's humble ser- 
 vant." 
 
 They chatted on with increasing plea- 
 sure, for Lady Betty found that her 
 companion was not half so ill-mannered 
 nor so priggish as she had at first be- 
 lieved. His dress was not fine, she felt 
 no ring through his glove when he shook 
 hands with her, but still he was a grand 
 figure of a man, and his brown face, if it 
 was not handsome, had yet a frank 
 honesty and genial kindliness that won 
 her favour. Had he been a fine gentle- 
 man she dared not have spoken to him so 
 freely ; but it was impossible to maintain 
 silence or reserve with one who had so 
 much to say, and spoke his mind with 
 such candour.
 
 86 ON THE COACH. 
 
 As for Tom Talbot, he was following 
 in the footsteps of Hercules and Samson, 
 and other mighty heroes, and having for 
 ten years defied beast and man, and, be 
 it added, woman also, he was willing 
 now to set his neck under the dainty 
 foot of the pretty young lady at his 
 side. 
 
 " What bewitches me ?" he asked him- 
 self, becoming absorbed in his own re- 
 flections. "Not her face; her features 
 are not handsome, they are only pretty, 
 though prettier never existed. Her com- 
 plexion is exquisite, but the tint and 
 texture of a skin are not sufficient to 
 inthral one. Till the present moment T 
 preferred dark complexions and hated 
 red hair, but angels in Paradise should 
 have a brow as white as hers, and such 
 soft gold red hair should curl upon it for 
 an aureole. Her voice is sweet, but I 
 doubt if she could sing like that girl I met
 
 ON THE COACH. 87 
 
 in Rome, yet she had no charms for me. 
 T have said I could never like clever 
 women, yet she is not so simple as a 
 hundred I have known and forgotten. 
 She is absurdly vain, that is certain, 
 and affects, in her school-girl way, the 
 airs and graces of a fine lady. What is 
 there to admire ? I know not, unless it 
 be that her charms and faults are so 
 blended as to make her at once human 
 and divine." 
 
 '' I believe you are not listening to me 
 at all," said Lady Betty, laughing. " Do 
 you know you are staring quite rudely at 
 me, and have not answered the question 
 I put to you?" 
 
 '' To tell the truth, I was not listening 
 to you. Abstraction is the fault of men 
 who live too much alone." 
 
 " I may demand to know what you 
 were thinking about." 
 
 " I can scarcely tell you. At this mo-
 
 ON THE COACH. 
 
 meut I am wondering if I shall ever see 
 you after to-day." 
 
 " It is not likely, if we are to meet only 
 on the tops of stage-coaches." 
 
 " When do you return to Royston ?" 
 
 " To school ? never. My education 
 finished last night, and in a few months I 
 am to enter that society which you so 
 much dislike ; are you sorry ?" 
 
 '' Sorry that I may meet you no more ? 
 — yes. Sorry that you are going into 
 society? — no !" 
 
 " Not sorry that I am going into society ! 
 why ?" 
 
 " Because I see you look forward to it 
 with pleasure." 
 
 " That again^ shows a sweet feeling on 
 your part, but " 
 
 ''But ungraciously expressed. Well, to 
 be elegant, I might have given you an- 
 other reason for not regretting your 
 entrance to society."
 
 ON THE COACH. 89 
 
 *' Tell me your other reason." 
 
 " Because it cannot fail to improve 
 society. Which expression do you prefer?" 
 
 " The first. What a nice brother you 
 would be." 
 
 Tom laughed. 
 
 «« Why do you laugh ?" she asked. 
 
 " I laughed not at your compliment, 
 that I accept with gratitude, but at the 
 nice distinction suggested by it. I sup- 
 pose I am altogether too rough and 
 unornamental to be thought of as a sweet- 
 heart ?" 
 
 Lady Betty blushed, then tossed her 
 head, saying to herself, " Sweetheart ! 
 what a shockingly vulgar and old-fashioned 
 expression ! why couldn't he say ad- 
 mirer ?" 
 
 " Peter !" called the driver, raising his 
 chin from his buttoned over-coat collar, 
 and moving his head two inches to the 
 left as before.
 
 90 ON THE COACH. 
 
 " Halloa !" responded the guard. 
 
 '^ Do you know him coming along on 
 the brown hoss ?" 
 
 " Know him, ah ! and better pleased to 
 see him in daylight than by a Ian thorn." 
 
 '' Why, it's Cap'n Small-pox, be'nt 
 it?" 
 
 " Yes, but he's got a new hoss, and a 
 groom, if you please. Ho ! ho !" 
 
 They passed Captain Barnabas Crewe, 
 and the guard called out : 
 
 '' You're got your hay-de-kong, Cap'n." 
 
 " And a lively hay-de-kong he looks 
 too," said the driver. *' There's more of 
 the calf than the fox in his face." 
 
 Tom Talbot, looking down at the " hay- 
 de-kong" in question as they passed, ex- 
 claimed : 
 
 " Toby ! my servant, or I'm very much 
 mistaken." 
 
 " Did you say he was your servant. 
 Sir P" asked the driver.
 
 ON THE COACH. 91 
 
 " Yes, wlio is the man lie is with, do 
 you know ?" 
 
 "Don't know what he calls himself — 
 we call him Cap'n Small-pox. He's on the 
 road, if all we hear is correct." 
 
 '' A highwayman ?" 
 
 " Highwayman — ah !" The driver 
 buried his chin in his collar.
 
 CHAPTER YII. 
 
 FROM EDMONTON TO WINCHMORE. 
 
 RE there robbers about here — 
 so near London ?" asked Lady 
 Betty, timidly. 
 " Robbers — ah !" responded the 
 driver. '' Plentiful as blackberries. 
 The clerk at the ' Flower Pot,' in 
 Bishopsgate, was reading the ' Times ' 
 yesterday as Cap'n "Wallis, as I've met 
 scores of times twixt here and Stoke 
 Newington, was ketched at Pimlico turn- 
 pike with a brace of loaded pistols on 
 him, and he's to be put to the bar for
 
 EDMONTON TO WINCHMORE. 93 
 
 stopping a Mr. Snowdon five o'clock in 
 the afternoon, twenty-third of last month, 
 in King's Road, Chelsea, and lifting off 
 him a silver watch, two guineas, a seven- 
 shilling bit, and some small pieces." 
 
 '' Five o'clock in the afternoon !" said 
 Lady Betty, faintly. 
 
 *' Five o'clock in the afternoon — ah ! 
 Don't matter to them, so long as there's 
 no one about. Why here the other day 
 my old friend Johnny Clifford, a poulterer, 
 as higgles round the country for chicks to 
 take to Leadenhall, he was jogging along 
 in his cart with his wife — it's his third 
 wife — about this time of the day when, 
 out of the cross road comes one of these 
 captains and sings out, 'Money or your 
 life.' Johnny just give his horse a crack to 
 get off by running. ' Stop, dash your 
 eyes ! stop,' sings out this here capt'n, and 
 blazes away with his barkers. Johnny's 
 wife gives a scream and faints right away,
 
 94 EDMONTON TO WINCHMORB. 
 
 and lie being a tender-hearted sort of a 
 man, pulled up for her sake, and just 
 turned out his pockets. Howsomever, as 
 this cap'n was holding out his hand for 
 the money, Johnny snatched the piece of 
 crape off his face, and knowed him at 
 once for Cap'n AUard, as had been prowl- 
 ing about Southgate and Winchmore and 
 away to Hounslow for weeks and weeks. 
 Well, he give information " 
 
 '' You look frightened — there is not the 
 slightest fear of the coach being stopped, 
 and I think I am strong enough to protect 
 you in an emergency," said Tom, seeing 
 the terror in Lady Betty's face. 
 
 '' Hush — I am listening !" she replied, 
 leaning forward to catch the driver's 
 words. 
 
 '' Well, they bound my friend Johnny 
 over to prosecute. This was wus than 
 being robbed by Cap'n Allard. 'My 
 lord,' says he to the Judge, ' if you
 
 EDMONTON TO WINCHMORE. 95 
 
 please I can't prosecute, for I'm a poor 
 man, and I've thirty-five children !" And 
 that's a fact, he's had three wives, and 
 you can read it in the ' Times.' The 
 Judge ordered him to have half a guinea 
 for his expenses in coming to London, and 
 expenses of prosecution paid. But, lor 
 bless me, what's that to this galloping 
 Dick that everyone's talking about ? 
 Breaking a man's arm in Clapton one half 
 hour, and robbing a lady of her earrings 
 in the Marsh the next." 
 
 " Are you going on to London ?" Tom 
 asked of his companion, whose eyes were 
 round as a frightened fawn's. 
 
 She shook her head and listened eagerly 
 to the driver, who having began to talk, 
 seemed inclined never to leave off. 
 
 " Bless my soul, they'd rob anyone as 
 they happened to find unprotected, and 
 the worst of it is a gentleman don't know 
 how to be safe. He takes a hackney
 
 96 EDMONTON TO WINCHMORE. 
 
 coach, or a po' -chaise to be safe, and ten 
 to one the driver's in partnership with the 
 highwayman — and there you are !" 
 
 Lady Betty put her muff up to her 
 mouth, with an invohmtary movement, and 
 looked straight before her with scared 
 eyes, as if she saw a dreaded highwayman 
 threatening her. 
 
 '' I ask you again. Lady Betty, where 
 you are going to stop ?" said Tom Talbot. 
 
 *' At Edmonton. But oh ! I have done 
 a thoughtless thing — and — and I don't 
 know what I shall do." 
 
 " Tell me what you have done." 
 
 " I insisted on going home to-day and 
 mamma doesn't expect me until to- 
 morrow." 
 
 " Do you live in Edmonton ?" 
 
 "No, at Winchmore Hill, where that 
 dreadful galloping somebody was seen — and 
 there will be nobody to meet me, and it is 
 getting dark, and I thought I should be
 
 EDMONTON TO WINCHMORE. 97 
 
 quite safe if I hired a fly to take me from 
 ' The Bell.' " 
 
 " You need be under no alarm." 
 
 " How can you say that ? don't you hear 
 that all the post-boys and drivers are in 
 league with the wretches." 
 
 " Do you think that I am in league with 
 them?" 
 
 " You are not a post-boy." 
 
 "No, but I can drive." 
 
 Lady Betty's face lit up with eager 
 hope, and she ceased to give half her 
 attention to the driver's narratives, which 
 had gone by natural transition from highway 
 robberies to highway murders. 
 
 '' And will you — that is, are you going to 
 drive — ?" she hesitated, in some confusion, 
 and looked into his face with a conflict of 
 hope and fear in her mind, for he had said 
 nothing of stopping nor offered her his 
 protection. 
 
 " I am going to drive from Edmonton 
 
 VOL. I. 7
 
 98 EDMONTON TO WINCHMORE. 
 
 to Winclimore, and I will take you with 
 me and deliver you safely to your mamma 
 
 if " lie paused to prolong tlie suspense 
 
 which gave light and shadow to his com- 
 panion's young spring face. 
 
 "If what?" she asked with impatient 
 anxiety. 
 
 " If Lady Betty pleases." 
 
 What more was needed to make him 
 seem to her the most amiable, as he was 
 the most handsome man she had ever seen. 
 
 Her gaiety returned, she chatted and 
 laughed gaily, and ceased to attend to the 
 driver's conversation, albeit his theme 
 was now arson. 
 
 They alighted at ''The Bell," where 
 Tom ordered a tilbury to be prepared, 
 and while the horse was being put in, he 
 persuaded Lady Betty to drink a little hot 
 negus, which she accepted with becoming 
 reluctance, but drank with evident satis- 
 faction.
 
 EDMONTON TO WINCHMORE. 
 
 It was but half an hour's drive from 
 Edmonton to Winchmore, and Tom 
 Talbot never used the whip once — he 
 wished to lengthen the pleasant journey, 
 rather than to shorten it ; the edge of the 
 red sun could yet be seen setting in a 
 yellow glow beyond the delicate fretwork 
 of purple boughs and woven twigs that 
 bordered the horizon when they came in 
 sight of The Chesnuts, which was the 
 name Mrs. St. Cyr had given to her 
 modest estate. 
 
 '' There, there ! Do you see the chesnut 
 trees on the right, and the house lying 
 back from the road with the blue smoke 
 rising from the chimnies ? That is my 
 home," cried Lady Betty with excitement ; 
 •* and there, above the apple-trees at the 
 back, you can just seen the pigeon-house. 
 Ah, look ! there they go, my pigeons, with 
 Maggie, the black and white one, leading 
 just the same as ever. And hark ! that 
 
 7-2
 
 loo EDMONTON TO WINCHMORE. 
 
 is Chloe barking. I believe she knows I 
 am coming." A tear twinkled in her eye, 
 and stood on her long dark lashes as she 
 recognised these familiar sounds, and felt 
 the full joy of returning to them. Tom 
 groaned. 
 
 " Why do you make that noise ?" she 
 asked, turning to him and laughing, with 
 a blush in her cheeks for the tear that 
 dimmed her sio^ht. 
 
 " Chloe, who hails your coming with 
 pleasure, will whine when you leave. Do 
 you take it I am less sensitive than a dog, 
 Lady Betty?" 
 
 " I take it you are less faithful or you 
 would not run away from, me," she 
 replied, archly. Turning her eyes 
 again towards her home, she cried : 
 " Ah, there's the gardener's boy sweep- 
 ing up the dead leaves, and the gate 
 is open. Drive right up to the door, 
 and I'll keep my face behind my muff,
 
 EDMONTON TO WINCHMORE. loi 
 
 and astound mamma by my sudden ap- 
 pearance." 
 
 Slie leaned back in the tilbury as Tom 
 drove past tlie gardener's boy and by the 
 circular sweep that led to the front of the 
 house ; but before they reached the door 
 she had abandoned her idea, and was 
 craning her neck to catch the first glimpse 
 of the window. 
 
 " She is peeping behind the curtains to 
 see who her visitors are. I can see her 
 pretty hand. Ah, there she is ! Mother, 
 dear mother !" she cried, and scarcely 
 waiting for the horse to stop, she leapt to 
 the ground and ran to embrace her mother 
 at the door. 
 
 Talbot descended from the tilbury 
 slowly, reluctant to approach in this 
 meeting of mother and daughter. A 
 mother's embrace, which he had never 
 known, seemed to him to partake of a 
 sacred character, and he feared to hear
 
 102 EDMONTON TO WINCHMORE. 
 
 the enthusiastic young girl pouring out 
 tender words of endearment intended only 
 for her mother's ear. The first words that 
 he heard were these : 
 
 " So you have had the palings painted 
 green !" 
 
 There is a moment in the most joyful 
 meetings of ordinary people when the 
 expression of pleasure being exhausted, it 
 is necessary to return to plain matter of 
 fact. Tom had come within hearing 
 distance precisely at this juncture. His 
 illusion was dispelled, and his embarrass- 
 ment also. 
 
 " My dear, you have not introduced this 
 gentleman," said Mrs. St Cjv. 
 
 Lady Betty turned in some confusion, 
 for, to tell the truth, she had forgotten 
 all about him in her excitement; then, 
 recovering her self-possession, she intro- 
 duced him with becoming formality. As 
 suddenly she broke away from stately
 
 EDMOXTOX TO WIXCHMORE. 103 
 
 etiquette and said, with impulsive volu- 
 bility : 
 
 "Mr. Talbot and I are friends. He 
 has shared his rug with me on the coach, 
 he has saved me from robbers, and he has 
 brought me home to you. ^Ye must show 
 our gratitude, mamma. A short time 
 since he groaned. He was polite enough 
 to attribute his sufferings to the prospect 
 of leaving me, but I believe in reality he 
 felt the pangs of hunger. When will 
 dinner be ready?" 
 
 ''At five o'clock, and if Mr. Talbot 
 will accept our hospitality, he will not 
 lessen our oblio-ations, but at least afford 
 us an opportunity of expressing our gra- 
 titude." Mrs. St. Cyr curtsied. 
 
 " 'Now I ought to return some long- 
 winded compliment, but for the life of me 
 I don't know how to do it," said Tom 
 Talbot to himself, so he bowed in silence 
 and murmured an unintelligible sentence
 
 104 EDMONTON TO WINCHMORE. 
 
 expressive of his pleasure in accepting the 
 invitation. 
 
 '' It is too late to see the chicks, and 
 the rabbits, and pigeons to-night I sup- 
 pose, but I must run and say ' how do you 
 do ' to Chloe," said Lady Betty, and away 
 she ran, leaving Tom Talbot with Mrs. 
 St. Cyr. 
 
 The gardener's boy was instructed to 
 take the trap into the stable, and a maid 
 led Tom to the visitor's room, where he 
 proceeded to make his toilet, pausing 
 occasionally to listen to the voice of Lady 
 Betty, who at one moment was calling to 
 the servant and her mother, at another 
 laughing, and filling up the interval by 
 singing snatches of ballads. 
 
 When he had washed, re-tied his hair, 
 and flicked the dust from his boots, Tom 
 left his room. At that very instant, Lady 
 Betty issued from hers upon the other 
 side of the passage. He had lingered
 
 EDMONTON TO WINCHMORE. 105 
 
 over his preparations, she had hurried 
 over hers. Each carried a chamber candle, 
 and as they bowed. Lady Betty, tickled 
 by the oddity of their position, laughed, 
 and said : 
 
 " What a capital subject for a picture 
 we present, Mr. Talbot." 
 
 " A subject that makes me regret I am 
 not a painter," answered Tom, regarding 
 her with unfeigned admiration. 
 
 Lady Betty looked more charming than 
 ever in her simple evening dress. Divested 
 of her furred pelisse and thick travelling 
 coat, she naturally appeared taller and 
 more graceful. Her dress was of pale 
 lilac muslin, short-waisted, high in the 
 throat, with a white tucker, short in the 
 sleeve, which was looped up with ruby 
 ribbon, and showed a snowy frill beneath. 
 Every movement of her supple figure 
 made a new, delightful curve, the clinging 
 folds of her dress following the delicate
 
 io6 EDMONTON TO WINCHMORE. 
 
 lines of body and limbs. Her long arms 
 were exquisitely rounded and white. 
 
 She knew that she was beautiful, and 
 stood a moment to be admired. 
 
 This little exhibition of vanity explained 
 how she had come to be called Lady 
 Betty. Tom offered his arm, which she 
 took with the grace of a princess, and 
 descended the stairs. It was the first 
 time she had received such attention, and 
 being led down in this manner exalted her 
 imao^ination. 
 
 " Oh, fancy," she said, '' if there were 
 candalebra all down the walls, and 
 servants on either side of the stairs " — 
 she stopped, looked at the candlestick she 
 had in her hand, and with a sudden transi- 
 tion from grave to gay, added : *' why 
 then we shouldn't have to carry each our 
 brass candlestick, should we ?"
 
 S;-MW' 
 
 CHAPTER A^III. 
 
 AT '' THR CHESXUTS. 
 
 MAID executed a rapid fli^^ht 
 from tlie drawing-room with a 
 dust-pan in lier apron and a 
 brush under her arm, and Mrs. St. Cyr 
 appeared at the door, composing her 
 features with a smile of welcome, as Tom 
 Talbot and Lady Betty came to the foot 
 of the stairs. 
 
 In the drawing-room Tom looked 
 about him with fear, for the light was 
 only sufficient to show him the danger of 
 his position. Cabinets of hric-a-hrac sur-
 
 io8 AT ''THE CHESNUTSr 
 
 rounded him on all sides, and tables 
 loaded with china made two steps in a 
 straight line perilous. The candles sput- 
 tered over the difficulty of maintaining 
 their new-born light, and the smoke and 
 flame of the fire in the chimney seemed 
 not yet to have settled the question of 
 ascendency. Tom would have infinitely 
 preferred the kitchen, but as he per- 
 ceived the room had been prepared in 
 his honour, he concealed his thoughts 
 and piloted Lady Betty to the fire -side 
 with no greater disaster than the smash- 
 ing of a very ugly china dog, which seemed 
 rather to gratify than displease Mrs. St. 
 Cyr, who declared it would be worth 
 double mended, the fashion having set 
 in for pieced china. 
 
 Tom felt a little shiver run through 
 Lady Betty's arm as it rested upon his, 
 and seeing at once that if they were to 
 be comfortable he must break through
 
 AT ''THE CHESNUTS:- log 
 
 formal restraint, he took up the tongs 
 and attacked the fire at once. 
 
 " You will pardon me, madam," he 
 said, " but I am habituated to making 
 myself at home under less hospitable 
 roofs than yours, so I take in our first 
 acquaintance the privilege of an old 
 friend." 
 
 He knew how to make a fire and coax 
 it into its most generous mood ; so the 
 temperature of the room quickly mounted. 
 
 Dinner, which was to have been served 
 at five, was not announced until half- 
 past six — a delay which Tom could 
 regret on Lady Betty's account solely, 
 since all that they were called upon to 
 suffer in the form of cold and hunger 
 was entailed by his own rashness in 
 accepting an impromptu invitation. How- 
 ever, the interval was not insupportable, 
 for Mrs. St. Cyr was half the time absent 
 — the production of a '' genteel dinner "
 
 iTO AT ''THE CHESNUTSr 
 
 calling for her personal superintendence — 
 and Tom and Lady Betty found it just as 
 agreeable chatting before a fire as upon 
 the top of a stage coach. 
 
 Lady Betty did her best to charm the 
 hungering visitor, and when a sweet girl 
 smiles only a Goth or gourmand can look 
 and think of eating. Nevertheless, Tom 
 led the ladies into the dining-room, and 
 took his place at the round table with a 
 lively feeling of satisfaction. 
 
 The dinner was elaborate with innumer- 
 able side dishes ; however, there was 
 plenty to eat, and Tom's appetite was in 
 a condition to appreciate everything. He 
 would not listen to Mrs. St. Cyr's profuse 
 apologies, but praised everything, and 
 declared that the King of France had no 
 better cook than hers. 
 
 It was not until the desert was served 
 that Tom found time to examine the 
 character of Mrs. St. Cyr, who, now that
 
 AT ''THE CHESNUTSr 
 
 the culinary cares were removed from her 
 thoughts began to display the qualities of 
 her mind. It was not long before he 
 formed an estimate. She talked of 
 nothing but fashions ; of the movements 
 in polite circles ; of court balls ; of forth- 
 coming marriages in high life, and tattle 
 about the aristocracy, whose names and 
 family connections she seemed to have at 
 her fingers' ends. 
 
 "I am agreeably surprised to find 
 from the fact that you wear a ribbon, Mr. 
 Talbot," she said, '' that the ' Lady's 
 Mirror ' is in error respecting the fashion 
 in which people of ton wear their hair. It 
 was actually stated that peruques, except 
 for evening wear, had gone out, and that 
 the Prince of Wales has had his hair cut 
 close behind and curled low on the fore- 
 head." 
 
 " That may well be, madam," replied 
 Tom, smiling, '' for I haven't had my head
 
 AT ''THE CHESNUTS." 
 
 dressed for ten days, and then by a rustic 
 at Cambridge. Previously I had been 
 absent from England for five years, so I 
 cannot profess to know anything of our 
 fashions." 
 
 '' You have travelled a great deal," said 
 Mrs. St. Cyr, led by curiosity to diverge 
 from her favourite theme. 
 
 " Yes, my father was scarcely ever at 
 home, and I stood as good a chance of 
 meeting him in a foreign port as in 
 England." 
 
 " Your father was a sea-captain, I 
 presume." 
 
 " An Admiral. He fell in the King's 
 service before Cadiz." 
 
 " An Admiral !" Mrs. St. Cyr cast an 
 expressive glance at her daughter, and 
 said, with a sigh, '' Poor gentleman ! 
 But could not your friends or relations 
 persuade you to stay amongst them." 
 
