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 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY.
 
 LOKDON : 
 ROBSON AND SOKS, PKINTEES, FAKCRAS EOAD, N.W.
 
 THE 
 
 GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 %. MM. 
 
 BY THE AUTHORS OF 
 
 'BEADY-MONEY MORTIBOY,' 'THIS SON OF VULCAN,' 'MY LITTLE GIRL,' 
 ' Wixn HARP AND CROWN,' ' THE CASE OP MR. LUCRAFT,' ETC. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 TINSLEY BROTHERS, 8 CATHERINE ST., STRAND. 
 
 1876. 
 
 [All rights ruerved.]
 
 
 Y. ( 
 
 THE 
 
 i GOLDEN BUTTEKFLT. 
 
 I. 
 
 * What do you think, chief ?' 
 
 The speaker, who was leading hy half a length, 
 turned in his saddle and looked at his companion. 
 
 * Push on,' growled the chief, who was a man of 
 few words. 
 
 ' If you were not so intolerably conceited about 
 the value of your words — hang it, man, you are not 
 the Poet Laureate! — you might give your reasons 
 "^ why we should not camp where we are. The sun 
 ^ will be down in two hours; the way is long, the 
 wind is cold, or will be soon. This pilgrim has 
 tightened his belt to stave off the gnawing at his 
 stomach ; here is running water, here is wood, here 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 a THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 is everything calculated to charm the poetic mind 
 even of Captain Ladds — ' 
 
 'Koad !' interrupted his fellow-traveller, pointing 
 along the track marked more by deep old wheel-ruts, 
 grown over with grass, than by any evidences of 
 engineering skill. ' Roads lead to places ; places 
 have beds ; beds are warmer than grass — no rattle- 
 snakes in beds ; miners in hotels — amusing fellows, 
 miners.' 
 
 * If ever I go out again after buffaloes, or bear, or 
 mountain-deer, or any other game whatever which 
 this great continent offers, with a monosyllabic man, 
 may I be condemned to another two months of buf- 
 falo steak without Worcester sauce, such as I have 
 had already; may I be poisoned with bad Bourbon 
 whisky ; may I never again see the sweet shady side 
 of Pall Mall ; may I—' 
 
 Here he stopped suddenly, for want of imagina- 
 tion to complete the curse. 
 
 The first speaker was a young man of four-and- 
 twenty — the age which is to my sex what eighteen is 
 to the other, because at four-and-twenty youth and 
 manhood meet. He of four-and-twenty is yet a youth, 
 inasmuch as women are still angels, every dinner is 
 a feast, every man of higher rank is a demigod, 
 and every book is true. He is a man, inasmuch as
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 3 
 
 he has the firm step of manhood, he has passed 
 through his calf-love, he knows what claret means, 
 and his heart is set upon the things of which boys 
 care nothing. He is a youth, because he can still 
 play a game of football and rejoice amazingly in a 
 boat-race ; he is a man, because he knows that these 
 things belong to the past, and that to concern oneself 
 seriously with athletics when you can no longer be 
 an athlete in the games is to put yourself on the level 
 of a rowing coach or the athletic critic of a sporting- 
 paper. 
 
 Being only four-and-twenty, the speaker was in 
 high spirits. He was also hungry. He was always 
 both. What has life better to offer than a continual 
 flow of animal spirits and a perpetual appetite ? He 
 was a tall, slight, and perhaps rather a weedy youth, 
 a little too long of leg, a little too narrow in the beam, 
 a little spare about the shoulders ; but a youth of a 
 ruddy and a cheerful countenance. To say that the 
 lines of his face were never set to gravity would be 
 too much, because I defy any man to laugh when he 
 is sleeping, eating, or drinking. At all other times 
 this young man was ready to laugh without stopping. 
 Not a foolish cackle of idiotic vacuity such as may 
 be heard in Earlswood Asylum, or at a tea-party to 
 meet the curate ; but a cheerful bubble of mirth and
 
 4 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 good-hnmour, proof that the spirit Tvithin took every- 
 thing joyously, seeing in every misadventure its hu- 
 morous side, and in every privation its absurdity. 
 
 The other who rode beside him was some years 
 older at least. A man of thirty-five, or perhaps 
 more ; a man with a hatchet-face — nose and forehead 
 in one straight line ; long chin and long upper lip in 
 another ; face red with health as well as bronzed 
 v.ith the sun ; a good honest face, supernaturally 
 grave, grave beyond all understanding ; lips that 
 were always tightly closed ; eyes which sometimes 
 sparkled in response to some genial thought, or 
 bubbled over at some joke of his companion, but 
 which as a rule w^ere like gimlets for sternness, so that 
 strangers, especially stranger servants — the nigger 
 of Jamaica, the guileless Hindoo of his Indian sta- 
 tion, and other members of the inferior human 
 brotherhood — trembled exceedingly when they met 
 those eyes. Captain Ladds was accordingly well 
 served, as cold reserved men generally are. Mankind 
 take everything unknown pro terrihili, for something 
 dreadful, and until we learn to know a man, and 
 think we know him, he is to be treated with the 
 respect due to a possible enemy. Hostis means a 
 stranger, and it is for strangers that we keep our 
 brickbats.
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 5 
 
 People who knew Ladds laughed at this reputa- 
 tion. They said the gallant captain was a humbug ; 
 they pretended that he was as gentle as a turtle- 
 dove ; beneath those keen eyes, they said, and behind 
 that sharp hatchet-face lurked the most amiable of 
 dispositions. At any rate, Ladds was never known 
 to thrash a native servant, or to swear more than is 
 becoming and needful at a syce, while his hatchet- 
 face had been more than once detected in the very 
 act of looking as soft and tender as a young mother's 
 over her first-born. The name of this cavalier was 
 short and simple. It was Thomas Ladds. His inti- 
 mate friends called him Tommy. 
 
 They were in California, and were not buffalo- 
 hunting now, because there is not a buffalo within 
 five hundred miles of Sacramento. Their buffalo- 
 hunting was over, having been accompanied by such 
 small hardships as have been already alluded to. 
 They rode along a track which was as much like a 
 road as Richmond Park is like the Forest of Arden. 
 They were mounted on a pair of small nervous mus- 
 tangs ; their saddles were the Mexican saddles used 
 in the country, in front of which was the never- 
 failing horn. Round this was wound the horsehair 
 lariette, which serves the Western Nimrod for las- 
 soing by day and for keeping off snakes at night, no
 
 b THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 snake having ever been known to cross this barrier 
 of bristly horsehair. You might as well expect a 
 burgling coolie, smeared with oil, and naked, to 
 effect his escape by crawling through a hedge of 
 prickly pear. Also, because they were in a foreign 
 land, and wished to be in harmony with its institu- 
 tions, they wore immense steel spurs, inlaid with 
 silver filigree, and furnished with * lobs' attached to 
 them, which jangled and danced to make melody, 
 just as if they formed part of an illustration to a 
 Christmas book. Boots, of course, they wore, and 
 the artistic instinct which, a year before, had con- 
 verted the younger man into a thing of beauty and a 
 joy for the whole Park in the afternoon, now impelled 
 him to assume a cummerhund of scarlet silk, with 
 white-tasselled fringes, the like of which, perhaps, 
 had never before been seen on the back of Californian 
 mustang. His companion was less ornate in his 
 personal appearance. Both men carried guns, and 
 if a search had been made, a revolver would have 
 been found, either hidden in the belt of each or car- 
 ried perdu in the trousers-pocket. In these days of 
 Pacific Railways and scampering Globe Trotters, one 
 does not want to parade the revolver ; but there are 
 dark places on the earth, from the traveller's as 
 well as from the missionary's point of view, where
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 7 
 
 it would be well to have both bowie and Derringer 
 ready to hand. On the American continent the 
 wandering lamb sometimes has to lie down with the 
 leopard, the harmless gazelle to journey side by 
 side with the cheetah, and the asp may here and 
 there pretend to play innocently over the hole of the 
 cockatrice. 
 
 Behind the leaders followed a little troop of three, 
 consisting of one English servant and two 'greasers.' 
 The latter were dressed in plain unpretending cos- 
 tume of flannel shirt, boots, and rough trousers. 
 Behind each hung his rifle. The English servant 
 was dressed like his master, but ' more so ;' his spurs 
 being heavier, the pattern of his check-shirt being 
 larger, his saddle bigger ; only for the silk cummer- 
 bund he wore a leathern strap, the last symbol of 
 the honourable condition of dependence. He rode 
 in advance of the greasers, whom he held in con- 
 tempt, and some thirty yards behind the leaders. 
 The Mexicans rode in silence, smoking cigarettes 
 perpetually. Sometimes they looked to their guns, 
 or they told a story, or one would sing the snatch of 
 a song in a low voice ; mostly they were grave and 
 thoughtful, though what a greaser thinks about has 
 never yet been ascertained. 
 
 The country was so far in the Far West, that the
 
 8 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 Sierra Nevada lay to the east. It was a rich and 
 beautiful country : there were park-like tracts — sup- 
 posing the park to be of a primitive and early- 
 settlement kind — stretching out to the left. These 
 were dotted with white oaks. To the right rose the 
 sloping sides of a hill, which were covered with the 
 brushwood called the chaparelle, in which grew the 
 manzanita and the scrub -oak, with an occasional 
 cedar-pine, not in the least like the cedars of Lebanon 
 and Clapham Common. Hanging about in the jungle, 
 or stretching its arms along the side of the dry 
 watercourse which ran at the travellers' feet beside 
 the road, was the wild vine, loaded with its small 
 and pretty grapes, now ripe. Nature in inventing 
 the wild grape has been as generous as in her gift of 
 the sloe. It is a fruit of which an American once 
 observed that it was calculated to develop the gene- 
 rosity of a man's nature, 'because,' he explained, 
 ' you would rather give it to your neighbour than eat 
 it yourself.' 
 
 The travellers were low down on the western 
 slopes of the Sierra ; they were in the midst of dales 
 and glades — canons and gulches, of perfect loveliness, 
 shut in by mountains which rose over and behind 
 them like friendly giants guarding a troop of sleep- 
 ing maidens. Pelion was piled on Ossa as peak
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 9 
 
 after peak rose higher, all clad with pine and cedar, 
 receding farther and farther, till peaks became points 
 and ridges became sharp edges. 
 
 It was autumn, and there were dry beds which 
 had in the spring been rivulets flowing full and clear 
 from the snowy sides of the higher slopes, yet among 
 them lingered the flowers of April upon the shrubs, 
 and the colours of the fading leaves mingled with the 
 hues of the autumn berries. 
 
 A sudden turn in the winding road brought the 
 foremost riders upon a change in the appearance of 
 the country. Below them to the left stretched a 
 broad open space, where the' ground had been not 
 only cleared of whatever jungle once grew upon it, 
 but also turned over. They looked upon the site of 
 one of the earliest surface - mining grounds. The 
 shingle and gravel stood about in heaps ; the gulleys 
 and ditches formed by the miners ran up and down 
 the face of the country like the wrinkles in the cheek 
 of a baby monkey ; old pits, not deep enough to kill, 
 but warranted to maim and disable, lurked like man- 
 traps in the open ; the old wooden aqueducts run up 
 by the miners in the year 'fifty-two were still stand- 
 ing where they were abandoned by the * pioneers ;' 
 here and there lay about old washing-pans rusty and 
 broken, old cradles and bits of rusty metal which
 
 10 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 had once belonged to shovels. These relics and 
 signs of bygone gatherings of men were sufficiently 
 dreary in themselves, but at intervals there stood 
 the ruins of a log-house or a heap which had once 
 been a cottage built of mud. Palestine itself has no 
 more striking picture of desolation and wreck than 
 a deserted surface-mine. 
 
 They drew rein and looked in silence. Presently 
 they became aware of the presence of life. Eight in 
 the foreground, about two hundred yards before them, 
 there advanced a procession of two. The leader of 
 the show, so to speak, was a man. He was running. 
 He was running so hard, that anybody could see his 
 primary object was speed. After him, with heavy 
 stride, seeming to be in no kind of hurry, and yet 
 covering the ground at a much greater rate than the 
 man, there came a bear — a real old grisly. A bear 
 who was * shadowing' the man and meant claws. A 
 bear who had an insult to avenge, and was resolved 
 to go on with the affair until he had avenged it. A 
 bear, too, who had his enemy in the open, where there 
 was nothing to stop him, and no refuge for his victim 
 but the planks of a ruined log-house, could he find one. 
 
 Both men without a word got their rifles ready. 
 The younger threw the reins of his horse to his 
 companion and dismounted.
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 11 
 
 Then he stood still and watched. 
 
 The most exhilarating thing in the whole world 
 is allowed to be a hunt. No greater pleasure in life 
 than that of the Shekarry, especially if he be after 
 big game. On this occasion the keenness of the 
 sport was perhaps intensified to him who ran by the 
 reflection that the customary position of things was 
 reversed. No longer did he hunt the bear ; the bear 
 hunted Iwn, No longer did he warily follow up the 
 game; the game boldly followed him. No joyous 
 sound of horns cheered on the hunter; no shout, 
 such as those which inspirit the fox and put fresh 
 vigour into the hare ; not even the short eager bark 
 of the hounds, at the sound of which Eejmard begins 
 to think how many of his hundred turns are left. It 
 was a silent chase. The bear, who represented in 
 himself the whole field — men in scarlet, ladies, 
 master, pack, and everything — set to work in a cold 
 unsympathetic way, infinitely more distressing to a 
 nervous creature than the cheerful ringing of a 
 whole field. To hunt in silence would be hard 
 for any man ; to be hunted in silence is intoler- 
 able. 
 
 Grisly held his head down and wagged it from 
 side to side, while his great silent paws rapidly 
 cleared the ground and lessened the distance.
 
 12 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 ' Tommy/ whispered the young fellow, ' I can 
 cover him now.' 
 
 'Wait, Jack. Don't miss. Give Grisly two 
 minutes more. Gad ! how the fellow scuds !' 
 
 Tommy, you see, obeyed the instinct of nature. 
 He loved the hunt : if not to hunt actively, to wit- 
 ness a hunt. It is the same feeling which crowds 
 the benches at a bull-fight in Spain. It was the 
 same feeling which lit up the faces in the Coliseum 
 when Hermann, formerly of the Danube, prisoner, 
 taken red-handed in revolt, and therefore moriturus, 
 performed with vigour, sympathy, and spirit the role 
 of ActaBon, ending, as we all know, in a splendid 
 chase by bloodhounds ; after which the poor Teuton, 
 maddened by his long flight and exhausted by his 
 desperate resistance, was torn to pieces, fighting to 
 the end with a rage past all acting. It is our 
 modern pleasure to read of pain and sufi'ering. 
 Those were the really pleasant days to the Eoman 
 ladies when they actually witnessed living agony. 
 
 ' Give Grisly two minutes,' said Captain Ladds. 
 
 By this time the rest of the party had come up, 
 and were watching the movements of the man and 
 bear. In the plain stood the framework of a ruined 
 wooden house. Man made for log -house. Bear, 
 without any apparent effort, but just to show that he
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 13 
 
 saw the dodge, and meant that it should not succeed, 
 put on a spurt, and the distance between them 
 lessened every moment. Fifty yards; forty yards. 
 Man looked round over his shoulder. The log-house 
 was a good two hundred yards ahead. He hesitated ; 
 seemed to stop for a moment. Bear diminishing 
 the space by a good dozen yards — and then man 
 doubled. 
 
 ' Getting pumped,' said Ladds the critical. Then 
 he too dismounted, and stood beside the younger 
 man, giving the reins of both horses to one of the 
 Mexicans. ' Mustn't let Grisly claw the poor devil,' 
 he murmured. 
 
 ' Let me bring him down. Tommy.' 
 
 * Bring him down, young un.' 
 
 The greasers looked on and laughed. It would 
 have been to them a pleasant termination to the 
 * play' had Bruin clawed the man. Neither hunter 
 nor quarry saw the party clustered together on the 
 rising ground on which the track ran. Man saw 
 nothing but the ground over which he flew ; bear 
 saw nothing but man before him. The doubling 
 manoeuvre was, however, the one thing needed to 
 bring Grisly within easy reach. Faster flew the 
 man, but it was the last flight of despair ; had the 
 others been near enough they would have seen the
 
 14 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 cold drops of agony standing on his forehead ; they 
 would have caught his panting breath, they would 
 have heard his muttered prayer. 
 
 'Let him have it !' growled Ladds. 
 
 It was time. Grisly, swinging along with lei- 
 surely step, rolling his great head from side to side 
 in time with the cadence of his footfall — one roll to 
 every half-dozen strides, like a fat German over a 
 trois-temps waltz — suddenly lifted his face, and 
 roared. Then the man shrieked; then the bear 
 stopped, and raised himself for a moment, pawing in 
 the air ; then he dropped again, and rushed with 
 quickened step upon his foe ; then — but then — ping ! 
 one shot. It has struck Grisly in the shoulder ; he 
 stops, with a roar. 
 
 ' Good, young un !' said Ladds, bringing piece to 
 shoulder. This time Grisly roars no more. He 
 rolls over. He is shot to the heart, and is dead. 
 
 The other participator in this chasse of two heard 
 the crack of the rifles. His senses were growing 
 dazed with fear ; he did not stop, he ran on still, but 
 with trembling knees and outstretched hands; and 
 when he came to a heap of shingle and sand — one 
 of those left over from the old surface -mines — he 
 fell headlong on the pile with a cry, and could not 
 rise. The two who shot the bear ran across the
 
 THE aOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 15 
 
 ground — he lay almost at their feet — to secure their 
 prey. After them, at a leisurely pace, strode John, 
 the servant. The greasers stayed behind and 
 laughed. 
 
 *Grisly's dead,' said Tommy, pulling out his 
 knife. ' Steak ?' 
 
 ' No ; skin,' cried the younger. * Let me take 
 his skin. John, we will have the beast skinned. 
 You can get some steaks cut. Where is the man ?* 
 
 They found him lying on his face, unable to 
 move. 
 
 * Now, old man,' said the young fellow cheerfully, 
 ' might as well sit up, you know, if you can't stand. 
 Bruin's gone to the happy hunting-grounds.' 
 
 The man sat up, as desired, and tried to take a 
 comprehensive view of the position. 
 
 Jack handed him a flask, from which he took a 
 long pull. Then he got up, and somewhat os- 
 tentatiously began to smooth down the legs of his 
 trousers. 
 
 He was a thin man, about five-and-forty years 
 of age; he wore an irregular and patchy kind of 
 beard, which flourished exceedingly on certain square 
 half-inches of chin and cheek, and was as thin as 
 grass at Aden on the intervening spaces. He had 
 no boots, but a sort of moccasins, the lightness of
 
 16 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 which enahled him to show his heels to the bear for 
 so long a time. His trousers might have been of a 
 rough tweed, or they might have been black cloth, 
 because grease, many drenchings, the buffeting of 
 years, and the holes into which they were worn, 
 had long deprived them of their original colour 
 and brilliancy. Above the trousers he wore a tat- 
 tered flannel shirt, the right arm of which, nearly 
 torn to pieces, revealed a tattooed limb, which was 
 strong although thin ; the buttons had long ago 
 vanished from the front of the garment ; thorns 
 picturesquely replaced them. He wore a red-cotton 
 handkerchief round his neck, a round felt hat was 
 on his head ; this, like the trousers, had lost its 
 pristine colour, and by dint of years and weather its 
 stiffness too. To prevent the hat from flapping in 
 his eyes, its possessor had pinned it up with thorns 
 in the front. 
 
 Necessity is the mother of invention : there is 
 nothing morally wrong in the use of thorns where 
 other men use studs, diamond pins, and such gauds ; 
 and the effect is picturesque. The stranger, in fact, 
 was a law unto himself. He had no coat ; the rifle 
 of Californian civilisation was missing ; there was 
 no sign of knife or revolver ; and the only encum- 
 brance, if that was any, to the lightness of his flight
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 17 
 
 was a small wooden box strapped round tightly, and 
 hanging at his back by means of a steel chain, grown 
 a little rusty where it did not rub against his neck 
 and shoulders. 
 
 He sat up and winked involuntarily with both 
 eyes. This was the effect of present bewilderment 
 and late fear. 
 
 Then he looked round him, after, as before ex- 
 plained, a few moments of assiduous leg-smoothing, 
 which, as stated above, looked ostentatious, but was 
 really only nervous agitation. Then he rose, and 
 saw Grisly lying in a heap a few yards off. He 
 walked over with a grave face, and looked at him. 
 
 When Henri Balafre, Due de Guise, sav/ Coligny 
 lying dead at his feet, he is said — only it is a wicked 
 lie — to have kicked the body of his murdered father's 
 enemy. When Henri III. of France, ten years later, 
 saw Balafre dead at his feet, he did kick the lifeless 
 body, with a wretched joke. That king was a cur. 
 My American was not. He stood over Bruin with 
 a look in his eyes which betokened respect for fallen 
 greatness and sympathy with bad luck. Grisly 
 would have been his victor but for the chance which 
 brought him within reach of a friendly rifle. 
 
 ' A near thing,' he said. ' Since I've been in 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 18 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 this doggoned country I've had one or two near 
 things, but this was the nearest.' 
 
 The greasers stood round the body of the bear, 
 and the English servant was giving directions for 
 skinning the beast. 
 
 * And which of you gentlemen,' he went on with 
 a nasal twang more pronounced than before — per- 
 haps with more emphasis on the word ' gentlemen' 
 than was altogether required — ' which of you gentle- 
 men was good enough to shoot the critter ?' 
 
 The English servant, who was, like his master 
 Captain Ladds, a man of few words, pointed to the 
 young man, who stood close by with the other leader 
 of the expedition. 
 
 The man snatched from the jaws of death took 
 off his shaky thorn-beset felt, and solemnly held out 
 his hand. 
 
 'Sir,' he said, 'I do not know your name, and 
 you do not know mine. If you did you would not 
 be much happier, because it is not a striking name. 
 If you'll oblige me, sir, by touching that' — he meant 
 his right hand — ' we shall be brothers. All that's 
 mine shall be yours. I do not ask you, sir, to re- 
 ciprocate. All that's mine, sir, when I get anything, 
 shall be yours. At present, sir, there is nothing ; 
 but I've luck behind me. Shake hands, sir. Once
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 19 
 
 a mouse helped a lion, sir. It's in a book. I am 
 the mouse, sir, and you are the lion. Sir, my name 
 is Gilead P. Beck.' 
 
 The young man laughed and shook hands with 
 him. 
 
 * I only fired the first shot,' he explained. * My 
 friend here — ' 
 
 *No; first shot disabled — hunt finished then — 
 Grisly out of the running. Glad you're not clawed 
 — unpleasant to be clawed. Young un did it. No 
 thanks. Tell us where we are.' 
 
 Mr. Gilead P. Beck, catching the spirit of the 
 situation, told them where they were, approximately. 
 * This,' he said, 'is Patrick's Camp ; at least, it was. 
 The Pioneers of '49 could tell you a good deal about 
 Patrick's Camp. It was here that Patrick kept his 
 store. In those old days — they're gone now — if a 
 man wanted to buy a blanket, that article, sir, was 
 put into one scale, and w^eighed down with gold-dust 
 in the other. Same with a pair of boots ; same with 
 a pound of raisins. Patrick might have died rich, 
 sir, but he didn't — none of the pioneers did — so he 
 died poor; and died in his boots too, like most of 
 the lot.' 
 
 ' Not much left of the camp.' 
 
 'No, sir, not much. The mine gave out. Then
 
 20 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 they moved up the hills, where, I conclude, you 
 gentlemen are on your way. Prospecting likely. 
 The new town, called Empire City, ought to be an 
 hour or so up the track. I was trying to find my 
 way there when I met with old Grisly. Perhaps if 
 I had let him alone he would have let me alone. 
 But I blazed at him, and, sir, I missed him ; then 
 he shadowed me. And the old rifle's gone at last.' 
 
 * How long did the chase last ?' 
 
 ' I should say, sir, forty days and forty nights, or 
 near about. And you gentlemen air going to Empire 
 City ?' 
 
 * We are going anywhere. Perhaps, for the pre- 
 sent, you had better join us.'
 
 n. 
 
 Mr. Gilead p. Beck, partly recovered from the 
 shock caused to his nerves by the revengeful spmt 
 of the bear, and in no way discomfited by any sense 
 of false shame as to his ragged appearance, marched 
 beside the two Englishmen. It was characteristic of 
 his nationality that he regarded the greasers with 
 contempt, and that he joined the two gentlemen as 
 if he belonged to their grade and social rank. An 
 Englishman picked up in such rags and duds would 
 have shrunk abashed to the rear, or he would have 
 apologised for his tattered condition, or he would 
 have begged for some garments — any garments — to 
 replace his own. Mr. Beck had no such feeling. 
 He strode along with a swinging slouch, which 
 covered the ground as rapidly as the step of the 
 horses. The wind blew his rags about his long and 
 lean figure as picturesquely as if he were another 
 Autolycus. He was as full of talk as that worthy, 
 and as lightsome of spirit, despite the solemn gravity 
 of his face. I once saw a poem — I think in the
 
 22 THE GOLDEN BUTTEKFLY. 
 
 Spectator — on Artemus Ward, in which the bard 
 apostrophised the light-hearted merriment of the 
 Western American : a very unfortunate thing to say, 
 because the Western American is externally a most 
 serious person, never merry, never witty, but always 
 humorous. Mr. Beck was quite grave, though at 
 the moment as happy as that other grave and thought- 
 ful person who has made a name in the literature of 
 humour — Panurge — when he escaped half-roasted 
 from the Turk's Serai. 
 
 * I ought,' he said, ' to sit down and cry, like the 
 girl on the prairie.' 
 
 ' Why ought you to cry ?' 
 
 * I guess I ought to cry because I've lost my rifle 
 and everything except my Luck' — here he pulled at 
 the steel chain — ' in that darned long stern chase.' 
 
 ' You can easily get a new rifle,' said Jack. 
 
 ' With dollars,' interrupted Mr. Beck. * As for 
 them, there's not a dollar left — nary a red cent; only 
 •my Luck.' 
 
 * And what is your Luck ?' 
 
 * That,' said Mr. Beck, ' I will tell you by and 
 by. Perhaps it's your Luck too, young boss,' he 
 added, thinking of a shot as fortunate to himself as 
 William Tell's was to his son. 
 
 ELe pulled the box attached to the steel chain
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 23 
 
 round to the front, and looked at it tenderly. It was 
 safe, and he heaved a sigh. 
 
 The way wound up a valley — a road marked only, 
 as has been said, by deep ruts along its course. 
 Behind the travellers the evening sun was slowly 
 sinking in the west ; before them the peaks of the 
 Sierra lifted their heads, coloured purple in the 
 evening light; and on either hand rose the hill- 
 sides, with their dark foliage in alternate ' splashes' 
 of golden light and deepest shade. 
 
 It wanted but a quarter of an hour of sunset 
 when Mr. Gilead P. Beck pointed to a township 
 which suddenly appeared, lying at their very feet. 
 
 * Empire City, I reckon.' 
 
 A good-sized town of wooden houses. They 
 were all alike, and of the same build as that affected 
 by the architects of dolls' houses ; that is to say, 
 they were of one story only, had a door in the middle, 
 and a window on either side. They were so small 
 also, that they looked veritable dolls' houses. 
 
 There were one or tw^o among them of more pre- 
 tentious appearance, and of several stories. These 
 were the hotels, billiard-saloons, bars, and gambling- 
 houses. 
 
 ' It's a place bound to advance, sir,' said Mr. 
 Beck proudly. * Empire City, when I first saw it.
 
 24 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 which is two years ago, was only two years old. It 
 is only in our country that a great city springs up in 
 in a day. Empire City will be the Chicago of the 
 West.' 
 
 'I see a city,' said Captain Ladds; * can't see 
 the people.' 
 
 It was certainly curious. There was not a soul 
 in the streets ; there was no smoke from the chim- 
 neys ; there were neither carts nor horses ; there 
 was not the least sign of occupation. 
 
 Mr. Gilead P. Beck whistled. 
 
 ' All gone,' he said. * Guess the city's busted 
 up.' 
 
 He pushed aside the brambles which grew over 
 what had been a path leading to the place, and 
 hurried down. The others followed him, and rode 
 into the town. 
 
 It was deserted. The doors of the houses were 
 open, and if you looked in you might see the rough 
 furniture which the late occupants disdained to carry 
 away with them. The two Englishmen dismounted, 
 gave their reins to the servants, and began to look 
 dbout them. 
 
 The descendants of Og, king of Bashan, have left 
 their houses in black basalt, dotted about the lava- 
 fields of the Hauran, to witness how they lived. In
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 25 
 
 the outposts of the desert stations of the East the 
 Koman soldiers have left their barracks and their 
 baths, their jokes written on the wall, and their 
 names, to show how they passed away the weary 
 hours of garrison duty. So the miners who founded 
 Empire City, and deserted it en masse when the gold 
 gave out, left behind them marks by which future 
 explorers of the ruins should know what manner of 
 men once dwelt there. The billiard-saloon stood 
 open, with swinging-doors ; the table was still there ; 
 the balls lay about on the table and the floor ; the 
 cues stood in the rack; the green cloth, mildewed, 
 covered the table. 
 
 ' Tommy,' said the younger, * we will have a game 
 to-night.' 
 
 The largest building in the place had been an 
 hotel. It had two stories, and was, like the rest of 
 the houses, built of wood, with a verandah along the 
 front. The upper story looked as if it had been 
 recently inhabited; that is, the shutters were not 
 dropping oiGf the hinges, nor were they flapping to 
 and fro in the breeze. 
 
 But the town was deserted ; the evening breeze 
 blew chilly up its vacant streets ; life and sound had 
 gone out of the place. 
 
 * T feel cold,' said Jack, looking about him.
 
 26 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 They went round to the back of the hotel. Old 
 iron cog-wheels lay rusting on the ground with re- 
 mains of pumps. In the heart of the town be- 
 hind the hotel stretched an open space of ground 
 covered with piles of shingle and intersected with 
 ditches. 
 
 Mr. Beck sat down and adjusted one of the thorns 
 which served as a temporary shirt-stud. 
 
 ' Two years ago,' he said, * there was ten thousand 
 miners here; now there isn't one. I thought we 
 should find a choice hotel, with a little monty or 
 poker afterwards. Now no one left ; nothing but a 
 Chinaman or two.' 
 
 ' How do you know there are Chinamen ?' 
 
 * See those stones ?' 
 
 He pointed to some great boulders, from three to 
 six feet in diameter. Some operation of a mystical 
 kind had been performed upon them, for they were 
 jagged and chipped as if they had been filed and cut 
 into shape by a sculptor who had been once a dentist 
 and still loved the profession. 
 
 * The miners picked the bones of those rocks, but 
 they never pick quite clean. Then the Chinamen 
 come and finish off. Gentlemen, it's a special Pro- 
 vidence that you picked me up. I don't altogether 
 admire the way in which that special Providence was
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 27 
 
 played up to in the matter of the Bar ; but a Chris- 
 tian without a revolver alone among twenty China- 
 men — ' 
 
 He stopped and shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 * They'd have got my Luck,' he concluded. 
 
 ' Chief, I don't like it,' said the younger man. 
 *It's ghostly. It's a town of dead men. As soon as 
 it is dark the ghosts will rise and walk about — play 
 billiards, I expect. What shall we do ?' 
 
 * Hotel,' growled the chief. * Sleep on floor — sit 
 on chairs — eat off a table.' 
 
 They entered the hotel. 
 
 A most orderly bar : the glasses there ; the bright- 
 coloured bottles ; two or three casks of Bourbon 
 whisky ; the counter ; the very dice on the counter 
 with which the bar-keeper used to ' go' the miners 
 for drinks. How things at once so necessary to 
 civilised life and so portable as dice were left behind 
 it is impossible to explain. 
 
 Everything was there except the drink. The 
 greasers tried the casks and examined the bottles. 
 Emptiness. A miner may leave behind him the im- 
 pedimenta, but the real necessaries of life — rifle, 
 revolver, bowie, and cards — he takes with him. And 
 as for the drink, he carries that away too, for greater 
 safety, inside himself.
 
 28 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 The English servant looked round liim and 
 smiled superior. 
 
 * No tap for beer, as usual, sir,' he said. ' These 
 pore Californians has much to learn.' 
 
 Mr. Gilead P. Beck looked round mournfully. 
 
 'Everything gone but the fixins,' he sighed. 
 ' There used to be good beds, where there wasn't 
 more'n two at once in them ; and there used to be 
 such a crowd around this bar as you would not find 
 nearer'n St. Louis City.' 
 
 'Hush !' said Jack, holding up his hand. There 
 were steps. 
 
 Mr. Beck pricked up his ears. 
 
 * Chinamen, likely. If there's a row, gentlemen, 
 give me something, if it's only a toothpick, to chime 
 in with. But that's not a Chinese step ; that's an 
 Englishman's. He wears boots, but they are not 
 miner's boots; he walks firm and slow, like all 
 Englishmen ; he is not in a hurry, like our folk. 
 And who but an Englishman would be found staying 
 behind in the Empire City when it's gone to pot ?' 
 
 The footsteps came down the stairs. 
 
 * Most unhandsome of a ghost,' said the younger 
 man, * to walk before midnight.' 
 
 The producer of the footsteps appeared. 
 
 * Told you he was an Englishman,' cried Mr. Beck.
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 29 
 
 Indeed there was no mistaking the nationality of 
 the man, in spite of his dress, which was cosmo- 
 politan. He wore boots, but not', as the quick ear of 
 the American told him, the great boots of the miner ; 
 he had on a flannel shirt with a red-silk belt ; he wore 
 a sort of blanket thrown back from his shoulders ; 
 and he had a broad felt hat. Of course he carried 
 arms, but they were not visible. 
 
 He was a man of middle height, with clear blue 
 eyes ; the perfect complexion of an Englishman of 
 good stock and in complete health ; a brown beard, 
 long and rather curly, streaked with here and there 
 a gray hair ; square and clear-cut nostrils ; and a 
 mouth which, though not much of it was visible, 
 looked as if it would easily smile, might readily 
 become tender, and would certainly find it difficult 
 to be stern. He might be any age from five-and- 
 thirty to five-and-forty. 
 
 The greasers fell back and grouped about the 
 door. The questions which might be raised had no 
 interest for them. The two leaders stood together ; 
 and Mr. Gilead P. Beck, rolling an empty keg to 
 their side, turned it up, and sat down with the air of 
 a judge, looking from one party to the other. 
 
 * Englishmen, I see,' said the stranger. 
 
 * Ye-yes,' said Ladds, not, as Mr. Beck expected,
 
 30 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 immediately holding out his hand for the stranger to 
 grasp. 
 
 ' You have probaBly lost your way ?' 
 
 * Been hunting. Working round — San Francisco. 
 Followed track; accident; got here. Your hotel, 
 perhaps ? Fine situation, but lonely.' 
 
 * Not a ghost, then,' murmured the other, with a 
 look of temporary disappointment. 
 
 'If you will come up-stairs to my quarters, I 
 may be able to make you comfortable for the night. 
 Your party will accommodate themselves without our 
 help.' 
 
 He referred to the greasers, who had already 
 begun their preparations for spending a happy night. 
 When he led the way up the stairs, he was followed, 
 not only by the two gentlemen he had invited, but 
 also by the ragamuffin hunter, miner, or adventurer, 
 and by the valet, who conceived it his duty to follow 
 his master. 
 
 He lived, this hermit, in one of the small bed- 
 rooms of the hotel, which he had converted into a 
 sitting-room. It contained a single rocking-chair 
 and a table. There was also a shelf, which served 
 for a sideboard, and a curtain under the shelf, which 
 acted as a cupboard. 
 
 ' You see my den,' he said. * I came here a year
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 31 
 
 or SO ago by accident, like yourselves. I found the 
 place deserted. I liked the solitude, the scenery, 
 whatever you like, and I stayed here. You are the 
 only visitors I have had for a year.* 
 
 * Chinamen ?' said Mr. Gilead P. Beck. 
 
 * Well, Chinamen, of course. But only two of 
 them. They take turns, at forty dollars a month, to 
 cook my dinners. And there is a half-caste, who 
 does not mind running down to Sacramento when I 
 want anything. And so, you see, I make out pretty 
 well.' 
 
 He opened the window, and blew a whistle. 
 
 In two minutes a Chinaman came tumbling up 
 the stairs. His inscrutable face expressed all the 
 conflicting passions of humanity at once — ambition, 
 vanity, self-respect, humour, satire, avarice, resigna- 
 tion, patience, revenge, meekness, long-suffering, 
 remembrance, and a thousand others. No Aryan 
 comes within a hundred miles of it. 
 
 ' Dinner as soon as you can,' said his master. 
 
 'Ayah! can do,' replied the Celestial. 'What 
 time you wantchee ?' 
 
 ' As soon as you can. Half an hour.' 
 
 * Can do. My no have got cully-powder. Have 
 makee finish. Have got ?' 
 
 ' Look for some ; make Achow help.'
 
 32 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 ' How can ? No, b'long his pidgin. He no 
 helpee. B'long my pidgin makee cook chow-chow. 
 Ayah ! Achow have go makee cheat over Mexican 
 man. Makee play cards all same euchre.' 
 
 In fact, on looking out of the window, the other 
 Celestial was clearly visible, manipulating a pack of 
 cards and apparently inviting the Mexicans to a 
 friendly game, in which there could be no deception. 
 
 Then Ladds' conscience smote him. 
 
 * Beg pardon. Should have seen. Made remark 
 about hotel. Apologise.' 
 
 * He means,' said the other, * that he was a ter- 
 rible great fool not to see that you are a gentleman.' 
 
 Ladds nodded. 
 
 * Let me introduce our party,' the speaker went 
 on. ' This is our esteemed friend Mr. Gilead P. 
 Beck, whom we caught in a bear-hunt — ' 
 
 ' Bar behind,' said Mr. Beck. 
 
 ' This is Captain Ladds, of the 35th Dragoons.' 
 
 ' Ladds,' said Ladds. * Nibs, cocoa-nibs — pure 
 
 aroma — best breakfast-digester — blessing to mothers 
 
 — perfect fragrance.' 
 
 * His name is Ladds ; and he wishes to com- 
 municate to you the fact that he is the son of the 
 man who made an immense fortune — immense, 
 Tommy ?'
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 33 
 
 Ladds nodded. 
 
 ' By a crafty compound known as " Ladds' Patent 
 Anti-Dyspeptic Cocoa." This is Ladds' servant, 
 John Bolmer, the best servant who ever put his 
 leg across pig-skin ; and my name is Ronald Dun- 
 querque. People generally call me Jack ; I don't 
 know why, but they do.' 
 
 Their host bowed to each, including the servant, 
 who coloured with pleasure at Jack's description of 
 him ; but he shook hands with Ladds. 
 
 * One of ours,' he said. * My name is Lawrence 
 Colquhoun. I sold out before you joined. I came 
 here, as you see. And — and now, gentlemen, I 
 think I hear the first sounds of dinner. Bolmer — 
 you will allow me, Ladds ? — you will find claret and 
 champagne behind that curtain. Pardon a hermit's 
 fare. I think they have laid out such a table as the 
 wilderness can boast, in the next room.' 
 
 The dinner was not altogether what a man might 
 order at the Junior United, but it was good. There 
 was venison, there was a curry, there was some 
 mountain quail, there was claret, and there was 
 champagne — both good, especially the claret. Then 
 there was coffee. 
 
 The Honourable Pionald Dunquerque, whom we 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 34 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 will call in future, what everybody always called him, 
 Jack, ate and drank like Friar John. The keen 
 mountain air multiplied his normal twist by ten. 
 Mr. Gilead P. Beck, who sat down to dinner per- 
 fectly unabashed by his rags, was good as a trencher- 
 man, but many plates behind the young Englishman. 
 Mr. Lawrence Colquhoun, their host, went on talking 
 almost as if they were in London ; only now and 
 then he found himself behind the world. It was his 
 ignorance of the last Derby, the allusion to an old 
 and half-forgotten story, perhaps his use of little 
 phrases — not slang phrases, but those delicately- 
 shaded terms which imply knowledge of current 
 things — which showed him to have been out of 
 London and Paris for more than one season. 
 
 ' Four years,' he said, ' since I left England.' 
 
 ' But you will come back to it again ?' 
 
 'I think not.' 
 
 ' Better,' said Jack, whose face was a little flushed 
 with the wine. ' Much better. Kobinson Crusoe 
 always wanted to get home again. So did Selkirk. 
 So did Philip Quarles.' 
 
 Then the host produced cigars. Later on, brandy- 
 aud-water. 
 
 The brandy-and-water made Mr. Gilead P. Beck, 
 who found himself a good deal crowded out of the
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 35 
 
 conversation, insist on having his share. He 
 placed his square box on the table, and loosed the 
 straps. 
 
 *Let me tell you,' he said, 'the story of my 
 Luck. I was in Sonora City,' he began, patting his 
 box ajQfectionately, ' after the worst three months I 
 ever had ; and I went around trying to borrow a few 
 dollars. I got no dollars, but I got free drinks — so 
 many free drinks, that at last I lay down in the 
 street and went to sleep. Wal, gentlemen, I suppose 
 I walked in that slumber of mine, for when I woke 
 up I was lying a mile outside the town. I also enter- 
 tained angels unawares, for at my head there sat an 
 Indian woman. She was as wrinkled an old squaw 
 as ever skrieked at a buryin'. But she took an 
 interest in me. She took that amount of interest in 
 me that she told me she knew of gold. And then 
 she led me by the hand, gentlemen, that aged and 
 aflfectionate old squaw, to a place not far from the 
 roadside ; and there, lying between two rocks, and 
 hidden in the chapparelle, glittering in the light, 
 was this bauble.' He tapped his box. ' I did not 
 want to be told to take it. I wrapped it in my hand- 
 kerchief and carried it in my hand. Then she led 
 me back to the road again. "Bad luck you will 
 have," she said ; " but it will lead to good luck so
 
 3b THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 long as that is not broken, sold, given away, or lost." 
 Then she left me, and here it is.' 
 
 He opened the little box. There was nothing to 
 be seen but a mass of white wool. 
 
 * Bad luck I have had. Look at me, gentlemen. 
 Adam was not more destitute when the garden- 
 gates were shut on him. But the good will come 
 somehow.' 
 
 He removed the wool and, behold, a miracle of 
 nature ! Tw^o thin plates of gold delicately wrought 
 in lines and curious chasing, like the pattern of a 
 butterfly's wing, and of the exact shape, but twice 
 as large. They were poised at the angle, always 
 the same, at which the insect balances itself about a 
 flower. They were set in a small piece of quaintly- 
 marked quartz, which represented the body. 
 
 * A golden butterfly!' 
 
 * A golden butterfly,' said Mr. Beck. ' No gold- 
 smith made this butterfly. It came from Nature's 
 workshop. It is my Luck.' 
 
 ' And if the butterfly fall and break, 
 Farewell the Luck of Gilead Beck,' 
 
 said Jack. 
 
 ' Thank you, sir. That's very neat. I'll take 
 that, sir, if you will allow me, for my motto, unless 
 you want it for yourself.'
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 37 
 
 * No/ said Jack ; * I have one already.' 
 
 ' If this golden butterfly fall and break, 
 Farewell the Luck of Gilead P. Beck,' 
 
 repeated the owner of the insect. * If you arc going 
 on/ gentlemen, to San Francisco, I hope you will 
 take me with you.* 
 
 * Colquhoun,' said Ladds, ' you do not mean to 
 stay on here by yourself? Much better come with 
 us, unless, of course — ' 
 
 Lying on the table was a piece of an old news* 
 paper in which Jack had wrapped something. 
 Ladds saw Colquhoun mechanically take up the 
 paper, read it, and change colour. Then he looked 
 straight before him, seeing nothing, and Ladds 
 stopped speaking. Then he smiled in a strange far- 
 off way. 
 
 ' I think I will go with you,' he said. 
 
 * Hear, hear !' cried Jack. * Selkirk returns to 
 the sound of the church-going bell.' 
 
 Ladds refrained from looking at the paper in 
 search of things which did not concern himself, but 
 he perceived that Colquhoun had, like Hamlet, seen 
 Something. There 2cas, in fact, an announcement 
 in the fragment which greatly interested Lawrence 
 Colquhoun : 
 
 ' On April 3, by the Eight Rev. the Lord Bishop
 
 38 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 of Turk's Island, at St. George's, Hanover-square, 
 Gabriel Cassilis, of &c., to Victoria, daughter of the 
 late Admiral Sir Benbow Pengelley, K.C.B.' 
 
 In the morning they started, Mr. Beek being 
 provided with a new rig-out of a rough and useful 
 kind. 
 
 At the last moment one of the Chinamen, Lee- 
 ching the cook, besought his late master, as a parting 
 favour and for the purpose of self-protection, the gift 
 of a pistol, powder, and ball. 
 
 Mr. Colquhoun gave them to him, thinking it a 
 small thing after two years of faithful service. Then 
 Leeching, after loading his pistol, went to work with 
 his comrade for an hour or so. 
 
 Presently, Achow being on his knees in the 
 shingle, the perfidious Leeching suddenly cocked 
 his pistol and fired it into Achow's right ear, so that 
 he fell dead. 
 
 By this lucky accident Leeching became sole 
 possessor of the little pile of gold which he and the 
 defunct Achow had scraped together and placed in a 
 cache. 
 
 He proceeded to unearth this treasure, put to- 
 gether his little belongings, and started on the road 
 to San Francisco with a smile of satisfaction.
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 39 
 
 There was a place in the windings of the road 
 where there was a steep bank. By the worst luck in 
 the world a stone slipped and fell as Leeching passed 
 by. The stone, by itself, would not have mattered 
 much, as it did not fall on Leeching' s head ; but with 
 it fell a rattlesnake, who was sleeping in the warmth 
 of the sun. 
 
 Nothing annoys a rattlesnake more than to be 
 disturbed in his sleep. With angry mind he awoke, 
 looked around, and saw the Chinaman. Illogically 
 connecting him with the fall of the stone, he made 
 for him, and, before poor Leeching knew there was 
 a rattlesnake anywhere near him, bit him in the 
 calf. 
 
 Leeching sat down on the bank and realised the 
 position. Being a fatalist, he did not murmur; 
 having no conscience, he did not fear; having no 
 faith, he did not hope ; having very little time, he 
 made no testamentary dispositions. In point of 
 fact, he speedily curled up his legs and died. 
 
 Then the deserted Empire City was deserted 
 indeed, for there was not even a Chinaman left in it. 
 
 END OF PROLOGUE.
 
 CHAPTEK I. 
 
 Joseph and his Brethren. 
 
 The largest and most solid of all the substantial 
 houses in Carnarvon-square, Bloomsbury, is Number 
 Fifteen, which, by reason of its corner position 
 (Mulgrave - street intersecting it at right angles at 
 this point), has been enabled to stretch itself out at 
 the back. It is a house which a man who wanted to 
 convey the idea of a solid income without ostentation 
 or attempt at fashion would find the very thing to 
 assist bis purpose. The ladies of such a house 
 would not desire to belong to the world farther west ; 
 they would respect the Church, law, and medicine ; 
 they would look on the City with favourable eyes 
 v/hen it was represented by a partner in an old firm ; 
 they would have sound notions of material comfort ; 
 they would read solid books, and would take their 
 pleasure calmly. One always, somehow, in looking 
 at a house, wonders first of what sort its women are. 
 There were, however, no women at Number Fifteen 
 at all, except the maids. Its occupants consisted of
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 41 
 
 three brothers, all unmarried. They were named 
 respectively Cornelius, Humphrey, and Joseph Ja- 
 genal. Cornelius and Humphrey were twins. Joseph 
 was their junior by ten years. Cornelius and Hum- 
 phrey were fifty — Joseph was forty. People who 
 did not know this thought that Joseph was fifty and 
 his brethren forty. 
 
 When the Venerable the Archdeacon of Market 
 Basing, the well-known author of Sermons on the 
 Duty of Tithe-Offerings f the Lesbia of Catullus, and 
 a Treatise on the Right Use of the Anapcest in Greek 
 Iambic Verse, died, it was found that he had be- 
 queathed his little savings, worth altogether about 
 500Z. a year, to his three sons in the following pro- 
 portions : the twins, he said, possessed genius ; they 
 would make their mark in the world, but they must 
 be protected. They received the yearly sum of 200Z. 
 apiece, and it was placed in the hands of trustees to 
 prevent their losing it ; the younger was to have the 
 rest, without trustees, because, his father said, * Jo- 
 seph is a dull boy and will keep it.' It was a wise 
 distribution of the money. Cornelius, then nineteen, 
 left Oxford immediately, and went to Heidelberg, 
 where he called himself a poet, studied metaphysics, 
 drank beer, and learned to fence. Humphrey, for 
 his part, deserted Cambridge — their father having
 
 42 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 chosen that they should not he rivals — and an- 
 nounced his intention of devoting his life to Art. 
 He took up his residence in Eome. Joseph stayed 
 at school, having no other choice. When the hoy 
 was sixteen, his guardians articled him to a solicitor. 
 Joseph was dull, but he was methodical, exact, and 
 endowed with a retentive memory. He had also an 
 excellent manner, and the ' appearance of age,' as 
 portwine advertisers say, before he was out of his 
 articles. At twenty -five, Joseph Jagenal was a 
 partner ; at thirty, he was the working partner ; at 
 forty, he was the senior partner in the great Lin- 
 coln's-Inn firm of Shaw, Fairlight, and Jagenal, the 
 confidential advisers of as many respectable county 
 people as any firm in London. 
 
 When he was twenty-five, and became a partner, 
 the brethren returned to England simultaneously, 
 and were good enough to live with him and upon 
 him. They had their 200^. a year each, and expen- 
 sive tastes. Joseph, who made a thousand for his 
 share the first year of his admission to the firm, had 
 no expensive tastes, and a profound respect for 
 genius. He took in the twins joyfully, and they 
 stayed with him. When his senior partner died, 
 and Mr. Fairlight retired, so that Joseph's income 
 was largely increased, they made him move from
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 43 
 
 Torrington -square, where the houses are small, to 
 Carnarvon-square, and regulated his household for 
 him on the broadest and most liberal scale. Needless 
 to say, no part of the little income, which barely 
 served the twins for pocket-money and their menus 
 plaisirs, went towards the housekeeping. Cornelius, 
 poet and philosopher, superintended the dinner and 
 daily interviewed the cook. Humphrey, the devotee 
 of art, who furnished the rooms according to the 
 latest designs of the most correct taste, was in com- 
 mand of the cellar. Cornelius took the best sitting- 
 room for himself, provided it with books, easy-chairs, 
 pipes, and an immense study-table with countless 
 drawers. He called it carelessly his Workshop. The 
 room on the first floor overlooking Mulgrave- street, 
 and consequently with a north aspect, was appro- 
 priated by Humphrey. He called it his Studio, and 
 furnished it in character, not forgetting the easy- 
 chairs. Joseph had the back room behind the 
 dining-room for himself ; it was not called a study 
 or a library, but Mr. Joseph's room. He sat in it 
 alone every evening, at work. There was also a 
 drawing-room, but it was never used. They dined 
 together at half-past six : Cornelius sat at the head, 
 and Humphrey at the foot, Joseph at one side. Art 
 and Intellect, thus happily met together and housed
 
 44 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 under one roof, talked to each other. Joseph ate his 
 dinner in silence. Art held his glass to the light, 
 and flashed into enthusiasm over the matchless 
 sparkle, the divine hues, the incomparahle radiance, 
 of the wine. Intellect, with a sigh, as one who 
 regrets the loss of a sense, congratulated his brother 
 on his vivid passion for colour, and, taking another 
 glass, discoursed on the aesthetic aspects of a vintage 
 wine. Joseph drank one glass of claret, after which 
 he retired to his den, and left the brethren to finish 
 the bottle. After dinner the twins sometimes went 
 to the theatre, or they repaired arm-in-arm to their 
 club — the Eenaissance, now past its prime and a 
 little fogyish ; mostly they sat in the Studio or in 
 the Workshop, in two arm-chairs, with a table be- 
 tween them, smoked pipes, and drank brandy and 
 potash-water. They went to bed at any time they 
 felt sleepy — perhaps at twelve, and perhaps at three. 
 Joseph went to bed at half-past ten. The brethren 
 generally breakfasted at eleven, Joseph at eight. 
 After breakfast, unless on rainy days, a uniform 
 custom was observed. Cornelius, poet and philo- 
 sopher, went to the window and looked out. 
 
 Humphrey, artist, and therefore a man of intui- 
 tive sympathies, followed him. Then he patted 
 Cornelius on the shoulder, and shook his head.
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 46 
 
 ' Brother, I know your thought. You want to 
 drag me from my work ; you think it has been too 
 much for me lately. You are too anxious about 
 me.' 
 
 Cornelius smiled. 
 
 * Not on my own account too, Humphrey T 
 
 ' True — on your account. Let us go out at once, 
 brother. Ah, why did you choose so vast a subject ?' 
 
 Cornelius was engaged — had been engaged for 
 twenty years — upon an epic poem, entitled the 
 Upheaving of uElfred, The school he belonged to 
 would not, of course, demean themselves by speaking 
 of Alfred. To them Edward was Eadward, Edgar 
 was Eadgar, and old Canute was Knut. In the 
 same way Cicero became Kikero, Virgil was Vergil, 
 and Socrates was spelt, as by the illiterate bargee, 
 with a k. So the French prigs of the ante-Boileau 
 period sought to make their trumpery pedantries 
 pass for current coin. So too Chapelain was in 
 labour with the Pucelle for thirty years ; and when 
 it came — But Cornelius Jagenal could not be com- 
 pared with Chapelain, because he had as yet brought 
 forth nothing. He sat with what he and his called 
 • English' books all round him ; in other words, he 
 had all the Anglo-Saxon literature on his shelves, 
 and was amassing, as he said, material.
 
 46 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 Humplirey, on the other hand, was engaged on a 
 painting, the composition of which offered difficulties 
 which, for nearly twenty years, had proved insuper- 
 able. He was painting, he said, the ' Birth of the 
 Kenaissance.' It was a subject which required a 
 great outlay in properties. Venetian glass, Italian 
 jewelry, mediaeval furniture, copies of paintings — 
 everything necessary to make this work a master- 
 piece — he bought at Joseph's expense. Up to the 
 present no one had been allowed to see the first 
 rough drawings. 
 
 ' Where's Caesar ?' Humphrey would say, leading 
 the way to the hall. ' Caesar ! Why, here he is. 
 Caesar must actually have heard us proposing to go 
 out.' 
 
 Cornelius called the dog Kaysar, and he refused 
 to answer to it; so that conversation between him 
 and Cornelius was impossible. 
 
 There never was a pair more attached to each 
 other than these twin brethren. They sallied forth 
 each morning at twelve arm-in-arm, with an open 
 and undisguised admiration for each other which 
 was touching. Before them marched Caesar, who 
 was of mastiff breed, leading the way. Cornelius, 
 the poet, was dressed with as much care as if he 
 were still a young man of five-and-twenty, in a semi-
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 47 
 
 youthful and wholly-sesthetic costume, in which only 
 the general air, and not the colour, revealed the 
 man of delicate perceptions. Humphrey, the artist, 
 greatly daring, affected a warm brown velvet with a 
 crimson-purple ribbon. Both carried flowers. Cor- 
 nelius had gloves; Humphrey a cigar. Cornelius 
 was smooth-faced, save for a light fringe on the 
 upper lip. Humphrey wore a heavy moustache and 
 a full long sUky beai'd of a delicately-shaded brown, 
 inclining when the sun shone upon it to a suspicion 
 of auburn. Both were of the same height, rather 
 below the middle ; they had features so much alike 
 that, but for the hair on the face of one, it would 
 have been difficult to distinguish between them. 
 Both were thin, pale of face, and both had, by some 
 fatality, the end of their delicately-carven noses 
 slightly tipped with red. Perhaps this was due to 
 the daily and nightly brandy-and-water. And in the 
 airy careless carriage of the two men, their sunny 
 faces and elastic tread, it was impossible to suppose 
 that they were fifty and Joseph only forty. 
 
 To be sure, Joseph was a heavy man, stout 
 of build, broad in frame, sturdy in the under-jaw ; 
 while his brothers were slight shadowy men. And, 
 to be sure, Joseph had worked all his life, while his 
 brothers never did a stroke. They were born to con-
 
 48 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 sume the fruits whicli Joseph was born to culti- 
 vate. 
 
 Outside the house the poet heaved a heavy sigh, 
 as if the weight of the epic was for the moment off 
 his mind. The artist looked round with a critical 
 eye on the lights and shadows of the great common- 
 place square. 
 
 * Even in London,' he murmured, ' Nature is too 
 strong for man. Did you ever, my dear Cornelius, 
 catch a more brilliant effect of sunshine than that 
 upon the lilac yonder ?' 
 
 Time, end of April; season forward, lilacs on 
 the point of bursting into flower; sky dotted with 
 swift-flying clouds, alternate withdrawals and bursts 
 of sunshine. 
 
 * I really must,' said Humphrey, ' try to fix that 
 effect.' 
 
 His brother took the arm of the artist and drew 
 him gently away. 
 
 In front marched Cassar. 
 
 Presently the poet looked round. They were out 
 of the square by this time. 
 
 * Where is Kaysar ?' he said, with an air of sur- 
 prise. ' Surely, brother Humphrey, the dog can't 
 be in the Carnarvon Arms ?' 
 
 * I'll go and see,' said Humphrey, with alacrity.
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 49 
 
 He entered the bar of the tavern, and his brother 
 waited outside. After two or three minutes, the 
 poet, as if tired of waiting, followed the artist into 
 the bar. He found him with a glass of brandy-and- 
 water cold. 
 
 * I had,' he explained, ' a feeling of faintness. 
 Perhaps this spring air is chilly. One cannot be too 
 careful.' 
 
 'Quite right,' said the poet. 'I almost think — 
 yes, I really do feel — ah ! Thank you, my dear.' 
 
 The girl, as if anticipating his wants, set before 
 him a ' four' of brandy and the cold water. Perhaps 
 she had seen the face before. As for the dog, he 
 was lying down with his head on his paws. Perhaps 
 he knew there would be no immediate necessity for 
 moving. 
 
 They walked in the direction of the Park, arm-in- 
 arm, affectionately. 
 
 It might have been a quarter of an hour after 
 leaving the Carnarvon Arms when the poet stopped 
 and gasped. 
 
 * Humphrey, my dear brother, advise me. What 
 would you do if you had a sharp and sudden pam 
 like a knife inside you ?' 
 
 Humphrey replied promptly : 
 
 * If I had a sharp and sudden pain like a knife 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 50 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 inside me, I should take a small glass of brandy 
 neat. Mind, no spoiling the effect with water.' 
 
 Cornelius looked at his brother with admiration. 
 
 * Such readiness of resource,' he murmured, 
 pressing his arm. 
 
 ' I think I see — ah, yes — Kaysar — he's gone in 
 before us. The sagacity of that dog is more remark- 
 able than anything I ever read.' He took his small 
 glass of brandy neat. 
 
 The artist, looking on, said he might as well 
 have one at the same time. Not, he added, that he 
 felt any immediate want of the stimulant, but he 
 might ; and at all times prevention is better than cure. 
 
 It was two o'clock when they returned to Carnar- 
 von-square. They walked arm-in-arm, with perhaps 
 even a greater show of confiding affection than had 
 appeared at starting. There was the slightest pos- 
 sible lurch in their walk, and both looked solemn 
 and heavy with thought. 
 
 In the hall the artist looked at his watch. 
 
 ' Pa — pasht two. Corneliush, Work — ' 
 
 He marched to the Studio with a resolute air, 
 and, arrived there, drew an easy-chair before the fire, 
 sat himself in it, and went fast asleep. 
 
 The poet sought the Workshop. On the table 
 lay the portfolio of papers, outside which was em-
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 51 
 
 blazoned on parchment, with dainty scroll-work by 
 the hands of his brother the artist, the title of his 
 
 poem : 
 
 ^^t Sp^eabing of gidfub : 
 
 an epic poem in twenty-four cantos. 
 
 By Cornelius Jagenal. 
 
 He gazed at it fondly for a few minutes ; vaguely 
 took up a pen, as if he intended to finish the work 
 on the spot ; and then with a sigh, thought being too 
 much for brain, he slipped into his arm-chair, put 
 up his feet, and was asleep in two minutes. At half- 
 past five, one of the maids — they kept no footman in 
 Carnarvon -square — brought him tea. 
 
 ' I have been dozing, have I, Jane ?' he asked. 
 * Very singular thing for me to do.' 
 
 We are but the creatures of habit. The brethren 
 took the same walk every day, made the same re- 
 marks, with an occasional variation, and took the 
 same morning drams ; they spent the middle of the 
 day in sleep, they woke up for the afternoon tea, and 
 they never failed to call Jane's attention to the 
 singularity of the fact that they had been asleep. 
 This day Jane lingered instead of going away when 
 the tea was finished. 
 
 'Did master tell you, sir,' she asked, 'that Miss 
 Fleming was coming to-day ?' 
 
 UtiHAHl 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS
 
 52 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 It was an irritating thing that, although Cor- 
 nelius ordered the dinner and sat at the head of the 
 table, although Humphrey was in sole command of 
 the wine-cellar, the servants always called Joseph 
 the master. Great is the authority of him who keeps 
 the bag; the power of the penniless twins was a 
 shadowy and visionary thing. 
 
 The master had told his brothers that Miss 
 Fleming would probably have to come to the house, 
 but no date was fixed. 
 
 'Miss Fleming came this afternoon, sir,' said 
 Jane, ' with a French maid. She's in Mr. Joseph's 
 room now.' 
 
 ' 0, tell Mr. Humphrey, Jane, and we will dress 
 for dinner. Tell Mr. Humphrey also that perhaps 
 Miss Fleming would like a glass of champagne 
 to-day.' 
 
 Jane told the artist. 
 
 'Always thoughtful,' said Humphrey, with enthu- 
 siasm. ' Cornelius is for ever thinking of others' 
 comfort. To be sure Miss Fleming shall have a 
 glass of champagne.' 
 
 He brought up two bottles, such was his anxiety 
 to give full expression to his brother's wishes. 
 
 When the dinner-bell rang, the brethren emerged 
 £imultaneonslv from their rooms, and descended the
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 53 
 
 stairs together, arm-in-arm. Perhaps in expectation 
 of dinner, perhaps in anticipation of the champagne, 
 perhaps with pleasure at the prospect of meetiu^' 
 with Joseph's ward, the faces of both were lit with a 
 sunny smile, and their eyes with a radiant light, 
 which looked like the real and genuine enthusiasm of 
 humanity. It was a pity that Humphrey wore a 
 heard, or that Cornelius did not ; otherwise it would 
 have been difficult to distinguish between this pair 
 so much alike — these youthful twins of fifty, who 
 almost looked like five-and-twenty.
 
 CHAPTEK II. 
 
 'Phillis is my only joy.' 
 
 * My brothers, Miss Fleming !' 
 
 Joseph introduced the twins with a pride impos- 
 sible to dissemble. They were so youthful-looking, 
 so airy, so handsome, besides being so nobly endowed 
 with genius, that his pride may be excused. Castor 
 and Pollux the wrong side of forty, but slim still and 
 well preserved — these Greek figures do not run tall 
 —might have looked like Cornelius and Humphrey. 
 
 They parted company for a moment to welcome 
 the young lady, large-eyed as Here, who rose to greet 
 them, and then took up a position on the hearthrug, 
 one with his hand on the other's shoulder, like the 
 Siamese twins, and smiled pleasantly, as if, being 
 accustomed to admiration and even awe, they wished 
 to reassure Miss Fleming and put her at ease. 
 
 Dinner being announced, Cornelius, the elder by 
 a few moments, gave his arm to the young lady. 
 Humphrey, the younger, hovered close behind, as if 
 he too was taking his part in the chivalrous act.
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 55 
 
 Joseph followed alone, of course, not counting in the 
 little procession. 
 
 Phillis Fleming's arrival at No. 15 Carnarvon- 
 square was in a manner legal. She belonged to the 
 office, not to the shrine of intellect, poesy, and art 
 created by the twin brethren. She was an orphan 
 and a ward. She had two guardians : one of them, 
 Mr. Lawrence Colquhoun, being away from England; 
 and the other, Mr. Abraham Dyson, with whom she 
 had lived since her sixth birthday, having finished 
 his earthly career just before this history begins, 
 that is to say, in the spring of last year. Shaw, 
 Fairlight, and Jagenal were solicitors to both gentle- 
 men. Therefore Joseph found himself obliged to act 
 for this young lady when, Mr. Abraham Dyson buried 
 and done with, it became a question what was to be 
 done with her. There were offers from several dis- 
 interested persons on Miss Fleming's bereaved con- 
 dition being known. Miss Skimpit, of the Highgate 
 Collegiate Establishment for Young Ladies, proposed 
 by letter to receive her as a parlour-boarder, and 
 hinted at the advantages of a year's discipline, 
 tempered by Christian kindness, for a young lady 
 educated in so extraordinary and godless a manner. 
 The clergyman of the new district church at Finchley 
 called personally upon Mr. Jagenal. He said that
 
 56 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 he did not know the young lady except by name, but 
 that, feeling the dreadful condition of a girl brought 
 up without any of the gracious influences of Anglican 
 Eitual and Dogma, he was impelled to offer her a 
 home with his Sisterhood. Here she would receive 
 clear dogmatic teaching, and learn what the Church 
 meant by submission, fasting, penance, and humilia- 
 tion. Mr. Jagenal thought she might also learn how 
 to bestow her fortune on Anglo-Catholic objects when 
 she came of age, and dismissed his reverence with 
 scant courtesy. Two or three widows who had 
 known better days offered their services, which were 
 declined with thanks. Joseph even refused to let 
 Miss Fleming stay with Mrs. Cassilis, the wife of 
 Abraham Dyson's second cousin. He thought that 
 perhaps this lady would not be unwilling to enliven 
 her house by the attraction of an heiress and a debu- 
 tante. And it occurred to him that, for a short time 
 at least, she might, without offending a censorious 
 world and until her remaining guardian's wishes 
 could be learned, take up her abode at the house of 
 the three bachelors. 
 
 * I am old, Miss Fleming,' he said. * Forty years 
 old ; a great age to you ; and my brothers, Cornelius 
 and Humphrey, who live with me, are older still. 
 Cornelius is a great poet ; he is engaged on a work
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 57 
 
 — the Upheaving of jElfred — which will immortalise 
 his name. Humphrey is an artist ; he is working 
 at a group the mere conception of which, Cornelius 
 says, would make even the brain of Michael Angelo 
 stagger. You will be proud, I think, in after-years 
 to have made the acquaintance of my brothers.' 
 
 She came, having no choice or any other wish, 
 accompanied by her French maid and the usual im- 
 pedimenta of travel. 
 
 Phillis Fleming — her father called her Phillis 
 because she was his only joy — was nineteen. She is 
 twenty now, because the events of this story only 
 happened last year. *Her mother died in giving her 
 birth; she had neither brothers nor sisters, nor 
 many cousins, and those far away. When she was 
 six her father died too — not of an interesting con- 
 sumption or of a broken heart, or any ailment of 
 that kind. He was a jovial fox-hunting ex-captain 
 of cavalry, with a fair income and a carefully-culti- 
 vated taste for enjoyment. He died from an accident 
 in the field. By his will he left all his money to his 
 one child, and appointed as her trustees his father's 
 old friend, Abraham Dyson of Twickenham and the 
 City, and with him his own friend, Lawrence Col- 
 quhoun, a man some ten years younger than himself, 
 with tastes and pursuits very much like his own.
 
 5B THE GOLDEIT BUTTERFLY. 
 
 Of course the child was taken to the elder guardian's 
 house, and Colquhoun, going his way in the world, 
 never gave his trust or its responsibilities a mo- 
 ment's thought. 
 
 Phillis Fleming had the advantage of a training 
 quite different from that which is usually accorded 
 to young ladies. She went to Mr. Abraham Dyson 
 at a time when that old gentleman, always full of 
 crotchety ideas, was developing a plan of his own for 
 female education. His theory of woman's training 
 having just then grown in his mind to finished pro- 
 portions, he welcomed the child as a subject sent 
 quite providentially to his hand, and proceeded to 
 put his views into practice upon little Phillis. That 
 he did so showed a healthy belief in his own judg- 
 ment. Some men would have hastened into print 
 with a mere theory. Mr. Dyson intended to wait for 
 twelve years or so, and to write his work on woman's 
 education when Phillis's example might be the trium- 
 phant proof of his own soundness. The education 
 conducted on Mr. Dyson's principles and rigidly car- 
 ried out was approaching completion when it sud- 
 denly came to an abrupt termination. Few things 
 in this world quite turn out as we hope and expect. 
 It was on the cards that Abraham Dyson might die 
 before the proof of his theory. This, in fact, hap-
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 59 
 
 pened ; and his chief regret at leaving a world where 
 he had been supremely comfortable, and able to enjoy 
 his glass of port to his eightieth and last year, was 
 that he was leaving the girl, the creation of his 
 theory, in an unfinished state. 
 
 *Phillis,' he said, on his deathbed, Hhe edifice is 
 now complete, — all but the Coping-stone. Alas that 
 I could not live to put it on !' 
 
 And what the Coping-stone was no man could 
 guess. Great would be the cleverness of him who, 
 seeing a cathedral finished save for roof and upper 
 courses, would undertake to put on these, with all 
 the ornaments, spires, lanterns, gargoyles, pinnacles, 
 flying buttresses, turrets, belfries, and crosses drawn 
 in the dead designer's lost plans. 
 
 Abraham Dyson was a wealthy man. Therefore 
 he was greatly respected by all his relations, in 
 spite of certain eccentricities, notably those which 
 forbade him to ask any of them to his house. If 
 the nephews, nieces, and cousins wept bitterly on 
 learning their bereavement, deeper and more bitter 
 were their lamentations when they found that Mr. 
 Dyson had left none of them any money. 
 
 Not one penny; not a mourning-ring; not a 
 single sign or token of affection to one of them. It 
 was a cruel throwing of cold water on the tenderest
 
 60 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 affections of the heart, and Mr. Dyson's relations 
 were deeply pained. Some of them swore ; others 
 felt that in this case it was needless to give sorrow 
 words, and bore their sufferings in silence. 
 
 Nor did he leave any money to Phillis. 
 
 This obstinate old theorist left it all to found a 
 college for girls, who were to be educated in the 
 same manner as Phillis Fleming, and in accordance 
 with the scheme stated to be fully drawn up and 
 among his papers. 
 
 Up to the present, Joseph Jagenal had not suc- 
 ceeded in finding the scheme. There were several 
 rolls of paper, forming portions of the great work, 
 but none were finished, and all pointed to the last 
 chapter, that entitled the ' Coping-stone,' in which, 
 it was stated, would be found the whole scheme with 
 complete fulness of detail. But this last chapter 
 could not be found anywhere. If it never was found, 
 what would become of the will ? Then each one of 
 Mr. Dyson's relations began to calculate what might 
 fall to himself out of the inheritance. That was 
 only natural, and perhaps it was not every one who, 
 like Mr. Gabriel Cassilis, openly lamented the num- 
 ber of Mr. Dyson's collateral heirs. 
 
 Not to be found. Joseph Jagenal' s clerks now 
 engaged in searching everywhere for it, and all the
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 61 
 
 relations praying — all fervently and some with faith — 
 that it might never turn up. 
 
 So that poor Phillis is sitting down to dinner 
 with her education unfinished — where is that Coping- 
 stone ? Every young lady who has had a finishing 
 year at Brighton may look down upon her. Perhaps, 
 however, as her education has been of a kind quite 
 unknown in polite circles, and she has never heard 
 of a finishing year, she may be calm even in the 
 presence of other young ladies. 
 
 What sort of girl is she ? 
 
 To begin with, she has fifty thousand pounds. 
 Not the largest kind of fortune, but still something. 
 More than most girls have ; more than the average 
 heiress has. Enough to make young Fortunio 
 Hunter prick up his ears, smooth down his mous- 
 tache, and begin to inquire about guardians ; enough 
 to purchase a roomy cottage where Love may be 
 comfortable ; enough to enable the neediest wooer, if 
 he be successful, to hang up his hat on the peg 
 behind the door and sit down for the rest of his 
 years. Fifty thousand pounds is a sum which 
 means possibilities. It was her mother's, and, very 
 luckily for her, it was so tied up that Captain 
 Fleming, her father, could not touch more than the 
 interest, which, at three per cent, amounts, as may
 
 052 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 be calculated, to fifteen hundred a year. Really, 
 after explaining that a young lady has fifty thousand, 
 what further praise is wanted, what additional de- 
 scription is necessary ? By contemplation of fifty 
 thousand pounds, ardent youth is inflamed as by a 
 living likeness of Helen. Be she lovely or be she 
 loathly, be she young or old, be she sweet or shrewish 
 — she has fifty thousand pounds. 
 
 With her fifty thousand pounds the gods have 
 given Phillis Fleming a tall figure, the lines of 
 which are as delicately curved as those of any yacht 
 in the Solent or of any statue from Greek studio. 
 She is slight, perhaps too slight ; she has hair of a 
 common dark brown, but it is fine hair, there is a 
 great wealth of it, it has a gleam and glimmer of its 
 own as the sunlight falls upon it, as if there were a 
 hidden colour lying somewhere in it waiting to be 
 discovered ; her eyes, like her hair, are brown ; they 
 are also large and lustrous ; her lips are full ; her 
 features are not straight and regular, like those of 
 women's beauties, for her chin is perhaps a little 
 short, though square and determined; she has a 
 forehead which is broad and rather low ; she wears 
 an expression in which good temper, intelligence, 
 and activity are more marked than beauty. She is 
 quick to mark the things that she sees, and she sees
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 63 
 
 everything. Her hands are curious because they 
 are so small, so delicate, and so sympathetic ; while 
 her face is in repose you may watch a passing 
 emotion by the quivering of her fingers, just as you 
 may catch, if you have the luck, the laughter or 
 tears of most girls first in the brightness or the 
 clouding of their eyes. 
 
 There are girls who, when we meet them in the 
 street, pass us like the passing of sunshine on an 
 April day ; who, if we spend the evening in a room 
 where they are, make us understand something of 
 the warmth which Nature intended to be universal, 
 but has somehow only made special ; whom it is a 
 pleasure to serve, whom it is a duty to reverence, 
 who can bring purity back to the brain of a rake, and 
 make a young man's heart blossom like a rose in 
 June. 
 
 Of such is Phillis Fleming.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Phillis's Education. 
 
 The dinner began without much conversation ; 
 partly because the twins were hungry, and partly 
 because they were a little awed by the presence of 
 an unwonted guest in white draperies. 
 
 Phillis noted that, so far as she had learned as 
 yet, things of a domestic kind in the outer world 
 were much like things at Mr. Dyson's; that is to 
 say, the furniture of the dining-room was similar, 
 and the dinner was the same. I do not know 
 why she expected it, but she had some vague 
 notion that she might be called upon to eat strange 
 dishes. 
 
 ' The B511inger, brother Cornelius,' said the 
 artist. 
 
 ' Thoughtful of you, brother Humphrey,' the poet 
 answered. ' Miss Fleming, the Bollinger is in your 
 honour.' 
 
 Phillis looked puzzled. She did not understand
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 65 
 
 where tlie honour came in. But she tasted her 
 glass. 
 
 *It is a little too dry for me,' she said, with 
 admirable candour. ' If you have any Veuve Clic- 
 quot, Mr. Jagenal' — she addressed the younger 
 brother — ' I should prefer that.' 
 
 All three perceptibly winced. Jane the maid 
 presently returned with a bottle of the sweeter wine. 
 Miss Fleming tasted it critically, and pronounced in 
 its favour. 
 
 ' Mr. Dyson, my guardian,' she said, ' always 
 used to say the ladies like their wine sweet. At 
 least, I do. So he used to drink Perier Jouet tres 
 sec, and I had Veuve Clicquot.' 
 
 The poet laid his forefinger upon his brow, and 
 looked meditatively at his glass. Then he filled it 
 again. Then he drank it off helplessly. This was 
 a remarkable young lady. 
 
 ' You lived a very quiet life,' said Joseph, with a 
 note of interrogation in his voice, * with your guar- 
 dian at Highgate ?' 
 
 ' Yes, very quiet. Only two or three gentlemen 
 ever came to the house, and I never went out.' 
 
 ' A fair prisoner, indeed,' murmured the poet. 
 ' Danae in her tower waiting for the shower of 
 gold.' 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 66 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 ' Danae must have wished,' said Phillis, * when 
 she was put in the box and sent to sea, that the 
 shower of gold had never come.' 
 
 Cornelius began to regret his allusion to the my- 
 thological maid, for his classical memory failed, and 
 he could not at the moment recollect what box the 
 young lady referred to. This, no doubt, came of 
 much poring over Anglo-Saxon Chronicles. But he 
 remembered other circumstances connected with 
 Danae's history, and was silent. 
 
 * At least you went out,' said Humphrey, * to see 
 the Academy and the Water-colours.' 
 
 She shook her head. 
 
 ' I have never seen a picture-gallery at all. I 
 have not once been outside Mr. Dyson's grounds 
 until to-day, since I was six years old.' 
 
 Humphrey supported his nervous system, like 
 his brother, with another glass of the Bollinger. 
 
 'You found your pleasure in reading divine 
 Poetry,' said the Maker softly ; ' perhaps in writing 
 Poetry yourself. 
 
 ' 0, dear, no !' said Phillis. ' I have not yet 
 learned to read. Mr. Dyson said that ladies ought 
 not to learn reading till they are of an age when 
 acquiring that mischievous art cannot hurt them- 
 selves or their fellow-creatures.'
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 67 
 
 Phillis said this with an air of superior wis- 
 dom, as if there could be no disputing the 
 axiom. 
 
 Humphrey looked oceans of sympathy at Cor- 
 nelius, who took out his handkerchief as if to wipe 
 away a tear, but as none was in readiness he only 
 sighed. 
 
 * You were taught other things, however ?' Joseph 
 asked. 
 
 ' Yes ; I learned to play. My master came twice 
 a week, and I can play pretty well ; I play either by 
 ear or by memory. You see,' she added simply, *I 
 never forget anything that I am told.' 
 
 Compensation of civilised nature. We read, and 
 memory suffers. Those who do not read remember. 
 Before wandering minstrels learned to read and 
 write, the whole Iliad was handed down on men's 
 tongues ; there are Brahmins who repeat all their 
 Sacred Books word for word without slip or error, 
 and have never learned to read ; there are men at 
 Oxford who can tell you the winners of Events for a 
 fabulous period, and yet get plucked for Greats, be- 
 cause, as they will tell you themselves, they really 
 cannot read. Phillis did not' know how to read. 
 But she remembered — remembered everything ; 
 could repeat a poem dictated twice if it were a hun-
 
 68 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 dred lines long, and never forgot it ; caught up an 
 air and learned how to play it at a sitting. 
 
 She could not read. All the world of fiction was 
 lost to her. All the fancies of poets were lost to her ; 
 all the records of folly and crime which we call his- 
 tory were unknown to her. 
 
 Try to think what, and of what sort, would be 
 the mind of a person, otherwise cultivated, unable to 
 read. In the first place, he would be clear and 
 dogmatic in his views, not having the means of 
 comparison ; next, he would be dependent on oral 
 teaching and rumour for his information ; he would 
 have to store everything, as soon as learned, away in 
 his mind to be lost altogether, unless he knew where 
 to lay his hand upon it ; he would hear little of the 
 outer world, and very little would interest him be- 
 yond his own circle ; he would be in the enjoyment 
 of all the luxuries of civilisation without understand- 
 ing how they got there ; he would be like the Mo- 
 hammedans when they came into possession of 
 Byzantium, in the midst of things unintelligible, 
 useful, and delightful. 
 
 * You will play to us after dinner, if you will be 
 so kind,' said Joseph. 
 
 ^ Can it be. Miss Fleming,' asked Humphrey, 
 * that you never went outside the house at all ?'
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 69 
 
 '0, no ; I could ride in the paddock. It was a 
 good large field and my pony was clever at jumping ; 
 so I got on pretty well.' 
 
 * Would it be too much to ask you how you man- 
 aged to get through the day ?' 
 