 '' Relations; I have absolutely none
 
 AT ''THE CHESNUTSr' 113 
 
 that I know of. My old friends are 
 scattered ; I found only two of my old 
 companions at Cambridge, and my new 
 friends are only just discovered." 
 
 Mrs. St. Cyr bowed, saying to herself, 
 " No friends, no relations, and his father 
 an admiral, dead ! poor young man, he 
 deserves to have friends, and he shall not 
 go without while I live." 
 
 " It must be dreadful to have no 
 home," murmured Lady Betty, looking 
 at Tom with pity in her soft, sympathetic 
 eves. 
 
 " You make me think so by showing 
 me how delightful a home may be," 
 answered Tom. 
 
 " May I presume to offer you my hos- 
 pitality while you remain in England, Mr. 
 Talbot ?" asked Mrs. St. Cyr. 
 
 '' I shall be delighted to avail myself of 
 it whenever a chance permits ; but for some 
 time business must occupy my attention to 
 
 VOL. I. 8
 
 IT4 AT ''THE CHESNUTS." 
 
 the exclusion of pleasure. I liave come to 
 England to settle with my father's legal 
 adviser as to the disposition of the estate 
 which comes to me. I stand in the pecu- 
 liar position of a man with a white 
 elephant — I don't want it, and I can't 
 conveniently give it away." 
 
 Mrs. St. Cyr itched to know more, but 
 Tom was thoughtfully engaged in scraping 
 crumbs into a heap with his dessert- 
 knife. Lady Betty came to her mother's 
 assistance. 
 
 " You excite our curiosity, Mr. Talbot, 
 and it is only fair to us poor women that 
 you should tell us more. We have no 
 white elephants," said she. 
 
 " It is very simple. My wants are 
 supplied by a yearly expenditure of three 
 hundred pounds ; I could have lived con- 
 tent on half that sum. And now I am 
 told that I have to make use of a yearly 
 income of three thousand pounds, besides
 
 AT ''THE CHESNUTS." 115 
 
 a Hall with tliirtj-iiine rooms, and a park 
 and grounds of a thousand acres. What 
 am I to do ?" 
 
 Mrs. St. Cyr held her breath ; Lady 
 Betty's eyes sparkled like the diamonds, 
 her mind dwelt upon as a possible elucida- 
 tion of the vexatious problem this in- 
 teresting young gentleman was called upon 
 to solve. 
 
 "An estate, a Hall with thirty-nine 
 rooms, and three thousand a year !" mur- 
 mured Mrs. St. Cyr. 
 
 *' I cannot — I should not wish — to dis- 
 pose of the old Hall ; it has borne the 
 family name since John Talbot received 
 Queen Elizabeth in it." 
 
 " It would be sacrilege !" exclaimed 
 Mrs. St. Cyr. 
 
 " I certainly cannot live in it. Odd as 
 I am, I could not abide the solitude of 
 living alone in a great place like that." 
 
 The ladies did not see the necessity of 
 
 8-2
 
 ii6 AT ''THE CHESNUTS: 
 
 living alone, but tliej lield their peace, 
 and Tom continued : 
 
 *' I shall expect Doctor Blandly to help 
 me out of my difficulty." 
 
 " Doctor Blandly ! the name is familiar 
 to me." 
 
 " It is quite possible ; he lives at Ed- 
 monton." 
 
 " I know a Doctor Blandly, of Ed- 
 monton, who is a surgeon; he attended 
 to my gardener when he hurt himself 
 with a scythe. I remember the fact by 
 the extremely uncivil answer he returned 
 when, seeing how well he had cured my 
 gardener, I wrote to him bidding him 
 call to advise me on the palpitations to 
 which I am subject. He sent word to 
 say he could give me no better advice 
 than to eat moderately and not lace 
 tight." 
 
 " It is probably the same," rephed 
 Tom, maintaining a becoming gravity
 
 AT ''THE CHESNUTSr 117 
 
 with an effort, " Doctor Blandly was origin- 
 ally a physician, but amassing a com- 
 petence while yet a young man, he gave 
 up his practice and retired to his present 
 residence at Edmonton to devote himself 
 to botany and fishing. He is an odd, 
 sweetly-disposed old gentleman, who pro- 
 fesses to be a cynic and a misanthrope ; 
 but, nevertheless, his innate goodness 
 asserts itself on the slightest occasion, 
 and is so well known, that he has almost 
 as much employment in ministering gra- 
 tuitously to the maladies of the poor 
 around him, as he previously had in 
 attending to his wealthy patients. He is 
 a shrewd and honest man, and his friends 
 have taken his advice whenever they found 
 themselves in difficult positions. My 
 father was his school-fellow, and it is 
 thus that Doctor Blandly came to conduct 
 the management of his property and 
 estate. I hope he will continue his ser-
 
 ii8 AT ''THE CHESNUTS." 
 
 vices in my behalf. I intend seeing him 
 to-night, if you will permit me to leave 
 at an early hour." 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Talbot, you will not leave 
 to-night, the roads are dangerous," said 
 Lady Betty. 
 
 "I shall have less fear in encountering 
 danger than this afternoon, for you will 
 not be imperilled." 
 
 Mrs. St. Cyr had been musing ; she said 
 suddenly : 
 
 " Mr. Talbot, I am about to ask a 
 great favour of you, one that I feel 
 scarcely warranted in asking upon such 
 short acquaintance." 
 
 " You will do me great honour, madam, 
 by such a mark of confidence." 
 
 "Will you introduce me to Doctor 
 Blandly?" 
 
 " There is only one reason for hesita- 
 tion, and that is the Doctor's avowed 
 repugnance to the society of ladies."
 
 AT ''THE CHESNUTS:- 119 
 
 '' But you said that he professes a 
 repugnance to mankind, yet he assists 
 them." 
 
 " That is quite true." 
 
 ** I should like to tell you my reasons 
 for wishing the advice of such a man as 
 Doctor Blandly, if it will not trouble you 
 to hear them." 
 
 Tom Talbot made a gesture of com- 
 placent attention, and Mrs. St. Cyr, after 
 a few minute's thought, continued : 
 
 " Since my husband's decease I have 
 lived in retirement, and, as you see, with 
 economy, in order that the fortune he 
 left should accumulate by interest, and 
 enable me, when Elizabeth left school, to 
 introduce her to society and give her an 
 opportunity of forming suitable connections 
 and friends before my death." 
 
 ''Mamma, dear, don't talk of dying, 
 you are a young woman now," said Lady 
 Betty, the tears springing in her eyes.
 
 20 AT "THE CHESNUTS. 
 
 ''My dear, you do not know what I 
 suffer with the palpitations." 
 
 Lady Betty drew her chair nearer to 
 her mother, and shpping her hand under 
 the table, took her mother's, and held 
 it with loving pressure, while Mrs. St. Cyr 
 continued : 
 
 " The attorney who has hitherto 
 managed my affairs died last week, and 
 his partner is so old and stupid that I do 
 not care to trust my financial arrange- 
 ments to him. I know no one else, but 
 it is absolutely necessary that I should 
 find some honest adviser at once; my 
 child's fortune depends upon it." 
 
 '' In that case I feel sure Doctor Blandly 
 will advise you." 
 
 " If you would introduce me as your 
 friend." 
 
 '' I shall have great pleasure in doing 
 
 so. 
 
 But mamma cannot go this evening !"
 
 AT ''THE CHESNUTS:' 121 
 
 exclaimed Lady Betty ; " and so, Mr. 
 Talbot, you must stay all night, and take 
 her to Edmonton in the morning." 
 
 Tom accepted without waiting for 
 further persuasion. He who would go 
 out of his way to oblige an old woman, 
 could not hesitate to stay in comfortable 
 quarters to give pleasure to a young 
 one.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 NIGHT AND MOENING. 
 
 RS. ST. CYR kept a genteel pony- 
 cbaise, and as this would serve 
 to convey her and Mr. Talbot 
 the following morning to Doctor Blandly' s, 
 the tilbury was sent back to Edmonton, 
 the gardener, who took it, being in- 
 structed to fetch the valise which Tom 
 had left at the '' Bell." 
 
 " What time will you be called in the 
 morning, Mr. Talbot?" asked Mrs. St. Cyr, 
 when they were separating for the night ;
 
 NIGHT AND MORNING. 123 
 
 " we usually breakfast at ten. Will nine 
 o'clock be too early for your hot water ?" 
 
 ''Not a whit, madam." 
 
 '' I rise at half-past seven," said Lady 
 Betty, archly. *' Good night." 
 
 Mrs. St. Cyr followed Lady Betty into 
 her room, and having closed the door 
 silently and carefully, her first words, 
 spoken in a low, impressive tone, were, 
 " What a pity he hasn't a title." 
 
 «« Why, mamma ?" asked Lady Betty, 
 with a blush. 
 
 '' Because then he would be absolutely 
 perfect, my love. The son of an admiral 
 with an estate, a Hall with three thousand 
 rooms, and an income of thirty-nine 
 pounds — I mean a ball with thirty-nine 
 rooms, of course, and an income of three 
 thousand pounds. I am sure he deserves 
 a title, and it is ten thousand pities he 
 hasn't one. However, he has a pedigree, 
 and that is a great thing. His figure is
 
 124 NIGHT AND MORNING. 
 
 quite superb, and he is extremely 
 beauteous." 
 
 " I don't tliink one can call him 
 beauteous, mamma." 
 
 '' Well, my love, we may differ in that, 
 but I assure you when he was telling us 
 that he was absolutely without relations, 
 and had more money than he knew what 
 to do with, I thought I had never seen a 
 more handsome man in my life. And then 
 his manner !" 
 
 " I do not think his manners perfect. 
 He is at times brusque." 
 
 "It is that which gives him such an 
 air of distinction. One cannot expect a 
 man in position to agree with everything 
 one says, and have a perpetual smile on 
 his face as if he were measuring off a 
 dozen yards of bombazine like your Uncle 
 William. By the bye, my love, you must 
 be careful never to mention your Uncle 
 William's name ; it would ruin our pros-
 
 NIGHT AND MORNING. 125 
 
 pects to be known as the connection of a 
 man in tlie drapery line." 
 
 " Mr. Talbot seems to entertain a 
 tliorough dislike to society." 
 
 '' My cliild, it is not of the slightest 
 importance what a man likes or dislikes 
 before his marriage ; it is afterwards that 
 a woman has to conform them with her 
 own." 
 
 " You have already settled that I am to 
 marry Mr. Talbot then," Lady Betty said, 
 laughimg. 
 
 *' Hush, my darling, you will be over- 
 heard. I certainly know no one more 
 eligible than Mr. Talbot at present. It is 
 certainly a great drawback his having no 
 title, and to be sure many merchants have 
 thrice his income ; at the same time there 
 are many noblemen who are as rich as the 
 wealthiest commoner. I should like my 
 son-in-law to have a title if it was only 
 baronet; a lord would be better still,
 
 126 NIGHT AND MORNING. 
 
 but my taste lias always been for 
 earls. I read the other day that the 
 Marquis of Westminster's fortune is pro- 
 digious." 
 
 '' Then there's Httle hope for Mr. 
 Talbot," Lady Betty laughed again. 
 
 " My love ! Mr. Talbot will think you 
 are laughing at him, and I would not 
 for the world displease him. He may be 
 of the greatest service to us, for though 
 we take the most genteel house in Picca- 
 dilly, we cannot obtain friends without an 
 introduction, and Mr. Talbot must have 
 acquaintances. Besides, it is a great ad- 
 vantage to a young lady in society to have 
 an admirer to start with ; it attracts 
 attention and collects others, like a fly on 
 a treacle-paper." 
 
 "But Mr. Talbot will leave England as 
 soon as his affairs are settled by Doctor 
 Blandly. He has only seen me once for a 
 few hours, and I am not sure that he
 
 NIGHT AND MORNING. 127 
 
 likes me even. I believe he thinks me 
 silly on some points." 
 
 *' A very good sign. He wouldn't like 
 youj depend upon it, if he thought you 
 wiser than himself. And there's not the 
 slightest doubt you have made a conquest. 
 Perhaps you didn't notice how he blushed, 
 faltered, and finally tried to conceal his 
 emotion by drinking a glass of wine after 
 you had induced him to try my pickle." 
 " It was too hot for him, perhaps." 
 '* Oh, no, my love ; a mother's eye is 
 not to be deceived. And besides, what 
 pretty girl is there who cannot make a 
 man like her if she sets her mind to it ? 
 You have made your first conquest, and 
 as to any fear of Mr. Talbot leaving 
 England — well, he may think what he 
 likes about it, but I know he will not. T 
 shall ask him to dine with us on Sunday, 
 and if he refuses, you may tell me that I 
 know nothing of human nature. Now kiss
 
 128 NIGHT AND MORNING. 
 
 me, my darling, and go to bed, for you have 
 to rise at half -past seven, remember." 
 
 At that moment Tom Talbot was saying 
 to himself : 
 
 " She has certainly the most beautiful 
 arms I have ever seen in my life ; she is 
 graceful and fascinating to a degree, but 
 — may Heaven preserve me from ever 
 being fool enough to marry a girl with 
 such a mother. She is absolutely vulgar 
 with her eternal prattle about fashions, 
 and her yearnings after the society of 
 ' b.ongtong,' as she calls it. I pity the 
 poor girl, for I fear she has not sufficient 
 force of character to resist the pernicious 
 influence of such example and teaching. 
 She is already a little touched with her 
 mother's mania. As for myself, I must 
 be careful how I yield to the witcheries of 
 the little siren, though there's little danger 
 in that. She wouldn't be likely to fall in 
 love with me under any circumstances,
 
 NIGHT AND MORNING. 129 
 
 and I suppose I shall never set eyes on her 
 again after to-morrow morning. One is 
 never romantic before breakfast, and she'll 
 find me as chilly as the morning, I war- 
 rant." 
 
 With this satisfactory reflection Tom 
 Talbot turned upon his side and fell 
 asleep. 
 
 Tom Talbot was sitting in the drawing- 
 room, gravely reading one of Mrs. St. 
 Cyr's favourite magazines — '' The Court 
 Gazetteer and Lady's Indispensable Com- 
 pendium of Life and Fashion " was its 
 title — when Lady Betty came down the 
 following morning. 
 
 *' Are you improving your mind, Mr. 
 Talbot?" asked Lady Betty, after saluta- 
 tion. 
 
 " Possibly ; but not my temper. You 
 have come in time to save me, I hope, 
 from the worst effects of the book's sple- 
 netic influence. A few pages more would 
 
 VOL. I. 9
 
 T30 NIGHT AND MORNING. 
 
 have made me doubt if there was any- 
 thing in woman to admire but her 
 beauty." 
 
 '' You are more exacting than most 
 men to want more than that. It is too 
 early to be serious, and I am going to 
 visit my pets. Are you ready to accom- 
 pany me ?" 
 
 " Quite — and you ? I did not hear you 
 enter the room. Have you your 
 shoes?" 
 
 Lady Betty extended her foot with its 
 neat shoe, giving a ghmpse of a dainty 
 ankle in a clocked black stocking. 
 
 " It is no wonder I failed to hear the 
 fall of such a foot !" said Tom. 
 
 Lady Betty acknowledged the compli- 
 ment with a coquettish courtesy, and led 
 the way into the garden. 
 
 '* Oh, what a lovely morning!" she ex- 
 claimed, '' and no signs of the frost 
 giving. Mr. Talbot, can you skate ?"
 
 NIGHT AND MORNING. 131 
 
 " Fairly. As I clo most things— not 
 well." 
 
 " Will you teacli me ? There is a 
 famous pond at the foot of the 
 hill." 
 
 '' Have you skates ?" 
 
 Not at present ; but mamma can buy 
 them to-day." 
 
 *' You forget that after breakfast we 
 part." 
 
 " No ; you are going to take mamma 
 to see an old gentleman who does not 
 like ladies ; but after that " 
 
 " After that I leave England." 
 
 " On business ?" 
 
 " No, for pleasure." 
 
 They had come to a wicket, which Tom 
 opened ; Lady Betty turned, and with one 
 hand on the gate and the other on the 
 post barred the way. She wore a tippet 
 and a hood bordered with fur, which made 
 a suitable frame for her pretty face. She
 
 132 NIGHT AND MORNING. 
 
 held her head a Httle on one side ; a smile 
 made her eyes bewitching. 
 
 " Would it not give you as much 
 pleasure to stay in England and teach 
 me to skate ?" she asked. 
 
 '' Undoubtedly ; but there are some 
 pleasures that one should avoid to be 
 happy. It will take me some time to 
 forget you, though our friendship is not 
 yet a day old." 
 
 Lady Betty ceased to smile. She 
 looked up in Tom's face with unwonted 
 gravity. 
 
 " It is a selfish kind of happiness that 
 depends upon your not liking anyone 
 very much," she said. 
 
 " Yet I do not feel as though I could 
 be selfish when I look at you," said Tom. 
 
 " Then for my pleasure you would 
 stay and teach me to skate?" 
 
 Tom bowed. " Where are my resolves 
 of last night ?" he asked himself.
 
 NIGHT AND MORNING. 133 
 
 At that moment Cliloe barked, and 
 Lady Betty, clap^Ding her hands, cried, 
 "I have been forgetting all about poor 
 Chloe," and away she ran to the 
 outbuildings where the dog was 
 chained, leaving Tom to follow as he 
 would. 
 
 "Hum!" said Tom to himself, "that 
 shows how much she values the sacri- 
 fice. Forsaken, at the very moment 
 when I should be most dear, for a 
 yelping hound ! If the frost breaks up 
 she will not want me. And that I see 
 is the best thing that could happen to 
 me." 
 
 Turning a corner beside the orchard, 
 he found lady Betty on her knees with 
 her arms round the neck of a New- 
 foundland, caressing the animal, and talk- 
 ing such unintelligible nonsense to it as 
 dogs in common with babies seem to 
 understand and enjoy.
 
 T34 NIGHT AND MORNING. 
 
 " Oo members me all this time, Chloe, 
 00 faithful old pet ! and oo wants to 
 come with oo's little Ladj Betty, and oo 
 shall ; but oo won't frighten Lady Betty's 
 pigeons, will oo ?" 
 
 She unfastened the chain-snap, and 
 Chloe, faithful to canine instinct, took 
 to her heels and bolted off to the 
 kitchen. 
 
 It was a moment of disappointment to 
 Lady Betty; but her eyes following 
 the deserter fell upon the hutch of her 
 favourite rabbit, to whom she at once 
 transferred her affection. Presently, with 
 a whirl and a flutter, the covey of pigeons 
 settled on the roof of an adjoining 
 shed. 
 
 " Oh, my pretty pigeons," she cried. 
 Then she called Tom, whom she had sent 
 off to the garden. '' Mr. Talbot, Mr. 
 Talbot ! never mind about pulling up any 
 more cabbages— run into the stable for me
 
 NIGHT AND MORNING. 135 
 
 quick, and bring some grain for my 
 birds." 
 
 Tom obeyed, and brought a sieve of oats 
 from a bin in the stable, which she took 
 without so much as a single word of 
 thanks, for she was talking to the 
 pigeons in terms of tender blandishment, 
 to which they responded in voices not 
 more soft than hers, as they strutted and 
 pirouetted on the ridge tiles. At the 
 sight of grain they came fluttering to 
 her feet, and Maggie, a black-and- 
 white patriarch, bolder than the rest, 
 flew up, and ate from her extended 
 hand. 
 
 It was a pretty picture — the young 
 girl amidst her pigeons — which Tom 
 looked upon with silent delight. 
 
 " And she is to be torn away from 
 these innocent delights, and taught to like 
 the heartless pleasures of a senseless 
 world !" he said to himself, with a sigh.
 
 136 NIGHT AND MORNING. 
 
 " She is a child and 'tis a shame to make 
 her a coquette." 
 
 He did not recognise that the beauty of 
 Lady Betty's childishness owed its piquancy 
 to her coquettry, and that had she been 
 merely childish, she would have been as 
 uninteresting as the peasants of Flanders, 
 whose extreme innocence he had frequently 
 condemned for stupidity. Had she not 
 been very pretty, it is tolerably certain 
 he would not have cared a jot whether 
 her tastes were simple or other- 
 wise. 
 
 He still felt sentimental when Lady 
 Betty, setting down the sieve of oats, 
 said : 
 
 " Feed yourselves now, dears. Lady 
 Betty's fingers are getting blue in her 
 gloves. Come, Mr. Talbot, I will leave 
 all my darlings for you, because — I am 
 cold. Let us have a brisk walk, there is 
 still plenty of time. We can walk down
 
 NIGHT AND MORNING. 137 
 
 the hill and see if the ice bears. By- 
 the bye," she added, stepping along beside 
 Tom with a quick, springy step, " we 
 were talking about the ice — ah, yes, and 
 you promised to teach me skating, at my 
 earnest entreaty." 
 
 " When Chloe barked, and you forgot 
 all about me." 
 
 " That was decidedly rude," Lady Betty 
 laughed ; " but you don't look very vexed 
 with me." 
 
 *' One could not see you so innocently 
 happy and remember one's vexation. Will 
 you not be very sorry to leave your pigeons 
 and domestic creatures ?" 
 
 '' Oh, I shall be more than sorry to 
 leave my pets. I do not mind admitting 
 to you that I shall have more than one 
 long cry when we separate." 
 
 " These simple pleasures seem to har- 
 monize so perfectly with your disposi- 
 tion."
 
 138 NIGHT NND MORNING. 
 
 '' As for tliat, my disposition is of an 
 accommodating kind, and harmonizes very 
 well witli nearly everything that is 
 agreeable." 
 
 " Seeing yon among your present plea- 
 sures, I cannot imagine how you will re- 
 linquish them." 
 
 '' Ah ! you should have seen me with a 
 doll," said Lady Betty gravely. " You 
 might have thought it would have broken 
 my heart to give it up. I buried it with 
 tears, Mr. Talbot." 
 
 '* Buried it!" 
 
 " Yes, the day mamma said I must have 
 a long frock made, I made up my mind for 
 the sacrifice, and the morning it came 
 home from the dressmakers, I buried my 
 doll — and many a time I was tempted to 
 exhume it. It lies in the grave next to 
 my canary." 
 
 '' But a doll is not the same as living 
 creatures."
 
 NIGHT AND MORNING. 139 
 
 "No." Lady Betty sighed, and then 
 with a tone of resignation : " Everything 
 in its turn. First sugar-sticks, then dolls, 
 then pigeons and rabbits." 
 
 " You will not make a good exchange 
 I fear, for the latter." 
 
 "Why? Do not you think men and 
 women are more interesting than rabbits 
 and pigeons ?" 
 
 " I imagine that you are not debarred 
 from either in the country." 
 
 "Ah !" said Lady Betty, sententiously, 
 " that is because you know so little about 
 it — look at poor mamma, she has lived 
 here ever since papa's death — nearly 
 fourteen years, and she knows absolutely 
 no one but the clergyman, who only talks 
 about the lake of brimstone and fire, and 
 the deaf gentleman that lives in the house 
 down there, and his chief recommendation 
 is that he never talks at all. A country 
 life is delightful if you can always have a
 
 I40 NIGHT AND MORNING. 
 
 friend staying in tlie house, and if you 
 can leave it for five or six months in 
 the year." 
 
 Tom laughed, despite himself — Lady 
 Betty continued : 
 
 " Why do you think a country life so 
 suitable to me — because people living in 
 the country are usually so intensely 
 stupid ?" 
 
 " A country life is allowed to be inno- 
 cent and beautiful, and therein it seemed 
 suitable to you !" 
 
 " Don't you think its charms are over- 
 drawn ? Poets who wrote most about it 
 live in towns and exaggerate the Httle they 
 have seen to admire. I should like to see 
 it as they see it — a little. Oue would 
 think that the sun always shines, and 
 roses continually fill the air with perfume ; 
 and lambs skip about to the tunes played 
 by clean shepherds. They do not know 
 what six weeks bad weather in an isolated
 
 NIGHT AND MORNING. 141 
 
 house is, they never saw a shepherd in the 
 stocks for being drunk and using bad 
 language, and they never mention the 
 cries of a pig having a ring put in his nose. 
 And what constitutes its innocences — 
 highwaymen in the lanes to keep you in 
 doors, with a fear of burglars that make 
 you doubtful if it wouldn't be better to 
 stop in the lanes ?" 
 
 "Do you wish me to believe that the 
 country is disagreeable to you ?" 
 
 " No. I love the country as well as you 
 do — perhaps better, Mr. Talbot, or you 
 would settle down as a respectable 
 hermit with less fear of encountering 
 the lively members of society whom you 
 so detest. What I wish you to think is, 
 that I have aspirations to a higher form 
 of life than that whose most agreeable 
 representatives live in hutches and 
 kennels." 
 
 Tom was astonished by the warmth
 
 142 ' NIGHT AND MORNING, 
 
 and strong sense of Lady Betty. He 
 had seen her face coquettish and childish, 
 but now he found it animated with an 
 intelhgent light, and almost severe in its 
 earnest expression. 
 
 " There is nothing prettier than a brood 
 of young rabbits, or a nest of blue eggs — 
 no sound sweeter than the first song of 
 the nightingale, but it would be wicked to 
 limit my senses to the enjoyment of them 
 when Providence has given me the intel- 
 ligence to appreciate Raphael and Mozart. 
 I do not profess that for high objects alone 
 I prefer life to seclusion. I am fond of 
 dress, fond of talking nonsense, and 
 laughing at trifles, fond of farce as well 
 as tragedy — though I have never yet been 
 to a theatre except in my dreams — fond of 
 gaiety and movement, fond of dancing, 
 fond of having my eyes wide open for 
 eighteen hours out of the twenty-four. 
 I hate yawning, and now you know why
 
 NIGHT AND MORNING. 143 
 
 a country life is not suitable to my dis- 
 position." 
 
 " You are very earnest," was all Tom 
 could say in comment. 
 
 " I feel very earnest. You have roused 
 me by your contempt for society." 
 
 ''You will give me credit also for 
 sincerity." 
 
 " Yes, but not for impartiality. You 
 are quite narrow and prejudiced. You 
 adhere to an opinion which by your own 
 showing, was formed ten years ago, 
 and which has been exaggerated by 
 seclusion and — if I may add it without 
 offending — ignorance of what you con- 
 demn." 
 
 " I am afraid that you are only too 
 just — I was a young man, and I believe, 
 even more conceited than I am now, 
 when I settled that I was too good for 
 society." 
 
 "In that case you ought, in justice to
 
 144 NIGHT A ND MORNING. 
 
 yourself, to reconsider the subject, and so 
 when you have taught me to skate, you 
 will yet have something to do before 
 leaving England. Ah ! here is the pond. 
 Hold my hand and let me see if the ice is 
 strong." 
 
 Tom took her hand and held it firmly 
 as the urgency of the case required, while 
 Lady Betty ventured across the frozen 
 water with timid steps. 
 
 The ice did not crack, but the surface 
 was wondrous slippery, and Lady Betty's 
 foot slipped more than once, causing her 
 to laugh and fear at the same time. 
 
 " It would be safer if you held my 
 arm ?" she said. 
 
 Safer indeed for her, but not for Tom. 
 A thrill ran through his veins as he 
 clasped the beautiful arm, of which he 
 had dreamed, and he felt a strange grati- 
 fication in sustaining their mutual position 
 of dependance and support.
 
 NIGHT AND MORNING. 
 
 145 
 
 Before he relinquished his hold he 
 had reconciled himself to the necessity of 
 postponing his departure from England. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 10
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 A VISIT. 
 
 R. TALBOT, how do I look ?" 
 asked Mrs. St. Cyr, as the 
 chaise drew near Edmonton. 
 Tom looked at his companion in order to 
 give a fair answer to a question which was 
 asked with the utmost gravity. Mrs. St. 
 Cyr was still pretty ; her complexion was 
 particularly fresh and fair which, but for 
 her stoutness, would have made her appear 
 ten years younger than she was. The 
 few artificial touches of pencil and powder 
 were unnoticed by Tom's unpractised eye,
 
 A VISIT. 147 
 
 and lie answered wifh perfect candour, 
 and in a tone wliicli carried convic- 
 tion : 
 
 " Madam, you look extremely well." 
 
 '' T am glad to hear it, for I assure you 
 
 I attach a great deal of importance to the 
 
 interview with Doctor Blandly, and when 
 
 a woman wishes to interest a gentleman 
 
 in her business affairs, she cannot be too 
 
 particular about her personal appearance." 
 
 Tom smiled. Mrs. St. Cyr continued : 
 
 " I assure you there is truth in my 
 
 assertion. How is it that charitable ladies 
 
 can never raise subscriptions ? it is because 
 
 charitable ladies as a rule are dowdy. Can 
 
 you tell me if Doctor Blandly sees many 
 
 ladies ?" 
 
 " Scarcely any. A lady never enters 
 his house — if he can prevent it — and he 
 refuses invitations where it is possible he 
 may meet ladies. I have heard him speak 
 occasionally, and not in amiable terms, of 
 
 10—2
 
 148 A VISIT. 
 
 Mrs. Baxter, the wife of the Eeverend 
 John Baxter, a particular friend of his." 
 
 " Mrs. Baxter ! I know her by sight — a 
 woman who looks as if she had been 
 buried for a week, and unfortunately re- 
 suscitated. If Dr. Blandly has seen only 
 that woman, I am not surprised at his 
 aversion to the sex." 
 
 " I hope you will convert him, 
 madam." 
 
 " I am not without hope. It is a great 
 advantage, to know his character before- 
 hand — he is very fond of botany you said, 
 I think?" 
 
 " Yes; and of fishing also." 
 
 " Unfortunately I know nothing about 
 fishing ; happily I have some knowledge 
 of gardening. Augh ! what a horrible 
 smell." 
 
 " Some one is burning weeds." 
 
 "It is shameful to allow such a public 
 nuisance; it is worse than a brick-kihi.
 
 A VISIT. 149 
 
 I shall carry the odour in my dress, and 
 that will undo everything. And now 
 look at the smoke ! John, John !" she 
 called to the gardener who, dressed in 
 livery, was driving the chaise. '' Drive 
 quicker. Beat the horse ! Quick, quick, 
 I shall be smothered. I must be 
 covered with smuts." 
 
 " I assure you your complexion has not 
 suffered." 
 
 " And my bonnet, Mr. Talbot? I tried 
 on half a dozen before I found one to 
 my liking, and this light beaver must 
 catch the blacks, I am sure." 
 
 " Not a speck, madam, and we have 
 passed the smoke." 
 
 '* Dear me, we are just in the high-road, 
 and close to Doctor Blandly's house. Let 
 us drive the other way for a few moments 
 that the smell may escape from my 
 clothes. Turn to the right, John. And 
 after all the precautions I have taken."
 
 I50 A VISIT. 
 
 " Doctor Blandly being a gardener may 
 not dislike the smell of burning weeds." 
 
 ''It is impossible any human being 
 can endure such a stench as that. How- 
 ever, I have my lavender-water with me, 
 and if I sprinkle some ef that over my 
 dress it may at least counteract the 
 smoke. Ah, I have brought civet by 
 mistake ; but it will have the same effect. 
 'Tis an elegant perfume. Can you tell 
 me if Doctor Blandly has any other 
 likings, Mr. Talbot ?" 
 
 " He likes cribbage, and punch, and a 
 pipe." 
 
 " Thank you. If I were a general I 
 should never offer battle to my enemy 
 until I was thoroughly acquainted with 
 his weak points. I think we may turn 
 now. John ! turn round — stop at the 
 first house past the ' Bell.' " 
 
 A sudden change in the wind wafted 
 the offending smoke down the lane which
 
 A VISIT. 151 
 
 ran between Dr. Blandly' s garden and 
 the *' Bell," and blew it across the high- 
 road at th« very moment the chaise was 
 passing. 
 
 " Oh, if I were a man !" said Mrs. St. 
 Cyr, through her closed teeth, " how I 
 would swear !" 
 
 The condition was not much better 
 when they stopped in front of Doctor 
 Blandly's house, a thick cloud of smoke 
 filled the garden. 
 
 " We will pass through it as quickly 
 as possible," said Tom, handing Mrs. St. 
 C3^r from the chaise. '' I know the secret 
 of opening the front gate, and I may dis- 
 pense with formalities in visiting the 
 Doctor." 
 
 Mrs. St. Cyr kept her handkerchief to 
 her mouth, and said nothing. 
 
 " Hilloa, who's there ?" called out old 
 Jerry, as he came from among the ever- 
 green shrubs, on hearing the gate open.
 
 152 A VISIT. 
 
 " A friend, Jerry. Where is your 
 master ?" 
 
 " Oh, 'tis you, Mr. Talbot, hey— right 
 glad to see you. Sir." He suddenly 
 stopped, and looking at Mrs. St. Cyr, 
 passed his hand thoughtfully over his 
 mouth and chin. 
 
 " Is your master in the house ?" Tom 
 repeated. 
 
 " No, he's looking after the bon-fire in 
 the kitchen garden ; but do he know. Sir, 
 that you are bringing all the world with 
 you?" 
 
 Tom passed by with Mrs. St. Cyr, only 
 saying, '' I will find him," and opening a 
 wicket by the side of the house led her 
 into the garden at the rear, taking the 
 weaker side of the dense column of smoke 
 which filled one half of the garden and 
 swept over the wall. 
 
 In the murky distance could be seen 
 the outline of a stout man forking
 
 A VISIT. 153 
 
 litter from a barrow on to the smoking 
 heap. 
 
 " That is Doctor Blandly," said Tom in 
 a low voice, to his companion. 
 
 " Doctor Blandly ! I expected to find 
 an old gentleman with white hands and 
 silk stockings examining botanical speci- 
 mens through a magnifyer ; and it is his 
 fire that is making this smoke." In a 
 moment Mrs. St. Cyr took the handker- 
 chief from her mouth, and assumed as 
 amiable an expression as could be arranged 
 in the time. 
 
 Doctor Blandly did not hear the 
 approaching footsteps, for he was singing 
 and working at the same time, with his 
 back to the house. 
 
 " Up came a pedlar whose name was Stout, 
 And he cut her petticoats all round about. 
 
 Singing, Fol dol de rol ! hi, fol de rol !" 
 
 At this point Tom, not knowing what 
 lengths the pedlar whose name was Stout
 
 154 A VISIT. 
 
 miglit go in the following verse, thought 
 proper to interrupt the Doctor's song by 
 a tolerably loud cough. 
 
 The Doctor ceased to sing, and turned 
 to see who his visitor was. Mrs. St. 
 Cyr looked at him incredulously. Could 
 this be the lawyer, the physician, the 
 retired gentleman of whom she had heard 
 so much praise. Indeed Doctor Blandly 
 looked very unlike the popular concep- 
 tion of a gentleman. He wore a brown 
 cloth sleeved- waistcoat, a pair of fustian 
 breeches, grey worsted stockings, a 
 coloured handkerchief, and a red worsted 
 night-cap, drawn well over his ears to 
 compensate the absence of his wig, a pair 
 of well-worn leather garden gloves com- 
 pleted his dress. 
 
 " What, my boy Tom ! " he cried, 
 thrusting his fork in a heap of weeds. 
 He came forward, pulling the glove off 
 his hand, looking from Tom to the lady
 
 A VISIT 155 
 
 on his arm in blank astonishment. He 
 gave his hand to Tom, who said : 
 
 " Let me present a lady to you, Doctor 
 Blandly— Mrs. St. Cyr." 
 
 '' Mrs. St. Cyr !" said Doctor Blandly, 
 in a tone of deep relief. " Ah, my boy, I 
 was afraid you had made a fool of your- 
 self. But you are still a bachelor, I can 
 see that by your face — cheerful and con- 
 tent, thank Heaven !" 
 
 He made a stiff bow to Mrs. St. Cyr, 
 who responded with her sweetest smile, 
 and said : 
 
 '' I am charmed to make your acquaint- 
 ance. Doctor Blandly. I assure you I 
 take this introduction as the greatest 
 favour that my dear friend, Mr. Talbot, 
 could render me." 
 
 Mrs. St. Cyr struggled bravely to the 
 end of this speech, and then began to 
 cough violently, a gust of wind having 
 driven the smoke across the orarden.
 
 156 A VISIT. 
 
 '' Dear friend, eli ?" said the Doctor, in a 
 low voice to Tom, while Mrs. St. Cyr was 
 still coughing. " Looks like a widow. 
 Nothing foolish going on, Tom. Not 
 going to be caught by such a fly as that, 
 eh?" 
 
 " Nothing of the kind, I assure you," 
 Tom whispered. 
 
 " Thank Heaven ! We will go in the 
 house now my mind is easy on tliat point. 
 I am afraid the smoke irritates your 
 throat, madam." 
 
 '' A little ; but it is of no importance, 
 and I assure you T quite like the smell." 
 
 "I don't, madam; there's a bone or a 
 piece of flannel got into the fire. Pough ! 
 Don't you smell it, Tom ?" 
 
 ** No, Sir ; nothing but the ordinary 
 smell of burning weeds and earth." 
 
 '' Oh, there's something else;'* said the 
 Doctor, sniffing the air about him with 
 dissatisfaction, and pulling his snuff-box
 
 A VISIT. 157 
 
 from his breeches pocket. " Take a 
 pinch, my boy ? Hum ! Do you snuff, 
 madam ?" 
 
 " No. I hear that snuffing for ladies is 
 going out of fashion in pohte circles." 
 
 " Mrs. Baxter snuffs." 
 
 '' Mrs. Baxter ! One cannot be surprised 
 at her doing anything that is unpleasant." 
 
 *' That's what I say, madam, and the 
 parson can't deny it; all he can say in 
 her behalf is that she's no worse than 
 other women. Pough ! Hang that bone ! 
 I can't get the smell of it out of my 
 nose." 
 
 " I am sure I can't tell what there is to 
 object to in the smoke. Doctor Blandly," 
 said Mrs. St. Cyr ; "it is very — oh, very 
 refreshing and agreeable." 
 
 " That is not the only subject on which 
 we should probably disagree, madam." 
 
 " On the contrary," said Mrs. St. Cyr, 
 anxious to provoke a controversy which
 
 I5S A VISIT. 
 
 might offer lier an opportimitj of yielding, 
 " I think we should agree upon most sub- 
 jects. To begin with, I am passionately 
 fond of botany." 
 
 '' Do you dig, madam ?" 
 
 " Dig ! Oh, Doctor, how can you ask 
 such a question ?" 
 
 " Because no persons can love botany 
 unless they do. I advise you to try digging. 
 Well, my boy Tom, so you have come to 
 see me at last. And the Admiral has paid 
 the debt of Nature — the only debt he ever 
 had — and I have lost an old friend and 
 you a father." 
 
 Tom nodded in silence. 
 
 *' Poor dear old gentleman !" sighed 
 Mrs. St. Cyr. 
 
 " I see no reason to pity him, madam ; 
 he fell as he wished to fall, giving his life 
 for his country, a gallant English gentle- 
 man. May I ask, Tom, why you have 
 brought a visitor with you ?" The Doctor
 
 A VISIT. 159 
 
 put the question in a tone of unconcealed 
 irritation. 
 
 " Mrs. St. Cyr has urgent need of your 
 advice ; that is a sufficient explanation." 
 
 '' Oh, you are in trouble, madam," the 
 Doctor said, with less acerbity in his 
 tone. 
 
 " Indeed I am. The legal adviser I 
 have relied upon exclusively for many 
 years is dead. I have lived in seclusion 
 for so long that I know absolutely no one 
 to whom I might apply for advice, and 
 my affairs are of a delicate nature, which 
 I should hesitate to lay before an ordinary 
 — a selfish — a " 
 
 " Enough, madam, we will go in the 
 library at once. Tom, yoa know the 
 house ; make yourself at home, my boy. 
 By this door, madam. Heugh ! I'll be 
 hanged if that stench hasn't got in the 
 house !" Opening the library door to 
 Mrs. St. Cyr, he called to the gardener's
 
 .6o A VISIT. 
 
 wife : " Martha tell Jerry to go and look 
 to that fire, there's something got into it 
 that's stink — that's poisoning the house 
 out. It must be the bones of that pike I 
 caught last Tuesday." 
 
 Mrs. St. Cyr pressed the cork deep 
 into her bottle of scent, and as Doctor 
 Blandly closed the door, said : 
 
 " Ah, you are a great angler, Doctor 
 Blandly. T must say I know very little 
 about the science." 
 
 " Thank Heaven !" murmured Doctor 
 Blandly, in parenthesis. 
 
 " I have only fished once, and then sat 
 all day in a punt and caught nothing." 
 
 '' Nor any one else on that occasion, I 
 imagine." Then he added to himself, 
 " Good Lord, how she would talk ! A 
 woman in a punt for a day's fishing. One 
 might as well have a boy with a set of 
 clappers and a horse pistol." 
 
 " To tell the truth I prefer domestic
 
 A VISIT. i6i 
 
 amusements. Cribbage for example. I 
 could spend all my time playing crib- 
 bage." 
 
 '' Glad to hear it, madam. I'm sure 
 you couldn't spend your time to greater 
 advantage. Now, if you please, we will 
 come to the purpose of your visit." 
 
 Doctor Blandly sniffed the air, looked 
 around him fiercely, took a pinch of snuff, 
 and pulled his- chair up to the table. 
 
 11
 
 CHAPTEE XI. 
 
 OIL AND VINEGAH. 
 
 HAT I am about to reveal is 
 in strict confidence, Doctor 
 Blandly, in perfect reliance 
 upon your secrecy." Mrs. St. Cyr said, 
 laying emphasis on the words secrecy 
 and confidence. 
 
 "You need be under no apprehension 
 for in the first place a man knows how to 
 hold his tongue, and in the second he very 
 seldom hears anything from a woman that 
 is worth repeating." 
 
 Mrs. St. Cyr seemed to gulp down her
 
 OIL AND VINEGAR. 163 
 
 feelings with difficulty before recom- 
 mencing. 
 
 " I must tell jou at tlie commencement," 
 she said at length, lowering her voice, 
 *' that my husband's name was Brown. 
 At his death, for reasons which will be 
 obvious to you presently, I resumed my 
 maiden name. This fact is unknown to 
 anyone, my daughter being too young at 
 the time to understand matters of this 
 kind, and my life for the past fourteen 
 years having been a secluded one. There 
 is nothing culpable in changing one's 
 name; nevertheless, I have kept the fact 
 secret even from my daughter." 
 
 She paused, expecting perhaps that 
 Doctor Blandly would express his dis- 
 approval ; but he said nothing. He 
 nodded as a sign for Mrs. St. Cyr to 
 continue. A doctor and a lawyer 
 are accustomed to hearing confes- 
 sions, and are only anxious to avoid 
 
 11-2
 
 i64 OIL AND VINEGAR. 
 
 increasing the embarrassment of their 
 clients, which too frequently prevents 
 them from a candid statement of their 
 case. 
 
 '' My father held a good position in 
 society. He lived constantly up to his 
 means. I had many lovers, for I was con- 
 sidered pretty then, Doctor Blandly." 
 The widow paused again for the Doctor to 
 make a compliment, if there was a spark 
 of gallantry in his nature. Doctor Blandly 
 fished out a stick from the miscellaneous 
 collection of rubbish in his left hand 
 pocket and a knife from his right, and 
 looking at the stick thoughtfully, opened 
 his knife and proceeded to trim it up for 
 the purpose of marking the spot where he 
 had sowed some seed. 
 
 With a sigh, Mrs. St. Cyr continued : 
 " My father died suddenly, leaving me 
 penniless. My lovers forsook me — all 
 except one whom 1 had encouraged the
 
 OIL AND VINEGAR. 165 
 
 least. He was the poorest, and his name 
 was Brown. There was no choice 
 between marrying him and starving. I 
 married him; three years after our mar- 
 riage my husband died." 
 
 " The wisest thing he could do," said 
 Doctor Blandly to himself, as he carefully 
 shaved his stick. 
 
 "You follow me, Sir?" asked Mrs. St. 
 Cyr, seeing no sign of interest in the 
 Doctor's face. 
 
 " Perfectly. I never heard a woman 
 keep to the point so well. Three years 
 after marriage your husband died." 
 
 Mrs. St. Cyr, thus encouraged, pro- 
 ceeded : 
 
 *'I loved my husband, and did my best 
 to make him happy ; I also loved my child, 
 loved her with all my heart, and I love 
 her now — not with the passion of a young 
 mother and a widow, but still witli all the 
 love of my heart."
 
 J 66 OIL AND VINEGAR. 
 
 The Doctor ceased to scrape the stick 
 as he heard these words, which were 
 littered with honest warmth, and looking 
 up, found that the powdered and painted 
 lady's lips were twitching, and her eyes 
 wet with standing tears. 
 
 '' I hope your daughter deserves your 
 love, madam," he said kindly. 
 
 "It is impossible not to love her. 
 Doctor, for she is not only good and 
 affectionate, but also clever and beautiful ; 
 and I assure you, has a prodigious fine 
 air." 
 
 The Doctor turned again to his former 
 occupation, with no other expression on 
 his face than that of attention to the 
 careful shaving of his little stick. 
 
 "You are straying from the subject, 
 somewhat," he said quietly. " Let us 
 return to the time when your husband 
 died." 
 
 " I found myself, at his death, in the
 
 OIL AND VINEGAR. 167 
 
 possession of ten thousand pounds. 
 Thinking of mj child's future, I deter- 
 mined to put this sum in the public funds, 
 to retire from society, and live within the 
 income yielded by the interest on my 
 money. With three hundred pounds per 
 annum T have lived comfortably in my 
 seclusion, and given my daughter a good 
 education." 
 
 " I never dreamt a woman could be so 
 reasonable," thought Doctor Blandly. 
 
 " Her education is now completed, and 
 the time has arrived for realising the 
 purpose with which I left society, and 
 which has encouraged me for so long to 
 support the dulness and solitude of my 
 life. I am about to re-enter society, and 
 introduce my daughter to the world of 
 fashion and elegant society." 
 
 '' A fool, and no better than the rest 
 after all," said the Doctor to himself with 
 a vicious cut at the stick.
 
 i68 OIL AND VINEGAR. 
 
 " I am aware that to take a genteel 
 house in the West-end, and live in polite 
 style, more than three hundred a year is 
 requisite.'" 
 
 The Doctor responded with a nod of 
 satisfaction. 
 
 '' Rents and living have gone up so of 
 late years, that I doubt if we could make 
 any appearance under six hundred a year, 
 and if one kept a coach, it would mount 
 to eight hundred. Now, Sir, you know 
 the position in which I stand, and why I 
 am so anxious for your advice." 
 
 *' Do you wish me to advise you for the 
 happiness of your daughter and your own 
 welfare?" 
 
 " Yes, Doctor Blandly." 
 
 Still trimming his stick. Doctor Blandly 
 replied : 
 
 " My advice is, madam, that you con- 
 tinue to live within the income arising 
 from your invested capital. Have nothing
 
 OIL AND VINEGAR. 169 
 
 to do wifh fashionable society, and content 
 yourself with a good, stout-springed pony- 
 chaise." 
 
 " You misunderstand me. Sir, I wish to 
 know how to live at the rate of eight 
 hundred a year with a capital of ten 
 thousand. For I have already decided 
 upon living in London, and nothing can 
 move me from my decision." 
 
 " The answer to that question is very 
 simple — cut your ten thousand pounds into 
 twelve pieces, and spend one piece every 
 year until all is gone." 
 