 * Not at all,' she replied ; * it was very easy. I 
 had a ride before breakfast ; gave Mr. Dyson his tea 
 at ten ; talked with him till twelve ; we always 
 talked " subjects," you know, and had a regular 
 course. When we had done talking, he asked me 
 questions. Then I probably had another ride before 
 luncheon. In the afternoon I played, looked after 
 my dress, and drew.' 
 
 * You are, then, an Artist,' cried Humphrey en- 
 thusiastically. ' Cornelius, I saw from the first that 
 Miss Fleming had the eye of an Artist.' 
 
 ' I do not know about that ; I can draw people. 
 I will show you some of my sketches, if you like, to- 
 morrow. They are all heads and figures ; I shall 
 draw all of you to-night before going to bed.' 
 
 ' And in the evening ?' 
 
 * Mr. Dyson dined at seven. Sometimes he had 
 one or two gentlemen to dine with him ; never any 
 lady. When there was no one, we talked '' subjects" 
 again.' 
 
 Never any lady ! Here was a young woman, rich,
 
 70 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 of good family, handsome and, in her way, accom 
 plished, who had never seen or talked with a lady, 
 nor gone out of the house save into its gardens since 
 she was a child. 
 
 Yet, in spite of all these disadvantages and the 
 strangeness of her position, she was perfectly self- 
 possessed. When she left the table, the two elder 
 brethren addressed themselves to the bottle of Cha- 
 teau Mouton with more rapidity than was becoming 
 the dignity of the wine. Joseph almost immediately 
 joined his ward. When the twins left the dining- 
 room with its empty decanters, and returned arm- 
 in-arm to the drawing-room, they found their younger 
 brother in animated conversation with the girl. 
 Strange that Joseph should so far forget his usual 
 habits as not to go straight to his own room. The 
 two bosoms which heaved in a continual harmony 
 with each other felt a simultaneous pang of jealousy 
 for which there was no occasion. Joseph was only 
 thinking of the Coping-stone. 
 
 * Did I not feel it strange driving through the 
 streets ?' Phillis was saying. ' It is all so strange 
 that I am bewildered — so strange and so wonderful 
 I used to dream of what it was like ; my maid told me 
 something about it ; but I never guessed the reality. 
 There are a hundred things more than I can ever draw.'
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 71 
 
 It was, as hinted above, the custom of this 
 young person, as it was that of the Mexicans, to 
 make drawings of everything which occurred. She 
 was thus enabled to preserve a tolerably faithful 
 record of her life. 
 
 * Show me,' said Joseph — ' show me the heads of 
 my brothers and myself, that you promised to do, as 
 soon as they are finished.' 
 
 The brethren sat together on a sofa, the Poet in 
 his favourite attitude of meditation, forefinger on 
 brow; the Artist with his eyes fixed on the fire 
 catching the efi'ects of colour. Their faces were 
 just a little flushed with the wine they had taken. 
 
 One after the other crossed the room and spoke 
 to their guest. 
 
 Said Cornelius : 
 
 * You are watching my brother Humphrey. 
 Study him. Miss Fleming ; it will repay j'ou well 
 to know that childlike and simple nature, innocent 
 of the world, and aglow with the flame of genius.' 
 
 * I think I can draw him now,' said Phillis, look- 
 ing at the Artist as hard as a turnkey taking Mr. 
 Pickwick's portrait. 
 
 Then came Humphrey: 
 
 *I see your eyes turned upon my brother Cor- 
 nelius. He is a great, a noble fellow, Miss Fleming.
 
 72 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 Cultivate him, talk to him, learn from him. You 
 will be very glad some day to be able to boast that 
 you have met my brother Cornelius. To know him 
 is a Privilege ; to converse with him is an Edu- 
 cation.' 
 
 ' Come,' said Joseph cheerfully, ' where is the 
 piano ? This is a bachelor's house, but there is a 
 piano somewhere. Have you got it, Cornelius ?' 
 
 The Poet shook his head, with a soft sad smile. 
 
 'Nay,' he said, * is a Workshop the place for 
 music ? Let us rather search for it in the Kealms 
 of Art.' 
 
 In fact it was in Mr. Humphrey's studio, whither 
 they repaired. The girl sat down, and as she touched 
 the keys her eyes lit up and her whole look changed. 
 Joseph was the only one of the three who really 
 cared for music. He stood by the fire and said 
 nothing. The brethren on either side of the per- 
 former displayed wonders of enthusiastic admiration, 
 each in his own way — the poet sad and reflective, as 
 if music softened his soul ; the artist with an effer- 
 vescing gaiety delightful to behold. Joseph was 
 thinking. ' Can we' — had his thoughts taken form 
 of speech — ' can we reconstruct from the girl's own 
 account the old man's scheme anew, provided the
 
 THE aOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 73 
 
 chapter on the Coping-stone he never found ? Proh- 
 lem given. A girl hrought up in seclusion, without 
 intercourse with any of her sex except illiterate 
 servants, yet bred to be a lady ; not allowed even to 
 learn reading, but taught orally, so as to hold her 
 own in talk : required to discover what the old man 
 meant by it, and what was wanted to finish the 
 structure. Could it be reading and writing ? Could 
 Abraham Dyson have intended to finish where all 
 other people begin ?' 
 
 This solution mightily commended itself to Jo- 
 seph, and he went to bed in great good spirits at his 
 own cleverness. 
 
 In the dead of night he awoke in fear and 
 trembling. 
 
 ' They will go into Chancery,* he thought. * What 
 if the Court refuses to take my view?* 
 
 At three in the morning the brethren, long left 
 alone with their pipes, rose to go to bed. 
 
 Brandy-and-soda sometimes makes men truthful 
 after the third tumbler, and beguiles them with 
 illusory hopes after the fourth. The twins were at 
 the end of their fourth. 
 
 * Cornelius,' said the Artist, * she has 50,0001.* 
 
 * She has, brother Humphrey.*
 
 74 THE GOLDEN BUTTEBFLY. 
 
 *It is a pity, Cornelius, that we, who have only 
 200L a year each, are already fifty years of age.' 
 
 * Humphrey, what age do we feel ?' 
 
 ' Thirty. Not a month more,' replied the Artist, 
 striking out with both fists at an imaginary foe — 
 probably old Time. 
 
 ' Eight. Not an hour above the thirty,' said the 
 Bard, smiting his chest gently. ' As for Joseph, he 
 is too old — ' 
 
 * Very much too old — ' 
 
 ' To think of marrying such a young — ' 
 
 ' Fresh and innocent — ' 
 
 ' Engaging and clever girl as Miss Phillis 
 Fleming.' 
 
 Did they then both intend to marry the young 
 lady?
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 * To tg,ste the freshness of the morning air.' 
 
 Phillis retreated to her own room at her accustomed 
 hour of ten. Her nerves were excited ; her hrain 
 was troubled with the events of this day of emanci- 
 pation. She was actually in the world, the great 
 world of which her guardian had told her, the world 
 where history was made, where wicked kings, as Mr. 
 DfTson perpetually impressed upon her, made war 
 their play and the people their playthings. She 
 was in the world where all those things were done of 
 which she had only heard as yet. She had seen the 
 streets of London, or some of them — those streets 
 along which had ridden the knights whose pictures 
 she loved to draw, the princesses and queens whose 
 stories Mr. Dyson had taught her ; where the busi- 
 ness of the world was carried on, and where there 
 flowed up and down the ceaseless stream of those 
 whom necessity spurs to action. As a matter of 
 narrow fact, she had seen nothing but that part of 
 London which lies between Highgate-hill and Car-
 
 76 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 narvon-square ; but to her it seemed the City, the 
 centre of all life, the heart of civilisation. She re- 
 gretted only that she had not been able to discern 
 the Tower of London. That might be, however, 
 close to Mr. Jagenal's house, and she would look for 
 it in the morning. 
 
 What a day ! She sat before her ffre and tried 
 to picture it all over again. Horses, carriages, carts, 
 and people rushing to and fro ; shops filled with the 
 most wonderful exhibition of precious things ; eccen- 
 tric people with pipes, who trundled carts piled with 
 yellow oranges ; gentlemen in blue with helmets, 
 who lounged negligently along the streets ; boys who 
 ran and whistled ; boys who ran and shouted ; boys 
 who ran and sold papers ; always boys — where were 
 all the girls ? Where were they all going ? and what 
 were they all wishing to do ? 
 
 In the evening the world appeared to narrow 
 itself. It consisted of dinner with three elderly 
 gentlemen ; one of whom was thoughtful about her- 
 self, spoke kindly to her, and asked her about her 
 past life ; while the other two — and here she laughed 
 — talked unintelligibly about Art and themselves, 
 and sometimes praised each other. 
 
 Then she opened her sketch-book and began to 
 draw the portraits of her new friends. And first she
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 77 
 
 produced a faithful effigies of the twins. This took 
 her nearly an hour to draw, but when finished it 
 made a pretty picture. The brethren stood with 
 arms intertwined like two children, with eyes gazing 
 fondly into each other's, and heads thrown back, in 
 the attitude of poetic and artistic meditation which 
 they mostly affected. A clever sketch, and she was 
 more than satisfied when she held it up to the 
 light and looked at it, before placing it in her port- 
 folio. 
 
 ' Mr. Humphrey said I had the eye of an artist,' 
 she murmured. ' I wonder what he will say when he 
 sees this.' 
 
 Then she drew the portrait of Joseph. This was 
 easy. She drew him sitting a little forward, playing 
 with his watch-chain, looking at her with deep grave 
 eyes. 
 
 Then she closed her eyes and began to recall the 
 endless moving panorama of the London streets. 
 But this she could not draw. There came no image 
 to her mind, only a series of blurred pictures running 
 into each other. 
 
 Then she closed her sketch-book, put up her 
 pencils, and went -to bed. It was twelve o'clock. 
 Joseph was still thinking over the terms of Mr. 
 Dyson's will and the chapter on the Coping-stone.
 
 78 THE GOLDEN BTJTTEEFLY. 
 
 The twins were taking their third split soda — it was 
 brotherly to divide a bottle, and the mixture was less 
 likely to be unfairly diluted. 
 
 Phillis went to bed, but she could not sleep. 
 The steps of the passers-by, the strange room, the 
 excitement of the day, kept her awake. She was 
 like some fair yacht suddenly launched from the 
 dock where she has grown slowly to her perfect 
 shape, upon the waters of the harbour, which she 
 takes for the waters of the great ocean. She looked 
 round her bedroom in Carnarvon-square, and because 
 it was not Highgate, thought it must be the vast, 
 shelterless, and unpitying world of which she had so 
 often heard, and at thought of which, brave as she 
 was, she had so often shuddered. 
 
 It was nearly three when she fairly slept, and 
 then she had a strange dream. She thought that 
 she was part of the great procession which never 
 ended all day long in the streets, only sometimes a 
 little more crowded and sometimes a little thinner. 
 She pushed and hastened with the rest. She would 
 have liked to stay and examine the glittering things 
 exhibited — the gold and jewelry, the dainty cakes 
 and delicate fruits, the gorgeous, dresses in the win- 
 dows — but she could not. All pushed on, and she 
 with them ; there had been no beginning of the rush.
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 79 
 
 and there seemed to be no end. Faces turned round 
 and glared at her — faces which she marked for a 
 moment — they were the same which she had seen in 
 the morning; faces hard and faces hungry; faces 
 cruel and faces forbidding ; faces that were bent on 
 doing something desperate — every kind of face except 
 a sweet face. That is a rare thing for a stranger to 
 find in a London street. The soft sweet faces belong 
 to the country. She wondered why they all looked 
 at her so curiously. Perhaps because she was a 
 stranger. 
 
 Presently there was a sort of hue and cry, and 
 everybody began running, she with them. Oddly 
 enough, they all ran after her. Why ? Was that 
 also because she was a stranger ? Only the younger 
 men ran, but the rest looked on. The twins, how- 
 ever, were both running among the pursuers. The 
 women pointed and flouted at her ; the older men 
 nodded, wagged their heads, and laughed. Faster 
 they ran and faster she fled ; they distanced, she and 
 her pursuers, the crowd behind ; they passed beyond 
 the streets and into country fields, where hedges 
 took the place of the brilliant windows ; they were 
 somehow back in the old Highgate paddock which 
 had been so long her only outer world. The pur- 
 suers were reduced to three or four, among them, by
 
 80 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 some odd chance, the twin brethren ; and as one, but 
 who she could not tell, caught up with her and laid 
 his hand upon hers, and she could run no longer 
 and could resist no more, but fell, not with terror at 
 all, but rather a sense of relief and gladness, into a 
 clutch which was like an embrace of a lover for soft- 
 ness and strength, she saw in front of her dead old 
 Abraham Dyson, who clapped his hands and cried, 
 * Well run, well won ! The Coping-stone, my Phillis, 
 of your education !' 
 
 She woke with a start, and sat up looking round 
 the room. Her dream was so vivid that she saw the 
 group before her very eyes in the twilight — herself, 
 with a figure, dim and undistinguishable in the twi- 
 light, leaning over her ; and a little distance off old 
 Abraham Dyson himself, standing, as she best re- 
 membered him, upright, and with his hands upon 
 his stick. He laughed and wagged his head and 
 nodded it as he said: 'Well run, well won, my 
 Phillis ; it is the Coping-stone !' 
 
 This was a very remarkable dream for a young 
 lady of nineteen. Had she told it to Joseph Jagenal 
 it might have led his thoughts into a new chan- 
 nel. 
 
 She rubbed her eyes, and the vision disappeared. 
 Then she laid her head again upon the pillow, just a
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 81 
 
 little frightened at her ghosts, and presently dropped 
 off to sleep. 
 
 This time she had no more dreams; but she 
 awoke soon after it was daybreak, being still unquiet 
 in her new surroundings. 
 
 And now she remembered everything with a rush. 
 She had left Highgate ; she was in Carnarvon-square ; 
 she was in Mr. Joseph Jagenal's house ; she had been 
 introduced to two gentlemen, one of whom was said 
 to have a childlike nature all aglow with the flame of 
 genius, while the other was described as a great, a 
 noble fellow, to know whom was a Privilege and to 
 converse with whom was an Education. 
 
 She laughed when she thought of the pair. Like 
 Nebuchadnezzar, she had forgotten her dream. Un- 
 like that king, she did not care to recall it. 
 
 The past was gone. A new life was about to 
 begin. And the April sun was shining full upon her 
 window-blinds. 
 
 Phillis sprang from her bed and tore open the 
 curtains with eager hand. Perhaps facing her might 
 be the Tower of London. Perhaps the Thames, the 
 silver Thames, with London-bridge. Perhaps St. 
 Paul's Cathedral, * which Christopher Wren built in 
 place of the old one destroyed by the Great Fire.' 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 82 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 Phillis's facts in history were short and decisive, like 
 the above. 
 
 No Tower of London at all. No St. Paul's Cathe- 
 dral. No silver Thames. Only a great square with 
 houses all round. Carnarvon-square at dawn. Not, 
 perhaps, a fairy piece, but wonderful in its novelty 
 to this newly-emancipated cloistered nun, with 
 whom a vivid sense of the beautiful had grown up 
 by degrees in her mind, fed only in the pictures 
 supplied by the imagination. She knew the trees 
 that grew in Lord Mansfield's park, beyond the pad- 
 dock ; she could catch in fine days a glimpse of the 
 vast city that stretches itself out from the feet of 
 breezy Highgate ; she knew the flowers of her own 
 garden ; and for the rest— she imagined it. River, 
 lake, mountain, forest, and field, she knew them 
 only by talk with her guardian. And the mighty 
 ocean she knew because her French maid had 
 crossed it when she quitted fair Normandy, and told 
 her again and again of the horrors encountered by 
 those who go down to the sea in ships. 
 
 So that a second garden was a new revelation. 
 Besides, it was bright and pretty. There were the 
 first flowers of spring, gay tulips and pretty things, 
 whose names she did not know or could not make 
 out from the window. The shrubs and trees were
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 83 
 
 green with the first sweet chlorine foliage of April, 
 clear and fresh from the broken buds which lay 
 thick upon the ground, the tender leaflets as yet all 
 unsullied by the London smoke. 
 
 The pavement was deserted, because it was as 
 yet too early for any one, even a milk-boy, to be out. 
 The only living person to be seen was a gardener, 
 already at work among the plants. 
 
 A great yearning came over her to be out in the 
 open air and among the flowers. At Highgate she 
 rose at all hours ; worked in the garden ; saddled 
 and rode her pony in the field ; and amused herself 
 in a thousand ways before the household rose, sub- 
 ject to no restraint or law but one— that she was not 
 to open the front-door, or venture herself in the outer 
 world. 
 
 * Mr. Jagenal said I was to do as I liked,' she 
 said, hesitating. * It cannot be wrong to go out 
 of the front-door now. Besides,' reasoning here like 
 a casuist, * perhaps it is the back-door which leads 
 to that garden.' 
 
 In a quarter of an hour she was ready. She was 
 not one of those young ladies who, because no one is 
 looking at them, neglect their personal appearance. 
 On the contrary, she always dressed for herself; 
 therefore, she always dressed well.
 
 84 THE GOLDEN . JTTEEFLY. 
 
 This morning she wore a morning costume, all 
 one colour, and I think it was gray, but am not 
 quite certain. It was in the graceful fashion of last 
 year, lying in long curved lines, and fitting closely 
 to her slender and tall figure. A black ribbon was 
 tied round her neck, and in her hat — the hats of last 
 year did not suit every kind of face, but they suited 
 the face of Phillis Fleming — she wore one of those 
 bright little birds whose destruction for the purposes 
 of fashion we all deplore. In her hand she carried, as 
 if she were still at Highgate and going to saddle her 
 pony, a small riding-whip. And thus she opened 
 the door, and slid down the stairs of the great silent 
 house as stealthily and almost as fearfully as the 
 Lady Godiva on a certain memorable day. It was a 
 ghostly feeling which came over her when she ran 
 across the broad hall, and listened to the pattering of 
 her own feet upon the oilcloth. The broad daylight 
 streamed through the reverhere ; but yet the place 
 seemed only half lit up. The closed doors on either 
 hand looked as if dreadful things lurked behind them. 
 With something like a shudder she let down the 
 •door-chain, unbarred the bolts, and opened the door. 
 As she passed through she was aware of a great rush 
 across the hall behind her. It was Csesar, the 
 mastiff. Awakened by a noise as of one burgling.
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 85 
 
 he crept swiftly and silently up the kitcben-stairs, 
 with intent to do a desperate deed of valour, and 
 found to his rapturous joy that it was only the young 
 lady, she who came the night before, and that she 
 was going out for an early morning walk — a thing 
 he, for his part, had not been permitted to do for 
 many, many moons, not since he had been brought — 
 a puppy yet, and innocent — to the heart of London. 
 No one out at all except themselves. What jcy ! 
 Phillis shut the door very carefully behind her, 
 looked up and down the street, and then running 
 down the steps seized the happy C^sar by the paws 
 and danced round and round with him upon the 
 pavement. Then they both ran a race. She ran 
 like Atalanta, but C£esar led till the finish, when out 
 of a courtesy more than Castiliau, he allowed him- 
 self to be beaten, and Phillis won by a neck. This 
 result pleased them both, and Phillis discovered that 
 her race had brought her quite to the end of one 
 side of the square. And then, looking about her, she 
 perceived that a gate of the garden was open, and 
 went in, followed by Caesar, now in. the seventh 
 heaven. This was better, far better, than leading a 
 pair of twins who sometimes tied knots with their legs. 
 The gate was left open by the under-gardener, who 
 had arisen thus early in the morning with a view to
 
 88 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 carrying off some of the finer tulips for himself. 
 They raced and chased each other up and down the 
 gravel walks between the lilacs and laburnums 
 bursting into blossom. Presently they came to the 
 under-gardener himself, who was busy potting a 
 selection of the tulips. He stared as if at a ghost. 
 Half-past five in the morning, and a young lady, 
 with a dog, looking at him. 
 
 He stiffened his upper lip, and put the spade 
 before the flower-pots. 
 
 ' Beg pardon, miss. No dogs allowed. On the 
 rules, miss.' 
 
 ' William,' she replied — for she was experienced 
 in under-gardeners, knew that they always answer 
 to the name of William, also that they are exposed 
 to peculiar temptations in the way of bulbs — ' Wil- 
 liam, for whom are you potting those tulips ?' 
 
 Then, because the poor youth's face was suffused 
 and his countenance was ' unto himself for a be- 
 trayal,' — she whistled — actually whistled — to Caesar, 
 and ran on laughing. 
 
 ' Here's a rum start,' said William. ' A young 
 lady as knows my name, what I'm up to and all, 
 coming here at five o'clock in the blessed morning 
 when all young ladies as I ever heard of has got 
 their noses in their pillowses — else 'tain't no good
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 87 
 
 being a young lady. Ketches me a-disposin' of the 
 toolups. With a dawg, and whistles like a young 
 nobleman.' 
 
 He began putting back the flowers. 
 
 ' No knowin' who she mayn't tell, nor what she 
 mayn't say. It's dangerous, William.' 
 
 By different roads, Montaigne wrote, we arrive 
 at the same end. William's choice of the path of 
 virtue was in this case due to Phillis's early visit.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 * Te duce, Caesar.' 
 
 Tired of running, the girl began to walk. It was 
 an April morning, when the east wind for once had 
 forgotten to blow. Walking, she whistled one of 
 the ditties that she knew. She had a very superior 
 mode of performing on that natural piccolo-flute, the 
 human mouth : it was a way of her own, not at all 
 like the full round whistle of the street-boy, with as 
 much volume as in a bottle of '51 port, as full of un- 
 meaning sound as a later poem of Kobert Browning's, 
 and as unmelodious as the instrument on which that 
 poet has always played. Quite the contrary. Phillis's 
 whistle was of a curious delicacy and of a bullfinch- 
 like note, only more flexible. She trilled out an old 
 English ditty, * When Love was young,' first simply, 
 and then with variations. Presently, forgetting that 
 she was not in the old paddock, she began to sing it 
 in her fresh young voice, William the under-gardener 
 and Caesar the dog her only audience. They were 
 differently affected. William grew sad, thinking of
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 89 
 
 his sins. The dog wagged his tail and rushed round 
 and round the singer by way of appreciation. Music 
 saddens the guilty, but maketh glad those who are 
 clear of conscience. 
 
 It was half-past six when she became aware that 
 she was getting hungry. In the old times it was 
 easy to descend to the kitchen and make what Indian 
 people call a chota hazri, a little breakfast for herself. 
 Now she was not certain whether, supposing the ser- 
 vants were about, her visit would be well received ; 
 or, supposing they were not yet up, she should know 
 where to find the kettle, the tea, and the firewood. 
 
 She left the garden, followed by Csesar, who was 
 also growing hungry after his morning walk, and re- 
 solved on going straight home. 
 
 There were two objections to this. 
 
 First, she did not know one house from another, 
 and they were all alike. Second, she did not know 
 the number, and could not have read it had she 
 known it. 
 
 Mr. Jagenal's door was painted a dark brown ; so 
 were they all. Mr. Jagenal's door had a knocker ; 
 so had they all. Could she go all round the square 
 knocking at every door, and waking up the people to 
 ask if Mr. Jagenal lived there ? She knew little of 
 the world, but it did occur to her that it would seem
 
 90 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 unconventional for a young lady to ' knock in' at six 
 in the morning. She did not, most unfortunately, 
 think of asking William the under-gardener. 
 
 She turned to the dog. 
 
 ' Now, Caesar,' she said ; ' take me home.' 
 
 Caesar wagged his tail, nodded his head, and 
 started off before her at a smart walk, looking round 
 now and then to see that his charge was following. 
 
 'Lucky,' said Phillis, 'that I thought of the 
 dog.' 
 
 Caesar proceeded with great solemnity to cross 
 the road, and began to march down the side of the 
 square, Phillis expecting him to stop at every house. 
 But he did not. Arrived at the corner where Car- 
 narvon-street strikes off the square he turned aside, 
 and looking round to see that his convoy was steer- 
 ing the same course, he trudged sturdily down that 
 thoroughfare. 
 
 ' This cannot be right,' thought Phillis. But 
 she was loth to leave the dog, for to lose him would 
 be to lose everything, and she followed. Perhaps he 
 knew of a back way. Perhaps he would take her for 
 a little walk, and show her the Tower of London . 
 
 Caesar, no longer running and bounding around 
 her, walked on with the air of one who has an im- 
 portant business on hand, and means to carry it
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 91 
 
 through. Carnarvon-street is long, and of the half- 
 dismal, half-genteel order of Bloomsbury. C?esar 
 walked half-way down the street. Then he suddenly 
 came to a dead stop. It was in front of a tavern, 
 the Carnarvon Arms, the door of which, for it was an 
 early house, was already open, and the potboy was 
 taking down the shutters. The fact that the shutters 
 were only half down made the dog at first suspect 
 that there was something wrong. The house, as he 
 knew it, always had the shutters down and the portals 
 open. As, however, there seemed no unlawfulness of 
 licensed hours to consider, the dog marched into the 
 bar without so much as looking to see if Phillis was 
 following, and immediately lay down with his head 
 on his paws. 
 
 ' Why does he go in there ?' said Phillis. * And 
 what is the place ?' 
 
 She pushed the door, which, as usual in such 
 establishments, hung half open by means of a 
 leathern strap, and looked in. Nobody in the place 
 but Caesar. She entered, and tried to understand 
 where she was. A smell of stale beer and stale 
 tobacco hanging about the room smote her senses, 
 and made her sick and faint. She saw the bottles 
 and glasses, the taps and the counters, and she 
 understood — she was in a drinking-place, one of the
 
 92 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 wicked dens of which her guardian sometimes spoke. 
 She was in a tavern, that is, a place where workmen 
 spend their earnings and leave their families to 
 starve. She looked round her with curiosity and a 
 little fear. 
 
 Presently she became aware of the early-risen 
 potboy, who, having taken down the shutters, was 
 proceeding about his usual work behind the bar, 
 when his eyes fell upon the astonishing sight of a 
 young lady, a real young lady, as he saw at once, 
 standing in the Bottle and Jug department. He 
 then observed the dog, and comprehended that she 
 was come there after Caesar, and not for purposes of 
 refreshment. 
 
 * Why, miss,' he said, * Csesar thinks he's out 
 with the two gentlemen. He brings them here 
 regular, you see, every morning, and they takes their 
 little glass, don't they, C£esar ?' 
 
 Probably, thought watchful Phillis, anxious to 
 learn, — probably a custom of polite life which Mr. 
 Dyson had neglected to teach her. And yet he 
 always spoke with such bitterness of public-houses. 
 
 * Will you take a drop of somethink, miss ?' asked 
 the polite assistant, tapping the handles hospitably. 
 ' What shall it be ?' 
 
 ' I should like — ' said Phillis.
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 93 
 
 * To be sure, it's full early,' the man went on, * for 
 a young lady and all. But Lor' bless your 'art, it's 
 never none too early for most, ^yllen they've got the 
 coin. Give it a name, miss, and there, the guvnor 
 he isn't hup, and we won't chalk it down to you, nor 
 never ask you for the money. On'y give it a name.' 
 
 * Thank you very much,' said Phillis. ' I should 
 like to have a cup of tea, if I could take it outside.' 
 
 He shook his head, a gesture of disappointment. 
 
 ' It can't be had here. Tea !' — as if he had 
 thought better things of so much beauty — * Tea ! 
 Swipes ! After all, miss, it's your way, and no doubt 
 you don't know no better. There's a Early Caufy- 
 'ouse a little way up the street. You must find it for 
 yourself, because the dawg he don't knovv- it ; knows 
 nothink about Tea, that dawg. You go out, miss, 
 and Caesar he'll go to.* 
 
 Phillis thanked him again for his attention, and 
 followed his advice. Caesar instantly got up and 
 sallied forth with her. Instead, however, of return- 
 ing to the square, he went straight on down Carnar- 
 von-street, still leading the way. Turning first to 
 the right and then to the left, he conducted Phillis 
 through what seemed a labyrinth of streets. These 
 were mostly streets of private houses, not of the best, 
 but rather of the seediest. It was now nearly seven
 
 94 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 o'clock, and the signs of life were apparent. The 
 paper-boy was beginning, with the milkman, his 
 rounds ; the postman's foot was preparing for the 
 first turn on his daily treadmill of doorsteps and 
 double knocks. The workmen, paid by time, were 
 strolling to their hours of idleness with bags of tools; 
 windows were thrown open here and there ; and an 
 early servant might be seen rejoicing to bang her 
 mats at the street-door. Phillis tried to retain her 
 faith in Caesar, and followed obediently. It was easy 
 to see that the dog knew where he was going, and 
 had a distinct purpose in his mind. It was to be 
 hoped, she thought, that his purpose included a 
 return home as soon as possible, because she was 
 getting a little tired. 
 
 Streets — always streets. Who were the people 
 who lived in them all ? Could there be in every 
 house the family life of which Mr. Dyson used to 
 tell her — the life she had never seen, but which he 
 promised she should one day see — the sweet life 
 where father and mother and children live together 
 and share their joys and sorrows ? She began to 
 look into the windows as she walked along, in the 
 hope of catching a hasty glance at so much of the 
 family life as might be seen so early in the morning. 
 
 She passed one house where the family were
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 95 
 
 distinctly visible, gathered together in the front 
 kitchen. She stopped and looked down through the 
 iron railings. The children were seated at the table. 
 The mother was engaged in some cooking operations 
 at the fire. Were they about to sing a hymn and 
 to have family prayers before their breakfast ? Not 
 at this house apparently, for the woman suddenly 
 turned from her occupation at the fire and, without 
 any adequate motive that Phillis could discern, began 
 boxing the children's ears all round. Instantly there 
 arose a mighty cry from those alike who had already 
 been boxed and those who sat expectant of their turn. 
 Evidently this was one of the houses where the family 
 life was not a complete success. The scene jarred 
 on Phillis, upsetting her pretty little Arcadian castle 
 of domestic happiness. She felt disappointed, and 
 hurried on after her conductor. 
 
 It is sad to relate that Caesar presently entered 
 another public-house. This time Phillis went in 
 after him with no hesitation at all. She encountered 
 the landlord in person, who greeted the dog, asked 
 him what he was doing so early, and then explained 
 to Miss Fleming that he was accustomed to call at 
 the house every day about noon, accompanied by two 
 gentlemen, who had their little whack and then went 
 away ; and that she only had to go through the form
 
 96 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 of coming and departing in order to get Caesar out 
 too. 
 
 ' Little whack !' thought Phillis. ' Little glass ! 
 What a lot of customs and expressions I have to 
 learn !' 
 
 For those interested in the sagacity of dogs, or in 
 comparative psychology, it may he noted as a remark- 
 ahle thing that when Caesar came out of that second 
 puhlic-house he hesitated, as one struck suddenly 
 with a grievous doubt. Had he been doing right ? 
 He took a few steps in advance, then he looked round 
 and stopped, then he looked up and down the street. 
 Finally he came back to Phillis, and asked for in- 
 structions with a wistful gaze. 
 
 Phillis turned round and said, 'Home, Caesar.' 
 Then, after barking twice, Caesar led the way back 
 again with alacrity and renewed confidence. 
 
 He not only led the way home, but he chose a 
 short cut known only to himself. Perhaps he 
 thought his charge might be tired ; perhaps he 
 wished to show her some further varieties of Eng- 
 lish life. 
 
 In the districts surrounding Bloomsbury are 
 courts which few know except the policeman ; even 
 that dauntless functionary is chary of venturing him- 
 self into them, except in couples, and then he would
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 97 
 
 rather stay outside, if only out of respect to a play- 
 ful custom, of old standing, prevalent among the 
 inhabitants. They keep flower-pots on their first 
 and second floors, and when a policeman passes 
 through the court they drop them over. If no one 
 is hurt, there is no need of an apology; if a con- 
 stable receives the projectile on his head or shoulder, 
 it is a deplorable accident which those who have 
 caused it are the first to publicly lament. It was 
 through a succession of these courts that the dog 
 led Phillis. 
 
 Those of the men who had work to do were by 
 this time gone to do it. Those who had none, to- 
 gether with those who felt strongly on the subject of 
 Adam's curse and therefore wished for none, stayed 
 at home and smoked pipes, leaning against the door- 
 posts. The ideal heaven of these noble Englishmen 
 is for ever to lean against door-posts and for ever to 
 smoke pipes in a land where it is always balmy 
 morning, and where there are * houses' handy into 
 which they can slouch from time to time for a drink. 
 
 The ladies, their consorts, were mostly engaged 
 in such household occupations as could be carried on 
 out of doors and within conversation reach of each 
 other. The court was therefore musical with sweet 
 feminine voices. 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 98 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 The children played together — no officer of the 
 London School Board having yet ventured to face 
 those awful flower-pots — in a continuous stream 
 along the central line of the courts. Phillis ob- 
 served that the same game was universal, and that 
 the players were apparently all of the same age. 
 
 She also remarked a few things which struck her 
 as worth noting. The language of the men differed 
 considerably from that used by Mr. Dyson, and their 
 pronunciation seemed to her to lack delicacy. The 
 difference most prominent at first was the employ- 
 ment of a single adjective to qualify everything — an 
 observance so universal as to arrest at once the 
 attention of a stranger. The women, it was also 
 apparent, were all engaged in singing together a 
 kind of chorus of lamentation, in irregular strophe 
 and antistrophe, on the wicked ways of their men. 
 
 Rough as were the natives of this place, no one 
 molested Phillis. The men stared at her and 
 exchanged criticisms on her personal appearance. 
 These were complimentary, although not poetically 
 expressed. The women stared harder, but said 
 nothing until she had passed by. Then they made 
 remarks which would have been unpleasant had they 
 been audible. The children alone took no notice of 
 Jjer. The immunity from insult which belongs to
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 99 
 
 young ladies in English thoroughfares depends, I 
 fear, more upon force of public opinion than upon 
 individual chivalry. Una could trust herself alone 
 with her lion ; she can only trust herself among the 
 roughs of London when they are congregated in 
 numbers. Nor, I think, would the spectacle of good- 
 ness and purity, combined with beauty, produce in 
 their rude breasts, by comparison with themselves, 
 those feelings of shame, opening up the way to 
 repentance, which are expected by self-conscious 
 maidens ministering in the paths of Dorcas. 
 
 Phillis walked along with steadfast eyes, watch- 
 ing everything and afraid of nothing, because she 
 knew of no cause for fear. The dog, decreasing the 
 distance between them, marched a few feet in ad- 
 vance, right through the middle of the children, who 
 fell back and formed a lane for them to pass. Once 
 Phillis stopped to look at a child — a great-eyed, soft- 
 faced, curly-haired, beautiful boy. She spoke to him, 
 asked him his name, held out her hand to him. 
 The fathers and the mothers looked on and watched 
 for the result, which would probably take the form 
 of coin. 
 
 The boy prefaced his reply with an oath of great 
 fulness and rich flavour. Phillis had never heard 
 the phrase before, but it sounded unmusically on
 
 100 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 her ears. Then he held out his hand and demanded 
 a copper. The watchful parents and guardians on 
 the door-steps murmured approval, and all the chil- 
 dren shouted together like the men of Ephesus. 
 
 At this juncture Caesar looked round. He mas- 
 tered the situation in a moment, surrounded and 
 isolated his convoy by a rapid movement almost 
 simultaneous in flank and rear; barked angrily at 
 the children, who threatened to close in en masse 
 and make short work of poor Phillis ; and gave 
 her clearly to understand once for all that she was to 
 follow him with silent and unquestioning docility. 
 
 She obeyed, and they came out of the courts and 
 into the squares. Phillis began to hope that the 
 Tower of London would presently heave in sight, or 
 at least the silver Thames with London-bridge ; but 
 they did not. 
 
 She was very tired by this time. It was nearly 
 eight, and she had been up and out since five. Even 
 her vigorous young limbs were beginning to feel 
 dragged by her three hours' ramble. Quite sud- 
 denly Caesar turned a corner, as it seemed, and she 
 found herself once more in Carnarvon-square. The 
 dog, feeling that he had done enough for reputation, 
 walked soberly along the pavement until he came to 
 No. 15, when he ascended the steps and sat down.
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 101 
 
 The door was open, Jane the housemaid assidu- 
 ously polishing the hell -handles. 
 
 ' Lor' a mercy, miss !' she cried, ' I thought you 
 was a-bed and asleep. Wherever have you a-bin — 
 with Caesar too ?' 
 
 'We went for a walk and lost ourselves,' Phillis 
 replied. 'Jane, I am very hungry; what time is 
 breakfast ?' 
 
 ' The master has his at eight, miss. But Mr. 
 Cornelius he told me yesterday that you would break- 
 fast with him and Mr. Humphrey — about eleven, he 
 said. And Mr. Humphrey thought you'd like a little 
 fresh fish and a prawn curry, perhaps.' 
 
 'I shall breakfast with Mr. Joseph,' said Phillis. 
 
 She went to her room in a little temper. It was 
 too bad to be treated like a child wanting nice things 
 for breakfast. A little more experience taught her 
 that any culinary forethought on the part of the Twins 
 was quite sure to be so directed as to secure their 
 own favourite dishes. 
 
 She did breakfast with Joseph : made tea for him, 
 told him all about her morning adventures, received 
 his admonitions in good part, and sent him to his 
 office half an hour later than usual. One of his let- 
 ters bore an American stamp. This he opened, 
 putting the rest in a leather pocket-book.
 
 102 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 * This letter concerns you, Miss Fleming,' he 
 apologised in an old-fashioned way ; ' that is why I 
 opened it before you. It comes from your remaining 
 guardian, Mr. Lawrence Colquhoun. Listen to what 
 he says. He writes from New York: "I am sorry 
 to hear that my old friend Abraham Dyson is gone. 
 I shall be ready to assume my new responsibilities 
 in a fortnight after you receive this letter, as I hope 
 to land in that time at Liverpool. Meantime give 
 my kindest regards to my ward." So — Lawrence 
 Colquhoun home again !' 
 
 * Tell me about him : is he grave and old, like 
 Mr. Dyson ? Will he want me to go back to the old 
 life and talk " subjects" ? Mr. Jagenal, much as I 
 loved my dear old guardian, I could not consent to 
 be shut up any more.' 
 
 ' You will not be asked, my dear young lady. 
 Mr. Colquhoun is a man under forty. He is neither 
 old nor grave. He was in the army with your father. 
 He sold out seven or eight years ago, spent a year or 
 two about London, and then disappeared. I am his 
 lawyer, and from time to time he used to send me 
 his address and draw on me for money. That is all 
 I can tell you of his travels. Lawrence Colquhoun, 
 Miss Fleming, was a popular man. Everybody liked 
 him ; especially the — the fair sex.'
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 103 
 
 ' Was he very clever ?' 
 
 * N-no ; I should say not very clever. Not stupid. 
 And, now one thinks of it, it is remarkable that he 
 never was known to excel in anything, though he 
 hunted, rode, shot, and did, 1 suppose, all the other 
 things that young men in the army are fond of. He 
 was fond of reading too, and had a considerable fund 
 of information ; but he never excelled iu anything.' 
 
 Phillis shook her head. 
 
 ' Mr. Dyson used to say that the people we like 
 best are the people who are in our own line and have 
 acknowledged their own inferiority to ourselves. 
 Perhaps the reason why Mr. Colquhoun was liked 
 was that he did not compete with the men who 
 wished to excel, but contentedly took a second place.' 
 
 This was one of the bits of Dysonian philosophy 
 with which Phillis occasionally graced her conversa- 
 tion, quoting it as reverently as if it had been a line 
 from Shakespeare, sometimes with startling effect. 
 
 ' I shall try to like him. I am past nineteen, and 
 at twenty-one I shall be my own mistress. If I do 
 not like him, I shall not live with him any longer 
 after that.' 
 
 ' I think you will not, in any case, live at Mr. 
 Colquhoun's residence,' said Joseph ; ' but I am sure 
 you will like him.'
 
 104 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 ' A fortnight to wait.' 
 
 ' You must not be sliy of him,' Joseph went on ; 
 * you have nothing to be afraid of. Think highly of 
 3'ourself, to begin with.' 
 