 " But what am I to do after that ?" 
 
 " Regret that you did not accept my 
 first advice." 
 
 Mrs. St. Cyr waited a few moments 
 while Doctor Blandly, unmoved, patiently 
 scraped away at his seed marker, then 
 she said : 
 
 "Is it not possible to buy an annuity 
 with my money ?"
 
 170 OIL AND VINEGAR. 
 
 " Yes. What sort of annuity have you 
 been thinking about?" 
 
 '' An annuity terminable with my 
 life." 
 
 " What advantages, in your mind, has an 
 annuity over the simple plan of taking as 
 much as you require until you die or your 
 capital is used up ? the individual paying 
 an annuity always calculates to gain by 
 his work." 
 
 " But all whom I have known have been 
 disappointed." 
 
 " Hum ! Then you fancy you would 
 get the best of the bargain." 
 
 " Yes, for I am certain I shall live to be 
 an old woman. I feel as young as ever I 
 felt ; but I should not tell everyone so — 
 and people paying an annuity are in- 
 fluenced by hope, and think their annuit- 
 ants haven't ten years to live." 
 
 Doctor Blandly looked up with half- 
 closed, critical eyes at Mrs. St. Cyr, shut
 
 OIL AND VINEGAR. 171 
 
 up his knife, put the stick in his pocket 
 and asked quietly : 
 
 " How old are jou ?" 
 
 After a little hesitation, Mrs. St. Cyr 
 repHed : 
 
 '' Forty-four." 
 
 " You are too stoat. Do you suffer in- 
 convenience from your stoutness ?" 
 
 " No. Of course if I run up-stairs 
 quickly, or over-exert myself, I feel it — 
 then I have the palpitations." 
 
 Doctor Blandly never took his eyes 
 from her face as she spoke. 
 
 " If I told you, madam, that you are 
 likely to die suddenly — that you might 
 not live twelve months, would that deter 
 you from your scheme ?" 
 
 " Not at all. On the contrary ; if you 
 could impress that on anyone wishing to 
 sell an annuity, I should have a greater 
 inducement m buying one, as I should get 
 more for my money."
 
 172 OIL AND VINEGAR. 
 
 *' You told me that you still loved your 
 daughter ; how is that consistent with 
 your making an arrangement which will 
 leave her penniless at your death." 
 
 " When I die my daughter will be well 
 married, and in no need of my money/' 
 
 *' Is your daughter engaged ?" 
 
 " Well — that is— not precisely." 
 
 Doctor Blandly was silent for a time, 
 then : 
 
 " If I understand your character at all, 
 Mrs. Brown, you wish to go into fashion- 
 able society in order that your daughter 
 may secure a husband with a fortune; 
 for this end you are ready to risk the loss 
 of your whole fortune, and expose your 
 daughter to the peril of absolute poverty." 
 
 " I see no risk." 
 
 '' That is to say you are blind. But I 
 trust for your daughter's sake you are not 
 so perversely obstinate that you will not 
 refuse to be led."
 
 OIL AND VINEGAR. 173 
 
 *' Doctor Blandly, no one in the world 
 can divert me from my intention of taking 
 my daughter into society. It has been 
 my constant solace in the weary solitude 
 of these past years. It is now my proudest 
 hope to see my child married and in a 
 station worthy of her beauty and goodness. 
 She shall not endure what I for her sake 
 have endured." 
 
 '' Then, madam, accept my second pro- 
 position. Draw from your capital as much 
 as is necessary for this speculation ; your 
 daughter may marry before your decease ; 
 if not, she may have something left of 
 your fortune to support her when you are 
 gone." 
 
 " I will never be a burden on my 
 daughter's generosity — never expose to 
 the world the fact that her mother is not 
 what she seemed." 
 
 " You oblige me to speak plainly. You 
 will not live to be forty-five."
 
 174 OIL AND VINEGAR. 
 
 If the Doctor expected to terrify the 
 widow by his brusque statement, and 
 check her in a course which he saw 
 might be ruinous to her child, he was 
 mistaken. Mrs. St. Cyr smiled calmly 
 and shook her head." 
 
 '* I know better," she said. 
 
 " Ah !" muttered the Doctor. " Here is 
 a type of woman I have seen before. Your 
 fair, fat fool, complacent and self-satisfied, 
 is as obstinately stubborn as a veritable 
 
 pig-" 
 
 Mrs. St. Cyr, on her side, was equally 
 
 aggravated by the opposition of Doctor 
 
 Blandly, which she conceived arose solely 
 
 from his antipathy to women and natural 
 
 perversity. She spoke tartly when next 
 
 she opened her lips. 
 
 *.* I don't want to know what I am to 
 
 do with my money. I want you to tell me 
 
 how I am to obtain an annuity. And 
 
 perhaps as you seem to think it will be
 
 OIL AND VINEGAR. 175 
 
 sucli a losing bargain for me " she 
 
 paused. 
 
 '' I know what you would say, madam. 
 But I can assure you I have no taste for 
 such commerce, and never hope to wish 
 for the death of the meanest of God's 
 creatures." 
 
 Mrs. St. Cyr rose hastily, as if to ter- 
 minate the fruitless interview. Doctor 
 Blandly calmly crossed his legs, set his 
 elbow on the arm of his chair, rested his 
 nose against his forefinger, and closing one 
 eye looked thoughtfully at the floor with 
 the other. 
 
 " There are scores of men," said he, as 
 if talking to himself rather than to Mrs. 
 Cyr, " scores of 'em who would jump at 
 you and your ten thousand pounds, as a jack 
 jumps at a gudgeon. With the doctor's 
 certificate before them they would let you 
 have what you want for your money; 
 without a certificate dozens w^ould take
 
 176 OIL AND VINEGAR. 
 
 your money and promise you your annuity. 
 Dozens of 'em would rob you — fleece you 
 — turn you inside out— and show you 
 your folly for the mere asking. The 
 scoundrels believe they are justified in 
 robbing fools. But you must be saved 
 from such a punishment as that." 
 
 Mrs. St. Cyr listened, and her indigna- 
 tion gave way to alarm. She looked at 
 Doctor Blandly, and waited silently for 
 him to end his cogitation and speak. 
 
 '' Hum !" said be at length, raising his 
 head and turning to Mrs. St. Cyr, without 
 the slightest sign of ill-feeling or good- 
 feeling in his expression. '' Madam, I 
 know several dealers — professional dealers 
 in annuities, who would satisfy your 
 demands with little question ; but I know 
 none whom I would trust. For myself, 
 I am content to live without anxiety, and 
 hope never more to receive a penny-piece 
 at another's cost ; but I am frequently
 
 OIL AND VINEGAR. 177 
 
 desired to show a good investment to 
 people who, like yourself, fancy I may be 
 of service to them. If I see a means of 
 providing you with an annuity upon 
 terms which I consider just and worthy, 
 I will do my best to negotiate for 
 you." 
 
 " Oh, Doctor Blandly, I did not expect 
 this kindness from you." 
 
 " It is not kindness ; common humanity 
 will not suffer a man to see a snail crushed 
 if he can help it," answered Doctor 
 Blandly. 
 
 VOL. I. 12
 
 CHAPTER XIL 
 
 COUNSELS. 
 
 HOPE your interview has been 
 satisfactory," said Tom, as he 
 conducted Mrs. St. Cyr to the 
 chaise. 
 
 " Yes, Mr. Talbot ; Doctor Blandly has 
 promised to assist me. That is especially 
 satisfactory, because I feel perfectly cer- 
 tain that whatever he does in my behalf 
 must be absolutely disinterested — disinte- 
 rested humanity on his part." 
 
 Tom felt inclined to smile : it was so
 
 COUNSELS. 179 
 
 clear that tlie Doctor had disclaimed 
 any feeling of kindness towards tlie 
 widow. 
 
 " It is difficult at first to know how to 
 conduct oneself with Doctor Blandly," 
 pursued Mrs. St. Cyr, *' but when one 
 gets accustomed to his — his original man- 
 ner one cannot feel anything but respect 
 for him, and confidence in his judg- 
 ment." 
 
 " The better you know him the more 
 you must admire him." 
 
 " As you see, I am not yet composed ; 
 indeed, I feel agitated to the last degree. 
 Doctor Blandly has warned me of a great 
 danger from which I should scarcely have 
 escaped but for him. I cannot tell you 
 how deeply grateful I am to you for the 
 introduction, for not only my own welfare 
 is concerned, but that also of my dear 
 child. You will give me the opportunity 
 of thanking you in a more elegant style 
 
 12—2
 
 i8o COUNSELS. 
 
 I hope soon. Shall we have the happiness 
 of seeing you to-night ?" 
 
 " I shall stay with Doctor Blandly until 
 to-morrow, then I shall give myself the 
 pleasure of visiting you. I have promised 
 to procure a pair of skates for Lady 
 Betty." 
 
 " "We shall be enchanted to see you, 
 and desolate until you come," said Mrs. 
 St. Cyr, with a gracious bow, as the chaise 
 moved on. 
 
 Doctor Blandly hastily changed his 
 working costume, and in his best wig and 
 plum-coloured coat stood at the door to 
 receive Tom when he returned to the 
 house. 
 
 *' You have got rid of her, my boy," he 
 asked. 
 
 " She is gone. Sir." 
 
 *^ That's a mercy. How long have you 
 known her, Tom ?" 
 
 *' Since yesterday."
 
 COUNSELS. i8i 
 
 " Yesterday ! and she had the audacity 
 to speak of you as a dear friend, and the 
 impudence to express pity for the j^dmiral ! 
 Well, she has one excuse, and that is 
 scarcely sufficient — she is a fool, a 
 downright fool, and an obstinate fool, 
 and an ill-scented fool, too. If I had 
 but known she was but an acquaint- 
 ance, and not a dear friend, Tom, I'd 
 
 be hanged if " Doctor Blandly 
 
 paused. 
 
 '' You would have refused to help 
 her?'* 
 
 " I won't say that, my boy, for these 
 fools are to be pitied. Heaven help them ! 
 but it is hard that a man seeking peace 
 and quiet can't get two minutes to himself. 
 I shall have to see that woman again, 
 more than once, perhaps. I had a kind 
 of presentiment when I was shaving this 
 morning that I ought to go for a day's 
 fishing."
 
 i82 COUNSELS. 
 
 And you stayed at home expecting 
 
 me ?" 
 
 '' That's it. However, you shall pay 
 for it. We will have dinner as soon as 
 the light fades, and a clean hearth and 
 the cribbage-board after. I will send 
 round for Baxter, and he shan't go home 
 till his wife comes for him. Now, my 
 boy, lunch is waiting, and old Jerry is 
 coming with the bottles." 
 
 " Here am I, master," said Jerry, 
 coming up from the cellar with a basket 
 which he carried as though it were of 
 egg-shell china." 
 
 " What have you got there, Jerry, 
 port?" 
 
 "Yes; two on 'em for you and two 
 for Master Tom, to begin with, and I'll 
 go down for the Madeiry as soon as I've 
 got these safe out of my hands." 
 
 " I told you claret for lunch, you obsti- 
 nate old man," said the Doctor.
 
 COUNSELS. 183 
 
 "All in good time, Master; the port 
 won't be a bit too warm by wben it's 
 wanted. Tliej are out of that dark 
 corner on the right hand, Master Tom, 
 and you know I don't go there for every 
 one. Lord, how you will enjoy yourselves 
 presently, to be sure ! Why, Master 
 Thomas, you look more of a man than 
 ever." 
 
 " There, go along, you old chatterer," 
 said the Doctor, " and when you've 
 brought up what wine you think fit to 
 make us drink, lock the gate and tie up 
 the bell." 
 
 " I'll do that first," said Jerry, in a 
 serious tone. 
 
 " And don't you hear anyone calling or 
 knocking until you see Baxter's red nose 
 shining over the top of the gate." 
 
 " If Baxter is coming I shall have to 
 bring up twice as much port, but he shall 
 have his own bottles, and they won't
 
 i84 COUNSELS. 
 
 come from the dark corner. That parson 
 would drink new port and not know 
 the difference when he's playing crib- 
 bage." 
 
 Doctor Blandly laughed heartily at his 
 servant's observation, and sat down to 
 the table, which was bountifully covered 
 with fish, flesh, and game. 
 
 It was not till the substantial meal was 
 finished, and the two gentlemen had 
 turned their chairs to the fire, that the 
 Doctor could bring himself to speak with 
 gravity upon any subject. 
 
 '*AYell, now," said he, when Jerry having 
 arranged the sand bags in the windows, 
 and j)laced the coal scuttle close to his 
 master's hand, had withdrawn. " Now 
 my boy, let us talk about your affairs." 
 
 Tom was silent ; his thoughts naturally 
 reverting to his father — the gallant 
 old gentlemen whom he had seen so 
 seldom ; and of whom he knew so
 
 COUNSELS. 185 
 
 little. The Doctor's tlious^lits turned 
 also in tlie same direction, and he recalled 
 his friend as he remembered him a gay, 
 lively boy and fellow scholar. With a 
 sigh and a quick movement of his head, 
 he banished these reflections, and returned 
 to the subject that had to be dis- 
 cussed. 
 
 *' His will is there," said Doctor 
 Blandly, taking a folded sheet of parch- 
 ment from his pocket and laying it upon 
 the table. '' You will take it with you 
 and read it at your pleasure, Tom. It is 
 simple and clear. Excepting a few un- 
 important legacies your father has left 
 all to you without restraint or stipulation 
 as I told you in my letter." 
 
 " Is there no one to share it with 
 me?" 
 
 " No one. Your mother died at your 
 birth, and I never knew of any relations 
 either on her side or your father's who
 
 i86 COUNSELS. 
 
 have any claim to participation. The 
 lawyers have had the will in hand, and your 
 signature alone is wanting to finish the 
 formalities. Virtually, you are now in 
 possession of the Kent estate, and pro- 
 perty yielding nigh upon three thousand 
 a 3^ear. I have visited Talbot Hall. You 
 have a very good steward ; his accounts 
 are quite correct. The Hall itself stands 
 in need of repairs — an expense which 
 must be undertaken under any circum- 
 stances. The property is safely invested 
 and all you have to settle is — what will 
 you do with it ?" 
 
 " That question has been continually 
 in my mind since I received your letter, 
 and I am unprepared with an answer 
 to it now. I must follow in my father's 
 footsteps, and be guided by you, if you 
 will let me tax your kindness." 
 
 " Don't talk nonsense, Tom. You know 
 that I should break my heart if you ceased
 
 COUNSELS. 187 
 
 to accept my services. Are you tired of 
 travel ?" 
 
 "N'o, I prefer it to staying in one 
 place." 
 
 '' Good. You have to live another 
 score of years before you can content 
 yourself with a world bounded by four 
 brick walls. Unfortunately a man cannot 
 begin to enjoy his bachelor estate in its 
 fullest comfort until he is fifty. He has 
 to acquire sufficient wisdom. So you will 
 travel again ?" 
 
 " I have thought so." 
 
 " You can't do better. A young man 
 with a decent appearance, an amiable 
 condition, and money, is never safe. A 
 designing woman can flatter him into the 
 belief that she loves him better than 
 anyone else, and he is betrayed by the 
 generosity of his nature into offering her 
 marriag^e. Then he is lost — made over 
 hand and foot to the Philistines. I would
 
 i88 COUNSELS. 
 
 have every boy made to learn the history 
 of Sampson by heart. Thanks to your 
 natural taste for never staying in one 
 place longer than half a day, you stand 
 a good chance of being happy in your 
 declining years. Of course, you have no 
 intention of marrying ?" 
 
 " None." 
 
 " And you do not feel disposed to live 
 at Talbot Hall. 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Then my advice is, that as soon as you 
 get tired of my port, you shall go abroad 
 again." 
 
 Tom looked at the fire dreamily, with- 
 out answering. He scarcely heeded what 
 the Doctor was saying at that moment, 
 for his hand which had slipped into his 
 pocket rested on a shoe — the shoe Lady 
 Betty had taken from her foot for his 
 guide in the purchase of skates, and he 
 was thinking of the winsome maid.
 
 COUNSELS. 
 
 Doctor Blandly looked at him, and saw a 
 smile play about liis lips, and a soft 
 tenderness in bis eyes, which alarmed 
 him. 
 
 '' Hum ! and where do you think of 
 going next, my boy ?" he asked briskly. 
 
 '^ I have not the slightest notion," Tom 
 answered, arousing himself. 
 
 " I thought of going to South America 
 next, but I have changed my mind. 
 Somehow I seem to have lost my relish 
 for new places, and the old — well, the 
 best of the old is here. Doctor. Perhaps, 
 after all, I shall stay a few months in 
 England." 
 
 " What is that you keep turning over in 
 your pocket ?" 
 
 " A maid's shoe," answered Tom, 
 drawing it out and looking at it with 
 admiring eyes — " isn't it pretty ?" 
 
 The Doctor took it in his hands, turned 
 it over, and fiercely said :
 
 igo COUNSELS, 
 
 " I'll be hanged if I think it a jot better 
 looking than mine." 
 
 " I cannot agree with you," said Tom, 
 laughing, as he slipped the shoe gently 
 back into his pocket. 
 
 " That woman said she had a daughter ; 
 now I'll wager the shoe's hers." 
 
 " You win ; it is." 
 
 *' Ah ! I thought so ; a chip of the old 
 block. Pretty of course, and a fool." 
 
 " On the contrary, I think she is 
 clever." 
 
 " So much the worse — Baxters wife's 
 clever." 
 
 Tom laughed. 
 
 " There the comparison ends," said 
 he. 
 
 '' Tom, I don't like it. The mother is 
 designing, and has been pretty enough, 
 and if the girl has as much cunning and 
 more prettiness, she will just marry you 
 for your money, if you give her the
 
 COUNSELS. 191 
 
 diance. My boy, it is more necessary 
 than ever that you should go to South 
 America — to Jericho — anywhere, that you 
 may be safe from a clever, pretty girl, 
 whose very shoe-leather makes you forget 
 that you are a man and a bachelor." 
 
 Tom thought a moment, then emptying 
 his glass, he cried in a reckless spirit : 
 
 " Well, perhaps it will be wise. And 
 what am I to do with all my money — that 
 has yet to be settled." 
 
 " I can manage that for you, as I 
 managed it for your father. I will let 
 you know when you overdraw your 
 income and trespass upon capital." 
 
 " No fear of that. My expenses will 
 not increase. The money can accumulate, 
 and when the time comes for me to 
 write my last will and testament, I can 
 settle it all on a charity." 
 
 '' What could be better ?" asked Doctor 
 Blandly.
 
 192 COUNSELS. 
 
 Perhaps Tom was thinking it might be 
 better to leave it to one's own children 
 than those of others, for he said some- 
 what sadly : 
 
 " And the Hall — one can't sell a house 
 that has descended from father to son 
 for a couple of hundred years." 
 
 " It may stand as a monument to their 
 memory, my boy." 
 
 Tom nodded his head in thoughtful 
 silence. 
 
 *' And now I have to speak on another 
 matter," said the Doctor, altering his 
 amiable tone of voice and speaking with 
 cold precision. '' It is a subject which is 
 new to you, and one that is unpleasant to 
 broach ; but it must nevertheless be dis- 
 cussed. Give me your close attention 
 for a few minutes. During the later part 
 of his life, your father paid an annual sum 
 of four hundred pounds to two indi- 
 viduals — two hundred to each. It was
 
 COUNSELS. 193 
 
 entirely an act of generosity on his part. 
 He never mentioned the fact to you— he 
 wished you not to know these individuals 
 or their history. They themselves are 
 ignorant of the source from which this 
 annual payment arises. With the Ad- 
 miral's death this payment naturally 
 terminates, for they have no place in his 
 will. He could not mention them, for 
 that would have betrayed, or led to the 
 betrayal of a secret which for your own 
 peace of mind he wished you not to know. 
 Nevertheless, I believe he would have you 
 continue to make this small yearly allow- 
 ance at my discretion. He might have 
 simplified the matter by leaving me a 
 sum to discharge this payment ; but he 
 had some forced notion of delicacy in 
 doing that." 
 
 " Which I fully participate. It would 
 be an ungenerous return for your kind- 
 ness to make you appear his debtor." 
 
 VOL. I. 13
 
 94 COUNSELS. 
 
 " My boy, what on earth does it matter 
 how we appear to others. "We do our 
 duty, we satisfy our own conscience, we 
 sleep o' nights, and it matters nothing 
 how we appear. We are not women." 
 
 '' I do not wish to discover my father's 
 secret," said Tom, after a few minutes' re« 
 flection ; " but I should be glad to know 
 if the amount paid to these two persons 
 is sufficient for their wants. I would 
 willingly double it." 
 
 " There is no necessity. One of them 
 would not be satisfied with all your 
 money, and I am sometimes inclined to 
 stop his allowance altogether ; the other 
 is not in need of any assistance. Give 
 them two hundred a year a-piece if you 
 will, but give them no more." 
 
 " Be it so. And you will let me leave 
 the disposition of my property in your 
 hands to invest as you will, and take that 
 difficulty off my hands ?"
 
 COUNSELS. 195 
 
 '' Willingly." 
 
 Tom held out his hand, and pressed 
 Doctor Blandlj's in silent acknowledge- 
 ment of his gratitude. 
 
 *' One word to conclude that subject," 
 said the Doctor, holding the young man's 
 hand ; '' I shall write to the lawyers to 
 morrow morning, and they in answer will 
 fix a day for yoU to attend at Lincoln's 
 Inn. I will bid them name a day as early 
 as possible. Then your signatures being 
 made, nothing need delay your departure. 
 Until that time you will be my guest, will 
 you not r" 
 
 " I have promised to visit Mrs. St. 
 Cyr." 
 
 '' Ah, I had forgotten that shoe. Well, 
 well — return it as quickly as possible, and 
 have no more to do with those designing 
 persons than is absolutely necessary. 
 Mark me — nothing good can come to you 
 from that acquaintance. And now let 
 
 13—2
 
 196 COUNSELS. 
 
 US talk of sometliing more agree- 
 able." 
 
 Thej chatted without interruption, until 
 old Jerry on half entering the room 
 said: 
 
 " Are you disengaged, master ?" 
 
 '' Yes, what is it ?" 
 
 " I don't wish to trouble you, Sir. I 
 can come again in five or ten minutes." 
 
 *' What do you want to say ?" 
 
 " It's only the parson. He's kicking at 
 the gate. You can see him from the 
 window." 
 
 " Open the gate at once; and look here, 
 Jerry, my man ; you will do well to have a 
 little more respect for my visitors. If I 
 was the parson, I'd never give you another 
 sixpence." 
 
 '' Lord love you, master," answered 
 Jerry, lingering at the door, " I wonder 
 who'd help him over the garden- wall when 
 Mrs. Baxter comes to the garden-gate for
 
 COUNSELS. 197 
 
 bim if I was to forsake him in his hour of 
 need. Hark to him, master !" 
 
 " Open the gate at once, you old fool ! 
 don't stand there grinning and rubbing 
 your hands." 
 
 The Reverend Mr. Baxter, standing on 
 tiptoe, whistled and knocked alternately to 
 attract attention. From the window Tom 
 could see his two hands clutching the top, 
 and half of his jolly red face shining 
 above it.
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 PREMONITORY SYMPTOMS. 
 
 T was with satisfaction that Tom 
 Talbot found ice in the river 
 when he rose the following 
 morning. If the frost had broken he 
 would not have been called upon to teach 
 Lady Betty to skate, and nothing might 
 have taken place to prevent his following 
 the counsel of Doctor Blandly. Scraping 
 the frost from the window, and looking 
 over the gently undulating English land- 
 scape, where every twig and branch stood
 
 PREMONITORY SYMPTOMS. 199 
 
 out sharp and distinct against the still, cold 
 sky ; he had less desire than ever for the 
 expansive grandeur and fervid mists of 
 South America. Solitude had lost its 
 sublimity — or sublimity its charms for 
 him. 
 
 After breakfast he took the stage to 
 London. He bought a pair of strong, 
 useful skates for himself at the first shop 
 he came to, but he found nothing suffi- 
 ciently light and pretty for Lady Betty 
 until he had examined the stock of half a 
 dozen shops. It was half -past two when 
 he reached the Chesnuts. 
 
 Lady Betty must have seen him coming, 
 for the door opened before he reached it, 
 and she ran to meet him, her open face 
 aglow with sparkling delight. Suddenly 
 she checked herself, seeming to remember 
 that she was no longer a child, and waited 
 for him to approach with a blush upon 
 her cheek and eyes that sought now the
 
 200 PREMONITORY SYMPTOMS. 
 
 ground, now his face, in pretty bashful- 
 ness. 
 
 "You are glad to see me?" Tom said, 
 looking in her face. 
 
 " Yes ; and are not you glad to see me 
 also?" 
 
 Tom did not answer ; his tongue seemed 
 to refuse its office. 
 
 " Are you afraid to flatter me ?" asked 
 she. 
 
 " Lady Betty," said he, " I know not 
 how it comes that I am silent when I so 
 wish to speak, unless it be that there 
 are no words to express my happiness." 
 
 With a little cry of gratification Lady 
 Betty slipped her hand under Tom's arm, 
 and her step seemed to gain in elas- 
 ticity. 
 
 " It is a new happiness to be so wel- 
 comed." 
 
 " Mamma says that Doctor Blandly was 
 prodigiously glad to see you."
 
 PREMONITORY SYMPTOMS^ 201 
 
 " Hum ! why that's true," said Tom, 
 with some hesitation ; then, looking side- 
 ways at Lady Betty's face to see what 
 there was in it which should make her 
 greeting so much more effective than 
 Doctor Blandly's, he added, " but your 
 welcome is not the same as his, and you 
 are not in the least like him." 
 
 " I am very glad of it if mamma's de- 
 scription of him is exact — slie says he looks 
 like an hostler and speaks like a bear," 
 said Lady Betty, laughiDg. 
 
 At this moment they came to the door, 
 where mamma stood prepared to receive 
 him — all smiles and feathers. 
 
 " My dear Mr. Talbot, I am so over- 
 joyed to see you. I hope you are quite 
 well — and that dear old Doctor Blandly. I 
 protest I am quite infatuated with him — 
 his manly, straightforward way of speak- 
 ing, and his honest English face, are ever 
 present in my memory."
 
 PREMONITORY SYMPTOMS. 
 
 Lady Betty withdrew behind her 
 mamma to hide her mirth, and put 
 her finger on her hps as a signal of 
 silence to Tom. 
 
 ''Doctor Blandly is quite well," said 
 Tom, '' and he begged me to say that you 
 need not trouble yourself to call upon him 
 as he intends writing to you in the course 
 of the day." 
 
 '' It will be no trouble, but, on the con- 
 trary, a pleasure.'* 
 
 '' I am afraid you would be disap- 
 pointed if you went with the hope of 
 seeing him, the — the bell is out of order, 
 and — and when the Doctor is working 
 in the garden he invariably — that is 
 he will invariably have the front gate 
 locked." 
 
 '' Ah, he is a little shy at present, but I 
 daresay that will wear off after we have 
 exchanged a few letters." 
 
 Not to flatter Mrs. St. Cyr with delu- 
 
 I
 
 PREMONITORY SYMPTOMS. 203 
 
 sive hopes, Torn asked Lady Betty if she 
 would take her first skating lesson before 
 the light faded. Lady Betty wished for 
 nothing better. 
 
 A man must have his wits about him to 
 nicely adjust a skate on the small surface 
 of a pretty girl's foot. Tom's wits 
 deserted him from the moment he took 
 Lady Betty's foot in his hand. He felt 
 never more clumsy in his life. He 
 grew warm, his fingers trembled and 
 slipped, grazing his knuckles against the 
 sharp steel ; he twisted the straps, and 
 buckled them first too loose then too 
 tight ; in a word, his bungling efforts 
 were sufficient to tire one's patience, yet 
 Lady Betty only laughed. She seemed 
 to enjoy his confusion; she did not find 
 fault or attempt to help him, though it 
 was perfectly clear that she could have 
 done the whole business for herself in a 
 couple of minutes. It inspired her with
 
 204 PREMONITORY SYMPTOMS. 
 
 delightful hopes of conquest, to have him 
 kneeling at her feet, for she was a tyrant 
 at heart. And what man could she prefer 
 for her slave to one who had vaunted his 
 independence, and talked lightly of leaving 
 her. 
 
 As for Tom, he felt he was no longer 
 master of himself from the moment he 
 bent his knee ; but he took on his chains 
 readily, not knowing how soon they would 
 gall him. 
 
 " Thank you," said Lady Betty, when 
 he had finished buckling on her skates, 
 and proceeded to strap on his own ; " my 
 feet have given you a great deal of 
 trouble." 
 
 " 'Tis my faulty hand that gives me 
 trouble, and not your foot — that is fault- 
 less." 
 
 " So I have been told," said Lady Betty, 
 demurely. 
 
 Tom did not answer.
 
 PREMONITORY SYMPTOMS. 205 
 
 " Now who on earth can have told her 
 so ?" he asked himself, givmg a vicious 
 tug at his skate-straps ; '^ clearly some 
 one whose opinion she values. A woman 
 would not be likely to tell her of her per- 
 fections. It must have been a man, and 
 as she hasn't any relations, who the deuce 
 has a right to pass remarks upon her 
 feet ?" 
 
 Women are quick to make deductions 
 from the slightest actions of men in whom 
 they take interest. Lady Betty drew her 
 own conclusions from Tom's silence and 
 that intemperate pull at his skate-straps. 
 Had he looked up at that moment he 
 would have seen mischief sparkling in her 
 pretty eyes. 
 
 " I could make him wretchedly jealous 
 if I chose," thought Lady Betty. The 
 thought, however, was transitory, for she 
 was eager to learn, and as Tom rose to 
 his feet he found nothing but sweet ex-
 
 2o6 PREMONITOR Y SYMPTOMS. 
 
 pectancy in her face, and under the in- 
 fluence of her smile his brow grew smooth 
 again. 
 
 '' Give me jour left hand, Lady Betty," 
 he said, " now your right." 
 
 " What great, strong hands you 
 have !" 
 
 ''The better for serving you. Keep 
 your arms firm. Your left foot forward, 
 now your right, left — not too fast, left 
 again — so !" 
 
 Lady Betty required little teaching, she 
 was fearless and quick, and following Tom's 
 movements, she got on rapidly. After a 
 time, Mrs. St. Cyr came to the edge of 
 the pond and regarded her daughter's 
 movements with proud satisfaction. 
 
 " There, mamma, what do you think of 
 that ?" asked Lady Betty, when Tom led 
 her up to Mrs. St. Cyr. 
 
 " Prodigious, my love !" answered Mrs. 
 St. Cyr. *' The grace and the elegance
 
 PREMONITORY SYMPTOMS. 207 
 
 are astonishing, and I am not in the least 
 surprised that the skating has become a 
 fashionable pastime. I hear, Mr. Talbot, 
 that the Prince has performed the cotil- 
 lions in company with the Duchess of 
 Donegal, and Mrs. FitzHerbert, upon the 
 waters at Windsor." 
 
 «< Very likely, madam, I have seen 
 women, carrying baskets of butter on 
 their heads, skate to market in the low 
 countries," answered Tom. 
 
 *' Take me away again," cried Lady 
 Betty impatient of delay, " the sun is 
 already behind the trees " 
 
 Mrs. St Cyr stood on the bank, watch- 
 ing the skaters until her feet were numbed, 
 and she had reason to fear that the end of 
 her nose was growing vulgarly red, when 
 she waved an adieu and returned to the 
 house, leaving the young people to follow 
 by themselves — an arrangement which 
 agreed well with their inclinations.
 
 2o8 PREMONITORY SYMPTOMS. 
 
 " Am I a good pupil ?" asked Lady 
 Betty, when the dark compelled them to 
 leave the ice, and Tom was removing her 
 skates. 
 
 '' You are too apt. I fear you will be 
 able to dispense with your teacher too 
 soon." 
 
 " You were anxious to leave me, 
 and only undertook to teach me by 
 compulsion, I believe. Have you aban- 
 doned your intention of leaving England 
 soon ?" 
 
 *' To tell you the truth, I was never so 
 disinclined to leave it. After another 
 lesson you will be able to skate alone; 
 then I shall have no excuse for staying 
 here.'' 
 
 " Oh ! I can supply you with as many 
 excuses as you need. In the first place, 
 I do not want to skate alone — in the 
 second, it would not be safe for me — I 
 should be nervous and timid the moment
 
 PREMONITORY SYMPTOMS. 209 
 
 I felt there was no one to save me if I 
 were in peril." 
 
 "You do not seem wanting in 
 courage." 
 
 " Tliat is because you mistake my con- 
 fidence in you for self-reliance. I should 
 never feel afraid while a gentleman was 
 
 near me." 
 
 " I am afraid you flatter our sex unduly. 
 We are not all to be trusted in emergency. 
 In danger women are frequently braver 
 than men." 
 
 "I don't think so," Lady Betty said 
 emphatically. 
 
 *' You judge men by the fictions they 
 have written of their own heroism ; I 
 judge by experience." 
 
 " So do I," said Lady Betty, drily. 
 
 Tom looked at her in surprise and 
 found her with her eyes fixed on the path 
 they were treading, and the delicate lines 
 of her brows bent in a frown. 
 
 VOL. I. 14
 
 2IO PREMONITORY SYMPTOMS. 
 
 " There were twenty-one of us," 
 pursued Lady Betty. " Some girls o£ 
 my own age, others older, and three 
 governesses, as old and as tough as — as 
 Oliver Cromwell; regular Ironsides all 
 three. We were out taking the air, and 
 had to cross the Lea river by one of the 
 lock gates. There w^ere two boards and 
 an iron rail. We were told to hold the 
 rail in crossing with both hands — and 
 that was just sufficient to make me not 
 hold it at all, as there happened to be a 
 gentleman on the bank looking at us. 
 And I tripped over a horrid nail, and fell 
 in. 
 
 '' The young girls cried, the elder hid 
 their faces in their hands, and the three 
 governesses fainted away — and I was left 
 in the water to get out by my own efforts 
 or drown. Luckily Philip Norman saved 
 me. And so, Mr. Talbot, I think my 
 experience proves by twenty to one, that
 
 PREMONITORY SYMPTOMS. 211 
 
 female courage is less reliable than you 
 tMuk it." 
 
 " Philip Norman was the name of the 
 fellow on the bank who looked at you as 
 you were crossing, I suppose?" 
 
 ''It was !" answered Lady Betty, in a 
 grave voice, casting a rapid glance at 
 Tom's sombre face. " And I shall never 
 forget him," she added, bending her head 
 to conceal the merry twinkling mischief 
 of her eyes. 
 
 " Lucky rascal," muttered Tom. 
 '' Well, of course, the girls couldn't 
 swim ; and if there was a man there he 
 was compelled, in common decency, to 
 plunge in and rescue you." 
 
 "Yes," Lady Betty said, with a soft 
 sigh. 
 
 '' He would have deserved a^thrashing 
 if he had not." 
 
 From Tom's tone of voice it seemed as 
 if he thought Philip Norman ought to 
 
 14—2
 
 PREMONITORY SYMPTOMS. 
 
 have a thrashing all the same for having 
 done his duty. Lady Betty who felt as 
 if she were being tickled in church, had 
 the utmost difficulty to keep a grave face. 
 She put her handkerchief to her eyes, and 
 sighed again. 
 
 " He did not lose his life in saving 
 yours, did he ?" Tom asked, remarking 
 this sign of grief. 
 
 Lady Betty shook her head in silence, 
 and turned her face aside. 
 
 *' Then hang him !" said Tom, to him- 
 self. *' She knows his name, so it is clear 
 he took advantage of the accident to 
 "epay himself for his trouble " 
 
 " I haven't seen him for three months,'* 
 said Lady Betty, her face still averted, 
 and a corner of her handkerchief in her 
 mouth. 
 
 " You saw him frequently afterwards, 
 then?" 
 
 ** Every week," murmured Lady Betty,
 
 PREMONITORY SYMPTOMS. 213 
 
 her shoulders making a convulsive 
 movemeni: which passed well for subdued 
 grief, but owed its origin to suppressed 
 laughter. Tom's tone increased in moody 
 suspicion with each word. 
 
 ''You saw him every week — here?" 
 he asked. 
 
 " Xo. Mamma has never seen 
 him." 
 
 '' A clandestine affair !" said Tom to 
 himself. " It is scandalous the amount 
 of harm that is done to simple girls by 
 the neglect of those to whom they are 
 entrusted by over-confiding parents. 
 Here is some idle vagabond ogling a 
 girl's school, when fortune gives him the 
 opportunity of fishing a girl out of the 
 water. He presumes upon the impres- 
 sion this trivial service has upon her 
 romantic disposition, to contract an 
 acquaintance with her, unknown to her 
 mother. He deserves to be kicked !"
 
 214 PREMONITORY SYMPTOMS. 
 
 Lady Betty had changed her elastic step 
 for one of sentimental slowness. 
 
 Tom broke the silence. 
 
 " I suppose this young man, this Philip 
 Norman, has no occupation ?" 
 
 " He is only a poor artist. But if you 
 please we will change the subject. Let us 
 talk of something more interesting to 
 you." 
 
 " No subject can be more interesting 
 than that which concerns Lady Betty's 
 happiness." 
 
 Lady Betty made a courtesy, drew along 
 sigh, put her handkerchief in her pocket, 
 and in a tone of assumed cheerfulness, 
 observed that she thought it would freeze 
 again in the night. 
 
 " I am of your opinion," answered Tom, 
 and then relapsing into silence, he said to 
 himself : " An artist. I know the sort of 
 man — waving hair over his shoulders, 
 moustaches and a chin tuft, after the style
 
 PREMONITORY SYMPTOMS. 215 
 
 of Vandyke — a big liat and a ribbon to his 
 breeches. And I'm to take his place and 
 to amuse my Lady Betty until she makes 
 another romantic attachment. Ha ! we 
 shall see. Perhaps I'm not such a weak 
 fool as she thinks me. By George, I wish 
 the frost would break, I would be off 
 
 bv the first vessel that leaves the 
 
 t/ 
 
 docks !" 
 
 " Is it colder than this in Russia ?" asked 
 Lady Betty, demurely. 
 
 '' Yes— considerably." 
 
 Silence again, while Tom continued his 
 train of thouofht. " I would like to see the 
 fellow though, just to tell him what I think 
 of him. A poor innocent, thoughtless 
 child — she is scarcely more ! By heaven ! 
 I would have him out on the grass if he 
 dared to come within five miles of her 
 after I have warned him off." 
 
 " I don't think we shall have snow,'* 
 observed Lady Betty.
 
 2l6 
 
 PREMONITORY SYMPTOMS. 
 
 With a struggle Tom brought himself to 
 talk upon meteorology, and they were still 
 exchanging questions and answers on this 
 expansive subject when they reached the 
 house.
 
 ^Lsrms?^ 
 
 ^'^ 
 
 CHAPTER XR'. 
 
 *' THE BEST LAID SCHEMES." 
 
 ES. ST. CYR was in lier rcom 
 
 reading a letter which had been 
 
 dehvered by old Jerry, with a 
 
 brief message to the effect that Doctor 
 
 Blandly did not require an answer. 
 
 The letter ran thus : 
 
 " Edinontoiij December 15th, 1800. 
 
 "Madam, 
 
 " If yon are yet minded to invest your 
 
 money in an annuity, you may take your 
 
 papers to Mr. Goodman, of Lincoln's Inn, 
 
 whom I have instructed bv letter to-daj
 
 2i8 '* THE BEST LAID SCHEMES:' 
 
 to pay you the sum of eight hundred 
 pounds per annum during the term of 
 your life, in consideration of receiving the 
 capital which you purpose sinking. 
 Proper guarantees being exchanged, you 
 will be entitled to draw your first 
 quarterly payment on the 24th day of this 
 month. This you may do if you will, but 
 I repeat that it is directly opposed to your 
 own interests, as I judge them, and to my 
 advice. Your heirs can claim nothinof at 
 your death, even though accident or 
 disease should terminate your existence 
 on the day of signing the contract. 
 
 '* If you will be guided by reason — live 
 plainly, avoid excitement, and draw what 
 income is necessary for your wants from 
 your capital without investing it unwisely 
 in an annuity. 
 
 " I am, Madam, 
 
 " Your servant, 
 
 " Benjamin Blandly.'*
 
 ''THE BEST LAID SCHEMESr 219 
 
 " A very satisfactory letter indeed !" 
 said Mrs. St. Gyr to herself, as slie folded 
 the letter after readins; it. " It seems too 
 good to be true. Eight hundred a year is 
 at least two more than I expected, and 
 more than I should have been likely to get 
 from anyone else. 
 
 " I have made a prodigious good 
 bargain for a certainty, thanks to the 
 old gentleman's high opinion of him- 
 self and his own judgment. I suppose 
 I looked anxious and pale at our inter- 
 view — indeed I felt exceedingly uncom- 
 fortable, what with the smoke from his 
 horrid bonfire, his unpleasant behaviour, 
 and the fear that he would discover the 
 scent he objected to was my essence of 
 musk and caromandel. I never had any 
 serious illness. I never felt better in my 
 life than at present, and as to disease — 
 the most objectionable word he could 
 possibly find — it is a preposterous suppo-
 
 220 ''THE BEST LAID SCHEMES r 
 
 sition. I am a little stouter than I could 
 wish, but that is because I am, if any- 
 thing, too robust in health. If I had 
 known that he would grant me an annuity, 
 I should have taken pains to appear more 
 delicate than I feel, an attack of the pal- 
 pitations in his presence might have 
 procured me another hundred a year. 
 However, I have every reason to be 
 satisfied. With eight hundred a year 
 one can live in a very genteel 
 style." 
 
 Mrs. St. Cyr read the letter through 
 once more, then hearing voices in the 
 room below, she hastily slipped it into a 
 drawer, locked it up carefully, and des- 
 cended to the drawing-room. 
 
 She was too occupied with her own 
 affairs, and elated with the prospect of 
 speedily reahsing her long cherished 
 hopes, to notice that Tom and Lady Betty 
 were more silent than usual—indeed she
 
 " THE BEST LAID SCHEMES r 221 
 
 allowed them no scope for exercising their 
 conversational powers, for no sooner had she 
 entered the room than she began to speak 
 upon the subject uppermost in her mind, 
 with a volubility which might be likened 
 to a torrent into which side streams 
 naturally flow and lose their individu- 
 ahty. 
 
 " Embrace me, my love," she said to 
 Lady Betty, " embrace me. I have re- 
 ceived a most satisfactory letter from 
 Doctor Blandly, and my fondest wishes 
 may be put into execution immediately. 
 Mr. Talbot, you will excuse me for intro- 
 ducing my personal affairs before you; 
 but I am sure you will be interested in 
 that which concerns the welfare of my 
 darling child and myself." 
 
 " Madam, I can assure you I 
 feel " 
 
 *' Oh, you have a right to my confi- 
 dence, for you have been instrumental in
 
 22 2 ''THE BEST LAID SCHEMES r 
 
 producing my felicity, and I regard you 
 as a dear relative and an old friend ratlier 
 than a new acquaintance. I cannot tell 
 you how highly I appreciate your friend- 
 ship, but you can understand how deeply 
 grateful I am to Providence that sent you 
 to my assistance, when I tell you that 
 without you my dear child and I might 
 have been utterly ruined." 
 
 " Oh, mamma — ruined !" 
 
 " Kiss me, my darling, it is the truth ; 
 but for Doctor Blandly' s intervention I 
 should have placed the whole of my fortune 
 and yours in the hands of some one who 
 would have robbed us. We are singularly 
 placed, Mr. Talbot. I have neither rela- 
 tions nor friends on whose judgment I can 
 rely. My only acquaintances are one or two 
 neighbouring families, composed of women 
 that are perfectly idiotic, and men who 
 are no better. I have lived in a state of 
 isolation while my child has been at school,
 
 '-•THE BEST LAID SCHEMES." 223 
 
 and we know absolutely no gentlemen — do 
 we, Betty ?" 
 
 Lady Betty did not reply. 
 
 Tom, coming with chivalrous prompti- 
 tude to her assistance, said : 
 
 ** I am sure any man so fortunately 
 placed as myself, could do no less 
 than " 
 
 '* Mr. Talbot, you have given such proof 
 of disinterested regard for us two un- 
 friended women that it would be unjust 
 for us to place you in the same category 
 with ordinary acquaintances. You are 
 our friend, a dear friend on whose sup- 
 port and guidance I feel that we may 
 rely with confidence in the critical posi- 
 tion we shall shortly occupy, and, as a 
 friend, I shall claim rather than solicit 
 your assistance." 
 
 " But, mamma, you have not asked Mr. 
 Talbot whether " 
 
 Mrs. St. Cyr sealed her daughter's
 
 224 " T^HE BEST LAID SCHEMES." 
 
 lips with a kiss, and said, in a gentle 
 tone : 
 
 '' Do not interrupt me, darling. Give 
 me your best attention, my charmer, for 
 this is a subject which closely concerns 
 yourself. The questions I have to put to 
 Mr. Talbot will come in their fitting place. 
 My husband, Mr. Talbot, died while Lady 
 Betty was still an infant. The fortune he 
 left was not large enough to permit of 
 retaining a large establishment, and I had 
 no longer the inclination to live in a 
 grand style. 
 
 *' I was a young mother and a 
 young widow, and you can well imagine 
 that in my position the only thought I 
 had was for my child. To provide for 
 her future was my first care, and I 
 retired at once to this secluded part. 
 I placed my money in the public funds, 
 drawing only suflficient to provide for 
 my own wants and Lady Betty's educa-
 
 *'THE BEST LAID SCHEMES^ 225 
 
 tion in order that principle and interest 
 should accumulate, so as to allow of her 
 taking a suitable position in society when 
 she left school. Anxious to obtain as 
 large an income as posible, I intended 
 to remove mj capital from the bank and 
 place it in the hands of a financial agent, 
 who would invest it to the best advan- 
 tage. 
 
 " You now see the risk to which 
 I should have exposed myself, but for 
 Doctor Blandly. He kindly warned me 
 against the public adventurer, and pro- 
 mised to find, if he could, some profitable 
 aud safe investment. That promise he 
 kept, and this afternoon he writes to 
 inform me that I may rely on receiving 
 eight hundred pounds a year for the 
 use of my capital. 1 shall accept his 
 offer without hesitation." 
 
 '' You may do so with perfect con- 
 fidence," said Tom; "your property 
 
 VOL. I. 15
 
 226 ''THE BEST LAID SCHEMES^ 
 
 in his hands will be as safe as if 
 it were his own. Not only will the 
 interest be promptly paid, but the 
 capital, should you wish to withdraw it, 
 will " 
 
 " I am perfectly satisfied," Mrs. St. 
 Cyr, said hastily. " And now, Mr. Talbot, 
 w^e come to a more interesting part of 
 the subject. I am to receive my first 
 quarterly payment on the ensuing quarter- 
 day." 
 
 " That is to say, three months from the 
 present date." 
 
 '' No ; on the twenty-fourth of this 
 month. Is that unusual, Mr. Tal- 
 bot ?" 
 