 ' I do,' said Phillis ; ' Mr. Dyson always tried to 
 make me think highly of myself. He told me my edu- 
 cation was better than that of any girl he knew. Of 
 course that was partly his kind way of encouraging me. 
 Mr. Dyson said that shyness was a kind of cowardice 
 or else a kind of vanity. People who are afraid of 
 other people, he said, either mistrust themselves or 
 think they are not rated at their true value. But I 
 think I am not at all afraid of strangers. Do I look 
 like being afraid ?' She drew herself up to her full 
 height and smiled a conscious superiority. ' Perhaps 
 you will think that I rate myself too highly.' 
 
 ' That,' said Joseph, with a compliment really 
 creditable for a beginner, — ' that would be difficult, 
 Miss Fleming.' 
 
 When the Twins prepared to take their morning 
 \valk at twelve an unexpected event happened. Caesar, 
 for the first time on record, and for no reason apparent 
 or assigned, refused to accompany them. They went 
 out without him, feeling lonely, unhappy, and a lit- 
 tle unprotected. They passed the Carnarvon Arms
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 105 
 
 without a word. At the next halting-place they en- 
 tered the bar in silence, glancing guiltily at each 
 other. Could it be that the passion for drink, 
 divested of its usual trappings of pretence, presented 
 itself suddenly to the brethren in its horrid ugliness ? 
 They came out with shamefaced looks, and returned 
 home earlier than usual. They were perfectly sober, 
 and separated without the usual cheery allusions to 
 Work. Perhaps the conscience was touched, for 
 when Jane took up their tea she found the Poet in 
 his Workshop sitting at the table, and the Artist in 
 his Studio standing at his easel. Before the one was 
 a blank sheet of paper ; before the other was a blank 
 canvas. Both were fractious, and both found fault 
 with the tea. After dinner they took a bottle of 
 port, which, Humphrey said, they really felt to want.
 
 CHAPTEK VI. 
 
 ' I do not know 
 One of my sex ; no woman's face remember 
 Save, from my glass, mine own.' 
 
 In the afternoon Phillis, who was 'writing up' 
 her diary after the manner of the ancient Aztec, re- 
 ceived a visitor. For the first time in her life the 
 girl found herself face to face with — a lady. Men 
 she knew — chiefly men of advanced age ; they came 
 to dine with Abraham Dyson. Women-servants she 
 knew, for she had a French maid — imported too 
 yaung to be mischievous ; and there had been a cook 
 at Highgate, with two or three maids. Not one of 
 these virgins possessed the art of reading, or they 
 would never have been engaged by Mr. Dyson. Nor 
 was she encouraged by her guardian to talk with 
 them. Also she knew that in the fulness of time 
 she was to be somehow transferred from the exclu- 
 sive society of men to that in which the leading part 
 would be taken by ladies — women brought up deli- 
 cately like herself, but not all, unhappily, on the 
 same sound fundamental principle of oral teaching.
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 107 
 
 Among the loose odds and ends which remained in 
 Mr. Dyson's portfolios, and where lay all that Joseph 
 Jagenal could ever find to help in completing his 
 great system of education, was the following scrap : 
 
 ' Women brought up with women are hindered 
 in their perfect development. Let the girls be sepa- 
 rated from the society of their sex, and be educated 
 mostly among men. In this way the receptivity of 
 the feminine mind may be turned to best account in 
 the acquirement of robust masculine ideas. Every 
 girl may become a mother; let her therefore sit 
 among men and listen.' 
 
 Perhaps this deprivation of the society of her 
 own sex was a greater loss to Phillis than her igno- 
 rance of reading. Consider what it entailed. She 
 grew up without the most rudimentary notions of 
 the great art of flirtation ; she had never even heard 
 of looking out for an establishment ; she had no idea 
 of considering every young man as a possible hus- 
 band ; she had, indeed, no glimmerings, not the 
 faintest streak of dawning twilight, in the matter of 
 love; while as for angling, hooking a big fish and 
 landing him, she was no better than a heathen Hot- 
 tentot. This was the most important loss, but there 
 were others : she knew how to dress, partly by in- 
 stinct, partly by looking at pictures ; but she knew
 
 108 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 nothing about Making-up. Nature, which gave her 
 the figure of Hebe, made this loss insignificant to 
 her, though it is perhaps the opinion of Mr. Worth 
 that there is no figure so good but Art can improve 
 it. But not to hioiD about Making-up is, for a 
 woman, to lose a large part of useful sympathy for 
 other women. 
 
 Again, she knew nothing of the way in which 
 girls pour little confidences, all about trifles, into 
 each other's ears ; she had not cultivated that intel- 
 ligence which girls can only learn from each other, 
 and which enables them to communicate volumes 
 with a half-lifted eyelid ; she had a man's way of 
 saying out what she thought, and even, so far as 
 her dogmatic training permitted, of thinking for 
 herself. She did not understand the mystery with 
 which women enwrap themselves, partly working on 
 the imagination of youth, and partly through their 
 love of secluded talk — a remnant of barbaric times, 
 and a proof of the subjection of the sex ; the frou- 
 frou of life was lost to her. And being without 
 mystery, without the art of flirtation, with nothing 
 to hide and no object to gain, Phillis was entirely 
 free from the great vice into which women of the 
 weaker nature are apt to fall — she was perfectly and 
 wholly truthful.
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 109 
 
 And now she was about to make acquaintance for 
 the first time with a lady — one of her own sex and 
 of her own station. 
 
 I suppose Phillis must have preserved the cha- 
 racteristic instincts of her womanhood, despite her 
 extraordinary training, because the first thing she 
 observed was that her visitor was dressed in a style 
 quite beyond her power of conception and imperfect 
 taste. So she generalised from an individual case, 
 and jumped at the notion that here was a very supe- 
 rior woman indeed. 
 
 The superiority was in the * young person' at 
 Melton & Mowbray's, who designed the dress ; but 
 that Phillis did not know. 
 
 A more remarkable point with Mrs. Cassilis, 
 Phillis's visitor, than her dress was her face. It was 
 so regular as to be faultless. It might have been 
 modelled, and so have served for a statue. It was 
 also as cold as a face of marble. Men have prayed 
 — men who have fallen into feminine traps — to be 
 delivered from every species of woman except the 
 cold woman ; even King Solomon, who had great 
 opportunities, including long life, of studying the 
 sex, mentions her not ; and yet I think that she is 
 the worst of all. Lord, give us tender-hearted wives ! 
 When we carve our ideal woman in marble, we do
 
 110 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 not generally choose the wise Minerva nor the chaste 
 Diana, but Venus, soft-eyed, lissom, tender — and 
 generally true. 
 
 Mrs. Cassilis called. As she entered the room 
 she saw a tall and beautiful girl, with eyes of a deep 
 brown, who rose to greet her with a little timidity.. 
 She was taken by surprisie. She expected to find a 
 rough and rather vulgar young woman, of no style 
 and unformed manners. She saw before her a girl 
 whose attitude spoke unmistakably of delicacy and 
 culture. Whatever else Miss Fleming might be, 
 she was clearly a lady. That was immediately ap- 
 parent ; and Mrs. Cassilis was not likely to make a 
 mistake on a point of such vital importance. A 
 young lady of graceful figure, most attractive face, 
 and, which was all the more astonishing, consider- 
 ing her education, perfectly dressed. Phillis, in fact, 
 was attired in the same simple morning costume in 
 which she had taken her early morning walk. On the 
 table before her were her sketch-book and her pencils. 
 
 Mrs. Cassilis was dressed, for her part, in roBes 
 which it had taken the highest talent of Regent- street 
 to produce. Her age was about thirty. Her cold 
 face shone for a moment with the wintry light of a 
 forced smile, but her eyes did not soften, as she took 
 Phillis's hand.
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. Ill 
 
 Phillis's pulse beat a little faster, in spite of her 
 courage. 
 
 Art face to face with Nature. The girl just as 
 she left her nunnery, ignorant of mankind, before the 
 perfect woman of the world. They look curiously iu 
 each other's eyes. Now the first lesson taught by the 
 world is the way to dissemble. Mrs. Cassilis said tp 
 herself, * Here is a splendid girl. She is not what 
 I expected to see. This is a girl to cultivate and 
 bring out — a girl to do one credit.* But she said 
 aloud : 
 
 ' Miss Fleming ? I am sure it is. You are 
 exactly the sort of girl I expected.' 
 
 Then she sat down and looked at her comfortably. 
 
 * I am the wife of your late guardian's nephew — 
 Mr. Gabriel Cassilis. You have never met him yet ; 
 but I hope you will very soon make his acquaint- 
 ance.' 
 
 * Thank you,' said Phillis simply. 
 
 * We used to think, until Mr. Dyson died and his 
 preposterous will was read, that his eccentric be- 
 haviour was partly your fault. But when we found 
 that he had left you nothing, of course we felt that we 
 had done you an involuntary wrong. And the will 
 was made when you were a mere child, and could 
 have no voice or wish in the matter.'
 
 112 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 * I had plenty of money,' said Phillis ; ' why 
 should poor Mr. Dyson want to leave me any more ?' 
 
 Quite untaught. As if any one could have too 
 much money ! 
 
 ' Forty thousand pounds a year ! and all going to 
 Female education. Not respectable Female educa- 
 tion. If it had been left to Girton College, or even to 
 finding bread-and-butter, with the Catechism and 
 Contentment, for charity girls in poke bonnets, it 
 would have been less dreadful. But to bring up 
 young ladies as you were brought up, my poor Miss 
 Fleming — ' 
 
 * Am I not respectable ?' asked Phillis, as humbly 
 as a West Indian nigger before emancipation asking 
 if he was not a man and a brother. 
 
 * My dear child, I hear you cannot even read and 
 write.' 
 
 * That is quite true.' 
 
 ' But everybody learns to read and write. All the 
 Sunday-school children even know how to read and 
 write.' 
 
 ' Perhaps that is a misfortune for the Sunday- 
 school children,' Phillis calmly observed ; ' it would 
 very likely be better for the Sunday-school children 
 were they taught more useful things.' Here Phillis 
 was plagiarising — using Mr. Dyson's own words.
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY, 113 
 
 * At least every one in society knows them. Miss 
 Fleming, I am ten years older than you, and, if you 
 will only trust me, I will give you such advice and 
 assistance as I can.' 
 
 * You are very kind,' said Phillis, with a little dis- 
 trust, of which she was ashamed. ' I know that I 
 must be very ignorant, because I have already seen 
 so much that I never suspected before. If you will 
 only tell me of my deficiencies I will try to repair 
 them. And I can learn reading and writing any time, 
 you know, if it is at all necessary.' 
 
 * Then let us consider. My poor girl, I fear you 
 have to learn the very rudiments of society. Of 
 course you are quite ignorant of things that people 
 talk about. Books are out of the question. Music 
 and concerts ; art and pictures ; china — perhaps Mr. 
 Dyson collected ?' 
 
 *No.' 
 
 ^ A pity. China would be a great help ; the opera 
 and theatres ; balls and dancing ; the rink — ' 
 
 ' What is the rink ?' asked Phillis. 
 
 ' The latest addition to the arts of flirtation and 
 killing time. Perhaps you can fall back upon Church 
 matters. Are you a Ritualist ?' 
 
 * What is that ?' 
 
 * My dear girl' — Mrs. Cassilis looked unutterable 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 114 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 horror as a thought struck her — ' did you actually 
 never go to church ?' 
 
 ' No. Mr. Dyson used to read prayers every day. 
 Why should people go to church when they pray ?' 
 
 ' Why ? why ? Because people in society all go ; 
 because you must set an example to the lower orders. 
 Dear me ! It is very shocking ; and girls are all ex- 
 pected to take such an interest in religion. But the 
 first thing is to learn reading.' 
 
 She had been carrying a little box in her hands 
 all this time, which she now placed on the table and 
 opened. It contained small wooden squares, with 
 gaudy pictures pasted on them. 
 
 ' This is a Pictorial Alphabet : an introduction to 
 all education. Let me show you how to use it. 
 What is this ?' 
 
 She held up one square. 
 
 ' It is a very bad picture, abominably coloured, of 
 a hatchet or a kitchen chopper.' 
 
 ' An axe, my dear — A, x, e. The initial letter A 
 is below in its two forms. And this?' 
 
 ' That is worse. I suppose it is meant for a cow. 
 What a cow !' 
 
 ' Bull, my dear — B, u, l, l, bull. The initial B 
 is below.' 
 
 * And is this,' asked Phillis, with great contempt.
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 115 
 
 * the way to learn reading ? A kitchen chopper stands 
 for A, and a cow with her legs out of drawing stands 
 for B. Unless I can draw my cows for myself, Mrs. 
 Cassilis, I shall not try to learn reading.' 
 
 * You can draw, then ?' 
 
 *I draw a little,' said Phillis. 'Not so well, of 
 course, as girls brought up respectably.' 
 
 ' Pardon me, my dear Miss Fleming, if I say that 
 sarcasm is not considered good style. It fails to 
 attract.' 
 
 Good style, thought Phillis, means talking so as 
 to attract. 
 
 * Do let me draw you,' said Phillis. Her temper 
 was not faultless, and it was rising by degrees, so 
 that she wanted the relief of silence. 'Do let me 
 draw you as you sit there.' 
 
 She did not wait for permission, but sketched 
 in a few moments a profile portrait of her visitor, 
 in which somehow the face, perfectly rendered in its 
 coldness and strength, was without the look which 
 its owner always thought was there — the look which 
 invites sympathy. The real unsympathetic nature, 
 caught in a moment by some subtle artist's touch, 
 was there instead. Mrs. Cassilis looked at it, and 
 an angry flush crossed her face, which Phillis, won- 
 dering why, noted.
 
 116 THE GOLDEN BUTTEKFLY. 
 
 ' You caricature extremely well. I congratulate 
 you on that power, but it is a dangerous accomplisli- 
 jQient — even more dangerous than the practice of 
 sarcasm. The girl who indulges in the latter at 
 most fails to attract ; but the caricaturist re- 
 pels.' 
 
 '0!' said Phillis, innocent of any attempt to 
 caricature, but trying to assimilate this strange 
 dogmatic teaching. 
 
 * We must always remember that the most useful 
 weapons in a girl's hands are those of submission, 
 faith, and reverence. Men hate — they hate and 
 detest — women vdio think for themselves. They 
 positively loathe the woman who dares turn them 
 into ridicule.' 
 
 She looked as if she could be one of the few who 
 possess that daring. 
 
 * Fortunately,' she went on, ' such women are 
 rare. Even among the strong-minded crew, the 
 shrieking sisterhood, most of them are obliged to 
 worship some man or other of their own school.' 
 
 * I don't understand. Pardon me, Mrs. Cassilis, 
 that I am so stupid. I say what I think, and you 
 tell me I am sarcastic' 
 
 * Girls in society never say what they think. 
 They assent or at best ask a question timidly.'
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 117 
 
 ' And I make a little pencil sketch of you, and 
 you tell me I am a caricaturist.' 
 
 * Girls who can draw must draw in the conven- 
 tional manner recognised by society. They do not 
 draw likenesses ; they copy flowers, and sometimes 
 draw angels and crosses. To please men they draw 
 soldiers and horses.' 
 
 * But why cannot girls draw what they please ? 
 And why must they try to attract ?' 
 
 Mrs. Cassilis looked at this most innocent of girls 
 with misgiving. Could she be so ignorant as she 
 seemed, or was she pretending ? 
 
 ' Why ? Phillis Fleming, only ask me that ques- 
 tion again in six months' time if you dare.' 
 
 Phillis shook her head ; she was clearly out of her 
 depth. 
 
 ' Have you any other accomplishments ?' 
 
 * I am afraid not. I can play a little. Mr. 
 Dyson liked my playing ; but it is all from memory 
 and from ear.' 
 
 * Will you, if you do not mind, play something 
 to me ?' 
 
 Victoria Cassilis cared no more for music than 
 the deaf adder which hath no understanding. By 
 dint of much teaching, however, she had learned to 
 execute creditably. The playing of Phillis, sweet,
 
 118 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 spontaneous, and full of feeling, had no power to 
 touch her heart. 
 
 'Ye-yes,' she said, * that is the sort of playing 
 which some young men like : not those young men 
 from Oxford, who '' follow" Art, and pretend to un- 
 derstand good music. You may see them asleep at 
 afternoon recitals. You must play at small parties 
 only, Phillis. Can you sing ?' 
 
 ' I sing as I play,' said Phillis, rising and 
 shutting the piano. ' That is only, I suppose, 
 for small parties.' The colour came into her cheeks, 
 and her brown eyes brightened. She was accustomed 
 to think that her playing gave pleasure. Then she 
 reproached herself for ingratitude, and she asked 
 pardon. ^I am cross with myself for being so 
 deficient. Pray forgive me, Mrs. Cassilis. It is 
 very kind of you to take all this trouble.' 
 
 ' My dear, you are a hundred times better than I 
 expected.' 
 
 Phillis remembered what she had said ten minutes 
 before, but was silent. 
 
 ' A hundred times better. Can you dance, my 
 dear ?' 
 
 *No. Antoinette tells me how she used to dance 
 with the villagers when she was a little girl at 
 Yport.'
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 119 
 
 * That can be easily learned . Do you ride ?' 
 
 At any other time Phillis would have replied in 
 the affirmative. Now she only asserted a certain 
 power of sticking on, acquired on pony-back and in a 
 paddock. Mrs. Cassilis sighed. 
 
 * After all, a few lessons will give you a becoming 
 seat. Nothing so useful as clever horsemanship. 
 But how shall we disguise the fact that you cannot 
 read or write ?' 
 
 'I shall not try to disguise it,' Phillis cried, 
 jealous for Mr. Dyson's good name. 
 
 * Well, my dear, we come now to the most im- 
 portant question of all. Where do you get your 
 dresses ?' 
 
 ' Mrs. Cassilis, do not say that my dresses are 
 calculated to repel !' cried, poor Phillis, her spirit 
 quite broken by this time. * Antoinette and I made 
 this one between us. Sometimes I ordered them at 
 Highgate, but I like my own best.' 
 
 Mrs. Cassilis put up a pair of double eyeglasses, 
 because they were now arrived at a really critical 
 stage of the catechism. There was something in the 
 simple dress which forced her admirati^i. It was 
 quite plain, and, compared with her own, as a daisy 
 is to a dahlia. 
 
 * It is a very nice dress,' she said critically.
 
 120 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 ' Whether it is your figure, or your own taste, or the 
 material, I do not know ; but you are dressed 2^^^'- 
 fectly, Miss Fleming. No young lady could dress 
 better.' 
 
 Women meet on the common ground of dress. 
 Phillis blushed with pleasure. At all events she 
 and her critic had something on which they could 
 agree. 
 
 ' I will come to-morrow morning, and we will 
 examine your wardrobe together, if you will allow 
 me ; and then we will go to Melton & Mowbray's. 
 And I will write to Mr. Jagenal, asking him to bring 
 you to dinner in the evening, if you will come.' 
 
 * I should like it very much,' said Phillis. ' But 
 you have made me a little afraid.' 
 
 ' You need not be afraid at all. And it will be a 
 very small party. Two or three friends of my hus- 
 band's, and two men, who have just come home and 
 published a book, which is said to be clever. One is 
 a brother of Lord Isleworth, Mr. Konald Dunquerque, 
 and the other is a Captain Ladds. You have only to 
 listen and look interested.' 
 
 * Then I will come. And it is very kind of you, 
 Mrs. Cassilis, especially since you do not like me.' 
 
 That was quite true, but not a customary thing to 
 be said. Phillis perceived dislike in the tones of her
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 121 
 
 viBitor's voice, in her eyes, in her manner. Did Mrs. 
 Cassilis dislike her for her fresh and unsophisticated 
 nature, or for her heauty, or for the attractiveness 
 which hreathed from every untaught look and gesture 
 of the girl? Swedenhorg taught that the lower 
 nature cannot love the nobler; that the highest 
 heavens are open to all who like to go there, but the 
 atmosphere is found congenial to very few. 
 
 * Not like you !' Mrs. Cassilis, hardly conscious of 
 any dislike, answered after her kind. ' My dear, I 
 hope we shall like each other very much. Do not let 
 fancies get into your pretty head. I shall try to be 
 your friend, if you will let me.' 
 
 Again the wintry smile upon the lips, and the 
 lifting of the cold eyes, which smiled not. 
 
 But Phillis was deceived by the warmth of the 
 words. She took her visitor's hand and kissed it. 
 The act was a homage to the woman of superior 
 knowledge. 
 
 * yes,' she murmured, ' if you only will.' 
 
 *I shall call you Phillis. My name is Vic- 
 toria.' 
 
 'And you will tell me more about girls in 
 society.' 
 
 * I will show you girls in society, which is a great 
 deal better for you/ said Mrs. Cassilis.
 
 122 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 ' I looked at the girls I saw yesterday as we drove 
 through the streets. Some of them were walking like 
 this.' She had heen standing during most of this 
 conversation, and now she hegan walking across the 
 room in that ungraceful pose of the body which was 
 more ajffected last year than at present. Ladies do 
 occasionally have intervals of lunacy in the matter of 
 taste, but if you give them time they come round 
 again. Even crinolines went out at last, after the 
 beauty of a whole generation had been spoiled by 
 them. ' Then there were others, who walked like 
 this.' She laid her head on one side, and affected a 
 languid air, which I have myself remarked as being 
 prevalent in the High-street of Islington. Now the 
 way from Highgate to Carnarvon-square lies through 
 that thoroughfare. * Then there were the boys. I 
 never dreamed of such a lot of boys. And they were 
 all whistling. This was the tune.' 
 
 She threw her head back, and began to whistle 
 the popular song of last spring. You know what it 
 was. It came between the favourite air from the 
 Fille de Madame Angot and that other sweet melody, 
 ' Tommy, make room for your Uncle,' and was called 
 ' Hold the Fort.' It refreshed the souls of Revival- 
 ists in her Majesty's Theatre, and of all the street- 
 boys in this great Babylon.
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 123 
 
 Mrs. Cassilis positively shrieked : . 
 
 * My dear, clears dear girl,' she cried, ' you 
 MUST not whistle !' 
 
 ' Is it wrong to whistle ?' 
 
 ' Not morally wrong, I suppose. Girls never do 
 anything morally wrong. But it is far worse, Phillis, 
 far worse; it is unspeakably vulgar.' 
 
 * 0,' said Phillis, ' I am so sorry !' 
 
 'And, my dear, one thing more. Do not culti- 
 vate the power of mimicry, which you undoubtedly 
 possess. Men are afraid of young ladies who can 
 imitate them. For actresses, authors, artists, and 
 common people of that sort, of course it does not 
 matter. But for us it is different. 
 
 ' And now, Phillis, I must leave you till to- 
 morrow. I have great hopes of you. You have an 
 excellent figure, a very pretty and attractive face, 
 winning eyes, and a taste in dress which only wants 
 cultivation. And that we will begin to-morrow at 
 Melton & Mowbray's.' 
 
 ' yes,' said Phillis, clapping her hands, ' that 
 will be delightful ! I have never seen a Shop 
 yet.' 
 
 ' She has — never — seen — a Shop !' cried Mrs. 
 Cassilis. ' Child, it is hard indeed to realise your 
 Awful condition of mind. That a girl of nineteen
 
 124 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 should be able to say that she has never seen a Shop ! 
 My dear, your education has been absolutely un- 
 christian. And poor Mr. Dyson, I fear, cut off 
 suddenly in his sins, without the chance of repent- 
 ance.'
 
 CHAPIEB YII. 
 ' Bid me discourse, I will enchant thine ear.' 
 
 Joseph Jagenal and his charge were the last ar- 
 rivals at Mrs. Cassilis's dinner. It was not a large 
 party. There were two ladies of the conventional 
 type, well dressed, well looking, and not particularly 
 interesting; with them their two husbands, young 
 men of an almost preternatural solemnity — such 
 solemnity as sometimes results from a too concen- 
 trated attention to the Money Market. They were 
 there as friends of Mr. Cassilis, whom they regarded 
 with the reverence justly due to success. They 
 longed to speak to him privately on investments, 
 but did not dare. There were also two lions, newly 
 captured. Ladds, the * Dragoon' of the joint literary 
 venture — ' The Little Sphere, by the Dragoon and 
 the Younger Son' — is standing in that contemplative 
 attitude by which hungry men, awaiting the an- 
 nouncement of dinner, veil an indecent eagerness to 
 begin. The other, the * Younger Son,' is talking to 
 Mr. Cassilis.
 
 126 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 Phillis remarked that the room was furnished in 
 a manner quite beyond anything she knew. Where 
 would be the dingy old chairs, sofas, and tables of 
 Mr. Dyson's, or the solid splendour of Joseph 
 Jagenal's drawing-room, compared with the glories 
 of decorative art which Mrs. Cassilis had called to 
 her aid ? She had no time to make more than a 
 general survey as she went to greet her hostess. 
 
 Mrs. Cassilis, for her part, observed that Phillis 
 was dressed carefully, and was looking her best. She 
 had on a simple white dress of that soft stuff called, 
 I think, Indian muslin, which falls in graceful folds. 
 A pale lavender sash relieved the monotony of the 
 white, and set off her shapely figure. Her hair, done 
 up in the simplest fashion, was adorned with a single 
 white rose. Her cheeks were a little flushed with 
 excitement, but her eyes were steady. 
 
 Phillis stole a glance at the other ladies. They 
 were dressed, she was glad to observe, in the same 
 style as herself, but not better. That naturally 
 raised her spirits. 
 
 Then Mrs. Cassilis introduced her husband. 
 
 When Phillis next day attempted to reproduce 
 her impressions of the evening, she had no difficulty 
 in recording the likeness of Mr. Gabriel Cassilis with 
 great fidelity. He was exactly like old Time.
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 127 
 
 The long lean limbs, the pronounced features, 
 the stooping figure, the forelock which our enemy 
 will not allow us to take, the head bald save for that 
 single ornamental curl and a fringe of gray hair over 
 the ears — all the attributes of Time were there 
 except the scythe. Perhaps he kept that at his 
 office. 
 
 He was a very rich man. His house was in 
 Kensington-palace-gardens, a fact which speaks 
 volumes ; its furnishing was a miracle of modern art ; 
 his paintings were undoubted ; his portfolios of water- 
 colours were worth many thousands ; and his horses 
 were perfect. 
 
 He was a director of many companies — but you 
 cannot live in Kensington-palace-gardens by direct- 
 ing companies — and he had an office in the City 
 which consisted of three rooms. In the first were 
 four or five clerks, always writing ; in the second 
 was the secretary, always writing ; in the third was 
 Mr. Gabriel Cassilis himself, always giving audience. 
 
 He married at sixty-three, because he wanted an 
 establishment in his old age. He was too old to 
 expect love from a woman, and too young to fall in 
 love with a girl. He did not marry in order to make 
 a pet of his wife — indeed, he might as well have 
 tried stroking a statue of Minerva as petting Victoria
 
 128 THE aOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 Pengelley ; and he made no secret of his motive in 
 proposing for the young lady. As delicately as 
 possible he urged that, though her family was good, 
 her income was small ; that it is better to be rich 
 and married than poor and single ; and he offered, 
 if she consented to become his wife, to give her all 
 that she could wish for or ask on the material and 
 artistic side of life. 
 
 Victoria Pengelley, on receipt of the offer, which 
 was communicated by a third person, her cousin, 
 behaved very strangely. She first refused absolutely ; 
 then she declared that she would have taken the 
 man, but that it was now impossible ; then she 
 retracted the last statement, and, after a week of 
 agitation, accepted the offer. 
 
 ' And I must say, Victoria,' said her cousin, ' that 
 you have made a strange fuss about accepting an 
 offer from one of the richest men in London. He is 
 elderly, it is true ; but the difference between eight- 
 and-twenty and sixty lies mostly in the imagination. 
 I will write to Mr. Cassilis to-night.' 
 
 Which she did, and they were married. 
 
 She trembled a great deal during the marriage 
 ceremony. Mr. Cassilis was pleased at this appear- 
 ance of emotion, which he attributed to causes quite 
 remote from any thought in the lady's mind. * Calm
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 129 
 
 to all outward seeming,' he said to himself, ' Vic- 
 toria is capable of the deepest passion.' 
 
 They had now been married between two and 
 three years. They had one child — a boy. 
 
 It is only to be added that Mr. Cassilis settled 
 the sum of fifteen thousand pounds upon the wed- 
 ding-day on his wife, and that they lived together 
 in that perfect happiness which is to be expected 
 from well-bred people who marry without pretending 
 to love each other. 
 
 Their dinners were beyond praise ; the wine was 
 incomparable ; but their evenings were a little frigid. 
 A sense of cold splendour filled the house — the chill 
 which belongs to new things and to new men. 
 
 The new man thirty years ago was loud, ostenta- 
 tious, and vulgar. The new man now — there are a 
 great many more of them — is very often quiet, un- 
 pretending, and well bred. He understands art, and 
 is a patron ; he enjoys the advantages which his 
 wealth afi'ords him ; he knows how to bear his riches 
 with dignity and with reserve. The only objection 
 to him is that he wants to go where other men, who 
 were new in the last generation, go, and do what 
 they do. 
 
 Mr. Cassilis welcomed Miss Fleming and Joseph 
 .Tagenal, and resumed his conversation with Jack 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 130 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 Dunquerque. That young man looked much the 
 same as when we saw him last on the slopes of the 
 Sierra Nevada. His tall figure had not filled out, 
 but his slight moustache had just a little increased 
 in size. And now he looked a good deal bored. 
 
 ' I have never, I confess,' his host was saying, 
 wielding a double eyeglass instead of his scythe, — 
 *I have never been attracted by the manners and cus- 
 toms of uncivilised people. My sympathies cease, I 
 fear, where Banks end.' 
 
 ' You are only interested in the country of Lom- 
 bardy ?' 
 
 * Yes ; very good : precisely so.' 
 
 ' Outside the pale of Banks men certainly carry 
 their money about with them — ' 
 
 ' Which prevents the accumulation of wealth, my 
 dear sir. Civilisation was born when men learned 
 to confide in each other. Modern history begins 
 with the Fuggers, of whom you may have read.' 
 
 *I assure you I never did,' said Jack truth- 
 fully. 
 
 Then dinner was announced. 
 
 Phillis found herself on the right of Mr. Cassilis. 
 Next to her sat Captain Ladds. Mr. Dunquerque 
 was at the opposite corner of the table — he had 
 given his arm to Mrs. Cassilis.
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 131 
 
 Mrs. Cassilis, Phillis saw, was watching her by- 
 occasional glances. The girl felt a little anxious, 
 but she was not awkward. After all, she thought, 
 the customs of society at a dinner-table cannot be 
 very different from those observed and taught her 
 by Mr. Dyson. Perhaps her manner of adjusting 
 things was a little wanting in finish and delicacy — 
 too downright. Also, Mrs. Cassilis observed, she 
 made no attempt to talk with Captain Ladds, her 
 neighbour, but was, curiously enough, deeply inter- 
 ested in the conversation of Mr. Cassilis. 
 
 Ladds was too young for Phillis, despite his five- 
 and-thirty years. Old men and graybeards she 
 knew. Young men she did not know. She could 
 form no guess what line of talk would be adopted by 
 a young man — one who had a deep bass voice when 
 he spoke, and attacked his dinner with a vigour past 
 understanding. Phillis was interested in him, and 
 a little afraid lest he should talk to her. 
 
 Others watched her too. Jack Dunquerque, his 
 view a little intercepted by the cpcrgne, lifted furtive 
 glances at the bright and pretty girl at the other end 
 of the table. Joseph Jagenal looked at her with 
 honest pride in the beauty of his ward. 
 
 They talked politics, but not in the way to which 
 she was accustomed. Mr. Dyson and his brother
 
 132 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 graybeards were like Cassandra, Elijah, Jeremiah, and 
 a good many prophets of the present day, inasmuch 
 as the more they discussed affairs the more they pro- 
 phesied disaster. So that Phillis had learned from 
 them to regard the dreadful future with terror. Every 
 day seemed to make these sages more dismal. Phillis 
 had not yet learned that the older we get the wiser 
 we grow, and the wiser we grow the more we tremble ; 
 that those are most light-hearted who know the least. 
 At this table politic^ were talked in a very different 
 manner : they laughed where the sages wagged their 
 heads and groaned : they even discussed, with a 
 familiarity which seemed to drive out anxiety, the 
 favourite bugbear of her old politicians, the conti- 
 nental supremacy of Germany. 
 
 The two young City men, who were as solemn as 
 a pair of Home Secretaries, listened to their host with 
 an eager interest and deference which the other two, 
 who were not careful about investments, did not 
 imitate. Phillis observed the difference, and won- 
 dered what it meant. Then Mr. Cassilis, as if he 
 had communicated as many ideas about Piussia as 
 he thought desirable, turned the conversation upon 
 travelling, in the interests of the Dragoon and the 
 Younger Son. 
 
 'I suppose,' he said, addressing Jack, ' that in
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 133 
 
 your travels among the islanders you practised the 
 primitive mode of Barter.' 
 
 ' We did ; and they cheated us when they could. 
 'VMiich shows that they have improved upon the 
 primitive man. I suppose he was honest.' 
 
 ' I should think not,' said the host. ' The most 
 honest classes in the world are the richest. People 
 who want to get things always have a tendency to 
 be dishonest. England is the most honest nation, 
 because it is the richest. France is the next. Ger- 
 many, you see, which is a poor country, yielded to 
 the temptations of poverty and took Sleswick-Hol- 
 stein, Alsace, and Lorraine. I believe that men 
 began with dishonesty.' 
 
 * Adam, for example,' said Ladds, * took what 
 he ought not to have taken.' 
 
 ' Captain Ladds !' — this was one of the two 
 ladies, she who had read up the new book before 
 coming to the dinner, and had so far an advantage 
 over the other — ' that is just like one of the wicked 
 things, the delightfully wicked things, in the Little 
 Sphere. Now we know which of the two did the 
 wicked things.' 
 
 * It was the other man,' said Ladds. 
 
 * Is it fair to ask,' the lady went on, ' how you 
 wrote the book ?'
 
 184 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 She was one of those who, could she get the 
 chance, would ask Messieurs Erckmann and Chat- 
 rian themselves to furnish her with a list of the 
 paragraphs and the ideas due to each in their last 
 novel. 
 
 Ladds looked as if the question was beyond his 
 comprehension. 
 
 At last he answered slowly, 
 
 * Steel pen. The other man had a gold pen.' 
 
 ' No — no ; I mean, did you write one chapter and 
 your collaborateur the next, or how ?' 
 
 ' Let me think it over,' replied Ladds, as if it 
 were a conundrum. 
 
 Mrs. Cassilis came to the rescue. . 
 
 ' At all events,' she said, ' the great thing is that 
 the book is a success. I have not read it, but I hear 
 there are many clever and witty things in it. Also 
 some wicked things. Of course, if you write wicked- 
 ness you are sure of an audience. I don't think, 
 Mr. Dunquerque,' she added, with a smile, ' that it 
 is the business of gentlemen to attack existing insti- 
 tutions.' 
 
 Jack shook his head. 
 
 ' It was not my writing. It was the other man. 
 I did what I could to tone him down.' 
 
 * Have you read the immortal work ?' Ladds
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 135 
 
 asked his neighbour. He had not spoken to her yet, 
 but he had eyes in his head, and he was gradually 
 getting interested in the silent girl who sat beside 
 him, and listened with such rapt interest to the con- 
 versation. 
 
 This great and manifest interest was the only 
 sign to show that Phillis was not accustomed to 
 dinners in society. 
 
 Ladds thought that she ifeust be some shy 
 maiden from the country — a little * rustical' per- 
 haps. He noticed now that her eyes were large and 
 bright, that her features were clear and delicate, 
 that she was looking at himself with a curious pity, 
 as if, which was indeed the case, she believed the 
 statement about his having written the wicked 
 things. And then he wondered how so bright a 
 girl had been able to listen to the prosy dogmatics 
 of* Mr. Cassilis. Yet she had listened, and with 
 pleasure. 
 
 Phillis was at that stage in her worldly educa- 
 tion when she would have listened with pleasure to 
 anybody — Mr. Moody, a lecture on astronomy, a 
 penny-reading, an amateur dramatic performance, or 
 an essay in the Edinburgh. For everything was new. 
 She was like the blind man who received his sight 
 and saw men, like trees, walking. Every new face
 
 136 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 was a new world; every fresb speaker was a new 
 revelation. No one to her was stupid, was a bore, 
 was insincere, was spiteful, was envious, or a hum- 
 bug, because no one was known. To him who does 
 not know, the inflated indiarubber toy is as solid as 
 a cannon-ball. 
 
 *I never read anything,' said Phillis, with a 
 half blush. Not that she was ashamed of the fact, 
 but she felt that^t would have pleased- Captain 
 Ladds had she read his book. ' You see, I have 
 never learned to read,' 
 
 It was rather a facer to Ladds. Here was a 
 young lady, not being a Spaniard, or a Sicilian, or a 
 Levantine, or a Mexican, or a Paraguayan, or a 
 Brazilian, or belonging to any country where such 
 things are possible, who boldly confessed that she 
 could not read. This in England ; this in the year 
 1875 ; this in a country positively rendered unplea- 
 sant by reason of its multitudinous School Boards 
 and the echoes of their wrangling ! 
 
 Jack Dunquerque, in his place, heard the state- 
 ment and looked up involuntarily, as if to see what 
 manner of young lady this could be — a gesture of 
 surprise into which the incongruity of the thing 
 startled him. He caught her full face as she leaned
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 137 
 
 a little forward, and his glance rested for a moment 
 on a cheek so fair that his spirit fell. Beauty dis- 
 arms the youthful squire, and arms him who has 
 worn his spurs. I speak in an allegory. 
 
 Mrs. Cassilis heard it, and was half amused, half 
 mgry. 
 
 Mr. Cassilis heard it, opened his mouth, as if to 
 make some remark about Mr. Dyson's method of 
 education, hut thought better of it. 
 
 The two ladies heard it and glanced at her 
 curiously. Then they looked at each other with the 
 slightest uplifting of the eyebrow, which meant, 
 * Who on earth can she be ?' 
 
 Mrs. Cassilis noted that too, and rejoiced, be- 
 cause she was going to bring forward a girl who 
 would make everybody jealous. 
 
 Ladds was the only one who spoke. 
 
 * That,' he said feebly, ' must be very jolly.' 
 
 He began to wonder what could be the reason of 
 
 this singular educational omission. Perhaps she 
 
 had a crooked back; could not sit up to a desk; 
 
 could not hold a book in her hand ; but no, she was 
 
 like Petruchio's Kate : 
 
 ' Like the hazel twig, 
 As straight and slender.' 
 
 Perhaps her eyes were weak ; but no, her eyes were
 
 138 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 sparkling with the ' right Promethean fire.' Per- 
 haps she was of weak intellect ; but that was ridicu- 
 lous. 
 
 Then the lady who had read the book began to 
 ask more questions. I do not know anything more 
 irritating than to be asked questions about your own 
 book. 
 
 ' Will you tell us, Mr. Dunquerque, if the story 
 of the bear-hunt is a true one, or did you make it up ?' 
 
 ' We made up nothing. That story is perfectly 
 true. And the man's name was Beck.' 
 
 * Curious,' said Mr. Cassilis. ' An American 
 named Beck, Mr. Gilead P. Beck, is in London now, 
 and has been recommended to me. He is extremely 
 rich. I think, my dear, that you invited him to din- 
 ner to-day ?' 
 
 ' Yes. He found he could not come at the last 
 moment. He will be here in the evening.' 
 
 ' Then you will see the very man,' said Jack, 
 ' unless there is more than one Gilead P. Beck, whidi 
 is hardly likely.' 
 
 ' This man has practically an unlimited credit,' 
 said the host. 
 
 ' And talks, I suppose, like — well, like the stage 
 Americans, I suppose,' said his wife. 
 
 ' You know,' Jack explained, ' that the stage
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 139 
 
 American is all nonsense. The educated American 
 talks a great deal better than we do. He can string 
 his sentences together ; we can only bark.' 
 
 * Perhaps our bark is better than their bite,' Ladds 
 remarked. 
 
 ' A man who has unlimited credit may talk as he 
 pleases,' said Mr. Cassilis dogmatically. 
 
 The two solemn young men murmured assent. 
 
 ' And he always did say that he was going to have 
 luck. He carried about a Golden Butterfly in a box.' 
 