 " I have never known interest on 
 capital to be paid in advance, although 
 1 believe payment is occasionally made on 
 annuities, on the day of capital being 
 transferred ; but I know little if any- 
 thing about financial arrangements, and
 
 ''THE BEST LAID SCHEMES r 227 
 
 I can quite believe that Doctor Blandly 
 would procure all the advantage for 
 you " 
 
 " Precisely ; that undoubtedly accounts 
 for everything. What a dear, good man !" 
 Mrs. St. Cyr gave a deep sigh of satis- 
 faction as this dangerous jooint was 
 rounded, and proceeded, " I am to con- 
 clude the business through Mr. Goodman, 
 of Lincoln's Inn." 
 
 " Doctor Blandly' s solicitor. I myself 
 am to see him shortly." 
 
 " He is a trustworthy man, of 
 course. For although I have no hesi- 
 tation in telling you my affairs, I 
 should not like them divulged, you un- 
 derstand." 
 
 *' Mr. Goodman is as discreet as Doctor 
 Blandly himself." 
 
 *' How charming it is to have to do 
 business with such people ! Well, Mr. 
 Talbot, I intend to carry out my pur- 
 
 15—2
 
 228 ''THE BEST LAID SCHEMESr 
 
 pose without delay. I shall sell this house 
 at once." 
 
 " My poor pigeons !" sighed Lady 
 Betty. 
 
 " My darling, you are no longer a child. 
 Pigeons are very well in a pasty, or as 
 a side dish !" 
 
 '' Fancy my Maggie as a side dish ! 
 I will never eat pigeons again. Go on, 
 mamma. I will bid my pets good-bye 
 to-morrow." 
 
 ''With the proceeds of the sale one 
 might buy a very elegant chariot and pair 
 — a rich yellow chariot. What do you 
 think, Mr. Talbot ?" 
 
 " I think it is quite possible, 
 madam." 
 
 '* With respect to a house. I cut an 
 advertisement from ' The Times ' news- 
 paper which I think very appropriate. 
 I have it here in my purse. You are 
 near the hght, will you read that
 
 ''THE BEST LAID SCHEMES r 229 
 
 and tell me wliat you think of 
 it." 
 
 Tom took the cutting, and read it with 
 some perplexity. 
 
 " Will you be good enough to read it 
 aloud for Lady Betty's benefit ?" said 
 Mrs. St. Cyr- 
 
 " * It is pleasing to observe in these 
 enlightened times,' " Tom read, '' ' that 
 the eulogies of all classes hath been bes- 
 towed upon Dr. Solomon's Cordial Balm 
 of Gilead and Elixer of Guaiacum, pre- 
 pared only at the repertorium, and con- 
 sidered by the faculty as the most 
 soothing ' " 
 
 Mrs. St. Cyr interrupted him, and 
 with many apologies for her mistake, 
 produced and offered the advertisement 
 she intended for him; he read it 
 aloud while Lady Betty smothered her 
 laughter. 
 
 " * To be let, from Christmas, a neat
 
 230 " THE BEST LAID SCHEMES r 
 
 house, known as Mr. Johnson's, Park 
 Lane, suitable to a modern genteel family, 
 at a rental of ninety-five pounds per 
 annum.' " 
 
 "That is it. What do you think of 
 Park Lane, Mr. Talbot?" 
 
 ■' It is a very agreeable part of 
 London." 
 
 " I am delighted with your approval, 
 and if you will be so good as to escort 
 us we will go and see it to-morrow. 
 I hope and trust it may not be taken. 
 I shall want some additions in the way 
 of furniture, but as I am pretty well 
 supplied with china, that will not cost 
 me a great deal. You think I have 
 enough china to appear genteel, Mr. 
 Talbot ?" 
 
 " Ample," said Tom, and he added to 
 himself, " and enough besides for a 
 genteel museum." 
 
 " Well then, I consider the house in
 
 " THE BEST LAID SCHEMES." 231 
 
 Park Lane as good as taken and fur- 
 nished, and all that we now want is an 
 agreeable circle of acquaintances — 
 and that, Mr. Talbot, I shall count 
 upon your successful efforts to 
 obtain." 
 
 At this moment dinner was announced, 
 and whatever Tom might have had to say 
 in objection to this arrangement, remained 
 unsaid, for Lady Betty, who had a capital 
 appetite, which she was not ashamed of, 
 rose from her seat with a cry of satis- 
 faction as soon as the maid appeared at 
 the door. 
 
 In obedience to the dictates of " good 
 breeding," Mrs. St. Cyr gave a general 
 turn to conversation, and allowed it to 
 meander slowly along during the repast, 
 without either hindrance or assistance 
 from herself — her mind still being 
 engrossed in the one great scheme 
 of her life.
 
 232 ''THE BEST LAID SCHEMES. 
 
 The moment tliey returned to the 
 drawing-room she re-opened the subject 
 with renewed vigour, starting with the 
 assumption that Tom had agreed to give 
 his time to making acquaintances at the 
 clubs, coffee-houses, and assemblies, whom 
 he would forthwith introduce to the ladies 
 in their new home, the neat house in Park 
 Lane. 
 
 Tom would have been dull indeed had 
 he not detected from Mrs. St. Cyr's 
 observations the principal object she 
 had in view, and that did not 
 encourage him to look more favour- 
 ably at the prospect of a season in 
 London. 
 
 " Hum !" said he to himself. '* Perhaps 
 I shall be lucky enough to meet with 
 Lady Betty's interesting preserver — the 
 artist she has lost sight of for three 
 months, and when she has him at her 
 feet, and as many suitors besides as I
 
 " THE BEST LAID SCHEMES:' 233 
 
 can rake together, I maj be permitted to 
 retire from the scene." 
 
 Tom's discontent was stimulated by 
 perceiving that his gloom served only 
 to divert Lady Betty. She had seated 
 herself at the table with paper and pencil 
 at the commencement of the evening, and 
 devoted herself to sketching; but more 
 than once when she raised her head their 
 eyes met, and he found a merry twinkle 
 in hers which he knew was not provoked 
 by any mirthfulness in his. His dulness 
 was at length perceived by Mrs. St. Cyr, 
 who taking it as a sign that he would 
 be glad of a little variety, brought her 
 discourse to a conclusion with a sigh. 
 
 *' My love, what have you been 
 designing ?" she asked of Lady 
 Betty. 
 
 " A portrait from memory, mamma 
 dear — the portrait of a dear, dear 
 friend."
 
 234 ''THE BEST LAID SCHEMES." 
 
 Tom pricked his ears, for Lady Betty's 
 voice was sad. 
 
 '' Let me look at it, my sweet one. 
 Lady Betty has great skill with the pencil, 
 and excels in the water-colours — she has 
 taken several prizes, and been highly com- 
 plimented by her master. Oh, my dear ! 
 this is too bad of you — you are really 
 too satiric ! Yet 'tis an excellent por- 
 trait of the dear old gentleman, I 
 protest. Mr. Talbot, you shall, give 
 me your opinion of the produc- 
 tion." 
 
 The sketch was a spirited caricature 
 of an elderly gentleman in an antiquated 
 costume. 
 
 "It is admirably drawn, and very 
 droll," said Tom. " Do I under- 
 stand that it is the portrait of a 
 friend ?" 
 
 " The portrait of her own drawing- 
 master — the brother of the ladies at
 
 "THE BEST LAID SCHEMES r 235 
 
 whose school Lady Betty has received 
 her education. But he is something 
 more to her than a teacher, for when 
 she was quite a child he saved her from 
 drowning." 
 
 " With a boat hook !" exclaimed Lady 
 Betty, clasping her hands in mock 
 emotion. 
 
 ** And his name is Philip Norman. 
 I trust, my love, he has got better of 
 the lumbago." 
 
 " What a fool I have been ?" said 
 Tom to himself. Then his spirits re- 
 vived ; he became gay, and spoke of 
 the coming events in London with posi- 
 tive enthusiasm. 
 
 When they separated for the night — 
 Mrs. St. Cyr being occupied in trimming 
 the wick of the candle for Tom's use — 
 Lady Betty gave her hand to him, and 
 said in a low voice and with an arch 
 smile :
 
 236 , "THE BEST LAID SCHEMES." 
 
 '' You will never be jealous again ?" 
 And be answered, "Never;" snatcb- 
 ing ber finger tips to bis lips, and 
 pressing a silent kiss upon tbem, wbile 
 bis very soul seemed to flame in bis 
 eyes. 
 
 Never ! Wbat solemn word is more 
 ligbtly used?
 
 CHAPTER Xy. 
 
 THE ESTABLISHMENT IN PAEK LANE. 
 
 Y love !" said Mrs. St. Cyr to 
 Lady Betty, as she sat sur- 
 rounded by tier china in the 
 drawing-room of the neat house in 
 Park Lane, " I must admit that I 
 am greatly disappointed in Mr. 
 Talbot." 
 
 " Why, mamma? He has not 
 altered." 
 
 " That is precisely my reason for 
 feeling disappointment. Except that he 
 has had his hair cut in accordance
 
 23S IN PARK LANE. 
 
 with the fashion, he is not a pin better 
 than he was the first day we saw him. 
 He dresses as plainly as a Quaker, 
 and he absolutely laughs at the Prince 
 of Wales. Now what sort of society is 
 likely to be introduced to us by a man 
 who makes a mock of the finest gentle- 
 man in Europe?" 
 
 " He has introduced us to all 
 the friends he knows in Lon- 
 don." 
 
 " And we should have been quite 
 as well without them. Two of them 
 were bearded like savages, a third 
 could talk of nothing but the wild 
 beasts he had shot in foreign parts, 
 a fourth wore a coat that was thread- 
 bare, and their main object seemed to 
 be to eat as much as possible at 
 dinner, and make fun of the aristocracy. 
 I declare Mr. Talbot seems to draw 
 his friends from the meanest classes of
 
 IN PARK LANE. 239 
 
 society, and I consider he is wanting 
 in respect to bring such men here at 
 all." 
 
 " He only did it to oblige you; he 
 appears ill at ease the whole time they 
 are with us." 
 
 "It is as much on their account as 
 ours." 
 
 '' Possibly. But he warned us that 
 his friends were unused to ladies' 
 society. You have one consolation, 
 mamma — from the evident satisfaction 
 these gentlemen had in bidding us 
 adieu, it was clear that they intended 
 never to trouble us again with their 
 society." 
 
 " 'Tis extremely provoking. Here 
 have we been in London a month, with 
 one of the handsomest chariots in the 
 West End, a servant in livery, a home 
 furnished at an expense which I should 
 have considered it impossible to incur,
 
 240 IN PARK LANE. 
 
 spent all our available money and got 
 into debt besides, and haven't seen a 
 man tliat's worth more than eighty 
 pounds a year." 
 
 " You forget Mr. Talbofc, whom we see 
 every day." 
 
 " My love, we did not go to all this 
 expense for him. In my opinion, you 
 might have made him engage himself 
 to you before ever we left Winch- 
 more." 
 
 "It is not too late now, mamma, 
 perhaps." 
 
 " There is no doubt he would marry 
 you to-morrow, if you encouraged him, 
 but you know that I have more 
 expanded views. I would have you 
 marry a title, my love — with money of 
 course, and it is for that purpose alone 
 I came to London, and undertook all 
 these terrible expenses. Why do you 
 shake your head, my dear?"
 
 IN PARK LANE. 241 
 
 " Because I think you are not quite 
 truthful in saying that." 
 
 " I admit I anticipated certain plea- 
 sures for myself — but what have we 
 found ? What enjoyment is there in 
 riding about in our chariot when there 
 is not a soul to bow to ?" 
 
 "I find enjoyment in looking about 
 me — in seeing people and rich dresses — 
 in feeling the fresh air — in the rapid 
 motion — in everything." 
 
 " That is the fault of youth — when you 
 get my age " 
 
 " I hope I shall be just as faulty," said 
 Lady Betty, concluding Mrs. St. Cyr's 
 sentence, and laughing cheerfully. 
 
 '* 'Tis no better at the play-house," 
 continued Mrs. St. Cyr, still in a tone of 
 discontent. " What is the use of a side- 
 box ? I protest we should be as well off in 
 the pit." 
 
 '' Better for seeing, I think." 
 
 VOL. I. 16
 
 242 IN PARK LANE. 
 
 " People who can afford the side boxes 
 don't go to the play to see so much as 
 to be seen ; to run in and out of each 
 other's boxes, banging the doors to attract 
 attention." 
 
 '' I never enjoyed anything more than 
 * The Road to Ruin.'" 
 
 " And I never anything less. A comedy 
 they called it. It might have been the 
 most doleful tragedy for any amusement 
 1 could find in it. I felt perfectly wretched 
 to see everyone laughing, staring at each 
 other, and nodding at friends. When 
 people spy at us through their glasses, 
 'tis with a kind of who-the-Dickens-can 
 that-be look on their faces, and no one 
 even bowed to us, except one of Mr. 
 Talbot's bearded savages in the back row 
 of the pit ; a fine compliment indeed — 
 and I with feathers on my head that cost 
 twelve pounds." 
 
 *' Perhaps he would not have bowed,
 
 IN PARK LANE. 243 
 
 if they had. not attracted his obser- 
 vation." 
 
 " That is not what we are talking 
 about. I repeat I have reason to be 
 disappointed in Mr. Talbot. I am sure 
 I miss no opportunity of hinting my 
 wishes to him, but he takes no notice. 
 He will not be gay and spirited." 
 
 Mrs. St. Cyr fanned herself in silence 
 for a minute, then continued : 
 
 '' A gentleman with money can always 
 make friends. If he would only go into 
 some of the card-rooms — Brook's or 
 White's, he would find many fine gentle- 
 men only too glad to make his 
 acquaintance." 
 
 *' Gentlemen seeking his acquaintance 
 because he has money, would do so chiefly 
 because they have none ; and they are 
 not the kind of gentlemen you wish to 
 know." 
 
 " There you are in error. These fine 
 
 IG— 2
 
 244 ^N PARK LANE. 
 
 gentlemen without money are bound to 
 know fine gentlemen with money, or tliey 
 could not live at all ; and when they 
 cannot afford to pay for a dinner to 
 their rich friends, they are only too 
 glad to take them to dine at somebody 
 else's expense. And that is how your 
 fine gentleman without money makes 
 himself useful, and contrives to keep 
 himself in favour with all parties." 
 
 Lady Betty laughed. 
 
 '' I see nothing to laugh at, my love. 
 As 1 have said — all I can do by hinting 
 I have done without effect; and I think 
 you now ought to suggest in a pleasant 
 manner to Mr. Talbot, that you would 
 like him to go to the card-rooms and — 
 and -" 
 
 " Lose his money in making friends 
 to be his rivals — hey, mamma? Well, I 
 will — that is he knocking at the door 
 now — I will ask him when he comes in."
 
 IN PARK LANE. 245 
 
 " Then for Heaven's sake let me get 
 out of the room as quickly as possible !" 
 cried Mrs. St. Cyr, starting up from her 
 seat in alarm.
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 TOM PEOPOSES — LADY BETTY DISPOSES. 
 
 -5 
 
 iM 
 
 ADY BETTY was tambourino-, 
 she continued working with 
 a grave expression on her 
 young face until the door opened and 
 Tom Talbot entered the room; then she 
 raised her head, stuck her needle in the 
 canvas, and holding out her hand, wel- 
 comed the friend with a smile. 
 
 " Come and sit beside me. I have 
 something to say to you. Mamma and I 
 have been talking about you. She has 
 this moment left the room."
 
 TOM PROPOSES. 247 
 
 Tom seated himself on the sofa by her 
 side, while she taking her needle again, 
 resumed her work. 
 
 " Do you know mamma's motive in 
 coming to London — in spending more 
 than she can afford — in keeping a yellow 
 chariot, and selling my poor pigeons ?" 
 she asked, when Tom after making a few 
 conventional remarks, waited for her to 
 speak. 
 
 " I believe I do," he replied. 
 
 " She wishes me to marry well." 
 
 " No one knowing you could wish 
 anything else than that, Lady Betty." 
 
 '' The difficulty is to find a suitable 
 husband for me. The friends she knew 
 fourteen years ago are dispersed and 
 lost. She knows no one except the 
 gentlemen you have introduced, and 
 they are not altogether satisfactory — 
 from her point of view." 
 
 " Her point of view may not be yours,
 
 248 TOM PROPOSES. 
 
 and it is you who are chiefly to be con- 
 sidered." 
 
 " I may not agree with mamma on 
 all points, but I am quite at one with 
 her in regarding your friends as un- 
 marriageable. Is there any one of them 
 whom you would have tried to make my 
 husband ?" 
 
 " JN^o ; but I would not willingly give 
 your hand to the noblest, worthiest man 
 in the world, though he were my dearest 
 friend." 
 
 A smile stole over Lady Betty's face 
 as she leaned over her tambour. 
 
 " Mamma wishes you to go to one of 
 the card clubs and find me a husband 
 there." 
 
 " Does Mrs. St. Cyr take me for a 
 perfect fool?" asked Tom, with a 
 laugh. 
 
 Lady Betty made no reply, but worked 
 on steadily.
 
 TOM PROPOSES. 249 
 
 "It is odd," continued Tom; "I was 
 at White's last night, and lost fifty 
 guineas to the prettiest gentleman in 
 the room. A charming man — handsome, 
 polite^ refined, and becoming the dress 
 of a gentleman so well as to force 
 one to admiration. I never lost my 
 money so willingly in my life, and 
 when we parted I begged him to 
 exchange cards that we might meet 
 again under more amiable condi- 
 tions." 
 
 " Do you intend to see him a second 
 time?" asked Lady Betty, looking up 
 from her work. 
 
 " I have seen him a second time. I 
 sought him this morning, so much had 
 he fascinated me. We walked together 
 in the park, and separated — ten minutes 
 since, and not a hundred yards from 
 this house." 
 
 Lady Betty returned to her embroi-
 
 250 TOM PROPOSES. 
 
 devj, and worked in silent thoughtful- 
 ness. 
 
 "He is exactly the kind of man 
 your mamma is continually talking to 
 me about, the sort of man she would 
 make you marry if she could, and for 
 that reason I did not ask him to come 
 with me here." 
 
 " That was ungenerous," Lady Betty 
 said, calmly. 
 
 " It is ungenerous, selfish, mean — 
 what you will," he cried ; " say that 
 withal I lose my self-esteem — what 
 then? A man will sacrifice more than 
 that to possess a diamond, and if he 
 will sacrifice so much for a mere 
 stone that has its value in so many 
 pounds, shillings and pence, shall I 
 hesitate at losing so little to gain that 
 which is above all price !" 
 
 He took her hand from the frame 
 and pushed the tambour away, and
 
 TOM PROPOSES, 251 
 
 she, awed bj the earnestness with which 
 he spoke, and the passion which burned 
 in his eye and trembled on his lips, 
 looked with large-eyed wonder in his pale 
 face. 
 
 " I have thought of you day and night," 
 he continued, " and tried not to think. 
 I have left this house saying, ' I will 
 return no more,' and ere the night had 
 come counted the hours until morn- 
 ing, impatient to see you again. I 
 have said, ' I will not love,' and I 
 love." 
 
 " You frighten me, and you are crush- 
 ing my hand." 
 
 "I am not master of myself," he 
 said, relaxing his close grasp, yet re- 
 taining her hand between his palms 
 with a gentleness that corresponded to 
 the tender tone to which his voice 
 sank; "I did not intend to say 
 what I have said ; 'tis my heart
 
 252 TOM PROPOSES. 
 
 and not mj brain that governs my 
 will." 
 
 "Would you unsay your words?" 
 
 " Not for the world," lie cried, 
 quickly; ''I say again — I love you, 
 dear." 
 
 He did not fall upon his knee, he 
 did not attempt to kiss her, for there 
 was no blush upon Lady Betty's cheek, 
 no bashful yielding of her eyes, to 
 show a responding love. Lady Betty 
 was struggling to overcome her as- 
 tonishment, and look at the situa- 
 tion in a clear and reasonable man- 
 ner. 
 
 '' Say something to me, dear ; do 
 not look at me in such chilling 
 silence." 
 
 "I do not understand; I am still 
 confused," said Lady Betty, touched 
 by the sadness of Tom's voice, and the 
 piteous supplication in his eyes as he
 
 TOM PROPOSES. 253 
 
 looked upon her blank face. " Tell me 
 why you wished to leave me if you 
 loved me, and why, loving me, you 
 wished not to love me." 
 
 " It was because I feared I could 
 not make you happy, the end of loving 
 being marriage and life-long union. 
 Our tastes, I saw, were at variance. 
 The whirl of life and fashion that you 
 sigh to gain I thought I might sigh 
 to quit." 
 
 " Ah ! " exclaimed Lady Betty, 
 her eyes quickening with intelligent 
 light. 
 
 " But that is a trifle. I can conform 
 my tastes with yours, make your plea- 
 sures mine ; follow the world from 
 London to Cheltenham, Cheltenham to 
 Bath, and dress myself, if you will, 
 in any extravagance that- fashion in- 
 vents. What will that matter if I 
 love ?"
 
 254 TOM PROPOSES. 
 
 Lady Betty looked at Tom no longer 
 witli astonishment or coldness in her eyes, 
 but in kind compassion and tender sym- 
 pathy ; yet he dared not take her in his 
 arms. 
 
 " Tom," she said, after a moment's 
 silence, and she spoke with frank 
 freedom, " Tom, I love you better than 
 anyone in the world, and so I will not 
 conceal a single thought from you. You 
 have made a woman of me, and in a 
 few words taught me to look at the 
 great event of a woman's life seriously, 
 as one should look at it. I have talked 
 of marriage as a school-girl and a child, 
 with no thought for the time when the 
 orange-blossom fades." 
 
 She felt the two strong hands trem- 
 bling above and below her fingers; she 
 took her disengaged hand and laid it 
 upon the back of his. 
 
 " I have said I love you better than
 
 TOM PROPOSES. 255 
 
 any one in tlie world — that may be no 
 flattery to you," she said, with brief 
 return to her customary tone of badinage, 
 '' for you have taken pains to show me 
 only your least attractive friends, but I 
 do not love as you love. I forget you 
 frequently, and if I do foolish or un- 
 generous things it is not for your sake. 
 'Tis gratitude more than anything that 
 animates me, a maturer form of cupboard 
 love, the affection of children for those 
 who make them presents and take them 
 about to spectacles. I am thoughtless, 
 hair-brained — neither wise nor expe- 
 rienced, yet I feel that if I loved as 
 you love, and my soul were bound to a 
 dead heart that absorbed the generous 
 warmth and returned none, I should wish 
 myself dead." 
 
 '' But yours is no jiead heart, 
 'tis one that even now responds to 
 mine ; its warmth is in this gentle
 
 256 TOM PROPOSES. 
 
 hand, in your clieek, and moistening 
 eye." 
 
 Lady Betty shook her head. " Yon 
 mistake my sentiment," said she. " Be 
 guided by your sense, Tom. What am 
 I ? A young and untried girl. I have 
 flesh and blood like yours, and one day 
 I too may love with all my soul — 
 wildly, irrationally, desperately, even to 
 the loss of all I hold now most dear. 
 And if the one I love is not my hus- 
 band, what happiness in this world can 
 there be for him or me? No, Tom, 
 dear — for I may call you by that name 
 and not be misunderstood, feeling so 
 tenderly towards you, sympathising with 
 you, quite yearning for yoiu^ happiness, 
 as I do — it would be the cruellest, most 
 heartless act of my life to accept your 
 love, to give you my hand, doubting as 
 I doubt." 
 
 " Do not think of me," Tom cried, " or
 
 TOM PROPOSES. 257 
 
 if you will, think only of tlie happiness you 
 can give me. I ask for no more love 
 than you have now. It is more than ten 
 thousand wives have to give their 
 husbands. Think only of yourself, and 
 that in marrying me you secure a faithful 
 friend whose only thought will be to 
 make you happy.'* 
 
 " And looking at it from that selfish 
 point of view, can I believe that you 
 will make me happy ?" 
 
 *' Can you doubt it?" 
 
 "Yes. You are twenty times more 
 jealous than the Moor in the play. 
 You are angry if a man looks at me 
 — though I do you the justice to think 
 you would be equally angry if they 
 didn't — you look as if you would like 
 to kill the young gentlemen who put up 
 their glasses at me in the crush-room 
 of the theatre, and will find a dozen 
 excuses to avoid passing a knot of 
 
 VOL I. 17
 
 258 TOM PROPOSES. 
 
 dandies in the park. That amuses me 
 very much now, and I may tell you 
 that I take a great delight in making 
 you fume with rage against some 
 poor harmless military gentleman, or 
 over-dressed fop ; but I assure you 
 it would distress me greatly to 
 be doubted if I were your loyal 
 wife." 
 
 " I will cure myself of jealousy — 'tis 
 a contemptible, unmanly fault," cried 
 Tom. 
 
 *' Do, Tom," said Lady Betty, with- 
 drawing her hand, and subtly drawing 
 the tambour frame between herself and 
 him, while he was still thinking over his 
 own failing. " Do, and by the time 
 you have overcome that weakness, if 1 
 am not married to somebody else, it is 
 very possible I shall be glad to marry 
 
 you."
 
 TOM PROPOSES. 
 
 259 
 
 She said this with a light laugh, 
 and her fingers were once more engaged 
 upon the tambour. 
 
 17-2
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 GERARD CREWE. 
 
 OM TALBOT sat in his chamber 
 with a book in his hand. Sud- 
 denly he closed the work and 
 flung it to the other end of the room, 
 albeit it was the '' Paradise Lost " of 
 John Milton, and deserved more reve- 
 rential treatment. But when a man is 
 disgusted with himself, Paradise itself 
 would fail to please him. 
 
 " I deserve contempt," said he, " for 
 who with a spark of manliness would
 
 GERARD CREWE. 261 
 
 grudge a sweet girl the homage she 
 deserves, or descend to mean shifts for 
 depriving her of admiration. And how 
 on earth can a woman love a man she 
 cannot respect ? What is the hour ? 
 Two. I will find Mr. Crewe, and induce 
 him to go with me to Park Lane this 
 very day." 
 
 Tom caught up his hat — made a couple 
 of strides towards the door, paused with his 
 hand on the latch a moment, then turned 
 about, looked at his legs, at his sleeves, 
 and at the reflection of his face in the 
 glass at the other end of the 
 room. 
 
 The result of this inspection was that he 
 made his way into the adjoining chamber, 
 where he changed his breeches half-a- 
 dozen times, tried the effect of every 
 coat he had in his closet, and spent a 
 quarter of an hour in arranging the 
 curls of his hair.
 
 262 GERARD CREWE. 
 
 " There's no reason why we shouldn't 
 start fair," said he. 
 
 In pursuance of this idea he entered 
 the shop of a dealer in fashionable trifles, 
 on his way to Gerard Crewe's house, and 
 demanded a walking stick of the kind 
 most used. 
 
 '' Ah ! this is too short by four inches ; 
 it would do for a boy, but it is of no use 
 at all to me." 
 
 '' I'm sorry I have none other, Sir," 
 said the dealer, "but long sticks went 
 out of fashion last year, and short sticks 
 are in. I may be able to let you have a 
 long stick next week — if the fashion 
 should change." 
 
 '' If it is the fashion — I'll have it, 
 though I have to walk with it like a 
 monkey." 
 
 " The stick is not used to walk with 
 now, but to carry under the arm." 
 
 " Ah ! then the shorter the better. A
 
 GERARD CREWE. 263 
 
 little extension of the fashion and one 
 may carry one's walking stick in the 
 breeches' pocket." 
 
 *' Just so, Sir. We mnst live in 
 hope, Sir. Eye-glasses are in again, 
 Sir." 
 
 " Thank Grod, I can do without 
 them." 
 
 '' Pardon me, Sir. No one can do 
 without a glass now. They are not for 
 the wearer's eye, but for the eye of the 
 public, and are intended to hang down 
 gracefully from the fob." 
 
 *' Then hang me a glass from my 
 fob." 
 
 " Now, Sir — there — so you look quite 
 the go. You have a snuff box, I 
 presume ?" 
 
 " I never take snuff." 
 
 " Not take snuff ! Dear me. Sir, 
 where have you been these last three 
 months ?"
 
 264 GERARD CREWE. 
 
 *' Give me a snuff box and some snuff," 
 said Tom, with a gulp. 
 
 '' There's a beauty. Sir, for ten 
 guineas — worth twelve." 
 
 " That will do — where is the snuff?" 
 
 " The apprentice has gone out to the 
 'bacconists to buy it. Sir." 
 
 Bj the time the apprentice returned 
 Tom had purchased two finger rings, a 
 diamond for his cravat, and half a dozen 
 seals to keep company with his glass, 
 and with these acquisitions he left the 
 shop, highly gratified with his pur- 
 chases. 
 
 At Gerard Crewe's house he was 
 informed by the servant, who answered 
 his knock, that Mr. Crewe had gone to 
 take the air in the park, as was his daily 
 habitude from the hour of two till four, 
 when he was not detained at home by 
 visitors. 
 
 Tom made his way to the park, where
 
 GERARD CREWE. 265 
 
 he was fortunate enough to meet his 
 new acquaintance — whose tall, graceful 
 figure he detected in the distance the 
 moment he passed the King's Gate. 
 He was alone, walking with his hands 
 crossed at his back, and looking from side 
 to side of the alley as he passed slowly 
 along. 
 
 Tom pursued and came up to him as 
 he stopped iii front of a thorn whose 
 buds were just pushing through the 
 sheaf. 
 
 The greeting of the men was warm 
 for those who had so recently become 
 acquainted. 
 
 *' I hoped to meet you to-day," said 
 Grerard, *' indeed, I hoped to see you 
 yesterday, but was disappointed. You 
 were not at Brooke's last night. 
 
 "No You were?" 
 
 *' I am there every night." 
 
 " You like play."
 
 266 GERARD CREWE. 
 
 " On the contrary, I dislike it as mucli 
 as any man can." 
 
 '' That is a strange reason for fre- 
 quenting a gaming-house." 
 
 *' Not at all; for it is because I dislike 
 play that I win. Success or failure 
 never excites me. I play with unvarying 
 equanimity, and that gives me an advan- 
 tage over the generality of players. T 
 should not have won your money had our 
 tempers been alike." 
 
 Tom looked at his companion and was 
 silent. Gerard, with perfect calm upon 
 his pale thin face, walked along with his 
 hands still behind him. After a few 
 moments' silence, he continued : 
 
 " Mr. Talbot, I am a gambler — not in 
 the ordinary sense. I do not play from 
 infatuation, weakness, inclination. I 
 have no such, excuse — I play from purely 
 mercenary motives — and the only dif- 
 ference between me and the common
 
 GERARD CREWE. 267 
 
 wretch who plays with three cards at a 
 fair is, that T use no fraud." 
 
 "Why have you told me this?" asked 
 Tom. 
 
 " Because, in the grasp of your hand, 
 in the expression of your eyes, I have 
 found a warmth something more than 
 common ; because if we are to be friends, 
 it is necessary you should know at the 
 outset, what sort of man I am." 
 
 " Your honesty, at least, commands 
 respect ; and there's my hand again, Sir, 
 as a proof that my friendship is not 
 lessened by your candour. For a truth 
 1 cannot like the manner in which you 
 live, but since one fixes no blame on the 
 lawyer who saves the man who deserves 
 to be hanged, and hangs the man who 
 ought to be spared, T see no reason for 
 being too critical upon you. Yet for all 
 that, I wish you were of another trade, 
 and it seems to me that the faculty
 
 268 GERARD CREWE. 
 
 which makes you successful at the 
 gaming-table would make you a cre- 
 ditable name in a higher vocation — 'tis a 
 thousand pities" — Tom paused, to muse 
 in silence with his thumb and finger on 
 his chin — his eyes upon the ground. 
 Gerard seemed unwilling to influence him 
 by a word. 
 
 " You would make an admirable gene- 
 ral," said Tom, looking up suddenly. 
 
 *^But a bad soldier." 
 
 '' True, and that would hinder you 
 from rising — even were it possible to 
 rise — to such a rank. Your abilities 
 would serve you as a financier, a 
 banker." 
 
 For response, Grerard stopped by the 
 park paling, and turning to a soot- 
 grimed sheep browsing by the side, 
 said : 
 
 " God made you as good as other 
 sheep. On the downs mayhap you
 
 GERARD CREWE. 269 
 
 would be white, certainly you would be 
 healthier and happier, but inexorable fate 
 brought you to London, and set you to 
 graze on a pasture foul with soot, and 
 mud, poor devil ! and one is puzzled to 
 know whether you were not by nature 
 born a black sheep. I have thought 
 of what I might have been and what I 
 am so often and so long that I am weary 
 of the theme." 
 
 " I don't believe in fate governing a 
 man," said Tom, bluntly. " If a sheep 
 had the faculties of a man he would 
 give his master the slip and scamper 
 back to the downs. But there is no 
 reason because a sheep cannot behave 
 like a man, that a man should behave 
 like a sheep. It isn't English to be a 
 slave without making a stout fight for 
 liberty." 
 
 " Can you give a coward courage ?" 
 asked Gerard, quietly.
 
 270 GERARD CREWE. 
 
 " Mr. Crewe — Gerard, I have said 
 wliat I tliougbt freely to you, for my 
 feeling towards you is not of a luke- 
 warm kind. 'Tis our custom to say un- 
 pleasant things to our friends, and make 
 Ourselves agreeable to those we care not 
 two pins for. But if I said that you 
 were cowardly, I refuse to believe that 
 you are a coward." 
 
 " Yefc I am. Not physically perhaps. I 
 am too cold for that. I felt no more 
 agitation in walking along this park with 
 my seconds to meet Henry Grattan, than 
 I feel in walking with you now. But 
 morally, I am a poltroon, and to one of 
 your robust constitution, that kind of 
 feebleness will seem more despicable even 
 than the other. I dare not face the 
 possibilities that must attend relinquish- 
 ing my present mode of existence." 
 
 " What are they ?" 
 
 '' The possibility of being compelled
 
 GERARD CREWE. 271 
 
 to serve in a draper's shop — lying to 
 sell a few yards of stuff to a suspicious 
 woman, or to sit from morning till night 
 at a desk in a dreary office — leading the 
 life of a broken horse that grinds a 
 mill and stops only to eat and to sleep. 
 The possibility of having to eat coarse 
 food, to wear unpleasant clothes, to live 
 with vulgar people, to sacrifice the 
 delicate pleasures of art, and music, 
 and literature, to be parsimonious and 
 niggardly, of avoiding one's creditors, 
 of grudging half-a-crown to a ser- 
 vant—" 
 
 " Enough ! You have said enough 
 to convince me that a man may be 
 as wretched with three hundred a year, 
 as another with nothing at all." 
 
 Tom turned the conversation to a general 
 subject which allowed him to pursue 
 an undercurrent of thought. He was 
 not narrow in his judgment of men.
 
 272 GERARD CREWE. 
 
 For Gerard, he had a liking undiminished 
 by the revelation he had chosen to make. 
 He divided men into two classes, those 
 who had faults and concealed them, and 
 those who had faults and confessed them ; 
 and he preferred the latter. Neverthe- 
 less, he could not make up his mind to 
 carry out his intention of introducing 
 Gerard to Lady Betty. Gerard might 
 be a gentleman, and as good as any 
 who did not pursue his vocation, but 
 he was a gamester, and in that very 
 word there was something which made 
 it distasteful to associate him with the 
 girl he loved. Accident disposed the 
 event, for while he was still in dubi- 
 tation, they turned into the promenade, 
 and came face to face with Mrs. St. Cyr 
 and Lady Betty. 
 
 Mrs. St. Cyr stopped, and after a 
 glance at Gerard Crewe, gave Tom her 
 hand with a more gracious smile than
 
 GERARD CREWE. 273 
 
 she bad accorded him for many days, 
 and then made a profound courtesy to 
 the companion whom he was thus com- 
 pelled to introduce. 
 
 *' Our chariot wheel has broken a spoke ; 
 so we are compelled to take the air on 
 foot," Mrs. St. Cyr, explained — " which 
 is inconvenient, having no escort. 
 However, I trust, Mr. Talbot, that if you 
 and Mr. Crewe have nothing more 
 engaging on hand, you will remedy the 
 default." 
 
 The gentlemen replied with a suitable 
 compliment, and the ladies resumed 
 their walk, flanked, Mrs. St. Cyr by Tom 
 Talbot, Lady Betty by Gerard Crewe. 
 
 Mrs. St. Cyr engaged Tom in a per- 
 personal conversation to the end that 
 Gerard should have the exclusive plea- 
 sure of Lady Betty's soijiety, but this 
 did not prevent Tom from making use of 
 those arms which he had so recently 
 
 VOL. I. 18
 
 274 GERARD CREWE. 
 
 acquired for the purpose of winning 
 the admiration of Lady Betty. He 
 flourished his cane, rattled the seals at 
 his fob, and did not forget to use his 
 snuff-box, giving it a very pretty tap 
 before returning it to his pocket. Mrs. 
 St. Cyr smiled approval, and whispered 
 low : 
 
 '' Quite the hel air, I assure you, Mr. 
 Talbot." 
 
 Highly flattered, Tom repeated tlie 
 application, and would have had no reason 
 to regret his elegant performance, but 
 that Lady Betty turning towards him, 
 put a question at the very moment 
 when his features were paralysed by a 
 vain effort to sneeze. 
 
 When they came to the end of the 
 promenade and changed their positions 
 to return, Lady Betty contrived to place 
 her mamma next to Gerard, and to fall 
 back in their rear with Tom.
 
 GERARD CREWE. 27^ 
 
 " This is kind of you," murmured 
 Tom, pressing the hand that Lady Betty 
 laid on his arm to her side. " You have 
 made me happy." 
 
 " 'Tis more than you deserve. Not 
 only would you deprive me of seeing 
 your charming friend, but your ratan, 
 your seals, your tobacco-box— everything 
 that you know I adore, you conceal from 
 me. Cruel man ! If I had only seen 
 you taking snuff before you made your 
 proposal ! — " 
 
 Tom did not reply to Lady Betty's 
 badinage. He saw nothing to laugh at 
 in being rejected. 
 
 ^..vM 
 
 18—2
 
 CHAPTER XYIIL 
 
 SOUCI ET SANS SOUCIE. 
 
 ERARD," said Tom, some 
 fourteen or fifteen days after 
 tlie introduction in tlie park, 
 " You must come with me to Park 
 Lane." 
 
 *' And why must I, my dear Tom ?" 
 " Because I have not the ingenuity 
 and impudence to invent any further 
 excuses for you. Every day, for the 
 past fortnight I have been charged to 
 bring you to dinner, to lunch, to tea, to 
 look at the china, and what not, and
 
 sou CI ET SANS SOUCIE. 277 
 
 every day I have told a lie to extenuate 
 your refusal." 
 
 " A little more practice, and you will 
 be perfect in the art," said Grerard, 
 laughing. 
 
 " On the contrary — I get more nervous 
 every day, and stammer over my fabri- 
 cation to such an extent, that no one 
 could believe me. And now it is 
 thought that I purposely keep you 
 away from my friends— from a jealous 
 motive." 
 
 Gerard laughed again ; then grew 
 grave. Tom continued : 
 
 '' I know the delicate feeling that has 
 kept you from the house, but you may 
 waive all objections on that score, for 
 this morning, failing to find any plausible 
 pretence for your absence, I ventured to 
 hint the truth to Mrs. St. Cyr, who no 
 sooner heard you were a gamester than 
 she burst out into an eulogy of gaming
 
 278 SOUCI ET SANS SOUCIE. 
 
 and placed you on a level at once with 
 tlie finest gentleman in Europe— intending 
 that of course as a compliment to you. 
 I assure you that instead of regarding 
 your profession as a disadvantage, she 
 looks upon it as the necessary qualifi- 
 cation of a fine gentleman. Knowing 
 what you are, she is more than ever 
 anxious to become intimately acquainted 
 with you." 
 
 "And you, Tom, hoping to make 
 Lady Betty your wife — are you willing 
 that I should associate with her ?" 
 
 " There is but one answer to that," 
 said Tom, and he held out his hand to 
 his friend. 
 
 The following morning Gerard accom- 
 panied Tom to Park Lane, and from that 
 time he became a frequent visitor. 
 
 He did not attempt to conceal from 
 Tom that he visited Mrs. St. Cyr for the 
 pleasure of Lady Betty's society; and
 
 sou CI ET SANS SOU CI E. 279 
 
 Tom did his best to accept his position 
 with manful resignation — albeit that 
 position became more difficult to sustain — 
 his trials harder to bear each succeeding 
 day. 
 
 The weather continuing fine, the little 
 party walked frequently in the park, and 
 scarcely ever without Mrs. St. Cyr 
 adding one or two names to the rapidly 
 increasing list of acquaintances. For 
 Gerard was well known to the fashion- 
 able loungers there, and Mrs. St. Cyr 
 obtained introductions to them by plain, 
 straightforward audacity. 
 
 " Here comes' the gentleman who 
 bowed to you the day before yesterday, 
 Mr. Crewe — I beg you will introduce 
 me," Mrs. St. Cyr would say, and Gerard 
 had no option but to do as was demanded 
 of him. The audacity, 4iowever, was 
 never resented, for the gentlemen were 
 only too delighted to have the opportunity
 
 28o sou CI ET SANS SOUCIE. 
 
 of speaking to pretty Lady Betty. So 
 tlie proud mother began to experience tlie 
 delights sbe had anticipated ; and on the 
 day a real live Marquis paid a visit to them 
 and made eyes at Lady Betty, whenever 
 mamma pretended to look another way, 
 she felt that her cup of mortal happiness 
 was well nigh full. 
 
 It was only natural that Tom should 
 sink in her estimation as others rose ; 
 indeed it may be said in her extenuation 
 that he was less entertaining than he had 
 been, and suffered by comparison with 
 the fashionable young bucks who pre- 
 sented themselves in their most agreeable 
 aspect. 
 
 " I protest that Mr. Talbot is getting 
 perfectly objectionable," she said to Lady 
 Betty. " He is always three or four 
 days behind the fashion, and when he 
 wears a new coat he seems ashamed of 
 it. The first day he wore his diamond
 
 sou CI ET SANS SOU CI E. 281 
 
 ring lie turned it round to hide the stone. 
 He is perfectly incomprehensible ! and 
 then his face is sometimes the colour of 
 parchment — his eyes dull — and his nose 
 is inclined to be red. ' He cannot help 
 that' — did you say. My love, what 
 nonsense you talk. We are not barba- 
 rians. And what would be the use of 
 science and discovery, if one could not 
 remedy the defects of nature. If London 
 does not agree with him, I wish he would 
 go away. No, my dear, I did not say so 
 two months ago, it is very true; but Mr. 
 Talbot did not require change then. He 
 was bright, and cheerful, and amiable. 
 Now, he says nothing — or if he does it 
 is so extremely sarcastic and unpleasant, 
 that one wishes he would do the other 
 thino^ — and w^henever w^e have a visitor 
 he is sullen, he scowls, and his complexion 
 
 grows worse than ever 
 
 " Well, he may do his utmost to be
 
 282 SOUCI ET SANS SOUCIE. 
 
 agreeable — I will not contradict that — 
 and he maj be faithful and kind. I 
 don't forget the presents he gave us on 
 New Year's day, but he can give you 
 nothing more before your birthday, and 
 that is not until the autumn — as for me, 
 one does not have birthdays at my age — 
 and so I repeat, it would be better for 
 him if he carried out his intention of 
 going abroad for a time ; and I do not 
 think in speaking of him you ought to 
 call him * dear Tom.' 
 
 " Two or three gentlemen already have 
 asked me what relation he is to you in 
 consequence of your addressing him as 
 ' Tom,' and his position here must seem 
 altogether anomalous and unpleasant to 
 our visitors. ' Tom' is far too familiar, 
 and encourages the young man with 
 hopes that are not likely to be realised ; 
 Mr. Talbot or Thomas would sound 
 better, my love. You might suggest in
 
 sou CI ET SANS SOUCIE. 283 
 
 an amiable manner, of course, that 
 a little change would do him 
 good 
 
 *' Mj dear, who does want to discard 
 old friends when they cease to be 
 useful — what a preposterous idea ! l^ot 
 I, certainly. But I cannot consider Mr. 
 Talbot an old friend ; he is not more 
 than three-and-thirty, and we have only 
 known him two months or so. It is 
 entirely for his own good that I wish 
 him to leave us for a while — say until 
 July — your birthday is in August. . . . 
 
 " Well, I declare, that slipped my 
 memory — he is useful when there are 
 four. But 1 object to that term 
 ' harpooning,' sweetest. If I take 
 
 Mr. Talbot's arm in order that you 
 may walk with Mr. Crewe or another, 
 that cannot be called harpooning. 'Tis 
 a vulgar phrase. 
 
 " To be sure he does take the place of
 
 2S4 SOUCI ET SANS SOUCIE. 
 
 a brother, and without some such kind 
 of attendant, we could not well go 
 about as we do, and accept attentions 
 from gentlemen we know so slightly — there 
 is something in that. 
 
 " And then he is liberal and suffers us 
 to pay for nothing, and the expenses 
 attending play-going are more than I can 
 afford — the tradesfolk are quite irri- 
 tating in their demands for payment. 
 ' Cash will oblige,' is wrote at the foot 
 of every bill that comes in 
 
 '* Ah, well ! perhaps it will be better to 
 say nothing to Mr. Talbot about leaving 
 England at present. Don't laugh, my 
 love. I am thinking how unhappy he 
 would be to leave us." 
 
 And so poor Tom was tolerated by 
 Mrs. St. Cyr, and permitted to make 
 himself useful — to take a back seat in 
 his own box — to carry the ladies' shawls
 
 SOUCI ET SANS SOUCIE. 285 
 
 and cloaks — to escort Mrs. St. Cyr, 
 wliile one more favoured, conducted Lady 
 Betty, and to pay whenever it was pos- 
 sible. More than once lie secretly dis- 
 charged a tradesman's bill, an obligation 
 which Mrs. St. Cyr carefully overlooked 
 rather than to wound his feelings by 
 acknowledgment, or to encounter Lady 
 Betty's indignant protest. 
 
 He was not happy — far from it. It 
 would have been well for him if he had 
 been banished from Park Lane. A few 
 months of travel might have restored 
 partly his old equanimity, and indif- 
 ference. But what lover ever seeks for- 
 getfulness of his woes ? 
 
 Lady Betty w^as familiar with him, 
 playful with him, neglectful of him, and 
 occasionally compassionate to him. But 
 the girl was brimful of life and high 
 spirits; she could not be sentimental — 
 far less serious for more than five minutes
 
 286 SOUCI ET SANS SOUCIE. 
 
 at a time. Lady Betty Sans-soucie, Tom 
 called her. How could she be to him 
 other than she was, being so thoughtless, 
 so sensitive to pleasurable emotion, so 
 delighted with variety, so intoxicated 
 with flattery, and the glitter and excite- 
 ment of the life around her ? 
 
 Tom struggled gallantly through all 
 to suppress the jealous revolt of his 
 nature. He knew that his fault was 
 jealousy, and he bravely set himself not 
 to subdue the object of his jealousy, but 
 to subdue himself ; to be generous to the 
 girl he loved, and bear his misfortunes 
 manfully. The tear that Lady Betty 
 one night shed for him was merited. 
 For the successful effort of a strong man 
 to suffer and not cry out — to put up with 
 neglect, and conceal his sorrow is more 
 touching than the most eloquent poetry. 
 It is more pathetic than death itself, for 
 is it not harder to live and endure, than
 
 SOUCI ET SANS SOUCIE. 287 
 
 to give up one's breath and cease to 
 suffer — to fight than to fly ? 
 