 ' How deeply interesting !' replied the lady who 
 had read the book. ' And is that other story true, 
 that you found an English traveller living all alone 
 in a deserted city ?' 
 
 * Quite true.' 
 
 * Keally ! And who was it ? Anybody one has met ?' 
 
 * I do not know whether you have ever met him. 
 His name is Lawrence Colquhoun.' 
 
 Mrs. Cassilis flushed suddenly, and then her 
 pale face became paler. 
 
 * Lawrence Colquhoun, formerly of ours,' said 
 Ladds, looking at her. 
 
 Mrs. Cassilis read the look to ask what business 
 it was of hers, and why she changed colour at his 
 name. 
 
 * Colquhoun !' she said softly. Then she raised
 
 140 THE GOLDEN BUTTEKFLY. 
 
 her voice and addressed her husband : ' ^Ij dear, it 
 is an old friend of mine of whom we are speaking, 
 Mr. Lawrence Colquhoun.' 
 
 'Yes !' he had forgotten the name. ' What did 
 he do ? I think I remember — ' He stopped, for he 
 remembered to have heard his wife's name in con- 
 nection with this man. He felt a sudden pang of 
 jealousy, a quite new and rather curious sensation. 
 It passed, but yet he rejoiced that the man was out 
 of England. 
 
 'He is my guardian,' Phillis said to Ladds. 
 ' And you actually know him ? Will you tell me 
 something about him presently ?' 
 
 When the men followed, half an hour later, they 
 found the four ladies sitting in a large semicircle 
 round the J&re. The centre of the space so formed 
 was occupied by a gentleman who held a cup of tea in 
 one hand and declaimed with the other. That is to 
 say, he was speaking in measured tones, and as if he 
 were addressing a large room instead of four ladies ; 
 and his right hand and arm performed a pump-handle 
 movement to assist and grace his delivery. He had 
 a face so grave that it seemed as if smiles were im- 
 possible ; he was apparently about forty years of age. 
 Mrs. Cassilis was not listening much. She was 
 considering, as she looked at her visitor, how far he
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 141 
 
 might be useful to her evenings. Phillis was catch- 
 ing every word that fell from the stranger's lips. 
 Here was an experience quite new and startling. 
 She knew of America ; Mr. Dyson, born not so very 
 many years after the War of Independence, and while 
 the memory of its humiliations was fresh in the 
 mind of the nation, always thought and spoke of 
 Americans as England's hereditary and implacable 
 enemies. Yet here was one of the race talking 
 amicably and making no hostile demonstrations 
 whatever. So that another of her collection of early 
 impressions evidently needed reconsideration. 
 
 When he saw the group at the door, Mr. Gilead 
 Beck — for it was he — strode hastily across the room, 
 and putting aside Mr. Cassilis, seized Jack Dun- 
 querque by the hand and wrung it for several 
 moments. 
 
 ' You have not forgotten me ?' he said. ' You 
 remember that lucky shot ? You still think of that 
 Grisly?' 
 
 * Of course I do,' said Jack ; ' I shall never forget 
 him.' 
 
 'Nor shall I, sir; never.' And then he went 
 through the friendly ceremony with Ladds. 
 
 * You are the other man, sir ?' 
 
 ' I always am the other man,' said Ladds for the
 
 142 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 second time that evening. * How are you, Mr. Beck, 
 and how is the Golden Butterfly ?' 
 
 ' That Inseck, captain, is a special instrument 
 working under Providence for my welfare. He slum- 
 bers at my hotel, the Langham, in a fire-proof safe.' 
 
 Then he seized Jack Dunquerque*s arm and led 
 him to the circle round the fire. 
 
 ' Ladies, this young gentleman is my preserver. 
 He saved my life. It is owing to Mr. Dunquerque 
 that Gilead P. Beck has the pleasure of being in this 
 drawing-room.' 
 
 * Mr. Dunquerque,' said the lady who had read 
 the book, * that is not in the volume.' 
 
 ' Clawed I should have been, mauled I should 
 have been, rubbed out I should have been on that 
 green and grassy spot, but for the crack of Mr. Dun- 
 querque's rifle. You will not believe me, ladies, but 
 I thought it was the crack of doom.' 
 
 *It was a most charming picturesque spot in 
 which to be clawed,' said Jack, laughing. ' You 
 could not have selected a more delightful place for 
 the purpose.' 
 
 ' Their air moments, 'said Mr. Beck, looking round 
 the room solemnly and letting his eyes rest on Phillis, 
 who gazed at him with an excitement and interest 
 she could hardly control, — * there air moments
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 143 
 
 when the soul is dead to poetry. One of those mo- 
 ments is when you feel the breath of a Grisly on your 
 cheek. Even you, young lady, would, at such a mo- 
 ment, lose your interest in the beauty of Nature.' 
 
 Phillis started when he addressed her. 
 
 * Did he save your life ?' she asked, with flashing 
 eyes. 
 
 Jack Dunquerque blushed as this fair creature 
 turned to him with looks of such admiration and re- 
 spect as the queen of the tournament bestowed upon 
 the victor of the fight. So Desdemona gazed upon 
 the Moor when he spake 
 
 ' Of most disastrous chances. 
 Of moving accidents by flood and field.' 
 
 Mrs. Cassilis effected a diversion by introducing 
 her husband to Mr. Beck. 
 
 ' Mr. Cassilis, sir,' he said, ' I have a letter for 
 you from one of our most prominent bankers. And 
 I called in the City this afternoon to give it to you. 
 But I wa unfortunate. Sir, I hope that we shall 
 become better acquainted. And I am proud, sir, I 
 am proud of making the acquaintance of a man who 
 has the privilege of life partnership with Mrs. Cas- 
 silis. That is a great privilege, sir, and I hope 
 you value it.' 
 
 'Hum — yes; thank you, Mr. Beck,' replied Mr.
 
 144 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 Cassilis, in a tone which conveyed to the sharp-eared 
 Phillis the idea that he thought considerable value 
 ought to he attached to the fact of having a life part- 
 nership with him. ' And how do you like our 
 country ?' 
 
 The worst of going to America if you are an 
 Englishman, or of crossing to England if you are an 
 American, is that you can never escape that most 
 searching and comprehensive question. 
 
 Said Mr. Gilead Beck : 
 
 ' Well, sir, a dollar goes a long way in this coun- 
 try — especially in cigars and drinks.' 
 
 'In drinks !' Phillis listened. The other ladies 
 shot glances at each other. 
 
 ' Phillis, my dear' — Mrs. Cassilis crossed the 
 room and interrupted her rapt attention — ' let me 
 introduce Mr. Eonald Dunquerque. Do you think 
 you could play something ?' 
 
 She bowed to the young hero with sparkling eyes 
 and rose to comply with the invitation. He followed 
 her to the piano. She played in that sweet sponta- 
 neous manner which the women who have only been 
 taught hear with despair ; she touched the keys as if 
 she loved them and as if they understood her ; she 
 played one or two of the 'Songs without Words ;' 
 and then, starting a simple melody, she began to
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 145 
 
 sing, without being asked, a simple old ballad. Her 
 tone was low at first, because she did not know the 
 room, not because she was afraid ; but it gradually- 
 rose as she felt her power, till the room was filled 
 with the volumes of her rich contralto voice. Jack 
 Dunquerque stood beside her. She looked up in his 
 face with eyes that smiled a welcome while she went 
 on singing. 
 
 ' You told us you could not read,' said the young 
 man when she finished. 
 
 * It is quite true, Mr. Dunquerque. I cannot.' 
 
 * How, then, can you play and sing ?' 
 
 * 0, I play by ear and by memory. That is no- 
 thing wonderful.' 
 
 * Won't you go on playing ?' 
 
 She obeyed, talking in low and measured tones, 
 in time with the air. 
 
 * I think you know my guardian, Mr. Lawrence 
 Colquhoun. Will you tell me all about him ? I 
 have never seen him yet.' 
 
 This unprincipled young man saw his chance, 
 and promptly seized the opportunity. 
 
 ' I should like to very much, but one cannot talk 
 here before all these people. If you will allow me to 
 call to-morrow, I will gladly tell you all I know about 
 him.' 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 146 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 ' You had better come at luncheon- time,' she 
 replied, ' and then I shall be very glad to see you.' 
 
 Mr. Abraham Dyson usually told his friends to 
 come at luncheon-time, so she could not be wrong. 
 Also she knew by this time that the Twins were al- 
 ways asleep at two o'clock, so that she would be 
 alone ; and it was pleasant to think of a talk, sola 
 cum solo, with this interesting specimen of newly- 
 discovered humanity — a young man who had actually 
 saved another man's life. 
 
 ' Is she an outrageous flirt ?' thought Jack, ' or 
 is she deliciously and wonderfully simple ?' 
 
 On the way home he discussed the problem with 
 Ladds. 
 
 ' I don't care which it is,' he concluded, ' I must 
 see her again. Ladds, old man, I believe I could 
 fall in love with that girl. "Ask me no more, for 
 at a touch I yield." Did you notice her, Tommy ? 
 Did you see her sweet eyes — I must say she has the 
 sweetest eyes in all the world — looking with a pretty 
 wonder at our quaint Yankee friend ? Did you see 
 her trying to take an interest in the twaddle of old 
 Cassilis ? Did you — ' 
 
 ' Have we eyes ?' Ladds growled. ' Is the heart 
 at five-and-thirty a log ?' 
 
 ' And her figure, tall and slender, lissom and
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 147 
 
 gracieuse. And her face, *' the silent war of lilies 
 and of roses." How I love the brunette faces ! 
 They are never insipid.' 
 
 ' Do you remember the half-caste Spanish girl in 
 Manilla ?' 
 
 * Ladds, don't dare to mention that girl beside 
 this adorable angel of purity. I have found out her 
 Christian name — it is Phillis — rhymes to lilies ; and 
 I am going to call at her house to-morrow — Carnar- 
 von-square.' 
 
 * And I am going to have half an hour in the 
 smoking-room,' said Ladds as they arrived at the 
 portals of the club. 
 
 ' So am I,' said Jack. ' You know what Othello 
 
 says of Desdemona : 
 
 " O thou weed, 
 Wlio art so lovely fair, and smell' st so sweet 
 That the sense aches at thee !" 
 
 I mean Phillis Fleming, of course, not your con- 
 founded tobacco.'
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 ' They say if money goes before, all wa3'S do lie open.' 
 
 ' I CALL this kind, boys/ said Mr. Gilead P. Beck, 
 welcoming his visitors, Captain Ladds and Jack 
 Dunquerque ; ' 1 call this friendly. I asked myself 
 last night, "Will those boys come to see me, or will 
 they let the ragged Yankee slide ?" And here you 
 are.' 
 
 * Change,' said Ladds the monosyllabic, looking 
 round. ' Gold looking up ?' 
 
 There is a certain suite of rooms in the Lang- 
 ham Hotel — there may be a hundred such suites 
 known to the travellers who have explored that 
 mighty hostelry — originally designed for foreign 
 princes, ambassadors, cr those wandering kings 
 ^Yhom our hospitality sends to an inn. The suite 
 occupied by Mr. Beck consisted of a large reception- 
 room, a smaller apartment occupied by himself, and 
 a bedroom. The rooms were furnished in supposed 
 accordance with the tastes of their princely occu- 
 pants, that is to say, with solid magnificence. Mr.
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 149 
 
 Beck had been in England no more than a week, and 
 as he had not yet begun to buy anything, the rooms 
 were without those splendid decorations of pictures, 
 plate, and objects of art generally with which he 
 subsequently adorned them. They looked heavy and 
 rather cheerless. A fire was burning on the hearth, 
 and Mr. Beck was standing before it with an un- 
 lighted cigar in his lips. Apparently he had already 
 presented some letters of introduction, for there were 
 a few cards of invitation on the mantelshelf. He 
 was dressed in a black frock-coat, as a gentleman 
 should be, and he wore it buttoned up, so that his 
 tall stature and thin figure were shown off to full 
 advantage. He wore a plain black ribbon by way of 
 necktie, and was modest in the way of studs. Jack 
 Dunquerque noticed that he wore no jewelry of any 
 kind, which he thought unusual in a man of un- 
 limited credit, a new man whose fortune was not two 
 years old. He was an unmistakable American. His 
 chin was now close shaven, and without the tradi- 
 tional tuft ; but he had the bright restless eye, the 
 long spare form, the obstinately straight hair, the 
 thin flexible mouth with mobile lips, the delicately- 
 shaped chin, and the long neck, which seem points 
 characteristic with our Transatlantic brethren. His 
 grave face lit up with a smile of pleasure when he
 
 150 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 saw Jack Dunquerque. It was a thoughtful face ; it 
 had lines in it, such as might have been caused by 
 the buffets of Fate ; but his eyes were kindlyz As 
 for his speech, it preserved the nasal drawl of his 
 New England birthplace ; he spoke slowly, as if 
 feeling for the right words, and his pronunciation 
 was that of a man sprung from the ranks. Let us 
 say at once that we do not attempt to reproduce by 
 an affected spelling, save occasionally, the Doric of 
 the New England speech. He was a typical man of 
 the Eastern States — self-reliant, courageous, inde- 
 pendent, somewhat prejudiced, roughly educated, 
 ready for any employment and ashamed of none, and 
 withal brave as an Elizabethan buccaneer, sensitive 
 as a Victorian lady, sympathetic as — as Henry Long- 
 fellow. 
 
 ' There is change, sir' — he addressed himself to 
 Ladds — 'in most things human. The high tides 
 and the low tides keep us fresh. Else we should be 
 as stagnant as a Connecticut gospel-grinder in his 
 village location.' 
 
 ' This is high tide, I see,' said Jack, laughing,' 
 ' I hope that American high tides last longer than 
 ours.' 
 
 'I am hopeful, Mr. Dunquerque, that they air 
 of a more abiding disposition. If you should be
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 151 
 
 curious, gentlemen, to know my history since I left 
 you in San Francisco, I will tell it from the be- 
 ginning. You remember that blessed inseck, the 
 Golden Butterfly?' 
 
 *In the little box,' said Ladds. 'I asked you 
 after his welfare last night.' 
 Jack began to blush. 
 
 'Before you begin,' he interposed, 'we ought to 
 tell you that since we came home we have written a 
 book, we two, about our travels.' 
 
 .* Is that" so ?' asked Mr. Beck, with some natural 
 reverence for the author of a book. 
 
 ' And we have put you into it, with an account of 
 Empire City.' 
 
 'Me — as I was — in rags and without even a 
 gun?' 
 
 ' Yes ; not a flattering likeness, but a true 
 one.' 
 
 ' And the lucky shot, is that there too ?' 
 ' Some of it is there,' said Ladds. ' Jack would 
 not have the whole story published. Looked osten- 
 tatious.' 
 
 ' Gentlemen, I shall buy that book. I shall take 
 five hundred copies of that book for my people in the 
 Dominion. Just as I was, you say — no boots but 
 moccasins ; not a dollar nor a cent ; running for
 
 152 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 bare life before a Grisly. Gentlemen, tliat book will 
 raise me in the estimation of my fellow-countrymen. 
 And if you will allow me the privilege, I shall say it 
 was written by two friends of mine.' 
 
 Jack breathed freely. He was afraid Mr. Beck 
 might have resented the intrusion of his ragged 
 personality. An Englishman certainly would. Mr. 
 Beck seemed to think that the contrast between pre- 
 sent broadcloth and past rags reflected the highest 
 credit on himself. 
 
 This part of the work indeed, which the critics 
 declared to be wildly improbable, was the only por- 
 tion read by Mr. Beck. And just as he persisted in 
 giving Jack the sole credit of his rescue — perhaps 
 because in his mental confusion he never even heard 
 the second shot which finished the bear — so he 
 steadfastly regarded Jack as the sole author of this 
 stirring chapter, which was Ladds' masterpiece, and 
 was grateful accordingly. 
 
 'And now,' he went on, 'I must show you the 
 critter himself, the Golden Bug.' 
 
 There was standing in a corner, where it w^ould 
 be least likely to receive any rude shocks or colli- 
 sions, a small heavy iron safe. This he unlocked, 
 and brought forth with great care a glass case which 
 exactly fitted the safe. The frame of the case was
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 153 
 
 made of golden rods; along the lower part of the 
 front pane, in letters of gold, was the legend : 
 
 ' If this Golden Butterfly fall and break, 
 Farewell the Luck of Gilead P. Beck.' 
 
 ' Your poetry, Mr. Dunquerque,' said Mr. Beck, 
 pointing to the distich with pride. ' Your own 
 composition, sir, and my motto.' 
 
 Within the case was the Butterfly itself, but 
 glorified. The bottom of the glass box was a thick 
 sheet of pure gold, on which was fixed a rose, the 
 leaves, flower, and stalk worked in dull gold. Not 
 a fine work of art perhaps, but a reasonably good 
 rose, as good as that Papal rose they show in the 
 Cluny Hotel. The Butterfly was poised upon the 
 rose by means of thin gold wire, which passed round 
 the strip of quartz which formed the body. The 
 ends were firmly welded into the leaves of the flower, 
 and when the case was moved the insect vibrated as 
 if he was in reality alive. 
 
 * There ! Look at it, gentlemen. That is the 
 inseck which has made the fortune of Gilead P. 
 Beck.' 
 
 He addressed himself to both, but his eye rested 
 on Jack with a look which showed that he regarded 
 the young man with something more than friendli-
 
 154 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 ness. The man who fired that shot, the young fel- 
 low who saved him from a cruel death, was his 
 David, the beloved of his soul. 
 
 Ladds- looked at it curiously, as if expecting some 
 manifestation of the supernatural. 
 
 * Is it a medium ?' he asked. ' Does it rap, or 
 answer questions, or tell the card you are thinking 
 of? Shall you exhibit the thing in the Egyptian 
 Hall as a freak of Nature ?' 
 
 * No, sir, I shall not. But I will tell you what I 
 did, if you will let me replace him in his box, where 
 he sits and works for Me. No harm will come to 
 him there, unless an airthquake happens. Sit down, 
 general, and you too, Mr. Dunquerque. Here is a 
 box of cigars, which ought to be good, and you will 
 call for your own drink.' 
 
 It was but twelve o'clock, and therefore early for 
 revivers of any sort. Finally, Mr. Beck ordered 
 champagne. 
 
 ' That drink,' he said, ' as you get it here, is a 
 compound calculated to inspirit Job in the thick of 
 his misfortunes. But if there is any other single 
 thing you prefer, and it is to be had in this almighty 
 city, name that thing and you shall have it.' 
 
 Then he began : 
 
 * I went off, after I left you, by the Pacific Rail-
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 155 
 
 way — not tlie first time I travelled up and down that 
 line — and I landed in New York. Mr. Colquhoun 
 gave me a rig out, and you, sir' — he nodded to Jack 
 — ' you, sir, gave me the stamps to pay the ticket.' 
 
 Jack, accused of this act of benevolence, naturally 
 blushed a guilty acknowledgment. 
 
 Mr. Gilead P. Beck made no reference to the 
 gift either then or at any subsequent period. Nor 
 did he ever offer to repay it, even when he discovered 
 the slenderness of Jack's resources. That showed 
 that he was a sensitive and sympathetic man. To 
 offer a small sum of money in repayment of a free 
 gift from an extraordinarily rich man to a very poor 
 one is not a delicate thing to do. Therefore this 
 gentleman of the backwoods abstained from doing it. 
 
 * New York City,' he continued, ' is not the village 
 I should recommend to a man without dollars in his 
 pocket. London, where there is an institootion, or 
 a charity, or a hospital, or a workhouse, or a hot- 
 soup boiler in every street, is the city for that gentle- 
 man. Fiji, p'r'aps, for one who has a yearning after 
 bananas and black civilisation. But not New York. 
 No, gentlemen ; if you go to New York, let it be when 
 you've made your pile, and not before. Then you 
 will find out that there air thirty theatres in the city, 
 with lovely and accomplished actresses in each, and
 
 156 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 you can walk into Delmonico's as if the place be- 
 longed to you. But for men down on their luck, 
 New York is a cruel place. 
 
 ' I left that city, and I made my way North. I 
 wanted to see the old folks I left behind long ago in 
 Lexington; I found them dead, and I was sorry. 
 Then I went farther North. P'r'aps I was driven 
 by the yellow toy hanging at my back. Anyhow it 
 was only six weeks after I left j'ou that I found my- 
 self in the city of Limerick on Lake Ontario. 
 
 ' You do not know the city of Limerick, I daresay. 
 It was not famous, nor was it pretty. In fact, 
 gentlemen, it was the durndest misbegotten location 
 built around a swamp that ever called itself a city. 
 There were a few delooded farmers trying to persuade 
 themselves that things would look up ; there were a 
 few down-hearted settlers wondering why they ever 
 came there, and how they would get out again ; and 
 there were a few log-houses in a row which called 
 themselves a street. 
 
 ' I got there, and I stayed there. Their carpen- 
 ter was dead, and I am a handy man ; so I took his 
 place. Then I made a few dollars doing chores 
 around.' 
 
 ' What are chores ?' 
 
 * All sorts. The clocks were out of repair ; the
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. l0< 
 
 handles were coming off tlie pails ; the chairs were 
 without legs ; the pump-handle crank ; the very 
 bell-rope in the meetin'-house was broken. You 
 never saw such a helpless lot. I did not stay among 
 them because I loved them, but because I saw 
 things.' 
 
 ' Ghosts ?' asked Ladds, still with an eye to the 
 supernatural. 
 
 ' No, sir. That was what they thought I saw 
 when I went prowling around by myself of an even- 
 ing. They thought too that I was mad when I be- 
 gan to buy the land. You could buy it for nothing ; 
 a dollar an acre ; half a dollar an acre ; anything an 
 acre. I've mended a cart-wheel for a five-acre lot of 
 swamp. They laughed at me. The children used 
 to cry out when I passed along, " There goes mad 
 Beck." But I bought all I could, and my only 
 regret was that I couldn't buy up the hull township 
 — clear off men, women, and children, and start 
 fresh. Some more champagne, Mr. Dunquerque.' 
 
 * \Yhat was the Golden Butterfly doing all this 
 time ?' asked Ladds. 
 
 ' That faithful inseck, sir, was hanging around 
 my neck, as when you were first introduced to him. 
 He was whisperin' and eggin' me on, because he was 
 bound to fulfil the old squaw's prophecy. Without
 
 158 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 my knowing it, sir, that prodigy of the world, who 
 is as alive as you air at this moment, will go on 
 whisperin' till such time as the rope's played out 
 and the smash comes. Then he'll be silent again.' 
 
 He spoke with a solemn earnestness which im- 
 pressed his hearers. They looked at the fire-proof 
 safe with a feeling that at any moment the metallic 
 insect might open the door, fly forth, and, after 
 hovering round the room, light at Mr. Beck's ear, 
 and begin to whisper words of counsel. Did not 
 Mohammed have a pigeon ? and did not Louis Napo- 
 leon at Boulogne have an eagle ? Why should not 
 Mr. Beck have a butterfly ? 
 
 * The citizens of Limerick, gentlemen, in that 
 dismal part of Canada where they bewail their miser- 
 able lives, air not a people who have eyes to see, ears 
 to hear, or brains to understand. I saw that they 
 were walking — no, sleeping — over fields of incalcu- 
 lable wealth, and they never suspected. They smoked 
 their pipes and ate their pork. But they never saw 
 and they never suspected. Between whiles they 
 praised the Lord for sending them a fool like me, 
 something to talk about and somebody to laugh at. 
 They wanted to know what was in the little box; 
 they sent children to peep in at my window of an 
 evening and report what I was doing. They reported
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 159 
 
 that I was always doing the same thing ; always with 
 a map of Limerick City and its picturesque and in- 
 terestin' suburbs, staking out the ground and reckon- 
 ing up my acres. That's what I did at night. And 
 in the morning I looked about me and wondered 
 where I should begin.' 
 
 * What did you see when you looked about ?' 
 ' I saw, sir, a barren bog. If it had been a land 
 as fei-tile as the land of Canaan, that would not have 
 made my heart to bound as it did bound when I 
 looked across that swamp ; for I never was a tiller or 
 a lover of the soil. A barren bog it was. The 
 barrenest boggiest part of it all was my claim ; when 
 the natives spoke of it they called it Beck's Farm, 
 and then the poor critturs squirmed in their chairs 
 and laughed. Yes, they laughed. Beck's Farm, 
 they said. It was the only thing they had to laugh 
 about. Wal, up and down the face of that almighty 
 bog there ran creeks, and after rainy weather the 
 water stood about on the morasses. Plenty of water, 
 but, a curious thing, none of it fit to drink. No 
 living thing except man would set his lips to that 
 brackish bad-smelling water. And that wasn't all ; 
 sometimes a thick black slime rose to the surface of 
 the marsh and lay there an inch thick ; sometimes 
 you came upon patches of "gum-beds," as they
 
 160 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 called tbem, where the ground was like tar, and 
 smelt strong. That is what I saw when I looked 
 around, sir. And to think that those poor mean 
 pork-raisers saw. it all the same as I did and never 
 suspected ! Only cursed the gifts of the Lord when 
 they weren't laughing at Beck's Farm.' 
 
 ' And you found— what ? Gold ?' 
 
 'No. I found what I expected. And that was 
 better than gold. Mind, I say nothing against gold. 
 Gold has made many a pretty little fortune — ' 
 • 'Little!' 
 
 ' Little, sir. There's no big fortunes made out 
 of gold. Though many a pretty villa-location, with a 
 tidy flower-garden, up and down the States, is built 
 out of the gold-mines. Dimonds again. One or two 
 men likes the name of dimonds; but not many. 
 There's the disadvantage about gold and dimonds 
 that you have to dig for them, and to dig durned 
 hard, and to dig by yourself mostly. Americans do 
 not love digging. Like the young gentleman in the 
 parable, they cannot dig, and to beg they air ashamed. 
 It is the only occupation that they air ashamed of. 
 Then there's iron, and there's coals ; but you've got 
 to dig for them. Lord ! Lord ! This great airth 
 holds a hundred things covered up for them who 
 know how to look and do not mind digging. But,
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 161 
 
 gentlemen, the greatest gift the airth has to bestow 
 she gave to me — abundant, spontaneous, etarnal, 
 without bottom, and free.' 
 ' And that is—' 
 
 atislLE.' 
 
 Mr. Beck paused a moment. His face was lit 
 with a real and genuine enthusiasm, a pious appre- 
 ciation of the choicer blessings of life ; those, namely, 
 which enable a man to sit down and enjoy the pro- 
 ceeds of other men's labour. Xo provision has been 
 made in the prayer-book of any Church for the ex- 
 pression of this kind of thankfulness. Yet surely 
 there ought to be somewhere a clause for the rich. 
 No more blissful repose can fall upon the soul than, 
 after long years of labour and failure, to sit down 
 and enjoy the fruits of other men's labour. A Form 
 of Thanksgiving for publishers, managers of theatres, 
 owners of coal-mines, and such gentlemen as Mr. 
 Gilead P. Beck, might surely be introduced into our 
 Ritual with advantage. . It would naturally be ac- 
 companied by incense. 
 
 * It is He, sir.' 
 
 He opened another bottle of champagne and took 
 a glass. 
 
 ' He. Gold you have to dig, to pick, to wash. 
 Gold means rheumatism and a bent back. He flows, 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 162 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 and you become suddenly rich. You make all the 
 loafers around fill your pails for you. And then your 
 bankers tell you how many millions of dollars you 
 are worth.' 
 
 * Millions!' repeated Jack. 'The word sounds 
 very rich and luxurious.' 
 
 *It is so, sir. There's nothing like it in the 
 Old Country. England is a beautiful place, and 
 London is a beautiful city. You've got many bless- 
 in's in this beautiful city. If you haven't got Joe 
 Tweed, you've got — ' 
 
 * Hush !' said Jack ; * it's libellous to give names.' 
 'And if you haven't got Erie stock and your 
 
 whisky-rings, you've got your foreign bonds to take 
 your surplus cash. No, gentlemen; London is not, 
 in some respects, much behind New York. But one 
 thing this country has not got, and that is — He. 
 
 ' It is nearly a year since I made up my mind to 
 begin my well. I knew it was there, because I'd 
 been in Pennsylvania and learned the signs ; it was 
 only the question whether I should strike it, and 
 where. The neighbours thought I was digging for 
 water, and figured around with their superior in- 
 tellecks, because they were certain the water would 
 be brackish. Then they got tired of watching, and 
 I worked on. Boring a well is not quite the sort
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 163 
 
 of work a man would select for a pleasant and varie- 
 gated occupation. I reckon it's monotonous; but I 
 worked on. I knew what was coming ; I thought o' 
 that Indian squaw, and I always had my Golden 
 Butterfly tied in a box at my back. I bored and 
 I bored. Day after day I bored. In that lonely 
 miasmatic bog I bored all day and best part of the 
 night. For nothing came, and sometimes qualms 
 crossed my mind that perhaps there would never be 
 anything. But always there was the gummy mud, 
 smelling of what I knew was below, to lead me on. 
 
 ' It was the ninth day, and noon. I had a shanty 
 called the farmhouse, about a hundred yards from 
 my well. And there I was taking my dinner. To 
 you two young English aristocrats — ' 
 
 ' Ladds' Cocoa, the only perfect fragrance.' 
 
 * Shut up, Ladds,' growled Jack ; ' don't inter- 
 rupt.' 
 
 * I say, to you two young aristocrats a farmer's 
 dinner in that township would not sound luxurious. 
 Mine consisted, on that day and all days, of cold 
 boiled pork and bread.' 
 
 * Ah, yah !' said Jack Dunquerque, who had a 
 proud stomach. 
 
 * Yes, sir, my own remark every day when I sat 
 down to that simple banquet. But when you are
 
 164 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 hungry you must eat, murmur though you will for 
 Egyptian flesh-pots. Cold pork was my dinner, 
 with bread. And the water to wash it down with 
 was brackish. In those days, gentlemen, I said no 
 grace. It didn't seem to me that the most straight- 
 walking Christian was expected to be more than 
 tolerably thankful for cold pork. My gratitude was 
 so moderate that it wasn't worth offering.' 
 
 ' And while you were eating the pork,' said Ladds, 
 'the Golden Butterfly flew down the shaft by him- 
 self, and struck oil of his own accord.' 
 
 * No, sir ; for once you are wrong. That most 
 beautiful creation of Nature in her sweetest mood — 
 she must have got up with the sun on a fine summer 
 morning — was reposing in his box round my neck as 
 usual. He did not go down the shaft at all. No- 
 body went down. But something came up — up like 
 a fountain, up like the bubbling over of the airth's 
 eternal teapot ; a black muddy jet of stufl". Great 
 sun ! I think I see it now.' 
 
 He paused and sighed. 
 
 'It was nearly all He, pure and unadulterated, 
 from the world's workshop. Would you believe it, 
 gentlemen ? There were not enough bar'ls, not by 
 hundreds, in the neighbourhood all round Limerick 
 City, to catch that He. It flowed in a stream three
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 165 
 
 feet deep down the creek ; it was carried away into 
 the lake and lost ; it ran free and uninterrupted for 
 three days and three nights. We saved what w^e 
 could. The neighbours brought their pails, their 
 buckets, their basins, their kettles ; there was not a 
 utensil of any kind that was not filled with He, from 
 the pigs' troughs to the child's pap-bowl. ]S[ot one. 
 It ran and it ran. When the first flow subsided we 
 calculated that seven millions of bar'ls had been 
 wasted and lost. Seven millions ! I am a Christian 
 man, and grateful to the Butterfly, but I sometimes 
 repine when I think of that wasted He. Every bar'l 
 worth nine dollars at least, and most likely ten. 
 Sixty-three millions of dollars. Twelve millions of 
 pounds sterling lost in three days for want of a few 
 coopers. Did you ever think, Mr. Dunquerque, what 
 you could do with twelve millions sterling ?' 
 
 ' I never did,' said Jack. * My imagination never 
 got beyond thousands.' 
 
 * With twelve millions I might have bought up 
 the daily press of England, and made you all repub- 
 licans in a month. I might have made the Panama 
 Canal ; I might have bought Palesteen and sent the 
 Jews back ; I might have given America fifty iron- 
 clads ; I might have put Don Carlos on the throne 
 of Spain. But it warn't to be. Providence wants
 
 166 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 no rivals, meddling and messing. That was why the 
 He ran away and was lost while I ate the cold boiled 
 pork. Perhaps it's an interestin' fact that I never 
 liked cold boiled pork before, and I have hated it ever 
 since. 
 
 ' The great spurt subsided, and we went to work 
 in earnest. That well has continued to yield five 
 hundred bar'ls daily. That is four thousand five 
 hundred dollars in my pocket every four-and-twenty 
 hours.' 
 
 * Do you mean that your income is nine hundred 
 pounds a day ?' asked Jack. 
 
 * I do, sir. You go your pile on that. It is 
 more, but I do not know how much more. Perhaps 
 it's twice as much. There are wells of mine sunk 
 all over the place ; the swamp is covered with Gilead 
 P. Beck's derricks. The township of Limerick has 
 become the city of Kockoleaville — my name, that 
 was — and a virtuous and industrious population are 
 all engaged morning, noon, and night in fillin' my 
 pails. There's twenty-five bars, I believe, at this 
 moment. There air three meetin'-houses and two 
 daily papers ; and there air fifteen lawyers.' 
 
 'It seems better than Cocoa Nibs,' said Ladds. 
 
 * But the oil may run dry.' 
 
 ' It has run dry in Pennsylvania. That is so.
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. ^ 167 
 
 and I do not deny it. But He will not run dry in 
 Rockoleaville. I have been thinking over the geo- 
 logical problem and I have solved it, all by myself. 
 What is this world, gentlemen ?' 
 
 ' A round ball,' said Jack, with the promptitude 
 of a Board schoolboy and the profundity of a Wool- 
 wich cadet. 
 
 ' Sir, it is like a great orange. It has its outer 
 rind, what they call the crust. Get through that 
 crust and what do you find ?* 
 
 *More crust,' replied Ladds, who was not a com- 
 petition-wallah. 
 
 'Did you ever eat pumpkin-pie, sir?' Mr. Beck 
 replied, more Socratico, by asking another question. 
 ' And if you did, was your pie all crust ? Inside that 
 pie, sir, was pumpkin, apple, and juice. So inside 
 the rind of the earth there may be all sorts of things : 
 gold and iron, lava, dimonds, coals ; but the juice, 
 the pie-juice, is He. You tap the rind and you get 
 the He. This He will run, I calculate, for five 
 thousand and fifty-two years, if they don't sinfully 
 waste it, at an annual consumption of eighteen mil- 
 lion bar'ls. Now that's a low estimate when you 
 consider the progress of civilisation. When it is all 
 gone, perhaps before, this poor old airth will crack 
 up like an empty egg.*
 
 ] 68 . THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 This was an entirely new view of geology, and it 
 required time for Mr. Beck's hearers to grasp the 
 truth thus presented to their minds. They were 
 silent. 
 
 'At EockoleaviIle,'he went on, 'I've got the pipe 
 straight into the middle of the pie, and right through 
 the crust. There's no mistake about that main 
 shaft. Other mines may give out, but my He will 
 run for ever.' 
 
 ' Then we may congratulate you,' said Jack, ' on 
 the possession of a boundless fortune.' 
 
 ' You may, sir.' 
 
 ' And what do you intend to do ?' 
 
 ' For the present I shall stay in London. I like 
 your great city. Here I get invited to dinner and 
 dancin', because I am an American and rich. There 
 they won't have a man who is not thoroughbred. 
 Your friend Mrs. Cassilis asks me to her house — a 
 first-rater. A New York lady turns up her pretty 
 nose at a man who's struck He. " Shoddy," she 
 says, and then she takes no more notice. Shoddy it 
 may be. Kough my manners may be. But I don't 
 pretend to anything, and the stamps air real.' 
 
 ' We always thought ourselves exclusive,' said 
 Jack. 
 
 ' Did you, sir ? Wal — ' He stopped, as if he
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 169 
 
 had intended to say something unpleasantly true. 
 * I shall live in London for the present. I've got a 
 big income, and I don't rightly know what to do with 
 it. But I shall find out some time. 
 
 * That was a lovely young thing with Mrs. 
 Cassilis the other night,' he went on meditatively. 
 ' A young thing that a man can worship for her 
 beauty while she is young, and her goodness all her 
 life. Not like an American gal. Ours are prettier, 
 but they look as if they would blow away. And 
 their voices are not so full. Miss Fleming is flesh 
 and blood. Don't blush, Mr. Dunquerque, because 
 it does you credit.' 
 
 Jack did blush, and they took their departure. 
 
 'Mr. Dunquerque,' whispered Gilead P. Beck 
 when Ladds was through the door, ' think of what I 
 told you ; what is mine is yours. Eemember that. 
 If I can do anything for you, let me know. And 
 come to see me. It does me good to look at your 
 face. Come here as often as you can.' 
 
 Jack laughed and escaped.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 ' By my modesty, 
 The jewel in my dower, I would not wish. 
 Any companion in the world but you.' 
 
 Jack Dunquerque was no more remarkable for 
 shrinking modesty than any other British youth of 
 his era ; but he felt some little qualms as he walked 
 towards Bloomsbury the day after Mrs. Cassilis's 
 dinner to avail himself of Phillis's invitation. 
 
 Was it coquetry or was it simplicity ? 
 
 She said she would be glad to see him at 
 luncheon. Who else would be there ? 
 
 Probably a Mrs. Jagenal — doubtless the wife of 
 the heavy man who brought Miss Fleming to the 
 party ; herself a solid person in black silk and a big 
 gold chain ; motherly with the illiterate Dryad. 
 
 * Houses mighty respectable,' he thought, pene- 
 trating into Carnarvon -square. 'Large incomes; 
 comfortable quarters ; admirable port, most likely, 
 in most of them ; claret certainly good too — none of 
 your Gladstone tap ; sherry probably rather coarse. 
 Must ask for Mrs. Jagenal, I suppose.'
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 171 
 
 He did ask for Mrs. Jagenal, and was informed 
 by Jane that there was no such person, and that, as 
 she presently explained with warmth, no such person 
 was desired by the household. Jack Dunquerque 
 thereupon asked for Mr. Jagenal. The maid asked 
 which Mr. Jagenal. Jack replied in the most irri- 
 tating manner possible — the Socratic — by asking 
 another question. The fact that Socrates went about 
 perpetually asking questions is quite enough to ac- 
 count for the joy with which an exasperated mob 
 witnessed his judicial murder. The Athenians bore 
 for a good many years with his maddening questions 
 — as to whether they meant this way or that way or 
 how — and finally lost patience. Hence the little 
 bowl of drink. 
 
 Quoth Jack, ' How many are there of them ?' 
 
 Jane looked at the caller with suspicion. He 
 seemed a gentleman, but appearances are deceptive. 
 Suppose he came for what he could pick up. The 
 Twins' umbrellas were in the hall, and their great- 
 coats. He laughed, and showed an honest front ; 
 but who can trust a London stranger ? Jane remem- 
 bered the silver spoons now on the luncheon-table, 
 and began to think of shutting the door in his face. 
 
 * You can't be a friend of the family,' she said, 
 * else you'd know the three Mr. Jagenals by name.
 
 172 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 and not come here showing your ignorance by ask- 
 ing for Mrs. Jagenal. Mrs. Jagenal indeed ! Per- 
 haps you'd better call in the evening and see Mr. 
 Joseph.' 
 
 'I am not a friend of the family,' he replied 
 meekly. 'I wish I was. But Miss Fleming ex- 
 pects me at this hour. Will you take in my card ?' 
 
 He stepped into the hall, and felt as if the for- 
 tress was won. Phillis was waiting for him in the 
 dining-room, where, he observed, luncheon was laid 
 for two. Was he, then, about to be entertained by 
 the young lady alone ? 
 
 If she looked dainty in her white evening dress, 
 she was far daintier in her half-mourning gray frock, 
 w^hich fitted so tightly to her slender figure, and was 
 set ofi" by the narrow black ribbon round her neck, 
 which was her only ornament; for she carried neither 
 w^atch nor chain, and wore neither earrings nor finger- 
 rings. This heiress was as innocent of jewelry as 
 any little milliner girl of Bond-street, and far more 
 happy, because she did not wish to wear any. 
 
 'I thought you would come about this time,' she 
 said, with the kindliest w^elcome in her eyes ; * and 
 I waited for you here. Let us sit down and take 
 luncheon.' 
 
 Mr. Abraham Dyson never had any visitors ex-
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 173 
 
 cept for dinner or luncheon ; so that Phillis naturally 
 associated an early call with eating. 
 
 *I always have luncheon by myself,' explained 
 the young hostess ; * so that it is delightful to have 
 some one who can talk.' 
 
 She sat at the head of the table, Jack taking his 
 seat at the side. She looked fresh, bright, and ani- 
 mated. The sight of her beauty even affected Jack's 
 appetite, although it was an excellent luncheon. 
 
 'This is curried fowl,' she went on. 'It was 
 made for Mr. Jagenal's brothers ; but they came 
 down late, and w^ere rather cross. We could not 
 persuade them to eat anything this morning.' 
 
 ' Are they home for the holidays ?' 
 
 Phillis burst out laughing — such a fresh, bright, 
 spontaneous laugh. Jack laughed too, and then won- 
 dered why he did it. 
 
 ' Home for the holidays ! They are always home, 
 and it is always a holiday wdth them.' 
 
 ' Do you not allow them to lunch with you?' 
 
 She laughed again. 
 
 ' They do not breakfast till ten or eleven.' 
 
 Jack felt a little fogged, and waited for further 
 information. 
 
 ' Will you take beer or claret ? No, thank j^ou ; 
 no curry for me. Jane, Mr. Dunquerque will take a
 
 174 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 glass of beer. How beautiful !' she went on, looking 
 steadily in the young man's face, to his confusion — 
 * how beautiful it must be to meet a man whose life 
 you have saved ! I should like — once — ^just once — 
 to do a single great action, and dream of it ever 
 after.' 
 
 ' But mine was not a great action. I shot a bear 
 which was following Mr. Beck and meant mischief; 
 that is all.' 
 
 ' But you might have missed,' said Phillis, with 
 justice. ' And then Mr. Beck would have been 
 killed.' 
 
 Might have missed ! How many V.C.'s we 
 should have but for that simple possibility ! Might 
 have missed ! And then Gilead Beck would have 
 been clawed, and the Golden Butterfly destroyed, 
 and this history never have reached beyond its first 
 chapter. Above all, Phillis might never have known 
 Jack Dunquerque. 
 
 ' And you are always alone in this great house ?' 
 he asked, to change the subject. 
 
 ' Only in the day-time. Mr. Joseph and I break- 
 fast at eight. Then I walk with him as far as his 
 office in Lincoln's-inn-fields, now that I know the 
 way. At first he used to send one of his clerks back 
 with me, for fear of my being lost. But I felt sorry for
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 175 
 
 the poor young man having to walk all the way with 
 a girl like me, and so I told him, after the second 
 day, that I was sure he longed to be at his writing, 
 and I would go home by myself.' 
 
 *No doubt,' said Jack, 'he was rejoiced to go 
 back to his pleasant and exciting work. All lawyers' 
 clerks are so well paid, and so happy in their occu- 
 pation, that they prefer it even to walking with a — a 
 — a Dryad.' 
 
 Phillis was dimly conscious that there was more 
 in these words than a literal statement. She was as 
 yet unacquainted with the figures of speech which 
 consist of saying one thing and meaning another, 
 and she made a mental note of the fact that lawyers' 
 clerks are a happy and contented race. It adds 
 something to one's happiness to know that others 
 are also happy. 
 
 ' And the boys — Mr. Jagenal's brothers ?' 
 
 * They are always asleep from two to six. Then 
 they come down to dinner, and talk of the work they 
 have done. Don't you know them? 0, they are 
 not boys at all ! One is Cornelius. He is a great 
 poet. He is writing a long epic poem called the 
 Upheaving of JElfred. Humphrey, his brother, says 
 it will be the greatest work of this century. But I 
 do not think very much is done. Humphrey is a
 
 176 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 great artist, you know. He is engaged on a splendid 
 picture — at least it will be splendid when it is 
 finished. At present nothing is on the canvas. He 
 says he is studying the groups. Cornelius says it 
 will be the finest artistic achievement of the age. 
 Will you have some more beer? Jane, give Mr. 
 Dunquerque a glass of sherry. And now let us go 
 into the drawing-room, and you shall tell me all 
 about my guardian, Lawrence Colquhoun.' 
 
 In the hall a thought struck the girl. 
 
 * Come with me,' she said ; * I will introduce you 
 to the Poet and the Painter. You shall see them at 
 work.' 
 
 Her eyes danced with delight as she ran up the 
 stairs, turning to see if her guest followed. She 
 stopped at a door, the handle of which she turned 
 with great care. Jack mounted the stairs after 
 her. 
 
 It was a large and well-furnished room. Rows 
 of books stood in order on the shelves. A bright fire 
 burned on the hearth. A portfolio was on the table, 
 with a clean inkstand and an unsullied blotting-pad. 
 By the fire sat, in a deep and very comfortable easy- 
 chair, the Poet, sound asleep. 
 
 ' There !' she whispered. ' In the portfolio is 
 the great poem. Look at it.'
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 177 
 
 * We ought not to look at manuscripts, ought 
 wer 
 
 ' Not if there is anything written. But there 
 isn't. Of course I may always turn over any pages, 
 because I cannot read.' 
 
 She turned them over. Nothing but blank sheets, 
 white in virgin purity. 
 
 Cornelius sat with his head a little forward, 
 breathing rather noisily. 
 
 * Isn't it hard work ?' laughed the girl. ' Poor 
 fellow, isn't it exhaustive work ? Let me introduce 
 you. Mr. Cornelius Jagenal, Mr. Konald Dun- 
 querque.' Jack bowed to the sleeping bard. * Now 
 you know each other. That is what Mr. Dyson used 
 always to say. Hush ! we might wake him up and 
 interrupt — the Work. Come away, and I will show 
 you the Artist.' 
 
 Another room, equally well furnished, but in a 
 different manner. There were 'properties:' drink- 
 ing-glasses of a deep ruby red, luminous and splen- 
 did, standing on the shelves ; flasks of a dull rich 
 green ; a model in armour ; a lay figure, with a 
 shawl thrown over the head and looped up under the 
 arm ; a few swords hanging upon the walls ; curtains 
 that caught the light and spread it over the room in 
 softened colouring ; and by the fire a couch, on which 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 178 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 lay, sleeping, Humphrey with the wealth of silky 
 beard. 
 
 There was an easel, and on it a canvas. This 
 was as blank as Cornelius's sheets of paper. 
 
 * Permit me again,' said the girl. ' Mr. Hum- 
 phrey Jagenal, Mr. Konald Dunquerque. Now you 
 know each other.' 
 
 Jack bowed low to the genius. 
 
 Phillis, her eyes afloat with fun, beckoned the 
 young man to the table. Pencil and paper lay there. 
 She sat down and drew the sleeping painter in a 
 dozen swift strokes. Then she looked up, laughing : 
 
 ' Is that like him ?' 
 
 Jack could hardly repress a cry of admiration. 
 
 * I am glad you think it good. Please write un- 
 derneath, "The Artist at work." Thank you. Is 
 that it ? We will now pin it on the canvas. Think 
 what he will say when he wakes up and sees it.' 
 
 They stole out again as softly as a pair of 
 burglars. 
 
 ' Now you have seen the Twins. They are really 
 very nice, but they drink too much wine, and sit up 
 late. In the morning they are sometimes trouble- 
 some, when they won't take their breakfast ; but in 
 the evening, after dinner, they are quite tractable. 
 And you see how they spend their day.'
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 179 
 
 ' Do they never do any work at all ?' 
 ' I will tell you what I think,' she replied gravely. 
 * Mr. Dyson used to tell me of men who are so vain 
 that they are ashamed to give the world anything but 
 what they know to be the best. And the best only 
 comes by successive effort. So they wait and wait, 
 till the time goes by and they cannot even produce 
 second-rate work. I think the Twins belong to that 
 class of people.' 
 
 By this time they were in the drawing-room. 
 
 * And now,' said Phillis, ' you are going to tell me 
 all about my guardian.' 
 
 ' Tell me something more about yourself first,' 
 said Jajck, not caring to bring Mr. Lawrence Col- 
 quhoun into the conversation just yet. ' You said 
 last night that you would show me your drawings.' 
 
 * They are only pencil and pen-and-ink sketches.' 
 Phillis put a small portfolio on the table and opened 
 it. * This morning Mr. Joseph took me to see an 
 exhibition of paintings. Most of the artists in 
 that exhibition cannot draw, but some can — and 
 then— 0!' 
 
 ' They cannot draw better than you. Miss Flem- 
 ing, I am quite sure.' 
 
 She shook her head as Jack spoko, turning over 
 the sketches.
 
 180 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 ' It seems so strange to be called Miss Fleming. 
 Everybody used to call me Phillis.' 
 
 ' Was — was everybody young ?' Jack asked, with 
 an impertinence beyond bis years. 
 
 * No ; everybody was old. I suppose young peo- 
 ple always call each other by their Christian names. 
 Yours seems to me rather stiff. Eonald, Ronald — 
 I am afraid I do not like it very much.' 
 
 ' My brothers and sisters, uncles and aunts, 
 cousins and kinsfolk — the people who pay my debts 
 and therefore love me most — call me Ronald. But 
 everybody else calls me Jack.' 
 
 'Jack!' she murmured. *What a pretty name 
 Jack is ! May I call you Jack ?' 
 
 *If you only w^ould !' he cried, with a quick 
 •flushing of his cheek. ^ If you only would ! Not 
 \Yhen other people are present, but all to ourselves, 
 when we are together like this. That is, if you do 
 not mind.' 
 
 Could the Serpent when he cajoled Eve have 
 begun in a more subtle and artful manner? One is 
 ashamed for Jack Dunquerque. 
 ' ' I shall always call you Jack, then, unless when 
 people like Mrs. Cassilis are present.' 
 
 * And what am I to call you ?' 
 
 -*My name is Phillis, you know.' But she knew.
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 181 
 
 because her French maid had told her, that some 
 girls have names of endearment, and she hesitated a 
 little, in hope that Jack would find one for her. 
 
 He did. She looked him so frankly and freely in 
 the face that he took courage, and said with a hold 
 heart : 
 
 'Phillis is a very sweet name. You know the 
 song, " Phillis is my only joy" ? I ought to call you 
 Miranda, the Princess of the Enchanted Island. 
 But it would be prettier to call you Phil.' 
 
 ' Phil !' Her lips parted in a smile of themselves 
 as she shaped the name. It is a name which admits 
 of expression. You may lengthen it out if you like ; 
 you may shorten it if you like. ' Phil ! That is 
 very pretty. No one ever called me Phil before.' 
 
 *And we will be great friends, shall we 
 not?' 
 
 * Yes, great friends. I have never had a friend 
 at all.' 
 
 ' Let us shake hands over our promise. Phil, 
 say, " Jack Dunquerque, I will try to like you, and I 
 will be your friend." ' 
 
 'Jack Dunquerque,' she placed her hands, both 
 of them, in his, and began to repeat, looking in his 
 face quite earnestly and solemnly, ' I will try — that 
 is nonsense, because I do like you very much al-
 
 182 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 ready ; and I will always be your friend, if you will 
 be mine and will let me.' 
 
 Then he, with a voice that shook a little, because 
 he knew that this was very irregular and even wrong, 
 but that the girl was altogether lovable, and a 
 maiden to be desired, and a queen among girls, and 
 too beautiful to be resisted, said his say : 
 
 ' Phil, I think you are the most charming girl I 
 have ever seen in all my life. Let me be your friend 
 always, Phil. Let me' — here he stopped, with a 
 guilty tremor in his voice — ' I hope — I hope— that 
 you will always go on liking me more and more.' 
 
 He held both her pretty shapely hands in his 
 Own. She was standing a little back with her face 
 turned up to his, and a bright fearless smile upon 
 her lips and in her eyes. 0, the eyes that smile be- 
 fore the lips ! 
 
 ' Some people seal a bargain,' he went on, hesi- 
 tating and stammering, ' after the manner of the 
 — the — early Christians — with a kiss. Shall we, 
 Phil?' 
 
 Before she caught the meaning of his words he 
 stooped and drew her gently towards him. Then 
 suddenly he released her. For all in a moment the 
 woman within her, unknown till that instant, was 
 roused into life, and she shrank back — without the kiss.
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 183 
 
 Jack hung his head in silence. Piiil, in silence 
 too, stood opposite him, her eyes upon the ground. 
 
 She looked up stealthily and trembled. 
 
 Jack Dunquerque was troubled as he met her 
 look. 
 
 * Forgive me, Phil,' he said humbly. * It was 
 wrong — I ought not. Only forgive me, and tell me 
 we shall be friends all the same.' 
 
 ' Yes,' she replied, not quite knowing what she 
 said ; * I forgive you. But, Jack, please don't do it 
 again.' 
 
 Then he returned to the drawings, sitting at the 
 table, while she stood over him and told him what 
 they were. 
 
 There was no diffidence or mock-modesty at all 
 about her. The drawings were her life, and repre- 
 sented her inmost thoughts. She had never shown 
 them all together to a single person, and now she was 
 laying them all open before the young man whom 
 yesterday she had met for the first time. 
 
 It seemed to him as if she were baring her very 
 soul for him to read. 
 
 'I like to do them,' she said, 'because then I 
 can recall everything that I have done or seen. Look! 
 Here is the dear old house at Highgate, where I 
 stayed for thirteen years without once going beyond
 
 184 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 its walls. All, how long ago it seems, and yet it is 
 only a week since I came away! And everything is 
 so different to me now.' 
 
 ' You were happy there, Phil ?' 
 
 ' Yes ; but not so happy as I am now. I did not 
 know you then, Jack.' 
 
 He beat down the temptation to take her in his 
 arms and kiss her a thousand times. He tried to 
 sit calmly critical over the drawings. But his hand 
 shook. 
 
 * Tell me about it all,' he said softly. 
 
 * These are the sketches of my Highgate life. 
 Stay; this one does not belong to this set. It is a 
 likeness of you, which I drew last night when I came 
 home.' 
 
 * Did you really draw one of me ? Let me have 
 it. Do let me have it.' 
 
 ' It was meant for your face. But I could do a 
 better one now. See, this is Mr. Beck, the American 
 gentleman ; and this is Captain Ladds. This is 
 Mr. Cassilis.' 
 
 They were the roughest unfinished things, but 
 she had seized the likeness in every one. 
 
 Jack kept his own portrait in his hand. 
 
 * Let me keep it.' 
 
 * Please, no ; I want that one for myself.'
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 185 
 
 Once more, and for the last time in his life, a 
 little distrust crossed Jack Dunquerque's mind. 
 Could this girl, after all, be only the most accom- 
 plished of all coquettes ? He looked up at her face 
 as she stood beside him, and then abused himself for 
 treachery to love. 
 
 * It is like me,' he said, looking at the pencil 
 portrait ; ' but you have made me too handsome.' 
 
 She shook her head. 
 
 * You are very handsome, I think,' she said 
 gravely. 
 
 He was not, strictly speaking, handsome at all. 
 He was rather an ugly youth, having no regularity of 
 features. And it was a difficult face to draw, because 
 he wore no beard — nothing but a light moustache to 
 help it out. 
 
 * Phil, if you begin to flatter me you will spoil 
 me ; and I shall not be half so good a friend when 
 I am spoiled. Won't you give this to me ?' 
 
 * No ; I keep my portfolio all to myself. But I 
 will draw a better one, if you like, of you, and finish 
 it up properly, like this.' 
 
 She showed him a pencil-drawing of a face which 
 Rembrandt himself would have loved to paint. It 
 was the face of an old man, wrinkled and crows-footed. 
 
 * That is my guardian, Mr. Dyson. I will draw
 
 186 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 you in the same style. Poor dear guardian ! I 
 think he was very fond of me.' 
 
 Another thought struck the young man. 
 
 ' Phil, will you instead make me a drawing— of 
 your own face ?' 
 
 * But can you not do it for yourself?' 
 
 ' I ? Phil, I could not even draw a haystack.' 
 
 * What a misfortune ! It seems worse than not 
 being able to read.' 
 
 ' Draw me a picture of yourself, Phil.' 
 
 She considered. 
 
 ' Nobody ever asked me to do that yet. And I 
 never drew my own face. It would be nice, too, to 
 think that you had a likeness of me, particularly as 
 you cannot draw yourself. Jack, would you mind if 
 it were not much like me ?' 
 
 ' I should prefer it like you. Pleasfe try. Give 
 me yourself as you are now. Do not be afraid of 
 making it too pretty.' 
 
 ' I will try to make it like. Here is Mrs. Cassilis. 
 She did not think it was very good.'- 
 
 ' Phil, you are a genius. Do you know that ? I 
 hold you to your promise. You will draw a portrait 
 of yourself, and I will frame it and hang it up — no, 
 I won't do that ; I will keep it myself, and look at it 
 when no one is with me.'
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 187 
 
 ' That seems very pleasant,' said Phil, reflecting. 
 ' I should like to think that you are looking at me 
 sometimes. Jack, I only met you yesterday, and we 
 are old friends already.' 
 
 * Yes ; quite old familiar friends, are we not ? 
 Now tell me all about yourself.' 
 
 She obeyed. It was remarkable how readily she 
 obeyed the orders of this new friend, and told him 
 all about her life with Mr. Dyson — the garden and 
 paddock, out of which she never went, even to church ; 
 the pony, the quiet house, and the quiet life with the 
 old man who taught her by talking ; her drawing and 
 her music ; and her simple wonder what life was like 
 outside the gates. 
 
 ' Did you never go to church, Phil '?' 
 
 ' No ; we had prayers at home ; and on Sunday 
 evenings I sang hymns.' 
 
 Clearly her religious education had been grossly 
 neglected. 'Never heard of a Ritualist,' thought 
 Jack, with a feeling of gladness. ' Doesn't know 
 anything about vestments ; isn't learned in school- 
 feasts ; and never attended a tea-meeting. This 
 girl is a Phoenix.' Why — why was he a Younger 
 Son? 
 
 ' And is Mr. Cassilis a relation of yours ?' 
 
 • No ; Mr. Cassilis is Mr. Dyson's nephew. All
 
 188 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 Mr. Dyson's fortune is left to found an institution for 
 educating girls as I was educated — ' 
 
 * Without reading or writing T 
 
 * I suppose so. Only, you see, it is most unfor- 
 tunate that my own education is incomplete, and 
 they cannot carry out the testator's wishes, Mr. 
 Jagenal tells me, because they have not been able to 
 find the concluding chapters of his book. Mr. Dyson 
 wrote a book on it, and the last chapter was called 
 the " Coping-stone." I do not know what they will 
 do about it. Mr. Cassilis wants to have the money 
 divided among the relations, I know. Isn't it odd ? 
 And he has so much already.' 
 
 * And I have got none.' 
 
 ' Jack, take some of mine — do ! I know I 
 have such a lot somewhere; and I never spend any- 
 thing.' 
 
 ' You are very good, Phil ; but that will hardly be 
 right. But do you know it is five o'clock ? We have 
 been talking for three hours. I must go — alas, I 
 must go !' 
 
 * And you have told me nothing at all yet about 
 Mr. Colquhoun.' 
 
 * When I see you next I will tell you what I know 
 of him. Good-bye, Phil.' 
 
 * Jack, come and see me again soon.'
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 189 
 
 ' When may I come ? Not to-morrow — that 
 would be too soon. The day after. Phil, make me 
 the likeness, and send it to me by post. I forgot ; 
 you cannot write.' 
 
 He wrote his address on a sheet of foolscap. 
 
 * Fold it in that, with this address outside, and 
 post it to me. Come again, Phil ? I should like to 
 come every day, and stay all day.' 
 
 He pressed her hand and was gone. 
 
 Phillis remained standing where he left her. 
 What had happened to her ? Why did she feel so 
 oppressed ? Why did the tears crowd her eyes ? 
 
 Five o'clock. It wanted an hour of dinner, when 
 she would have to talk to the Twin-brethren. She 
 gathered up her drawings and retreated to her own 
 room. As she passed Humphrey's door, she heard 
 him saying to Jane : 
 
 ' The tea, Jane ? Have I really been asleep A 
 most extraordinary thing for me.' 
 
 ' Now he will see the drawing of the ** Artist at 
 work," ' thought Phillis. But she did not laugh at 
 the idea, as she had done when she perpetrated the 
 joke. She had suddenly grown graver. 
 
 She began her own likeness at once. Bat she 
 could not satisfy herself. She tore up half a dozen 
 beginnings. Then she changed her mind. She
 
 190 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 drew a little group of two. One was a young man, 
 tall, shapely, gallant, with a queer attractive face, 
 who held the hands of a girl in his, and was bending 
 over her. Somehow a look of love, a strange and 
 new expression, which she had never seen before in 
 human eyes, lay in his. She blushed while she 
 drew her own face looking up in that other, and yet 
 she drew it faithfully, and was only half conscious 
 how sweet a face she drew and how like it was 
 her own. Nor could she understand why she felt 
 ashamed. 
 
 * Come again soon. Jack.' 
 
 The words rang in the young man'^ ears, but 
 they rang like bells of accusation and reproach. 
 This girl, so sweet, so fresh, so unconventional, what 
 would she think when she learned, as she must learn 
 some day, how great was his sin against her ? And 
 what would Lawrence Colquhoun say? And what 
 would the lawyer say ? And what would the world 
 say? 
 
 The worst was that his repentance would not 
 take the proper course. He did not repent of taking 
 her hands — he trembled and thrilled when he 
 thought of it — he only repented of the swiftness with 
 which the thing was done, and was afraid of the 
 consequences.
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 191 
 
 *And I am only a Younger Son, Tommy' — he 
 made his plaint to Ladds, who received a full confes- 
 sion of the whole — * only a Younger Son, with four 
 hundred a year. And she's got fifty thousand. They 
 will say I wanted her money. I wish she had none. 
 I wish she had nothing but the sweet gray dress — ' 
 
 ' Jack, don't blaspheme. Goodness sometimes 
 palls ; beauty always fades ; gray dresses certainly 
 wear out ; figures alter for the worse ; the funds re- 
 main. I am always thankful for the thought which 
 inspired Ladds' Perfect Cocoa. The only true Fra- 
 grance. Aroma and Nutrition.' 
 
 Humphrey did not discover the little sketch be- 
 fore dinner, so that his conversation was as animated 
 and as artistic as usual. At two o'clock in the morn- 
 ing he discovered it. And at three o'clock the Twins, 
 after discussing the picture with its scoflSng legend 
 in all its bearings, went to bed sorrowful.
 
 CHABTEK X. 
 
 * I have in these rough words shaped out a man 
 "Whom this beneath world doth embrace and hug 
 With amplest entei-tainment.' 
 
 Mr. Gabriel Cassilis, who, like Julius Caesar and 
 other illustrious men, was always spoken of by both 
 his names, stepped from his carriage at the door of 
 the Langham Hotel and slowly walked up the stairs 
 to Mr. Beck's room. He looked older, longer, and 
 thinner in the morning than in the evening. He 
 carried his hands behind him and bore a look of pre- 
 occupation and care. The man of unlimited credit 
 was waiting for him, and, with his first cigar, pacing 
 the room with his hands in his pockets. 
 
 ' I got your letter,' said Mr. Cassilis, ' and tele- 
 graphed to you because I w^as anxious not to miss 
 you. My time is valuable — not so valuable as yours, 
 but still worth something.' 
 
 He spread his hands palm downwards, and at 
 right angles to the perpendicular line of his body, 
 had that been erect. But it was curved, like the 
 figure of the man with the forelock.
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 193 
 
 * Still worth something,' he repeated. ' But I 
 am here, Mr. Beck, and ready to be of any service 
 that I can.' 
 
 * My time is worth nothing,' said the American, 
 ' because my work is done for me. When I was paid 
 by the hour, it was worth the hour's pay.' 
 
 * But now,' Mr. Cassilis interposed, * it is worth 
 at the rate of your yearly income. And I observe 
 that you have unlimited credit — un-lim-it-ed credit. 
 That is what we should hardly give to a Rothschild.' 
 
 He wanted to know what unlimited credit really 
 meant. It was a thing hitherto beyond his experi- 
 ence. 
 
 ' It is my Luck,' said Mr. Beck. ' He, as every- 
 body knows, is not to be approached. You may 
 grub for money like a Chinee, and you may scheme 
 for it like a Boss in a whisky-ring. But for a 
 steady certain flow there is nothing like He. And I, 
 sir, have struck He as it never was struck before, 
 because my well goes down to the almighty reservoir 
 of this great world.' 
 
 ' I congratulate you, Mr. Beck.' 
 
 ' And I have ventured, sir, on the strength of 
 that introductory letter to ask you for advice. *' Mr. 
 Cassilis," I was told, '^ has the biggest head in all 
 London for knowledge of money." And, as I am 
 
 VOL. I. o
 
 194 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 going to be the biggest man in all the States for in- 
 come, I come to you.' 
 
 ' I am not a professional adviser, Mr. Beck. 
 What I could do for you would not be a matter of 
 business. It is true that, as a friend only, I might 
 advise you as to investments. I could show you 
 where to place money and how to use it.' 
 
 ' Sir, you double the obligation. In America we 
 do nothing without an equivalent. Here men seem 
 to work as hard without being paid as those who get 
 wages. Why, sir, I hear that young barristers do 
 the work of others and get nothing for it ; doctors 
 work for nothing in hospitals ; and authors write for 
 publishers and get nothing from them. This is a 
 wonderful country.' 
 
 Mr. Cassilis, at any rate, had never worked for 
 nothing. Nor did he propose to begin now. But 
 he did not say so. 
 
 He sat nursing his leg, looking up at the tall 
 American who stood over him. They were two re- 
 markable faces, that thus looked into each other. 
 The American's was grave and even stern. But 
 his eyes were soft. The Englishman's was grave 
 also. But his eyes were hard. They were not 
 stealthy, as of one contemplating a fraud, but they 
 were curious and watchful, as of one who is about to
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 195 
 
 strike and is looking for the fittest place — that is, 
 the weakest. 
 
 * Will you take a drink, Mr. Cassilis ?' 
 
 'A — a — a drink?' The invitation took him 
 ahack altogether, and disturbed the current of his 
 thoughts. ' Thank you, thank you. Nothing.' 
 
 * In the silver-mines I've seen a man threatened 
 with a bowie for refusing a drink. And I've known 
 temperate men anxious for peace take drinks, when 
 they were offered, till their back teeth were under 
 whisky. But I know your English custom, Mr. 
 Cassilis. When you don't feel thirsty you say so. 
 Now let us go on, sir.* 
 
 ' Our New York friend tells me, Mr. Beck, that 
 you would find it difficult to spend your income.' 
 
 Mr. Beck brightened. He sat down and assumed 
 a confidential manner. 
 
 * That's the hitch. That's what I am here for. 
 In America you may chuck a handsome pile on 
 yourself. But when you get out of yourself, unless 
 you were to buy a park for the people in the centre of 
 New York City, I guess you would find it difficult to 
 get rid of your money.' 
 
 ' It depends mainly on the amount of that 
 money.' 
 
 ' We'll come to figures, sir, and you shall judge as
 
 196 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 my friendly adviser. My bar'ls bring me in, out of 
 my first well, 2500 dollars, and that's 500Z., a day, 
 without counting Sundays. And there's a dozen 
 wells of mine around, not so good, that are worth 
 between them another 800Z. a day.' 
 
 Mr. Cassilis gasped. 
 
 * Do you mean, Mr. Beck, do you actually mean 
 that you are drawing a profit, a clear profit of more 
 than 1300L a day from your rock-oil shafts ?' 
 
 ' That is it, sir — that is the lowest figure. Say 
 1500Z. a day.' 
 
 ' And how long has this been going on ?' 
 
 ' Close upon ten months.' 
 
 Mr. Cassilis produced a pencil and made a little 
 calculation. 
 
 ' Then you are worth at this moment, allowing 
 for Sundays, at least a quarter of a million sterling.' 
 
 ' Wal, I think it is near that figure. We can 
 telegraph to New York, if you like, to find out. I 
 don't quite know within a hundred thousand.' 
 
 'And a yearly income of 500,000L, Mr. Beck!' 
 said Mr. Cassilis, rising solemnly. ' Let me — allow 
 me to shake hands with you again. I had no idea, 
 not the slightest idea, in asking you to my house 
 the other day, that I was entertaining a man of so 
 much weight and such enormous power.'
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 197 
 
 He shook hands with a mixture of deference and 
 friendship. Then he looked again, with a watchful 
 glance, at the tall and wiry American with the stern 
 face, the grave eyes, the mobile lips, and the muscu- 
 lar frame, and sat down and began to soliloquise. 
 
 *We are accustomed to think that nothing can 
 compare with the great landholders of this country 
 and Austria. There are two or three incomes per- 
 haps in Europe, not counting crowned heads, which 
 approach your own, Mr. Beck, but they are saddled. 
 Their owners have great houses to keep up ; armies 
 of servants to maintain ; estates to nurse ; dilapida- 
 tions to make good; farmers to satisfy; younger 
 sons to provide for ; poor people to help by hun- 
 dreds ; and local charities to assist. Why, I do not 
 believe, when all has been provided for, that a great 
 man, say the Duke of Berkshire, with coal-mines 
 and quarries, Scotch, Irish, Welsh, and English 
 estates, has more to put by at the end of the year 
 than many a London merchant.' 
 
 * That is quite right,' said Mr. Beck : ' a mer- 
 chant must save, because he may crack up ; but the 
 land don't run away. When you want stability, you 
 must go to the Airth. Outside there's the fields, the 
 rivers, the hills. Inside there's the mines, and 
 there's He for those who can strike it.'
 
 198 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 * What an income !' Mr. Cassilis went on. * No- 
 thing to squander it on. No duties and no respon- 
 sibilities. No tenants ; no philanthropy ; no fritter- 
 ing away of capital. You can't spend a tenth part 
 of it on yourself. And the rest accumulates and 
 grows — grows — spreads and ^rows.' He spread out 
 his own hands, and a flush of envy came into his 
 cheeks. *Mr. Beck, I congratulate you again.' 
 
 ' Thank you, sir.' 
 
 'I see, Mr. Beck — you are yet an unmarried 
 man, I believe, and without children — I foresee 
 boundless possibilities. You may marry and found a 
 great family ; you may lay yourself out for making 
 a fortune so great that it may prove a sensible influ- 
 ence on the course of events. You may bequeath to 
 your race the tradition of good fortune and the habit 
 of making money.' 
 
 * My sons may take care of themselves,' said Mr. 
 Beck ; ' I want to spend money, not to save it.' 
 
 It was remarkable that during all this generous 
 outburst of vicarious enthusiasm Mr. Beck's face 
 showed no interest whatever. He had his purpose, 
 but it was not the purpose of Mr. Cassilis. To 
 found a family, to become a Rothschild, to contract 
 loans — what were these things to a man who felt 
 strongly that he had but one life, that he wished to
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 199 
 
 make the most of it, and that the world after him 
 might get on as it could without his posthumous 
 interference ? 
 
 'Listen, Mr. Beck, for one moment. Your in- 
 come is 500,000L a year. You may spend on your 
 own simple wants 50001. Bah ! a trifle — not a 
 quarter of the interest. You save the whole ; in 
 ten years you have three millions. You are still 
 under fifty ?' 
 
 'Forty-five, sir.' 
 
 ' I wish I was forty-five. You may live and 
 work for another quarter of a century. In that time 
 you ought to be worth twelve millions at least. 
 Twelve millions !' 
 
 ' Nearly as much as ran away and was lost when 
 the He was struck,' said Mr. Beck. ' Hardly worth 
 while to work for five-and-twenty years in order to 
 save what Nature spent in three days, is it ?' 
 
 What, soys the proverb, is easily got is lightly 
 regarded. This man made money so easily that he 
 despised the slow gradual building up of an immense 
 fortune. 
 
 ' There is nothing beyond the reach of a man 
 with twelve millions,' Mr. Cassilis went on. ' He 
 may rule the world, so long as there are poor states 
 with vast armies who want to borrow. Why, at the
 
 200 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 present moment a man with twelve millions at liis 
 command could undertake a loan with Kussia, 
 Austria, Turkey, Italy, or Egypt. He could abso- 
 lutely govern the share market ; he could rule the 
 bank rate — ' 
 
 Mr. Beck interrupted, quite unmoved by these 
 visions of greatness : 
 
 ' Wal, sir, I am not ambitious, and I leave Pro- 
 vidence to manage the nations her own way. I 
 might meddle and muss till I busted up the whole 
 concern ; play, after all, into the hands of the devil, 
 and have the people praying to get back to their old 
 original Providence.' 
 
 ' Or suppose,' Mr. Cassilis went on, his imagina- 
 tion fired with the contemplation of possibilities so 
 far beyond his own reach — ' suppose you were to buy 
 up land — to buy all that comes into the market. 
 Suppose you were to hand down to your sons a 
 traditional policy of buying land with the estab- 
 lished principle of primogeniture. In twenty years 
 you might have great estates in twenty coun- 
 ties — ' 
 
 ' I could have half a state,' said Mr. Beck, ' if I 
 went out West.' 
 
 ' In your own lifetime you could control an elec- 
 tion, make yourself President, carry your own prin-
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 201 
 
 ciples, force your opinions on the country, and be- 
 come the greatest man in it.' 
 
 ' The greatest country in the world is the United 
 States of America — that is a fact,' said Mr. Beck, 
 laughing ; ' so the greatest man in it must be the 
 greatest man in the world. I calculate that's a 
 bitter reflection for Prince Bismarck when he goes to 
 bed at night ; also for the Emperor of all the Eussias. 
 And perhaps your Mr. Gladstone would like to feel 
 himself on the same level with General Ulysses Grant.' 
 
 * Mr. Beck,' cried Mr. Cassilis, rising to his feet 
 in an irrepressible burst of genuine enthusiasm, and 
 working his right hand round exactly as if he was 
 really Father Time, whom he so much resembled 
 — ' Mr. Beck, I consider you the most fortunate man 
 iu the world. We slowly amass money — for our sons 
 to dissipate. Save when a title or an ancient name 
 entails a conservative tradition which keeps the pro- 
 perty together, the process in this country and in 
 yours is always the same. The strong men climb, 
 and the weak men fall. And even to great houses 
 like the Grosvenors, which have been carried upwards 
 by a steady tide of fortune, there will surely one day 
 come a fool, and then the tide will turn. But for 
 you and yours, Mr. Beck, Nature pours out her 
 inexhaustible treasures — '
 
 202 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 ' She does, sir — in lie.' 
 
 ' You may spend, but your income will always 
 go on increasing.' 
 
 ' To a certain limit, sir — to five thousand and 
 fifty-three years. I have had it reckoned by one 
 of our most distinguished mathematicians. Professor 
 Hercules Willemott, of Cyprus University, Wis- 
 consin. He made the calculations for me.' 
 
 * Limit or not, Mr. Beck, you are now a most 
 fortunate man. And I shall be entirely at your 
 service. I believe,' he added modestly, ' that I have 
 some little reputation in financial circles.' 
 
 ' That is so, sir. And now let me put my case.' 
 Mr. Beck became once more animated and interested. 
 ' Suppose, sir, I was to say to you, '' I h^ve more than 
 enough money. I will take the Luck of the Golden 
 Butterfly and make it the Luck of other people." ' 
 
 ' I do not understand,' said Mr. Cassilis. 
 
 * Sir, what do you do with your own money ? 
 You do not spend it all on yourself.' 
 
 * I use it to make more.' 
 
 ' And when you have enough ?' 
 
 ' We look at things from a different point of view, 
 Mr. Beck. You have enough; but I, whatever be 
 my success, can never approach the fourth part of 
 your income. However, let me understand what
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 203 
 
 you want to do, and I will give such advice as I can 
 offer.' 
 
 * That's kind, sir, and what I expected of you. 
 It is a foolish fancy, and perhaps you'll laugh ; but 
 I have heard day and night, ever since the He began 
 to run, a Voice which says to me always the same 
 thing — I think it is the voice of my Golden Butter- 
 fly : "What you can't spend, give." "What you 
 can't spend, give." That's my duty, Mr. Cassilis; 
 that's the path marked out before me, plain and 
 shinin' as the way to heaven. What I can't spend, 
 I must give. I've given nothing as yet. And I am 
 here in this country of giving to find out how to 
 do it.' 
 
 ' We — I mean the — the — ' Mr. Cassilis was on 
 the point of saying the ' idiots,' but refrained in 
 time. ' The people who give money send it to 
 charities and institutions.' 
 
 * I know that way, sir. It is like paying a priest 
 to say your prayers for you.' 
 
 ' When the secretaries get the money they pay 
 themselves their own salaries first; then they pay 
 for the rent, the clerks, and the advertising. What 
 remains goes to the charity.' 
 
 * That is so, sir ; and I do not like that method. 
 I want to go right ahead ; find out what to do, and
 
 204 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 then do it. But I must feel like giving, whatever 
 I do.' 
 
 * Your countryman, Mr. Peabody, gave his 
 money in trust for the London poor. Would you 
 like to do the same T 
 
 * No, sir ; I should not like to imitate that 
 example. Mr. Peabody was a great man, and he 
 meant well ; but I want to work for myself. Let a 
 man do all the good and evil he has to do in his 
 lifetime, not leave his work dragging on after he is 
 dead. *' They that go down into the pit cannot 
 hope for the truth." Do you remember that text, 
 Mr. Cassilis ? It means that you must not wait till 
 you are dead to do what you have to do.' 
 
 Mr. Cassilis altered his expression, which was 
 before of a puzzled cheerfulness, as if he failed to 
 see his way, into one of unnatural solemnity. It 
 is the custom of certain Englishmen if the Bible is 
 quoted. He knew no more than Adam what part 
 of the Bible it came from. But he bowed, and 
 pulled out his handkerchief as if he was at a funeral. 
 In fact, this unexpected hurling of a text at his head 
 floored him for the moment. 
 
 Mr. Beck was quite grave and in much earnest- 
 ness. 
 
 * There is another thing. If I leave this money
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 205 
 
 in trust, liow do I know that my purpose will be 
 carried out? In a hundred years things will get 
 mixed. My bequests may be worth millions, or they 
 may be worth nothing. The lawyers may fight over 
 the letter of the will, and the spirit may be 
 neglected.' 
 
 ' It is the Dead Hand that you dread.' 
 
 * That may be so, sir. You air in the inside 
 track, and you ought to know what to call it. But 
 no Hand, dead or alive, shall ever get hold of my 
 stamps.' 
 
 ' Your stamps ?' 
 
 'My stamps, sir; my greenbacks, my dollars. 
 For I've got them, and I mean to spend them. 
 " Spend what you can, and give what you cannot 
 spend," says the Voice to Gilead P. Beck.' 
 
 ' But, my dear sir, if you mean to give away a 
 quarter of a million a year, you will have every im- 
 provident and extravagant rogue in the country about 
 you. You will have to answer hundreds of letters a 
 day. You will be deluged with prospectuses, forms, 
 and appeals. You will be called names unless you 
 give to this institution or to that — ' 
 
 ' 1 shall give nothing to any society.' 
 
 ' And what about the widows of clergymen, the 
 daughters of oflScers, the nieces of Church digni-
 
 206 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 taries, the governess who is starving, the tradesman 
 who wants a hundred pounds for a fortnight, and 
 will repay you with blessings and 25 per cent after 
 depositing in your hand as security all his pawn- 
 tickets ?' 
 
 ' Every boat wants steering, but I was not born 
 last Sunday, and the ways of big cities, though they 
 may be crooked, air pretty well known by me. There 
 are not many lines of life in which Gilead P. Beck 
 has not tried to walk.' 
 
 ' My dear sir, do you propose to act the part of 
 Universal Philanthropist and Distributor at large ?' 
 
 * No, sir, I do not. And that puzzles me too. I 
 should like to be quiet over it. There was a man 
 down to Lexington, when I was a boy, who said he 
 liked his religion unostentatious. So he took a pipe 
 on a Sunday morning and sat in the churchyard 
 listening to the bummin' and the singin' within. 
 Perhaps, sir, that man knew his own business. Per- 
 haps thoughts came over his soul when they gave 
 out the Psalm that he wouldn't have had if he'd 
 gone inside, to sit with his back upright against a 
 plank, his legs curled up below the seat, and his 
 eyes wandering around among the gells. Maybe 
 that is my case too, Mr. Cassilis. I should like my 
 giving to be unostentatious.*
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 207 
 
 ' Give what you cannot spend,' said Mr. Cassilis. 
 ' There are at any rate plenty of ways of spending. 
 Let us attend to them first.' 
 