 Tom was a hero — not of the perfect im- 
 maculate kind, but of the order of English 
 gentlemen. He had faults, not a few — 
 but his virtues outweighed them, and sent 
 that end of the scale to kick the beam. 
 Few of those who knew him recognised 
 his heroic qualities. It was significant 
 of his lovableness that his friends, at the 
 very offset called him " Tom." There 
 are men who are never known bj their 
 Christian name; they are to be pitied 
 and — mistrusted. 
 
 Lady Betty admired him for his 
 virtues — his strength and honesty — and 
 loved him for his faults — and they formed 
 the larger constituent in the sum of 
 qualities for which she valued him. It 
 was a fault to be jealous — a fault to 
 submit to her neglect, a fault to forgive 
 the slights she put upon him, a fault to
 
 288 SOUCI ET SANS SOUCIE. 
 
 patiently follow her in the path which 
 was all rose petals for her, all thorns 
 for him, a fault to submit to the selfish 
 tyranny of mamma — but did not each 
 of these faults carry a proof of his love 
 for her that was wanting in all the com- 
 pliment and flattery of the brilHant train 
 of her admirers ?
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 THE INVITATION. 
 
 NE afternoon in tlie beginning of 
 April, Tom arrived at the 
 house in Park Lane, carrying 
 two bouquets. He had engaged a box 
 at the opera, and the bouquets were for 
 Lady Betty and Mrs. St. Cyr. Lady 
 Betty was always grateful for flowers, 
 and never failed to reward her lover for 
 a bouquet with five minutes' sweetness ; 
 and so expectant of happiness, Tom ran 
 up-stairs, and entered the drawing-room 
 with a light foot and a cheerful face. 
 
 VOL. I. 19
 
 290 THE INVITATION. 
 
 Gerard Crewe was sitting with the 
 ladies, who were talking with much 
 excitement. 
 
 "Oh, Tom! what do you think?" 
 exclaimed Lady Betty, springing up 
 from her seat and clapping her hands, as 
 he entered. 
 
 " Not the slightest idea," answered 
 Tom, standing still with the bouquets 
 in his hands. 
 
 "Why, Mr. Crewe has obtained 
 invitations for us from Mrs. Walker, for 
 her mask ball." 
 
 Tom turned to a side-table and laid 
 down the bouquets, conscious that they 
 could claim no attention in the presence 
 of this strong centre attraction — in fact 
 he received never a word of thanks for 
 them— saying as he did so : 
 
 " Gerard is fortunate." 
 
 " An invitation for Lady Betty and 
 me," said Mrs. St. Cyr, in order that
 
 THE INVITATION. 
 
 291 
 
 Tom should at once understand that he 
 was not included. 
 
 " I am sorry I could not get one for 
 you also, Tom," said Gerard. " But you 
 know how difficult they are to procure for 
 Mrs. Walker's entertainments at all times, 
 and this is to be especially brilliant," said 
 Gerard. 
 
 " The Prince of Wales is to be there, and 
 the Marchioness of Donegal, and Mrs. Fitz- 
 Herbert," said Mrs. St. Cyr impressively. 
 
 " You are going, of course," said Tom 
 to Gerard. 
 
 " Yes. The ladies will go under my 
 protection, and be introduced by 
 me." 
 
 Tom seated himself, and said quietly, 
 raising his eyes to Lady Betty : 
 
 " I hope you will enjoy yourself very 
 much." 
 
 He found that she had become sud- 
 denly grave. In her own dehght she 
 
 19—2
 
 292 THE INVITATION. 
 
 bad not thought how the prospect of 
 her going to a ball without him would 
 affect him. There was regret in her 
 eyes as she looked at him, and she said 
 with tender earnestness, taking a chair 
 close beside him : 
 
 " I am so sorry that you are not 
 going with me, Tom," and she just 
 touched his hand as it rested on the 
 arm of his chair. 
 
 His face lit up with gratitude in the 
 moment, and he murmured a few words 
 which were unintelligible to every 
 ear but Lady Betty's. A vocabu- 
 lary of three words is sufficient for 
 lovers. 
 
 Mrs. St. Cyr was already discussing 
 the great question of dress, in which 
 Lady Betty quickly joined, and in the 
 course of the next half hour the rela- 
 tive merits of every costume in Europe, 
 Asia, and the northern part of Africa
 
 THE INVITATION. 293 
 
 were argued pro and con. A temporary 
 diversion was caused by the annouce- 
 ment of dinner, when Mrs. St. Cyr 
 rose promptly and took possession of 
 Tom's arm, while Grerard of necessity 
 followed with Lady Betty. 
 
 The conversation was renewed as 
 soon as the party were seated at 
 table, and continued with such vivacity, 
 that it was late when the ladies were 
 ready to go to the theatre ; neverthe- 
 less Mrs. St. Cyr ordered her coach- 
 man to drive round by Stanhope Street 
 in order that they might see Mrs. 
 Walker's house, which stood at the 
 corner, and which was to be thrown 
 open for the reception of masks on the 
 first Monday in June. 
 
 The performance had commenced when 
 Mrs. St. Cyr, in a gorgeous turban with 
 nodding plumes, took her place in the 
 front of the box with Lady Betty.
 
 294 THE INVITATION. 
 
 '' I declare tlie Prince is in the Royal 
 box," said Mrs. St. Cyr, in an excited 
 wliisper ; " and there is Mrs. Fitz- 
 Herbert, and who is that very distin- 
 guished-looking gentleman with him, 
 Mr. Crewe?" 
 
 " My Lord Castlereigh," answered 
 Gerard. 
 
 Tom was disposing of the ladies' 
 mantles at the back of the box. 
 
 " Bring your chair between us, Mr. 
 Crewe," said Mrs. St. Cyr. " Be careful 
 of my fur if you please, Mr. Talbot. 
 How charming the Prince looks— what 
 a dear man ! and to think we shall 
 have the felicity of seeing him dance. 
 I am told he performs both the Irish and 
 Scotch steps to a marvel. My darling, 
 look straight before you, and keep 
 perfectly still. The Prince has his spy- 
 glass up, and is looking at you. Oh, 
 I feel all of a flutter — my scent-bottle
 
 THE INVITATION. 295 
 
 if you please, Mr. Talbot. There's a 
 gentleman in tlie box on the right 
 looking straight across at you, my love — 
 who can he be ? My spy-glass if you 
 please, Mr. Talbot. There's Lord Forsith 
 bowing. 
 
 '' My love, your front tuft wants 
 a touch on the right. The Prince is 
 looking again. Ah, there's the Marquis 
 Dolgelly in the omnibus wanting to 
 bow. My bouquet if you please, Mr. 
 Talbot. Here's all the rank and fashion 
 to be sure. What a charming opera ! 
 I never enjoyed one so much in my 
 life. The Prince can't keep his eyes 
 off you, I protest. Oh, I adore the 
 opera — such sentiment, such — what is 
 it all about, Mr Talbot? you under- 
 stand the Italian." 
 
 In this manner Mrs. St. Cyr gave 
 herself up to the delights of music, 
 and continued to chat in a tone suffi-
 
 296 THE INVITATION. 
 
 ciently loud to prevent anyone in the 
 box following a bar of melody until a 
 tap at tlie door of the box announced 
 visitors, and Tom, in his customary 
 function of useful friend, opened the 
 door and admitted three gentlemen who 
 had come to pay their respects to 
 Lady Betty. When they left, Gerard 
 rose and withdrew, giving his chair 
 to Tom, with a significant look of 
 sympathy. 
 
 '' I hope you are enjoying the 
 music," whispered Tom to Lady 
 Betty. 
 
 '' To tell you the truth, I have heard 
 nothing but mamma's voice yet awhile," 
 said she. 
 
 *' My darling, the Prince has his 
 spy-glass up again. Mr. Talbot, will 
 you see if the door is closed." 
 
 " The door is perfectly fast, madam," 
 answered Tom, tartly, without moving.
 
 THE INVITATION. 297 
 
 and glaring across the house at the 
 Prince. 
 
 " What an air the Prince has," ex- 
 claimed Mrs. St. Cyr. 
 
 " Yes, and a very unpleasant air for 
 a man who has a suffering wife, and 
 should set an example of fidelity and 
 honour to the people he is to 
 govern." 
 
 " Mr. Talbot ! I beg you will not 
 intrude your republican notions here. 
 There are circumstances in connec- 
 tion with that unfortunate marriage 
 which should be hushed up and 
 concealed." 
 
 " I am precisely of your opinion, 
 Mrs. St. Cyr," answered Tom, still 
 scowling at the Prince, who was now 
 toying with Mrs. FitzHerbert's glove. 
 
 Further discussion was precluded by 
 the fresh arrival of visitors, who occupy- 
 ing the front of the box, left Tom at
 
 298 THE INVITATION. 
 
 liberty to amuse himself with his own 
 reflections at the back. 
 
 It was useless endeavouring to over- 
 come the discontent which aofitated him 
 now. He fancied that he was justified 
 in regarding the course of events with 
 mistrust and suspicion. It was not 
 the laughter of Lady Betty listening 
 to the wit of her admirers that agi- 
 tated him, but the frequent observation 
 cast upon her by the finest gentleman 
 and the greatest libertine in Europe. 
 He could not contemplate with compo- 
 sure the prospect of Lady Betty meet- 
 ing the Prince at the mask-ball. He 
 knew the license accorded to those 
 wearing masks, and his jealous love 
 for Lady Betty stimulated his imagina- 
 tion to conceive as probable a thousand 
 impossible accidents which might happen 
 to her, and what protection would the 
 giddy young girl have in her foolish
 
 THE INVITATION. 299 
 
 motlier ? worse than none. When the 
 Prince again took np his opera-glass, 
 Tom, tormented to a degree bordering 
 on desperation, quitted the box hur- 
 riedly, unable to stand there and see 
 the privileged rake fix his greedy eyes 
 upon Lady Betty. 
 
 He was walking in the corridor, with 
 his eyes on the ground, completely un- 
 conscious of the people he met and 
 passed, when Grerard came to his 
 side. 
 
 " What on earth is the matter, Tom? 
 Your face is the colour of ash, and 
 and your hand is cold as ice. Come 
 and take some cognac," said he. 
 
 " Cognac will do me no good. 
 Never miud me, Gerard, go to the 
 ladies." 
 
 " Are they alone ?" 
 
 *' No, there are three chattering idiots 
 to amuse them."
 
 300 THE INVITATION. 
 
 "What is tlie matter?" Gerard re- 
 peated, quietly. " Out witli it, Tom ; 
 you're not jealous of idiots ?" 
 
 " Gerard, can anything be done to 
 prevent Lady Betty meeting the Prince 
 of Wales at Mrs. Walker's mask- 
 ball?" 
 
 Gerard was silent a minute, less 
 astonished by his disease — for he had 
 seen for some time what was going on 
 in his friend's mind — than perplexed 
 as to the remedy to be given. 
 
 " Yes," he said, " the actual cards 
 of admission are not yet in my pos- 
 session ; I will tear them up when I 
 get them, if you will. But first of all 
 you shall come with me into the air, 
 you shiver as if you had an ague 
 upon you. Wait here a moment." 
 
 Gerard left his side, and Tom ad- 
 vanced to an open door, from which 
 he commanded a view of the boxes 
 
 I
 
 THE INVITATION. 301 
 
 on either side of the house. Lady 
 Betty was looking through her glasses, 
 and it seemed to him that she was 
 looking at the Prince, which was not 
 improbable. The Prince was looking 
 on the stage, for a wonder, but that 
 did not greatly lessen Tom's perturba- 
 tion : it was enough that Lady Betty's 
 glass was fixed on him. 
 
 '' Come," said Gerard, " here is your 
 hafc ; put it on. I have told Parkes 
 to wait in the box until you return. 
 Now, Tom, let us talk of this affair 
 seriously. Do you actually wish that 
 Lady Betty shall not go to this 
 ball ?" 
 
 " I cannot bear the thought of that 
 libertine approaching her. He has been 
 looking at her ever since she entered the 
 box, and she at him." 
 
 " What is more natural ? She is 
 the prettiest woman in the house, and
 
 302 THE INVITATION, 
 
 he tlie prettiest gentleman, as the phrase 
 goes. What then ? I do not wish to 
 defend the Prince's character, but I 
 ask you, is he worse because his faults 
 are public, than dozens of the men 
 who can keep their faults secret, and 
 must be met in any ball-room or 
 assembly ? Look at the possibilities of 
 the case from the most extreme point 
 of view. Supposing the Prince dances 
 with Miss St. Cyr — which is one of 
 the most improbable things I can 
 imagine, will she in consequence love 
 you less, or be less worthy of your 
 love ? If she deserves your love she 
 will always be loyal to you, but any 
 restriction you put upon her actions 
 must lessen her esteem for you, and so 
 shake her loyalty." 
 
 They had entered a tavern close by 
 the theatre, and there Tom sat in 
 apathetic silence, while Gerard used
 
 THE INVITATION. 303 
 
 argument to bring him to reason. At 
 length he shook off the mood, and rousing 
 himself, said : 
 
 " Say no more, Grerard ; my prejudice 
 is not to be cured by appeals to my 
 reason, for that is paralysed by these 
 paroxysms of jealousy. My own con- 
 science accuses and condemns me of 
 something worse than folly. When the 
 fit is upon me I am the slave of my 
 evil passion, a slave meaner to my 
 own perception, perhaps, than to yours. 
 Let us return to the theatre; see, 
 my hand is firm again. The madman 
 has his lucid intervals. Nothing shall 
 hinder Lady Betty following her own 
 inclinations, while they are harmless to 
 herself." 
 
 " Unhappily," said Gerard, laying his 
 hand on Tom's shoulder, " you are not 
 always capable of judging whether they 
 are harmless or not."
 
 304 THE INVITATION, 
 
 *' Then you shall be my guide, Grerard. 
 When I am in doubt I will come to 
 you." 
 
 Grerard pressed his friend's hand 
 encouragingly, but he said to him- 
 self: 
 
 " My poor Tom ! when can you be 
 in doubt ? ' Trifles light as air are to 
 the jealous confirmation strong as proofs 
 of holy writ.' "
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 WHO SHOULD WEAB A DIADEM BUT SHE ? 
 
 HE fortlicoming ball was the 
 sole topic of conversation at 
 Park Lane. Every visitor was 
 taken into Mrs. St. Cyr's confidence, 
 his advice accepted with unequivocal 
 expressions of approval, and discarded 
 the moment a fresh proposition was 
 advanced. The house was littered from 
 the lumber-room to the kitchen fire- 
 place with plates of fashions and 
 "elegant designs." It was noticeable 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 20
 
 3o5 WHO SHOULD WEAR A DIADEM? 
 
 tliat eacli new adviser attempted to 
 out-do his predecessor by the gorgeous- 
 ness of his fancy, and that as the 
 ornaments proposed advanced from beads 
 and paste to pearls and diamonds, 
 Mrs. St. Cyr grew more thoughtful and 
 dissatisfied. 
 
 However, at the end of a week the 
 dressmaker pointed out the necessity 
 of an immediate decision, and then in 
 a grand final consultation it was 
 agreed to adopt Grerard's suggestion, 
 that Mrs. St. Cyr should represent 
 Night, and Lady Betty Morning. The 
 great recommendation of this dress to 
 Mrs. St. Cyr seemed to be that she 
 could wear her plume of feathers, 
 which might be dyed for the occasion 
 at a trifling expense. 
 
 The dressmaker made her calcula- 
 tions, and speedily furnished Mrs. St. 
 Cyr with a list of the materials —
 
 WHO SHOULD WEAR A DIADEM ? 307 
 
 silk, satin, muslin, fine crape, sprigs 
 of flowers and diamonds — which she 
 must be supplied within a couple of 
 days. 
 
 Mrs. St. Cyr took the list, and having 
 jotted down the possible cost of each 
 article, and summed them up in a 
 grand total, she hurried up to her 
 bed-room, had an attack of the palpita- 
 tions, and could speak to no one for the 
 rest of the day. 
 
 The next morning when Tom called 
 to inquire after her health, he found 
 Mrs. St. Cyr alone in the drawing- 
 room. She rose from her seat and 
 greeted him with effusive warmth. 
 
 " I knew you would be the first to 
 call upon me after my indisposition," 
 she said. "You are ever so thought- 
 ful, and considerate and kind ; and I 
 have sent Lady Betty into the sitting- 
 room because I wished to have you 
 
 20—2
 
 3o8 WHO SHOULD WEAR A DIADEM? 
 
 all to myself for five minutes. It is 
 so seldom now that I can have the 
 pleasure of a little confidential con- 
 versation with a real friend. One's 
 time is so occupied by visitors, ac- 
 quaintances with whom one can have 
 no sympathy whatever. We have quite 
 decided about the dresses for the ball; 
 Lady Betty is to wear a skirt of 
 pink and saffron, covered with fine 
 muslin looped up with sprigs of 
 flower-buds studded with diamonds — 
 Morning, you know. The pink and 
 yellow sky with fleecy clouds, and 
 opening flowers sprinkled with dew, is 
 the fancy." 
 
 " A poetical and pretty fancy." 
 " Nothing to be compared with your 
 idea, Mr. Talbot; but still Lady Betty 
 is imperious, as you know. I shall 
 wear a simple robe of the dark ultra- 
 marine spangled with stars, a plume
 
 WHO SHOULD WEAR A DIADEM ? 309 
 
 fastened with a crescent, a wreath of 
 poppies, a dark veil gathered in with a 
 spray of paste to represent a comet," 
 she paused for a moment and then recom- 
 menced. '' You have noticed, I have no 
 doubt, with some surprise, that I have 
 been ill at ease for the past few days, 
 Mr. Talbot, have you not?" 
 
 "Nothing to excite surprise, madam, 
 considering how much you have had to 
 think on." 
 
 " I have had something to agitate me, 
 which I was bound to conceal even 
 from my own daughter, but I should 
 feel myself wanting in gratitude if I 
 made any reservation from you, who 
 have always manifested such friendship 
 for us." 
 
 *' I assure you I have no curiosity," 
 said Tom, eagerly; " I beg you not 
 to open any subject painful to your- 
 self."
 
 3IO WHO SHOULD WEAR A DIADEM? 
 
 " But I want your advice, my dear 
 Mr. Talbot." 
 
 " If I can be of any help to you the 
 case is altered." 
 
 ''It is your advice only tbat I ask 
 for, but I must beg as a favour that 
 you will not mention a word of what 
 I say to Lady Betty — she would never 
 forgive me. You know how proud she 
 is, and would I am sure refuse to let me 
 accept any — any advice you may give 
 me." 
 
 Tom bowed acquiescence, and Mrs. 
 St. Cyr proceeded. 
 
 " My property is so bound up that 
 I can draw only two hundred pounds 
 a quarter for my requirements. My ex- 
 penses in London exceed my expecta- 
 tions, and the tradesmen demand cash 
 payments, as we are only recently esta- 
 blished here. To satisfy their claims 
 I had spent nearly all of the money
 
 WHO SHOULD WEAR A DIADEM? 311 
 
 I received at the spring quarter before 
 we received the invitation to Mrs. 
 Walker's ball, and I find myself witb 
 no more than sufl&cient to supply our 
 absolute necessities. In this extremity 
 T wrote to Dr. Blandly begging him to 
 let me have a quarter's payment in 
 advance. He refused. I then wrote 
 asking if he would grant me a loan, 
 taking as security a written instrument 
 empowering him to appropriate my fur- 
 niture and china at my death. Again he 
 politely but firmly refused to assist me." 
 
 "Mrs. St. Cyr," said Tom, greatly 
 embarrassed, " I beg you will not enter 
 into these details. You may spare 
 yourself and me unnecessary, pain by 
 telhng me at once what assistance you 
 require." 
 
 "My dear Mr. Talbot, you know all, 
 and all I ask of you is — what am I to 
 do?"
 
 312 WHO SHOULD WEAR A DIADEM? 
 
 " Will you tell me how mucli tlie cos- 
 tumes will cost?" 
 
 Mrs. St. Cyr hesitated a moment, 
 afraid to mention the grand total, and 
 then for answer took from her pocket 
 the piece of paper on which she had 
 made her calculations and handed it to 
 him to read. Without looking at it he 
 slipped it into his pocket and merely 
 said: 
 
 '' T am going in the City now ; I 
 shall return in two hours, when I 
 hope to be able to allay your 
 anxiety." 
 
 Mrs. St. Cyr accompanied him to the 
 door with a thousand broken sentences 
 of protest, of gratitude, and apology, and 
 finished, as he hastily withdrew, with a 
 deep sigh — partly of satisfaction, partly 
 of regret. 
 
 '' Had I only known beforehand," she 
 murmured, '' I should certainly not have
 
 WHO SHOULD WEAR A DIADEM ? 313 
 
 put down everything at tlie lowest pos- 
 sible price, nor should I have sent that 
 plume to the dyer's." 
 
 That was not the only error she had 
 committed, for when Tom came to open 
 the piece of paper on which Mrs. St. Cyr 
 had written her estimate, he read, in the 
 bold, legible hand of Doctor Blandly, 
 these words : 
 
 *' Madam, 
 " I decline to accept your proposal, 
 which I consider both senseless and 
 wicked. 
 
 " Your servant, 
 
 " Blandly.'* 
 
 This was the polite refusal referred to 
 by Mrs. St. Cyr. 
 
 At Lincoln's Inn Tom procured notes 
 sufficient to cover the requirements of 
 Mrs. St. Cyr, and from thence he went
 
 314 WHO SHOULD WEAR A DIADEM? 
 
 into Cheapside and gave orders to a 
 jeweller's to make a coronet of stones to 
 represent an aurora. 
 
 " There's not a gem will sparkle like 
 my Lady Betty's eyes wlien she sees 
 my present," he said to himself as he 
 left the shop ; and indulging his fancy 
 with a picture of Lady Betty in her 
 happiness, he stepped along lightly. He 
 had a habit of repeating a phrase again 
 and again as he walked, while his 
 thoughts played about a central object, 
 and these were the words he said to him- 
 self as he trudged from St. Paul's to 
 Piccadilly : 
 
 " Who should wear a diadem but 
 she ?" 
 
 At the corner of Park Lane he stopped 
 beside a butcher, who was gazing at an 
 approaching party of equestrians — two 
 gentlemen and a lady, with servants .in 
 their rear. The lady was Lady Betty,
 
 WHO SHOULD WEAR A DIADEM? 315 
 
 tlie gentlemen fashionable acquaintances 
 who, in their visits, treated Tom with 
 tacit contempt. 
 
 . Lady Betty was laughing, the young 
 bucks were simpering. They did not 
 see Tom ; he was unnoticeable enough 
 standing there in his plain dress beside 
 the butcher. They passed him, turned 
 the corner, and went off in a canter at 
 Lady Betty's command, Tom heard her 
 voice. 
 
 He watched until her pretty figure was 
 lost to his sight, and then he turned away 
 with a sigh, walking now with heavy 
 steps and a heavy heart to the house 
 where he had hoped to find her and catch 
 a smile. 
 
 " They will be at the ball, perhaps ; 
 and maybe now they are arranging 
 to dance with her," he said to him- 
 self. 
 
 It occurred to him that if he chose
 
 3i6 WHO SHOULD WEAR A DIADEM? 
 
 to withhold the notes he carried in 
 his pocket, she could not go to the 
 ball and dance with his rivals. But 
 his better genius ruled his heart that 
 morning, and Mrs. St. Cyr got the 
 notes. 
 
 END OF THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 London : Printed by A. Schulze, 13, Poland Street. (S. & H.)
 
 I
 
 HlInKV °'' "-"NOIS-UBBANA 
 
 30112040261882