 ' And there's another thing, sir,' Mr. Beck went on, 
 shifting his feet and looking uneasy and distressed. 
 ' It's on my mind since I met the young gentleman 
 at your house. I want to do something big, some- 
 thing almighty big, for Mr. Konald Dunquerque.' 
 
 ' Because he killed the bear ?' 
 
 ' Yes, sir, because he saved my life. Without 
 that shot the Luck of Gilead P. Beck would have 
 been locked up for ever in that little box where the 
 Golden Butterfly used to live. What can I do for 
 him ? Is the young gentleman rich ?' 
 
 ' On the contrary, I do not suppose — his brother 
 is one of the poorest peers in the House — that the 
 Honourable Mr. Bonald Dunquerque is worth 5001. 
 a year. Really, I should say that 300/. would be 
 nearer the mark.' 
 
 ' Then he is a gentleman, and I am — well, sir, I 
 hope I am learning what a gentleman should do and 
 think in such a position as the Golden Butterfly has 
 brought me into. But the short of it is that I can't 
 say to him, Mr. Dunquerque, I owe you a life, and 
 here is a cheque for so many thousand dollars. I 
 can't do it, sir.'
 
 208 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 'I suppose not. But there are ways of helping a 
 young man forward without giving him money. You 
 can only give money to poets and clergymen.' 
 
 ' That is so, sir.' 
 
 *Wait a little till your position is known and 
 assured. You will then be able to assist Mr. Ronald 
 Dunquerque as much as you please.' He rose and 
 took up his gloves. * And now, Mr. Beck, I think I 
 understand you. You wish to do something great 
 with your money. Very good. Do not be in a hurry. 
 I will think things over. Meantime are you going 
 to let it lie idle in the bank ?' 
 
 ' Wal, yes ; I was thinking of that.' 
 
 ' It would be much better for me to place it for 
 you in good shares, such as I could recommend to 
 you. You would then be able to — to — give away' — 
 he pronounced the words with manifest reluctance — 
 ' the interest as well as the principal. Why should 
 the bankers have the use of it ?' 
 
 * That seems reasonable,' said Mr. Beck. 
 
 Mr. Cassilis straightened himself and looked 
 him full in the face. He was about to strike his 
 blow. 
 
 'You will place your money,' he said quietly, as 
 if there could be no doubt of Mr. Beck's immediate 
 assent, ' in my hands for investment. I shall recom-
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 200 
 
 mend you safe things. For instance, as regards the 
 shares of the George Washington Silver Mine — * 
 He opened his pocket-hook. 
 
 * No, sir,' said Mr. Beck with great decision. 
 
 * I was about to observe that I should not recom- 
 mend such an investment. I think, however, I 
 could place immediately 20,000Z. in the Isle of Man 
 Internal Navigation Company.' 
 
 ' An English company ?' said Mr. Beck. 
 
 * Certainly. I propose, Mr. Beck, to devote this 
 morning to a consideration of investments for you. 
 I shall advise you from day to day. I have no philan- 
 thropic aims, and financing is my profession. But 
 your affairs shall be treated together with mine, and 
 I shall bring to bear upon them the same — may I 
 say insight ? — that has carried my own ventures to 
 success. For this morning I shall only secure you 
 the Isle of Man shares.' 
 
 They presently parted, with many expressions of 
 gratitude from Mr. Gilead Beck. 
 
 A country where men work for nothing ? Perhaps 
 when men are young. Not a country where elderly 
 men in the City work for nothing. Mr. Cassilis had 
 no intention whatever of devoting his time and ex- 
 perience to the furtherance of Mr. Beck's affairs. 
 Not at all : if the thoughts in his mind had been 
 
 VOL. I. P
 
 210 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. ' 
 
 written down, they would have shown a joy almost 
 boyish in the success of his morning visit. 
 
 ' The Isle of Man Company,' we should have read, 
 ' is floated. That 20,000L was a lucky coup. I 
 nearly missed my chances with the silver mine ; I 
 ought to have known that he was not likely to jump 
 at such a bait. A quarter of a million of money to 
 dispose of, and five hundred thousand pounds a year. 
 And mine the handling of the whole. Never before 
 was such a chance known in the City.' 
 
 A thought struck him. He turned, and went 
 back hastily to Gilead Beck's rooms. 
 
 ' One word more. Mr. Beck, I need hardly say 
 that I do not wish to be known as your adviser at all. 
 Perhaps it would be well to keep our engagements a 
 secret between ourselves.' 
 
 That of course was readily promised. 
 
 ' Half a million a year !' the words jangled in his 
 brain like the chimes of St. Clement's. ' Half a 
 million a year! And mine the handling.' 
 
 He spent the day locked up in his inner office. 
 He saw no one, except his secretary, and he covered 
 an acre or so of paper with calculations. His clerks 
 went away at five ; his secretary left him at six ; at 
 ten he was still at work, feverishly at work, making 
 combinations and calculating results.
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 211 
 
 * What a chance !' he murmured prayerfully, 
 putting down his pen at length. * What a blessed 
 chance !' 
 
 Mr. Gilead Beck would have congratulated him- 
 self on the disinterested assistance of his unprofes- 
 sional adviser had he known that the whole day was 
 devoted to himself. He might have congratulated 
 himself less had he known the thoughts that filled 
 the financier's brains. 
 
 Disinterested? How could Mr. Cassilis regard 
 any one with money in his hand but as a subject for 
 his skill ? And here was a man coming to him, not 
 with his little fortune of a few thousands, not with 
 the paltry savings of a lifetime, not for an invest- 
 ment for widows and orphans, but with a purse im- 
 measurable and bottomless, a purse which he was 
 going to place unreservedly in his hands. 
 
 * Mine the handling,' he murmured as he got into 
 bed. It was his evening hymn of praise and joy.
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 ' Higher she climb'd, and far below her stretch'd 
 Hill beyond hill, with lengthening slopes and glades, 
 And a world widening still.' 
 
 Phillis's world widened daily, like a landscape, 
 which stretches ever farther the higher jou. mount. 
 Every morning hrought her fresh delights, some- 
 thing more wonderful than she had seen the day 
 before. Her portfolio of drawings swelled daily ; 
 but with riches came discontent, because the range 
 of subjects grew too vast for her pencil to draw, and 
 Ler groups became every day more difficult and more 
 complicated. Life was a joy beyond all that she had 
 ever hoped for or expected. How should it be other- 
 wise to her ? She had no anxieties for the future ; 
 she had no past sins to repent ; she had no know- 
 ledge of evil ; she w^as young and in perfect health ; 
 the weight of her mortality was as 3^et unfelt. 
 
 During these early days of emancipation she was 
 mostly silent, looking about and making observations. 
 She sat alone and thought ; she forgot to sing ; if 
 she played, it was as if she was communing confi-
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 213 
 
 dentially with a friend, and seeking counsel. She 
 had so much to think of : herself, and the new cur- 
 rent of thoughts into which her mind had been 
 suddenly diverted ; the connection between the world 
 of Mr. Dyson's teaching and the world of reality — 
 this was a very hard thing ; Mrs. Cassilis, with her 
 hard cold manner, her kind words, and her eternal 
 teaching that the spring of feminine action is the 
 desire to attract ; , finally, Jack Dunquerque. And 
 of him she thought a good deal. 
 
 All the people she met were interesting. She 
 tried to give each one his own individuality, rounded 
 and complete. But she could not. Her experience 
 was too small, and each figure in her mind was 
 blurred. Now if you listen to the conversation of 
 people, as I do perpetually — in trains especially — 
 you will find that they are always talking about other 
 people. The reason of that I take to be the natural 
 desire to have in your brain a clear idea of every 
 man, what he is, and how he is likely to be acted 
 upon. Those people are called interesting who are 
 the most difficult to describe or imagine, and who, 
 perpetually breaking out in new places, disturb the 
 image which their friends have formed. 
 
 None of Phillis's new friends would photograph 
 clear and distinct in her brain. She thoudit she
 
 214 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 missed the focus. It was not so, however ; it was the 
 fault of the lens. But it troubled her, because if she 
 tried to draw them there was always a sense of some- 
 thing wanting. Even Jack Dunquerque — and here 
 her eyes brightened— rhad points about him which 
 she could not understand. She was quiet, therefore, 
 and watched. 
 
 It was pleasant only to watch and observe. She 
 had made out clearly by this time that the Twins 
 were as vain and self-conscious as the old peacock 
 she used to feed at Highgate. She found herself 
 bringing out their little vanities by leading questions. 
 She knew that Joseph Jagenal, whom in their souls 
 the Twins despised, was worth them both ten times 
 over; and she found that Joseph rated himself far 
 beneath his brothers. Then she gradually learned 
 that their aesthetic talk was soon exhausted, but that 
 they loved to enunciate the same old maxims over 
 and over again, as children repeat a story. And it 
 became one of her chief pleasures to listen to them 
 at dinner, to mark their shallowness, and to amuse 
 herselfwith their foibles. The Twins thought the young 
 lady was fascinated by their personal excellences. 
 
 ' Genius, brother Cornelius,' said Humphrey, 
 * always makes its way. I see Phillis Fleming every 
 night waiting upon your words.'
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 215 
 
 * I think the fascinations of Art are as great, 
 brother Humphrey. At dinner Phillis Fleming 
 watches your every gesture.' 
 
 This was in the evening. In the morning every 
 walk was a new delight in itself; every fresh street 
 was different. Brought up for thirteen years within 
 the same four walls, the keenest joy which the girl 
 could imagine was variety. She loved to see some- 
 thing new, even a new disposition of London houses, 
 even a minute difference in the aspect of a London 
 square. But of all the pleasures which she had yet 
 experienced — even a greater pleasure than the single 
 picture-gallery which she had visited — was the one 
 afternoon of shopping she had had with Mrs. Cassilis 
 at Melton & Mowbray's in Regent-street. 
 
 Mrs. Cassilis took her there first on the morning 
 of her dinner-party. It was her second drive through 
 the streets of London, but an incomparably superior 
 journey to the first. The thoroughfares were more 
 crowded ; the shops were grander ; if there were 
 fewer boys running and whistling, there were pic- 
 turesque beggars, Punch-and-Judy shows, Italian 
 noblemen with organs, and the other humours and 
 diversions of the great main arteries of London. 
 Phillis looked at all with the keenest delight, calling 
 the attention of her companion to the common things
 
 216 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 which escape our notice because we see them every 
 day — the ragged broken-down old man without a 
 hat, who has long gray locks, who sells oranges from 
 a basket, and betrays by his bibulous trembling lips 
 the secret history of his downfall ; the omnibus full 
 inside and out ; the tall Guardsman swaggering 
 down the street ; the ladies looking in at the win- 
 dows ; the endless rows of that great and wonderful 
 exhibition which benevolent tradesmen show gratuit- 
 ously to all ; the shopman rubbing his hands at the 
 door ; the foreigners and pilgrims in a strange land 
 — he with a cigarette in his mouth, lately from the 
 army of Don Carlos ; he with a bad cigar, a blue- 
 black shaven chin and cheek, and a seedy coat, who 
 once adorned the ranks of Delescluze, Ferre, Flou- 
 rens, and Company ; he with the pale face and 
 hard cynical smile, who hails from free and happy 
 Prussia; the man, our brother, from Sierra Leone, 
 coal-black of hue, with snowy linen and a conviction 
 not to be shaken that all the world takes him for an 
 Englishman ; the booted Belgian, cross between the 
 Dutchman and the Gaul ; the young gentleman sent 
 from Japan to study our country and its laws — he 
 has a cigar in his mouth, and a young lady with 
 yellow hair upon his arm; the Syrian, with a red 
 cap and almond eyes ; the Parsee, with lofty super-
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 217 
 
 structure, a reminiscence of the Tower of Babel, 
 which his ancestors were partly instrumental in 
 building ; Cretes, Arabians, men of Cappadocia and 
 Pontus, with all the other mingled nationalities 
 which make up the strollers along a London street, 
 — Phillis marked them every one, and only longed 
 for a brief ten minutes with each in order to transfer 
 his likeness to her portfolio. 
 
 * Phillis,' said her companion, touching her hand, 
 * can you practise looking at people without turning 
 your head or seeming to notice ?' 
 
 Phillis laughed, and tried to sit in the attitude 
 of unobservant carelessness which was the custom in 
 other carriages. Like all first attempts, it was a 
 failure. Then the great and crowded street reminded 
 her of her dream. Should she presently — for it all 
 seemed unreal together — begin to run while the 
 young men, among whom were the Twins, ran after 
 her ? And should she at the finish of the race, see 
 the form of dead old Abraham Dyson, clapping his 
 hands and wagging his head, and crying, * Well run ! 
 well won ! Phillis, it is the Coping-stone' ? 
 
 * This is Melton & Mowbray's,' said Mrs. Cas- 
 silis, as the carriage drew up in front of a shop which 
 contained greater treasures than were ever collected 
 for the harem of Assyrian king.
 
 218 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 She followed Mrs. Cassilis to some show-rooms, 
 in which lay about carelessly things more beautiful 
 than she had ever conceived ; hues more brilliant, 
 textures more delicate, than she knew. 
 
 Phillis's first shopping was an event to be re- 
 membered in all her after-life. What she chose, what 
 Mrs. Cassilis chose for her, what Joseph Jagenal 
 thought when the bill came in, it boots not here to 
 tell. Imagine only the delight of a girl of deep and 
 artistic feeling which has hitherto chiefly found vent 
 in the study of form — such form as she could get 
 from engravings and her own limited powers of 
 observation — in being let loose suddenly in a wilder- 
 ness of beautiful things. Every lady knows Messrs. 
 Melton & Mowbray's great shop. Does anybody 
 ever think what it would seem were they to enter it 
 for the first time at the mature age of nineteen ? 
 
 In one thing only did Phillis disgrace herself. 
 There was a young person in attendance for the pur- 
 pose of showing off* all sorts of draperies upon her 
 own back and shoulders. Phillis watched her for 
 some time. She had a singularly graceful figure 
 and a patient face, which struck Phillis with pity. 
 Mrs. Cassilis sat studying the efi'ect through her 
 double eyeglasses. The saleswoman put on and took 
 off the things as if the girl were really a lay-figure,
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 219 
 
 which she was, excepting that she turned herself 
 about, a thing not yet achieved by any lay-figure. A 
 patient face, but it looked pale and tired. The 
 * Duchess' — living lay -figures receive that title, in 
 addition to a whole pound a week which Messrs. 
 Melton & Mowbray generously give them — stood 
 about the rooms all day, and went to bed late at 
 night. Some of the other girls envied her. This 
 shows that there is no position in life which has not 
 something beneath it. 
 
 Presently Phillis rose suddenly, and taking the 
 opera-cloak which the Duchess was about to put on, 
 said : 
 
 ' You are tired. I will try it on myself. Pray 
 sit down and rest.' 
 
 And she actually placed a chair for the shop- 
 girl. 
 
 Mrs. Cassilis gave a little jump of surprise. It 
 had never occurred to her that a shop-woman could 
 be entitled to any consideration at all. She belonged 
 to the establishment ; the shop and all that it con- 
 tained were at the service of those who bought ; the 
 personnel was a matter for Messrs. Melton & Mow- 
 bray to manage. 
 
 But she recovered her presence of mind in a 
 moment.
 
 220 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 * Perhaps it will be as well,' she said, ' to see how 
 it suits you, by trying it on yourself.' 
 
 When their purchases were concluded and they 
 were coming away, Phillis turned to the poor Duchess, 
 and asked her if she was not very tired of trying on 
 dresses, and whether she would not like to take a 
 rest, and if she was happy, with one or two other 
 questions; at which the saleswoman looked a little 
 indignant, and the Duchess a little inclined to cry. 
 
 And then they came away. 
 
 * It is not usual, Phillis,' said Mrs. Cassilis, di- 
 rectly they w^ere in the carriage, ' for ladies to speak 
 to shop-people.' 
 
 * Is it not ? The poor girl looked pale and tired.' 
 
 * Very likely she was. She is paid to work, and 
 work is fatiguing. But it was no concern of ours. 
 You see, my dear, we cannot alter things ; and if you 
 once begin pitying people and talking to them, there 
 is an end of all distinctions of class.' 
 
 'Mr. Dyson used to say that the difficulty of 
 abolishing class distinctions was one of the most 
 lamentable facts in human history. I did not under- 
 stand then what he meant. But I think I do now. 
 It is a dreadful thing, he meant, that one cannot 
 speak to or relieve a poor girl w^ho is ready to drop 
 with fatigue, because she is a shop-girl. How sad
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 221 
 
 you must feel, Mrs. Cassilis, you who have seen so 
 much of shop-assistants, if they are all like that poor 
 girl !' 
 
 Mrs. Cassilis had not felt sad, but Phillis's re- 
 mark made her feel for the moment uncomfortable. 
 Her complacency was disturbed. But how could she 
 help herself? She was what her surroundings had 
 made her. As riches increase, particularly the 
 riches which are unaccompanied by territorial obli- 
 gations, men and women separate themselves more 
 and more ; the lines Of demarcation become deeper 
 and broader ; English castes are divided by ditches 
 constantly widening ; the circles into which outsiders 
 may enter as guests, but not as members, become 
 more numerous ; poor people herd more together ; 
 rich people live more apart; the latter become like 
 gods in their seclusion, and they grow to hate more 
 and more the sight and rumour of suffering. And 
 the first step back to the unpitying cruelty of the old 
 civilisations is the habit of looking on the unwashed 
 as creatures of another world. If the gods of 
 Olympus had known sympathy they might have lived 
 till now. 
 
 This expedition occurred on the day of Phillis's 
 first dinner-party, and on the way home a singular 
 thing happened.
 
 22ii THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 Mrs. Cassilis asked Phillis how long she was to 
 stay with Mr. Jagenal. 
 
 ' Until,' said Phillis, ' my guardian comes home ; 
 and that will be in a fortnight.' 
 
 ' Your guardian, child ? But he is dead.' 
 
 ' I had two, you know. The other is Mr. Law- 
 rence Colquhoun — "What is the matter, Mrs. Cassilis ?' 
 
 For she became suddenly pallid, and stared 
 blankly before her, with no expression in her eyes, 
 unless perhaps a look of terror. It was the second 
 time that Phillis had noted a change in this cold and 
 passionless face. Before, the face had grown sud- 
 denly soft and tender at a recollection ; now, it was 
 white and rigid. 
 
 'Lawrence Colquhoun !' she turned to Phillis, 
 and hardly seemed to know what she was saying. 
 ' Lawrence Colquhoun ! He is coming home — and 
 he promised me — no — he would not promise — and 
 what will he say to me ?' 
 
 Then she recovered herself with an effort. The 
 name or the intelligence of Lawrence Colquhoun's 
 return gave her a great shock. 
 
 * Mr. Colquhoun your guardian ! I did not know. 
 And he is coming home ?' 
 
 ' You will come and see me when I am staying — 
 if I am to stay — at his house ?'
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 223 
 
 * I shall certainly,' said Mrs. Cassilis, setting her 
 lips together, — ' I shall certainly make a point of 
 seeing Mr. Colquhoun on his return, whether you 
 are staying with him or not. Here is Carnarvon- 
 square. No, thank you, I will not get down, even 
 to have a cup of tea with you. Good-bye, Phillis, 
 till this evening. My dear, I think the white dress 
 that you showed me will do admirably. Home at 
 once.' 
 
 A woman of steel? Rubbish. There is no man 
 or woman of steel, save him who has brooded too 
 long over his own perfections. A metallic statue, 
 the enemies of Mrs. Cassilis called her. They knew 
 nothing. A woman who had always perfect control 
 over herself, said her husband. He knew nothing. 
 A woman who turned pale at the mention of a name, 
 and longed, yet feared, to meet a man, thought 
 Phillis. And she knew something, because she 
 knew the weak point in this woman's armour. 
 Being neither curious, nor malignant, nor a dis- 
 ciple in the school for scandal, Phillis drew her little 
 conclusion, kept it to herself, and thought no more 
 about it. 
 
 As for the reasons which prompted Mrs. Cassilis 
 to ' take up' Phillis Fleming, they were multiplex, 
 like all the springs of action which move us to act.
 
 224 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 She wanted to find out for her husband of what sort 
 was this system of education which Joseph Jagenal 
 could not discover anywhere. She was interested in, 
 although not attracted by, the character of the girl, 
 unlike any she had ever seen. And she wanted to 
 use Phillis — an heiress, young, beautiful, piquante, 
 strange — as an attraction to her house. For Mrs. 
 Cassilis was ambitious. She wished to attract men 
 to her evenings. She pictured herself — it is the 
 dream of so many cultured women — as another 
 Madame Eecamier, Madame du Deffand, or Madame 
 de Rambouillet. All the intellect in London was to 
 be gathered in her salon. She caught lions ; she got 
 hold of young authors ; she made beginnings with 
 third-rate people who had written books. They 
 were not amusing ; they were not witty ; they were 
 devoured by envy and hatred. She let them drop, 
 and now she wanted to begin again. An idle and a 
 futile game. She had not the quick sympathies, the 
 capacity for hero - worship, the lovableness of the 
 Recamier. She had no tears for others. She did 
 not know that the woman who aspires to lead men 
 must first be able to be led. 
 
 There was another fatal objection, not fully 
 understood by ladies who have * evenings' and sigh 
 over their empty rooms. In these days of clubs,
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 225 
 
 what man is going to get up after dinner and find 
 his melancholy way from Pall Mall to Kensington- 
 palace-gardens, in order to stand about a drawing- 
 room for two hours and listen to * general' talk ? 
 It wants a Phillis, and a personal, if hopeless, devo- 
 tion to a Phillis, to tear the freshest lion from his 
 club after dinner, even if it be to an altar of adulation. 
 The evening begins properly with dinner : and where 
 men dine they love to stay. 
 
 * Jack Dunquerque came to see me to-day,' Phil- 
 lis told Joseph. *You remember Mr. Dunquerque. 
 He was at Mrs. Cassilis's last night. He came at 
 two, to have luncheon and to tell me about Mr. Col- 
 quhoun ; but he did not tell me anything about him. 
 We talked about ourselves.' 
 
 * Is Mr. Dunquerque a friend of yours ?' 
 
 'Yes; Jack and I are friends,' Phillis replied 
 readily. There was not the least intention to de- 
 ceive ; but Joseph was deceived. He thought they 
 had been old friends. Somehow, perhaps, Phillis 
 did not like to talk very much about her friendship 
 for Jack. 
 
 * I want you to ask him to dinner, if you will.* 
 
 * Certainly, whenever you please. I shall be glad 
 to make Mr. Dunquerque's acquaintance. He is the 
 brother of Lord Isleworth,' said Joseph, with a little 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 226 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 satisfaction at seeing a live member of the aristo- 
 cracy at his own table. 
 
 Jack came to dinner. He behaved extremely 
 well ; made no allusion to that previous occasion 
 when he had been introduced to the Twins ; listened 
 to their conversation as if it interested him above all 
 things ; and not once called Phillis by her Christian 
 name. This omission made her reflect ; they were 
 therefore, it was apparent, only Jack and Phil when 
 they were alone. It was her first secret, and the 
 possession of it became a joy. 
 
 She had not a single word with him all the even- 
 ing. Only before he went he asked her if he might 
 call the next day at luncheon-time. She said him 
 yea. 
 
 ' After all these Bloomsbury people,' said Corne- 
 lius, lighting his first pipe, ' it does one good, bro- 
 ther Humphrey, to come across a gentleman. Mr. 
 Ronald Dunquerque took the keenest interest in your 
 Art criticisms at dinner.' 
 
 * They were general principles only, Cornelius,' 
 said Humphrey. ' He is really a superior young 
 man. A little modest in your presence, brother. 
 To be sure, it is not every day that he finds himself 
 dining with a Poet.' 
 
 ' And an Artist, Humphrey.*
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 227 
 
 ' Thank you, Cornelius. Miss Fleming had no 
 charms for him, I think.' 
 
 ' Phillis Fleming, brother, is a girl who is drawn 
 more towards, and more attracts, men of a maturer 
 age — men no longer perhaps within the premiere 
 jeunesse, but still capable of love.' 
 
 * Men of our age, Cornelius. Shall we split this 
 potash, or will you take some Apollinaris water ?' 
 
 Jack called, and they took luncheon together as 
 before. Phillis, brighter and happier, told him 
 what things she had seen and what remarks she had 
 made since last they met, a week ago. Then she 
 told him of the things she most wished to see. 
 
 'Jack,' she said, *I want to see the Tower of Lon- 
 don and Westminster Abbey most.' 
 
 ' And then, Phil ?' 
 
 * Then I should like to see a play.' 
 
 * Would Mr. Jagenal allow me to take you to the 
 Tower of London ? Now, Phil — this afternoon ?' 
 
 Phillis's worldly education was as yet so incom- 
 plete that she clapped her hands with delight. 
 
 ' Shall we go now. Jack ? How delightful !^ Of 
 course Mr. Jagenal will allow you, I will be five 
 minutes putting on my hat.' 
 
 ' Now that's wrong too,' said Jack to himself.
 
 228 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 ' It is as wrong as calling her Phil. It's worse than 
 wanting to kiss her, because the kiss never came off. 
 I can't help it — it's pleasant. What will Colquhoun 
 say when he comes home ? Phil is sure to tell him 
 everything. Jack Dunquerque, my hoy, there will 
 be a day of reckoning for you — Already, Phil ? By 
 Jove, how nice you" look!' 
 
 ' Do I, Jack ? Do you like my hat ? I bought it 
 with Mrs. Cassilis the other day.' 
 
 'Look at yourself in the glass, Phil. What do 
 you see ?' 
 
 She looked and laughed. It was not for her to 
 say what she saw. 
 
 ' There was a little maid of Arcadia once, Phil, 
 and she grew up so beautiful that all the birds fell in 
 love with her. There were no other creatures except 
 birds to fall in love with her, because her sheep were 
 too busy fattening themselves for the Corinthian 
 cattle-market to pay any attention to her. They 
 were conscientious sheep, you see, and wished to do 
 credit to the Arcadian pastures.' Jack Dunquerque 
 began to feel great freedom in the allegorical method. 
 
 ' Well, Jack ?' 
 
 ' Well, Phil, the birds flew about in the woods, 
 singing to each other how lovely she was, how 
 prettily she played, and how sweetly she sang.
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 229 
 
 Nobody understood what they said, but it pleased 
 this little maid. Presently she grew a tall maid, 
 like yourself, Phil. And then she came out into the 
 world. She was just like you, Phil; she had the 
 same bright eyes, and the same laugh, and the same 
 identical sunlit face ; and 0, Phil, she had your very 
 same charming ways !' 
 
 * Jack, do you really mean it ? Do you like my 
 face, and are my ways really and truly not rough and 
 awkward ?' 
 
 Jack shook his head. 
 
 * Your face is entrancing, Phil ; and your ways 
 are more charming than I can tell you. Well, she 
 came into the world and looked about her. It was 
 a pleasant world, she thought. And then — I think 
 I will tell you the rest of the story another time, 
 Phil.' 
 
 * Jack, did other people besides birds love your 
 maid of Arcadia ?' 
 
 ' I'm afraid they did,' he groaned. ' A good 
 many other people — confound them !' 
 
 Phil looked puzzled. Why did he groan ? Why 
 should not all the world love the Arcadian maid if 
 they pleased ? 
 
 Then they went out. Jack being rather silent. 
 
 * This is a great deal better than driving with
 
 230 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 Mrs. Cassilis, Jack,' said the girl, as she made her 
 first acquaintance with a hansom cab. * It is like 
 sitting in a chair, while all the people move past. 
 Look at the faces. Jack; how they stare straight 
 before them ! Is work so dear to them that they 
 cannot find time to look at each other ?' 
 
 ' Work is not dear to them at all, I think,' said 
 Jack. ' If I were a clergyman I should talk non- 
 sense and say that it is the race for gold. As a 
 matter of fact, I believe it is a race for bread. Those 
 hard faces have got wives and children at home, and 
 life is difficult, that is all.' 
 
 Phillis was silent again. 
 
 They drove through the crowded City, where the 
 roll of the vehicles thundered on the girl's astonished 
 ears, and the hard-faced crowd sped swiftly past her. 
 Life was too multitudinous, too complex, for her 
 brain to take it in. The shops did not interest her 
 now, nor the press of business ; it was the never- 
 ending rush of the anxious crowd. She tried to 
 realise, if ever so faintly, that every one of their faces 
 meant a distinct and important personality. It was 
 too much for her, and, as it did to the Persian 
 monarch, the multitudes brought tears into her eyes. 
 
 ' Where are all the women ?' she asked Jack at 
 length.
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 231 
 
 *At home. These men are working for them. 
 They are spending the money which their hushands 
 and fathers fight for.' 
 
 She was silent again. 
 
 The crowd diminished, but not much ; the street 
 grew narrower. Presently they came to an open 
 space, ftnd beyond — 0, joy of joys ! — the Tower of 
 London, which she knew from the pictures. 
 
 Only country people go to the Tower of London. 
 It would almost seem a kindness to London readers 
 were I to describe this national gaudy-show. But it 
 is better, perhaps, that its splendours should remain 
 unknown, like those of the National Gallery and the 
 British Museum. The solitudes of London are not 
 too many, and its convenient trysting places are few. 
 The beefeater who conducted the flock attached 
 himself specially to Phillis, thereby showing that 
 good taste has found a home among beefeaters. 
 Phillis asked him a thousand questions. She was 
 eager to see everything. She begged him to take 
 them slowly down the long line of armoured war- 
 riors ; she did not care for the arms, except for such 
 as she had heard about, as bows and arrows, pikes, 
 battle-axes, and spears. She lingered in the room 
 where Sir Walter Raleigh was confined ; she studied 
 the construction of the headsman's axe and the
 
 232 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 block ; she glowed with delight at finding herself in 
 the old chapel of the White Tower. Jack did not 
 understand her enthusiasm. It was his own first 
 visit also to the Tower, but he was unaffected by its 
 historical associations. Nor did he greatly care for 
 the arms and armour. 
 
 Think of Phillis. Her guardian's favourite les- 
 sons to her had been in history. He would read her 
 passages at which her pulse would quicken and her 
 eyes light up. Somehow these seemed all connected 
 with the Tower. She constructed an imaginary 
 Tower in her own mind, and peopled it with the 
 ghosts of martyred lords and suffering ladies. But 
 the palace of her soul was as nothing compared with 
 the grim gray fortress that she saw. The knights of 
 her imagination were poor creatures compared with 
 these solid heroes of steel and iron on their wooden 
 chargers ; the dungeon in which Kaleigh pined was 
 far more gloomy than any she had pictured; the 
 ghosts of slain rebels and murdered princes gained 
 in her imagination a place and surroundings worthy 
 of their haunts. The first sight of London which an 
 American visits is the Tower ; the first place which 
 the boy associates with the past, and longs to see, is 
 that old pile beside the Thames. 
 
 Phillis came away at length, with a sigh of in-
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 233 
 
 finite satisfaction. On the way home she said 
 nothing; but Jack saw, by her absorbed look, that 
 the girl was happy. She was adjusting, bit by bit, 
 her memories and her fancies with the reality. She 
 was trying to fit the stories her guardian had read 
 her so often with the chambers and the courts she 
 had just seen. 
 
 Jack watched her stealthily. A great wave of 
 passion rolled over the heart of this young man 
 whenever he looked at this girl. He loved her ; 
 there was no longer any possible doubt of that ; and 
 she only liked him. What a difference ! And to 
 think that the French have only one word for both 
 emotions ! She liked to be with him, to talk to him, 
 because he was young and she could talk to him. 
 But love? Cold Dian was not more free from 
 love. 
 
 ' I can make most of it out,* the girl said, 
 turning to Jack. * All except Lady Jane Grey. I 
 cannot understand at all about her. You must take 
 me again. We will get that dear old beefeater all 
 by himself, and we will spend the whole day there, 
 you and I together, shall we not T 
 
 Then, after her wont, she put the Tower out of 
 her mind and began to talk about what she saw. 
 They passed a printseller's. She wanted to look at
 
 234 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 a picture in the window, and Jack stopped the cab 
 and took her into the shop. 
 
 He observed, not without dismay, that she had 
 not the most rudimentary ideas on the subject of 
 purchase. She had only once been in a shop, and 
 then, if I remember rightly, the bill was sent to Mr. 
 Joseph Jagenal. Phillis turned over the engravings 
 and photographs, and selected half a dozen. 
 
 Jack paid the bill next day. It was not much 
 over fifteen pounds — a mere trifle to a Younger Son 
 with four hundred a year. And then he had the 
 pleasure of seeing the warm glow of pleasure in her 
 eyes as she took the ' Light of the World' from the 
 portfolio. Pictures were her books, and she took 
 them home to read. 
 
 At last, and all too soon, they came back to Car- 
 narvon-square. 
 
 * Good-bye, Phil,' said Jack, before he knocked 
 at the door. ' You have had a pleasant day ?' 
 
 * Very pleasant. Jack ; and all through you,' she 
 replied. * 0, what a good thing for me that we be- 
 came friends !' 
 
 He thought it might in the end be a bad thing 
 for himself, but he did not say so. For every hour 
 plunged the unhappy young man deeper in the ocean 
 of love, and he grew more than ever conscious that
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 235 
 
 the part he at present played would not be regarded 
 with favour by her guardian. 
 
 * Jack/ she said, while her hand rested in his, 
 and her frank eyes looked straight in his face with 
 an expression in which there was no love at all — he 
 saw that clearly — but only free and childlike affec- 
 tion, — * Jack — why do you look at me so sadly ? — 
 Jack, if I were like — if I were meant for that maiden 
 of Arcadia you told me of — ' 
 
 'Yes, Phil?' 
 
 'If other people in the world loved me, you 
 would love me too a little, wouldn't you ?'
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 ' Hearken what the inner si^irit sings, 
 " There is no joy but calm." 
 Why should we only toil, the roof and crown of things ?' 
 
 Lawrence Colquhoun was coming home. Phil- 
 lis, counting the days, rememhered, with a little 
 prick of conscience, that Jack Dunquerque had 
 never told her a single word concerning her second 
 guardian. He was about forty years of age, as old 
 as Joseph Jagenal. She pictured a grave heavy 
 man, with massive forehead, thick black hair, and a 
 responsible manner. She knew too that there was 
 to be a change in her life, but of what kind she 
 could not tell. The present mode of living was hap- 
 piness enough for her : a drive with Mrs. Cassilis — 
 odd that Phillis could never remove from herself the 
 impression that Mrs. Cassilis disliked her; a walk 
 with Joseph to his office and back in the morning ; 
 a day of occasional delight with her best friend. Jack 
 the unscrupulous ; her drawing for amusement and 
 occupation ; and a widely-increased area, so to speak, 
 of dress discussion with her maid.
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 237 
 
 Antoinette, once her fellow-prisoner, now eman- 
 cipated like herself, informed her young mistress 
 that should the new guardian insist on a return to 
 captivity, she, Antoinette, would immediately resign. 
 Her devotion to Phillis, she explained, was unalter- 
 able ; hut, contrary to the experience of the bard, 
 stone walls, in her own case, did make a prison. 
 Was Mademoiselle going to resign all these pleasures? 
 — she pointed to the evening-dresses, the walking- 
 dresses, the riding-habits — was Mademoiselle about 
 to give up taking walks when and where she pleased? 
 was Mademoiselle ready to let the young gentleman, 
 Monsieur Dunquerque, waste his life in regrets — and 
 he so brave, so good? Antoinette, it may be ob- 
 served, had, in the agreeable society of Jane the 
 housemaid, Clarissa the cook, and Victoria Pamela, 
 assistant in either department, already received en- 
 lightenment in the usages of London courtship. 
 She herself, a little flirt with the Norman blue eyes 
 and light-brown hair, was already the object of a de- 
 vouring passion on the part of a young gentleman 
 who cut other gentlemen's hair in a neighbouring 
 street. Further, did Mademoiselle reflect on the 
 wickedness of burying herself and her beautiful eyes 
 out of everybody's sight ? 
 
 A change was inevitable. Phillis would willingly
 
 238 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 have stayed on at Carnarvon -square, where the Twins 
 amused her, and the lawyer Joseph was kind to her. 
 But Mrs. Cassilis explained that this was impossible ; 
 that steps would have to be taken with regard to her 
 future ; and that the wishes of her guardian must be 
 consulted till she was of age. 
 
 * You are now nineteen, my dear. You have two 
 years to wait. Then you will come into possession 
 of your fortune, and you will be your own mistress, 
 at liberty to live where and how you please.' 
 
 Phillis listened, but made no reply. It was a 
 new thought to her that in two years she would be 
 personally responsible for the conduct and manage- 
 ment of her own life, obliged to think and decide for 
 herself, and undertaking all the responsibilities and 
 consequences of her own actions. Then she remem- 
 bered Abraham Dyson's warning and maxims. They 
 once fell unheeded on her brain, which was under 
 strict ward and tutelage, just like exhortations to 
 avoid the sins of the world on the ears of convent 
 girls. Now she remembered them. 
 
 * Life is made up of meeting bills drawn on the 
 future by the improvidence of youth.' 
 
 This was a very mysterious maxim, and one 
 which had often puzzled her. Now she began to 
 understand what was meant.
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 239 
 
 * The consequences of our own actions are what 
 men call fate. They accompany us like our 
 shadows.' 
 
 Hitherto, she thought, she had had no chance of 
 performing any action of her own at all. She forgot 
 how she asked Jack Dunquerque to luncheon and 
 went to the Tower with him. 
 
 ' Every moment of a working life may be a de- 
 cisive victory.' 
 
 That would begin in two years' time. 
 
 ' Brave men act ; philosophers discuss ; cowards 
 run away. The brave are often killed ; the talkers 
 are always left behind ; the cowards are caught 
 and cashiered.' 
 
 Better to act and be killed than to run away and 
 be disgraced, thought Phillis. That was a thing to 
 be remembered in two years' time. 
 
 ' Women see things through the haze of a foolish 
 education. They manage their affairs badly because 
 they are unable to reason. You, PhilHs, who have 
 never learned to read, are the mistress of j^our own 
 mind. Keep it clear. Get information and remem- 
 ber it. Learn by hearing and watching.' 
 
 She was still learning — learning something new 
 every day. 
 
 * It is not in my power to complete your educa-
 
 240 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 tion, Phillis. That must be done by some one else. 
 When it is finished you will understand the whole. 
 But do not be in a hurry.' 
 
 When would the finisher of her education come ? 
 Was it Lawrence Colquhoun ? And how would it be 
 finished ? Surely some time in the next two years 
 would complete the edifice, and she would step out 
 into the world at twenty-one, her own mistress, 
 responsible for her actions, equipped at all points to 
 meet the chances and dangers of her life. 
 
 So she waited, argued with herself, and counted 
 the days. 
 
 Meantime her conduct towards the Twins in- 
 spired these young men with mingled feelings of un- 
 certainty and pleasure. She made their breakfast, 
 was considerate in the morning, and did not ask 
 them to talk. When the little dialogue, mentioned 
 in an early chapter, was finished, she would herself 
 pick out a flower — there were always flowers on the 
 table, in deference to their artistic tastes — for their 
 buttonholes, and despatch them with a smile. 
 
 That was very satisfactory. 
 
 At dinner too she would turn from one to the 
 other while they discoursed sublimely on Art in its 
 higher aspects. They took it for admiration. It 
 was in reality curiosity to know what they meant.
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 241 
 
 After dinner she would too often confine her con- 
 versation to Joseph. On these occasions the brethren 
 would moodily disappear, and retire to their own 
 den, where they lit pipes and smoked in silence. 
 
 In point of fact they were as vain as a brace 
 of peacocks, and as jealous as a domestic pet, if 
 attention were shown by the young lady to any but 
 themselves. 
 
 Caesar, it may be observed, quickly learned to 
 distinguish between the habits of Phillis and those 
 of his masters. He never now offered to take the 
 former into a public-house, while he ostentatiousl}', 
 so to speak, paraded his knowledge of the adjacent 
 bars when convoying the Twins. 
 
 One afternoon Phillis took it into her head to 
 carry up tea to the Twins herself. 
 
 Cornelius was, as usual, sound asleep in an easy- 
 chair, his head half resting upon one hand, and his 
 pale cheek lit up with a sweet and childlike smile — 
 he was dreaming of vintage wines. He looked 
 sweetly poetical, and it was a thousand pities that 
 his nose was so red. On the table lay his blotting- 
 pad, and on it, clean and spotless, was the book 
 destined to receive his epic poem. 
 
 Phillis touched the Divine Bard lightly on the 
 shoulder. 
 
 VOL. I. R
 
 242 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 He thought it was Jane ; stretched, yawned, 
 -relapsed, and then awoke, fretful, like a child of five 
 months. 
 
 VGive me 'the tea,' he grumbled. 'Too sweet 
 again, I daresay, like yesterday.' 
 
 * No sugar at all in it, Mr. Cornelius.' 
 
 He sprang into consciousness at the voice. 
 
 ' My dear Miss Fleming ! Is it really you ? You 
 have condescended to visit the Workshop, and you 
 find the Labourer asleep. I feel like a sentinel found 
 slumbering at his post. Pray do not think — it is 
 an accident quite novel to me — the exhaustion of 
 continuous effort, I suppose.' 
 
 She looked about the room. 
 
 ' I see books ; I see a table ; I see a blotting-pad ; 
 and — ' She actually, to the Poet's horror, turned 
 over the leaves of the stitched book, with Hum- 
 phrey's ornamental title-page. ' Not a word written. 
 Where is your work, Mr. Cornelius ?' 
 
 ' I work at poesy. That book, Miss Fleming, is 
 for the reception of my great epic when it is com- 
 pleted. Non omnis moriar. There will be found in 
 that blank book the structure of a lifetime. I shall 
 live by a single work, like Homer.' 
 
 ' What is it all about ?' aske'd Phillis. She set 
 the tea on the table and sat down, looking up at the
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. . 243 
 
 Poet, who rose from his easy- chair and made answer, 
 walking up and down the room : 
 
 ' It is called the Upheaving of Alfred. In the 
 darkest moments of Alfred's life, while he is hiding 
 amid the Somersetshire morasses, comes the Spirit 
 of his Career, and guides him in a vision step hy 
 step to his crowning triumphs. Episodes are intro- 
 duced. That of the swineherd and the milkmaid is 
 a delicate pastoral, which I hope will stand side by 
 side with the Daphnis and Chloe. When it is fin- 
 ished, would you like me to read you a few cantos ?' 
 
 ' No, thank you very much,' said Phillis. ' I 
 think I know all that I want to know about Alfred. 
 Disguised as a neatherd, he took refuge in Athelney, 
 where one day, being set to bake some cakes by the 
 woman of the cottage, he became so absorbed in his 
 own meditations that — I never thought it a very 
 interesting story.' 
 
 ' The loves of the swineherd and the milkmaid — ' 
 the Poet began. 
 
 'Yes,' Phillis interrupted, unfeelingly. 'But I 
 hardly think I care much for swineherds. And if I 
 had been Alfred I should have liked the stupid story 
 about the cakes forgotten. Can't you write me some 
 words for music, Mr. Cornelius ? Do, and I will 
 sing them to something or other. Or write some
 
 244 THE GOLDEN BUTTEKFLY. 
 
 verses on subjects that people care to hear about, as 
 Wordsworth did. My guardian used to read Words- 
 worth to me.' 
 
 ' Wordsworth could not write a real epic,' said 
 Cornelius. 
 
 ' Could he not ? Perhaps he preferred writing 
 other things. Now I must carry Mr. Humphrey his 
 tea. Good-bye, Mr. Cornelius ; and do not go to 
 sleep again.' 
 
 Humphrey too was asleep on his sofa. Kaffaelle 
 himself could not have seemed a more ideal painter. 
 The very lights of the afternoon harmonised with the 
 purple hue of his velvet coat, the soft brown silki- 
 ness of his beard, and his high pale forehead. Like 
 his brother, Humphrey spoiled the artistic effect by 
 that unlucky redness of the nose. 
 
 The same awakening was performed. 
 
 * I have just found your brother,' said Phillis, 
 ' at work on Poetry.' 
 
 'Noble fellow, Cornelius !' murmured the Artist. 
 ' Always at it. Always with nose to the grindstone. 
 He will overdo it some day.' 
 
 'I hope not,' said Phillis, with a gleam in her 
 eye. ' I sincerely hope not. Perhaps he is stronger 
 than he looks. And what are you doing, Mr. Hum- 
 phrey r
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 245 
 
 * You found me asleep. The bow stretched too 
 long must snap or be unbent.* 
 
 ' Yes,' said Phillis ; * you were exhausted with 
 work.' 
 
 * My great picture — no, it is not on the canvas,' 
 for Philis was looking at the bare easel. 
 
 'Where is it, then ? Do show it to me.' 
 *When the groups are complete I will let you 
 criticise them. It may be that I shall learn some- 
 thing from an artless and unconventional nature like 
 your own.' 
 
 * Thank you,' said Phillis. ' That is a compliment, 
 I am sure. What is the subject of the picture ?' 
 
 * It is the " Birth of the Renaissance." An 
 allegorical picture. There will be two hundred and 
 twenty-three figures in the composition.' 
 
 ' The '' Birth of the Renaissance," ' Phillis 
 mused. * I think I know all about that. " On the 
 taking of Constantinople in the year 1433, the 
 dispersed Greeks made their way to the kingdoms of 
 the West, carrying with them Byzantine learning 
 and culture. Italy became the chosen home of these 
 exiles. The almost simultaneous invention of print- 
 ing, coupled with an outburst of genius in painting 
 and poetry, and a new-born thirst for classical know- 
 ledge, made up what is known by the name of the
 
 246'- THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 Renaissance." That is what my guardian told me 
 one night. I think that I do not want to see any" 
 picture on that subject. Sit down now and draw me 
 a girl's face.' 
 
 He shook his head. 
 
 ' Art cannot be forced,' he replied. 
 
 ' Mr. Humphrey,'— her eyes began to twinkle, — 
 ' when you have time — I should not like to force 
 your Art, but when you have time — paint me a little 
 group : yourself, Mr. Cornelius, and Caesar in the 
 morning walk. You may choose for the moment of 
 illustration either your going into or your coming out 
 of the Carnarvon Arms ; when you intend to have or 
 when you have had your little whack.' 
 
 She laughed and ran away. 
 
 Humphrey sat upright, and gazed at the door 
 through which she fled. Then he looked round 
 helplessly for his brother, who was not there. 
 
 ' Little whack !' he murmured. ' Where did she 
 learn the phrase ? And how does she know that — 
 Caesar could not have told her.' 
 
 He was very sad all the evening, and opened his 
 heart to his brother when they sought the Studio at 
 nine, an hour earlier than usual. 
 
 * I wish she had not come,' he said ; ' she makes 
 unpleasant remarks.'
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 247 
 
 * She does ; she laughed at my epic to-day.' 
 The Poet, who sat in a dressing-gown, drew the 
 cord tighter round his waist, and tossed up his head 
 with a gesture of indignation. 
 
 'And she laughed at my picture.* 
 
 ' She is dangerous, Humphrey.' 
 
 ' She watches people when they go for a morning 
 walk, Cornelius, and makes allusion to the Carnarvon 
 Arms and to afternoon naps.' 
 
 'If, Humphrey, we have once or twice heen 
 obliged to go to the Carnarvon Arms — ' 
 
 ' Or have been surprised into an afternoon nap, 
 Cornelius — ' 
 
 ' That is no reason why we should be ashamed 
 to have the subjects mentioned. I should hope that 
 this young lady would not speak of Us — of You, 
 brother Humphrey, and of Myself — save with rever- 
 ence.' 
 
 ' She has no reverence, brother Cornelius.' 
 
 'Jane certainly tells me,' said the Poet, 'that a 
 short time ago she brought Mr. Konald Dunquerque, 
 then a complete stranger, to my room, when I hap- 
 pened by the rarest accident to be asleep, and showed 
 me to him.' 
 
 ' If one could hope that she was actuated only 
 by respect ! But no, I hardly dare to think that.
 
 248 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 Then, I suppose, she brought her visitor to the 
 Studio.' 
 
 'Brother Humphrey, we always do the same 
 thing at the same time.' 
 
 'Mutatis mutandis, my dear Cornelius. I de- 
 sign, you write ; I group, you clothe your concep- 
 tions in undying words. Perhaps we both shall live. 
 It was on the same day that she drew the sketch of 
 me asleep.' Humphrey's mind was still running on 
 the want of respect. ' Here it is.' 
 
 * Forsitan hoc nomen nostrum iniscehitur illis/ 
 resumed the Poet, looking at the sketch. ' The child 
 has a wonderful gift at catching a likeness. If it 
 were not for the annoyance one might feel pleased. 
 The girl is young and pretty. If our years are 
 double what they should be, our hearts are half our 
 years.' 
 
 ' They are. We cannot be angry with her.' 
 
 ' Impossible.' 
 
 ' Dear little Phillis' — she was a good inch taller 
 than either of the Twins, who, indeed, were exactly 
 the same height, and it was five feet four — ' she is 
 charming in spite, perhaps on account, of her faults. 
 Her property is in the Funds, you said, Cornelius ?' 
 
 ' Three-per-cents. Fifty thousand pounds — fifteen 
 hundred a year ; which is about half what Joseph
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 249 
 
 pays income-tax upon. A pleasant income, brother 
 Humphrey.' 
 
 *Yes, I daresay.' Humphrey tossed the ques- 
 tion of money aside. *You and I, Cornelius, are 
 among the few who care nothing about three-per- 
 cents. What is money to us ? what have we to do 
 with incomes ? Art, glorious Art, brother, is our 
 mistress. She pays us, not in sordid gold, but in 
 smiles, in gleams of a heaven not to be reached by 
 the common herd, in skies of a radiance visible 
 only to the votary's eye.' 
 
 Cornelius sighed response. It was thus that the 
 brothers kept up the sacred flame of artistic enthu- 
 siasm. Pity that they were compelled to spend 
 their working hours in subjection to sleep instead of 
 Art. Our actions and our principles are so often at 
 variance that their case is not uncommon. 
 
 Then they had their first split soda ; then they 
 lit their pipes ; for it was ten o'clock. Phillis was 
 gone to bed ; Joseph was in his own room ; the fire 
 was bright and the hearth clean. The Twins sat at 
 opposite sides, with the ' materials' on a chess-table 
 between them, and prepared to make the usual night 
 of it. 
 
 * Cornelius,' said Humphrey, ' Joseph is greatly 
 changed since she came.'
 
 250 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 The Poet sat up and leaned forward, with a nod 
 signifying concurrence. 
 
 ' He is, Humphrey ; now you mention it, he is. 
 And you think — ' 
 
 ' I am afraid, Cornelius, that Joseph, a most 
 thoughtful man in general, and quite awake to the 
 responsibilities of his position — ' 
 
 ' It is not every younger son, brother Humphrey, 
 who has two men like ourselves to maintain in a 
 befitting manner. Posterity will reward him.' 
 
 ' Quite so. But I fear, brother Cornelius, that 
 Joseph has thought of changing his condition in 
 life.' 
 
 Cornelius turned pale. 
 
 ' He has her to breakfast with him ; she walks 
 to the office with him ; she makes him talk at dinner. 
 Joseph never used to talk with us. He sits in the 
 drawing-room after dinner. He used to go straight 
 to his own room.' 
 
 ' This is grave,' said the Poet. 'You must not, 
 my dear Humphrey, have the gorgeous colouring 
 and noble execution of your groups spoiled by the 
 sordid cares of life. If Joseph marries, you and I 
 would be thrown upon the streets, so to speak. 
 What is two hundred a year ?' 
 
 ' Nor must you, my dear brother, have the delicate
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 251 
 
 fancies of your brain shaken up and clouded by mean 
 and petty anxieties.' 
 
 ' Humphrey,' said the Poet, * come to me in half 
 an hour in the Workshop. This is a time for Action.' 
 
 It was only half-past ten, and the night was but 
 just begun. He buttoned his dressing-gown across 
 his chest, tightened the cord, and strode solemnly 
 out of the room. The Painter heard his foot descend 
 the stairs. 
 
 'Excellent Cornelius,' he murmured, lighting his 
 second pipe ; * he lives but for others.' 
 
 Joseph was sitting as usual before a pile of papers. 
 It was quite true that Phillis was brightening up the 
 life of this hard-working lawyer. His early break- 
 fast was a time of pleasure ; his walk to the office 
 was not a solitary one ; he looked forward to dinner ; 
 and he found the evenings tolerable. Somehow, 
 Joseph Jagenal had never known any of the little 
 agremens of life. From bed to desk, from desk to 
 bed, save when a dinner-party became a necessity, 
 had been his life from the day his articles were 
 signed. 
 
 ' You, Cornelius ?' He looked up from his work, 
 and laid down his pen. * This is unexpected.' 
 
 ' I am glad to find you, as usual, at work, Joseph. 
 We are a hard-working family. You with law-
 
 252 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 books; poor Humphrey and I with — But never 
 mind.' 
 
 He sighed and sat down. 
 
 ' Why poor Humphrey?* 
 
 * Joseph, we were happy before this young lady 
 came.* 
 
 * What has Phillis done ? Why, we were then 
 old fogies, with our bachelor ways; and she has 
 roused us up a little. And again, why poor Hum- 
 phrey ?' 
 
 * We were settled down in a quiet stream of 
 labour, thinking that there would be no change. I 
 see a great change coming over us now.' 
 
 ' What change ?' 
 
 ' Joseph, if it were not for Humphrey I should 
 rejoice. I should say, *' Take her ; be happy in 
 your own way." For me, I only sing of love. I 
 might perhaps sing as well in a garret and on a 
 crust of bread; therefore it matters nothing. It 
 is for Humphrey that I feel. How can that deli- 
 cately-organised creature, to whom warmth, comfort, 
 and ease are as necessary as sunshine to the flower, 
 face the outer world ? For his sake I ask you, 
 Joseph, to reconsider your project, and pause before 
 you commit yourself.' 
 
 Joseph was accustomed to this kind of estimate
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 253 
 
 which one Twin invariably made of the other ; but 
 the reason for making it staggered him. He actu- 
 ally blushed. Being forty years of age, a bachelor, 
 and a lawyer — on all these grounds presumably 
 acquainted with the world and with the sex — he 
 blushed on being accused of nothing more than a 
 mere tendency in the direction of marriage. 
 
 ' This is the strangest whim,' he said. * Why, 
 Cornelius, I am as likely to marry Phillis Fleming as 
 I am to send Humphrey into the cold. Dismiss the 
 thought at once, and let the matter be mentioned no 
 more. Good-night, Cornelius.' 
 
 He turned to his papers again with the look of 
 one who wishes to be alone. These Twins were a 
 great pride to him, but he could not help sometimes 
 feeling the slightest possible annoyance that they were 
 not as other men. Still they were his charge, and in 
 their future glory his own name would play an hon- 
 ourable part. 
 
 ' Good-night, Cornelius. It is good of you to 
 think of Humphrey first. I shall not marry — either 
 the child Phillis Fleming or any other woman.' 
 
 * Good-night, my dear Joseph. You have relieved 
 my mind of a great anxiety. Good-night.' 
 
 Five minutes afterwards the door opened again. 
 
 Joseph looked round impatiently.
 
 254 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 This time it was Humphrey. The light shone 
 picturesquely on his great brown beard, so carefully 
 trimmed and brushed ; on the velvet jacket, in the 
 pockets of which were his hands ; and on his soft 
 large limpid eyes, so full of unutterable artistic per- 
 ception, such lustrous ' passion for colour and for 
 form. 
 
 ' Well, Humphrey !' Joseph exclaimed, with more 
 sharpness than he was wont to display to his brothers. 
 ' Are you come here on the same wise errand as 
 Cornelius ?' 
 
 ' Has Cornelius been with you ?' asked the Painter 
 artlessly. ' What did Cornelius come to you for ? 
 Poor fellow ! he is not ill, I trust. I thought he took 
 very little dinner to-day.' 
 
 ' Tut, tut ! Don't you know why he came here ?' 
 
 ' Certainly not, brother Joseph.' This was of 
 course strictly true, because Cornelius had not told 
 him. Guesses are not evidence. *And it hardly 
 matters, does it ?' he asked, with a sweet smile. 
 * For myself, I come because I have a thing to say.' 
 
 ' Well ? Come, Humphrey, don't beat about the 
 bush.' 
 
 ' It is about Miss — Fleming.' 
 
 *Ah!' 
 
 ' You guess already what I have to say, my dear
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 255 
 
 Joseph. It is this : I have watched the hirth and 
 growth of your passion for this young lady. In 
 some respects I am not surprised. She is certainly 
 piquante as well as pretty. But, my dear Joseph, 
 there is Cornelius.' 
 
 Joseph beat the tattoo on his chair. 
 
 * Humphrey,' he groaned, ' I know all Cornelius's 
 virtues.' 
 
 'But not the fragile nature of his beautifully 
 subtle brain. That, Joseph, I alone know. I tremble 
 to think what would become of that — that delicice 
 musarum, were he to be deprived of the little luxuries 
 which are to him necessities. A poet's brain, Joseph, 
 is not a thing lightly to be dealt with.' 
 
 Joseph was touched at this appeal. 
 
 * You are really, Humphrey, the most tender- 
 hearted pair of creatures I ever saw. Would that all 
 the world were like you ! Take my assurance, if that 
 will comfort you, that I have no thought whatever of 
 marrying Phillis Fleming.' 
 
 ' Joseph,' — Humphrey grasped his hand, — ' this 
 is indeed a sacrifice.' 
 
 ' Not at all,' returned Joseph sharply. * Sacri- 
 fice ? Nonsense ! And please remember, Humphrey, 
 that I am acting as the young lady's guardian ; that 
 she is an heiress ; that she is intrusted to me ; and
 
 256 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 that it would be an unworthy breach of trust if I were 
 even to think of such a thing. Besides which I have 
 a letter from Mr. Lawrence Colquhoun, who is 
 coming home immediately. It is not at all likely 
 that the young lady will remain longer under my 
 charge. Good-night, Humphrey.' 
 
 * I had a thing to say to Joseph,' said. Humphrey, 
 going up to the Workshop, * and I said it.' 
 
 * I too had a thing to say,' said the Poet, ' and I 
 said it.' 
 
 * Cornelius, you are the most unselfish creature 
 in the world.' 
 
 ' Humphrey, you are — I have always maintained 
 it — too thoughtful, much too thoughtful, for others. 
 Joseph will not marry.' 
 
 * I know it ; and my mind is relieved. Brother, 
 shall we split another soda ? It is only eleven.' 
 
 Joseph took up his paper. He neither smoked 
 nor drank brandy-and-soda, finding in his work occu- 
 pation which left him no time for either. To-night, 
 however, he could not bring his mind to bear upon 
 the words before him. 
 
 He to marry ? And to marry Phillis ? The 
 thought was new and startling. He put it from him ; 
 but it came back. And why not ? he asked himself.
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 257 
 
 Why should not he, as well as the rest of mankind, 
 have his share of love and beauty ? To be sure, it 
 would be a breach of confidence, as he told Hum- 
 phrey. But Colquhoun was coming : he was a young 
 man — his own age — only forty ; he would not care to 
 have a girl to look after ; he would — again he put the 
 thought behind him. 
 
 But all night long Joseph Jagenal dreamed a 
 strange dream, in which soft voices whispered things 
 in his ears, and he thrilled in his sleep at the rustle 
 of a woman's dress. He could not see her face, — 
 dreams are always so absurdly imperfect, — but he 
 recognised her figure, and it was that of Phillis 
 Fleming. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 CHAPTEK XIII. 
 
 ' She never yet was foolish that was fair.* 
 
 The days sped on ; but each day, as it vanished, 
 made Phillis's heart sadder, because it brought her 
 guardian nearer, and the second great change in her 
 life, she thought, was inevitable. Think of a girl, 
 brought up a cloistered nun, finding her liberty for a 
 few short weeks, and then ordered back to her white- 
 washed cell. Phillis's feelings as regards Lawrence 
 Colquhoun's return were coloured by this fear. It 
 seemed as if, argument and probability notwithstand- 
 ing, she might be suddenly and peremptorily carried 
 back to prison, without the consolations of a maid, 
 because Antoinette, as we know, would refuse to ac- 
 company her, or the kindly society of poor old Abra- 
 ham Dyson, now lying in a synonymous bosom. 
 
 A short three weeks since her departure from 
 Highgate ; a short six weeks since Mr. Dyson's 
 death ; and the world was all so different. She 
 looked back on herself, with her old ideas, contemp- 
 tuously. ' Poor Phillis !' she thought, ' she knew so
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 259 
 
 little.' And as happens to every one of us, in every 
 successive stage of life, she seemed to herself now to 
 know everything. Life without the sublime conceit 
 of being uplifted, by reason of superior inward light 
 and greater outward experience, above other men, 
 would be but a poor thing. Phillis thought she had 
 the Key to Universal Knowledge, and that she was 
 on the high-road to make that part of her life which 
 should begin in two years' time easy, happy, and 
 clear of pitfalls. From the Archbishop of Canterbury 
 to Joe the crossing-sweeper, we all think in exactly 
 the same way. And when the ages bring experience, 
 and experience does not blot out memory, we recall 
 our old selves with a kind of shame — wonder that we 
 did not drop into the snare, and perish miserably ; 
 and presently fall to thanking God that we are rid of 
 a Fool. 
 
 A fortnight. Phillis counted the days, and drew 
 a historical record of every one. Jack came three 
 times : once after Mrs. Cassilis's dinner ; once when 
 he took her to the Tower of London ; and once — I 
 have been obliged to omit this third visit — when he 
 sat for his portrait, and Phillis drew him full length, 
 leaning against the mantelshelf, with his hands in 
 his pockets — not a graceful attitude, but an easy one, 
 and new to Phillis, who thought it characteristic.
 
 260 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 She caught Jack's cheerful spnit too, and fixed it by 
 a touch in the gleam of his eye. Mrs. Cassilis came 
 foxu' times, and on each occasion took the girl for a 
 drive, bought something for her, and sent the bill to 
 Joseph Jagenal. On each occasion, also, she asked 
 particularly for Lawrence Colquhoun. There were 
 the little events with the Twins which we have re- 
 corded ; and there were walks with Csesar about the 
 square. Once Joseph Jagenal took her to a picture- 
 gallery, where she wanted to stay and copy every- 
 thing ; it was her first introduction to the higher 
 Art, and she was half delighted, half confused. If 
 Art critics were not such humbugs, and did not pre- 
 tend to feel what they do not, they might help the 
 world to a better understanding of the glories of pain- 
 ters. As it is, they are the only people, except 
 preachers, to whom unreal gush is allowed by gods 
 and men. After all, as no Art critic of the modern 
 unintelligible gush-and-conceit school can paint or 
 4raw, perhaps if they were not to gush and pile up 
 Alpine heaps of words they would be found out for 
 shallow v/ind-bags. The ideal critic in Art is the 
 great Master who sits above the fear of rivalry or the 
 imputation of envy ; in Literature it is the great 
 writer from whom praise is honour and dispraise the 
 admonition of a teacher ; in the Drama, the man who
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 261 
 
 himself has moved the House with his words, and 
 can afford to look on a new rising playwright with 
 kindliness. 
 
 Phillis in the Art Gallery was the next best critic 
 to the calm and impartial Master. She was herself 
 artist enough to understand the difficulties of art; 
 she had that intense and real feeling for form and 
 colour which Humphrey Jagenal affected ; and her 
 taste in Art was good enough to overmaster her 
 sympathy with the subject. Some people are ready 
 to weep at a tragical subject, however coarse the daub, 
 just as they weep at the fustian of an Adelphi melo- 
 drama ; Phillis was ready to weep when the treat- 
 ment and the subject together were worthy of her 
 tears. It seems as if she must have had her nature 
 chilled ; but it is not so. 
 
 Time, which ought to be represented as a loco- 
 motive engine, moved on, and brought Lawrence 
 Colquhoun at length to London. He went first to 
 Joseph Jagenal's office, and heard that his ward was 
 in safe-keeping with that very safe solicitor. 
 
 * It was difficult,' Joseph explained, ' to know 
 what to do. After the funeral of Mr. Dyson, she was 
 left alone in the place, with no more responsible per- 
 son than a housekeeper. So, as soon as the arrange- 
 ment could be made, I brought her to my own house.
 
 262 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 Three old bachelors might safely, I thought, be 
 trusted with the protection of a young lady.' 
 
 ' I am much obliged to you,' said Colquhoun. 
 ' You have removed a great weight off my mind. 
 What sort of a girl is she ?' 
 
 Joseph began to describe her. As he proceeded 
 he warmed with his subject, and delineated a young 
 lady of such passing charms of person and mind that 
 Colquhoun was terrified. 
 
 * My dear Jagenal, if you were not such a steady 
 old file, I should think you were in love with her.' 
 
 * My love-days are over,' said the man of convey- 
 ances. * That is, I never had any. But you will 
 find Phillis Fleming everything that you can desire. 
 Except, of course,' he added, ' in respect to her edu- 
 cation. It certainly is awkward that she does not 
 know how to read.' 
 
 ' Not know how to read ?' 
 
 * * * #• * * 
 
 * And so, you see,' said the lawyer, completing the 
 story we know already, * Mr. Dyson's property will 
 go into Chancery, because Phillis Fleming has never 
 learned to read, and because we cannot find that 
 chapter on the Coping-stone.' 
 
 'Hang the Coping-stone !' ejaculated Colquhoun. 
 ' I think I will go and see her at once. "Will you
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 263 
 
 let me dine with you to-night ? And will you add 
 to my obligations by letting her stay on with you till 
 I can arrange something for her.' 
 
 * What do you think of doing T 
 
 * I hardly know. I thought, on the voyage, that 
 I would do something in the very superior lady-com- 
 panion way for her. To tell the truth, I thought it 
 was a considerable bore — the whole thing. But she 
 seems very different from what I expected, and perhaps 
 I could ask my cousin, Mrs. L'E strange, to take her 
 into her own house for a time. Poor old Dyson ! It 
 is twelve years ago since I saw him last, soon after 
 he took over the child. I remember her then, a 
 solemn little thing, with big eyes, who behaved 
 prettily. She held up her mouth to be kissed when 
 she went to bed, but I suppose she won't do that now.' 
 
 * You can hardly expect it, I think,' said Joseph. 
 'Abraham Dyson talked all the evening about 
 
 his grand principles of Female Education. I was 
 not interested, except that I felt sorry for the poor 
 child who was to be an experiment. Perhaps I ought 
 to have interfered as one of her trustees. I left the 
 whole thing to him, you see, and did not even 
 inquire after her welfare.' 
 
 'You two were, by some curious error of judg- 
 ment, as I take it, left discretionary trustees. As he
 
 264 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 is dead, you have now the care of Miss Fleming's 
 fifty thousand pounds. Mr. Dyson left it in the 
 funds, where he found it. As your legal adviser, 
 Mr. Colquhoun, I strongly recommend you to do the 
 same. She will be entitled to the control and man- 
 agement of it on coming of age, but it is to be 
 settled on herself when she marries. There is no 
 stipulation as to trustees' consent. So that you only 
 have the responsibility of the young^ lady and her 
 fortune for two years.' 
 
 It was twelve o'clock in the day. Colquhoun 
 left the office, and mads his way in the direction of 
 Carnarvon-square. 
 
 As he ascended the steps of Number Fifteen, the 
 door opened and two young men appeared. One was 
 dressed in a short frock, with a flower in his button- 
 hole ; the other had on a velvet coat, and also had a 
 flower : one was shaven ; the other wore a long and 
 silky beard. Both had palefaces and red noses. As 
 they looked at the stranger and passed him down the 
 steps, Colquhoun saw that they were not so young 
 as they seemed to be ; there were crowsfeet round 
 the eyes ; and their step had lost a little of its 
 5'outhful buoyancy. He wondered who they were, 
 and sent in his card to Miss Fleming. 
 
 He was come then, this new guardian. Phillis
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 265^ 
 
 could not read the card, but Jane, the maid, told 
 her his name. 
 
 He was come; and the second revolution was 
 about to begin. Instinctively Phillis's first thought 
 was that there would be no more walks with Jack. 
 Dunquerque. Why she felt so it would be hard to 
 explain, but she did. 
 
 She stood up to welcome him. 
 
 She saw a handsome young-looking man, with 
 blue eyes, clear red and white complexion, regular 
 features, a brown beard, and a curious look of lazi- 
 ness in his eyes. They were eyes which showed a 
 repressed power of animation. They lit up at sight 
 of his ward, but not much. 
 
 He saw a girl of nineteen, tall, slight, and 
 shapely; a girl of fine physique; a girl whose 
 eyes, like her hair, were brown ; the former were 
 large and full, but not with the fulness of short- 
 sight ; the latter was abundant, and was tossed up 
 in the simplest fashion, which is also the most 
 graceful. Lawrence the lazy felt his pulse quicken 
 a little as this fair creature advanced, with perfect 
 grace and self-possession, to greet him. He noticed 
 that her dress was perfect, that her hands were small 
 and delicate, and that her head was shaped, save for 
 the forehead, which was low and broad, like that of
 
 266 THE GOLDEN BUTTEEFLY. 
 
 some Greek statue. The Greeks knew tlie perfect 
 shape of the head, but they made the forehead too 
 narrow. If you think of it, you will find that the 
 Venus of Milo would have been more divine still had 
 her brows been but a little broader. 
 
 ' My ward ?' he said. * Let us make acquaint- 
 ance, and try to like each other. I am your new 
 guardian.' 
 
 Phillis looked at him frankly and curiously, let- 
 ting her hand rest in his. 
 
 ' When I saw you last — it was twelve years ago 
 —you were a little maid of seven. Do you remember ?' 
 
 ' I think I do ; but I am not quite sure. Are 
 you really my guardian ?' 
 
 *I am indeed. Do I not look like one? To 
 be sure, it is my first appearance in the character.' 
 
 She shook her head. 
 
 *Mr. Dyson was so old,' she said, 'that I sup- 
 pose I grew to think all guardians old men.' 
 
 ' I am only getting old,' he sighed. ' It is not 
 nice to feel yourself going to get old. Wait twenty 
 years, and you will begin to feel the same perhaps. 
 But though I am thirty years younger than Mr. 
 Dyson, I will try to treat you exactly as he did.' 
 
 Phillis's face fell, and she drew away her hand 
 sharply.
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 267 
 
 * !' she cried. * But I am afraid that will not 
 do any more.' 
 
 * VHiy, Phillis — I may call you Phillis since I am 
 your guardian, may I not ? — did he treat you badly ? 
 Why did you not write to me ?' 
 
 'I did not write, Mr. Colquhoun — if you call 
 me Phillis, I ought to call you Lawrence, ought I 
 not, because you are not old ? — I did not write be- 
 cause dear old Mr. Dyson treated me very kindly, 
 and because you were away and never came to see 
 me, and because I — I never learned to write.' 
 
 By this time Phillis had learned to feel a little 
 shame at not being able to write. 
 
 ' Besides,' she went on, * he was a dear old man, 
 and I loved him. But you see, Lawrence, he had 
 his views — ^Joseph Jagenal calls them crotchets — 
 and he never let me go outside the house. Now I 
 am free I do not like to think of being a prisoner 
 again. If you try to lock me up, I am afraid I 
 shall break the bars and run away.' 
 
 ' You shall not be a prisoner, PhilUs. That is 
 quite certain. We shall find something better than 
 that for you. But it cannot be very lively, in this 
 big house, all by yourself.' 
 
 *Not very lively; but I am quite happy 
 here.'
 
 268 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 * Most young ladies read novels to pass away the 
 time.' 
 
 * I know, poor things.' Phillis looked unutter- 
 able sympathy. ' Mr. Dyson used to say that the 
 sympathies which could not be quickened by history 
 were so dull that fiction was thrown away upon 
 them.' 
 
 * Did you never — I mean, did he never read you 
 novels ?' 
 
 She shook her head. 
 
 * He said that my imagination was quite powerful 
 enough to be a good servant, and he did not wish it 
 to become my master. And then there was some- 
 thing else, about wanting the experience of life 
 necessary to appreciate fiction.' 
 
 * Abraham Dyson was a wise man, P^iillis. But 
 what do you do all day ?' 
 
 * I draw ; I talk to my maid Antoinette ; I give 
 the Twins their breakfast — ' 
 
 * Those were the Twins — Mr. Jagenai's elder bro- 
 thers — whom I met on the steps, I suppose ? I 
 have heard of them. A2:)res, Phillis ?' 
 
 * I play and sing to myself ; I go out for a walk 
 in the garden of the square ; I go to Mr. Jagenai's 
 office, and walk home with him ; and I look after 
 my wardrobe. Then I sit and think of what I have
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 269 
 
 seen and heard — put it all away in my memory, or 
 I repeat to myself over again some of the poetry 
 which I learned at Highgate.' 
 
 * And you know no young ladies ?' 
 
 * No ; I wish I did. I am curious to talk to 
 young ladies — quite young ladies, you know, of my 
 own age. I want to compare myself with them, and 
 find out my faults. You will tell me my faults, 
 Lawrence, will you ?' 
 
 * I don't quite think I can promise that, Phillis. 
 You see, you might retaliate ; and if you once begin 
 telling me my faults, there would be no end.' 
 
 ' 0, I am sorry !' Phillis looked curiously at her 
 guardian for some outward sign or token of the old 
 Adam. But she saw none. * Perhaps I shall find 
 them out some time, and then I will tell you.' 
 
 * Heaven forbid !' he said, laughing. * Now, 
 Phillis, I have been asked to dine here, and I am 
 going to be at your service all day. It is only one 
 o'clock. What shall we do, and where shall we go ?' 
 
 * Anywhere,' she replied, ' anywhere. Take me 
 into the crowded streets, and let me look at the 
 people and the shops. I like that best of anything. 
 But stay and have luncheon here first.' 
 
 They had luncheon. Colquhoun confessed to 
 himself that this was a young lady calculated to do
 
 270 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 him the greatest credit. She acted hostess with a 
 a certain dignity which sat curiously on so young a 
 girl, and which she had learned from presiding at 
 many a luncheon in Mr. Dyson^s old age among his 
 old friends, when her guardian had become too in- 
 firm to take the head of his own table. There was, 
 it is true, something wanting. Colquhoun's practised 
 eye detected that at once. Phillis was easy, graceful, 
 and natural. But she had not — the man of the world 
 noticed what Jack Dunquerque failed to observe — 
 she had not the unmistakable stamp of social tone 
 which can only come by practice and time. The ele- 
 ments, however, were there before him ; his ward was 
 a diamond which wanted but a little polish to make 
 her a gem of the first water. 
 
 After luncheon they talked again ; this time with 
 a little more freedom. Colquhoun told her all he 
 knew of the father who was but a dim and distant 
 memory to her. ' You have his eyes,' he said, * and 
 yoa have his mouth. I should know you for his 
 daughter.' He told her how fond this straight rider, 
 this Nimrod of the hunting-field, had been of his 
 little Phillis ; how one evening after mess he told 
 Colquhoun that he had made a will, and appointed 
 him, Lawrence, with Abraham Dyson, the trustees 
 of his little girl.
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 271 
 
 *I have been a poor trustee, Phillis,' Lawrence 
 concluded. ' But I was certain that you were in 
 good hands, and I let things alone. Now that I 
 have to act in earnest, you must regard me as your 
 friend and adviser.' 
 
 They had such a long talk that it was past four 
 when they went out for their walk. Phillis was 
 thoughtful and serious, thinking of the father whom 
 she lost so early. Somehow she had forgotten, at 
 Highgate, that she once had a father. And the 
 word mother had no meaning for her. 
 
 Outside the house Lawrence looked at his com- 
 panion critically. 
 
 * Am I properly dressed ?' she asked, with a 
 smile, because she knew that she was perfectly 
 dressed. 
 
 At all events, Lawrence thought he would have 
 no occasion to be ashamed of his companion. 
 
 * Let me look again, Phillis. I should like to 
 give you a little better brooch than the one you have 
 put on.' 
 
 * My poor old brooch ! I cannot give up my 
 old friend, Lawrence.' 
 
 She dropped quite easily into his Christian 
 name, and hesitated no more over it than she did 
 with Jack Dunquerque.
 
 '272 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 He took her into a jeweller's shop, and bought 
 her a few trinkets. 
 
 * There, Phillis, you can add those to your jewel- 
 box.' 
 
 * I have no jewels.' 
 
 ' No jewels ? Where are your mother's ?' 
 
 * I believe they are all in the Bank, locked up. 
 Perhaps they are with my money.' 
 
 Phillis's idea of her fifty thousand pounds was, 
 that the money was all in sovereigns, packed away in 
 a box and put into a bank. 
 
 ' Well, I think you ought to have your jewels 
 out, at any rate. Did Mr. Dyson give you any 
 money to spend ?' 
 
 ' No ; and if he had I could not have spent it, 
 because I never went outside the house. Lawrence, 
 give me some money, and let me buy something all 
 by myself.' 
 
 He bought her a purse, and filled it with two or 
 three sovereigns and a handful of silver. 
 
 * Now you are rich, Phillis. What will you buy?' 
 
 * Pictures, I think.' 
 
 In all this great exhibition of glorious and beau- 
 tiful objects there was only one thing which Phillis 
 j^'ished to buy — pictures. 
 
 * Well, let us buy some photographs.'
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 278 
 
 They were walking down Oxford-street, and 
 presently they came to a photograph-shop. Proud 
 of her newly-acquired wealth, Phillis selected about 
 twenty of the largest and most expensive. Col- 
 quhoun observed that her taste was good, and that she 
 chose the best subjects. When she had all that she 
 liked, together with one or two which she bought for 
 Jack, with a secret joy surpassing that of buying for 
 herself, she opened her purse and began to wonder 
 how she was to pay. 
 
 *Do you think your slender purse will buy all 
 these views ?' Colquhoun asked. ' Put it up, Phillis, 
 and keep it for another time. Let me give you these 
 photographs.' 
 
 * But you said I should buy something.' The 
 words and action were so childish that Lawrence felt 
 a sort of pity for her. Not to know how to spend 
 money seemed to lazy Lawrence, who had done 
 nothing else all his life, a state of mind really de- 
 plorable. It would mean in his own case absolute 
 deprivation of the power of procuring pleasure, either 
 for himself or for any one else. 
 
 * Poor little nun ! Not to know even the value of 
 money.' 
 
 *But I do. A sovereign is tvventy shillings, and 
 a shilling is twelve pence.* 
 
 VOL. I. ' T
 
 274 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 * That is certainly true. Now you shall show 
 that you know the value of money. There is a 
 beggar. He is going to tell us that he is hungry ; 
 he will probably add that he has a wife and twelve 
 children, all under the age of three, in his humble 
 home, and that none of them have tasted food for a 
 week. What will you give him ?' 
 
 Phillis paused. How should she relieve so much 
 distress? By this time they were close to the 
 beggar. He was a picturesque rogue in rags and 
 tatters and bare feet. Though it was a warm day 
 he shivered. In his hand he held a single box of 
 lights. But the fellow was young, well fed, and 
 lusty. Lawrence Colquhoun halted on the pavement, 
 and looked at him attentively. 
 
 ' This man,' he explained to Phillis, ' can get 
 for a penny a small loaf ; twopence will buy him a 
 glass of ale ; sixpence a dinner; for ten shillings he 
 could get a suit of working clothes — which he does 
 not want, because he has no intention of doing any 
 work at all ; a sovereign would lodge and feed him 
 for a fortnight, if he did not drink.* 
 
 ' I should give him a sovereign,' said Phillis. 
 'Then he would be happy for a week.' 
 
 * Bless your ladyship,' murmured the beggar. * I 
 would get work. Gawd knows, if I could.'
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 275 
 
 * I remember this fellow,' said Colquhoun, ' for 
 six years. He is a sturdy rogue. Best give no- 
 thing to him at all. Gome on, Phillis. We must 
 look for a more promising subject.' 
 
 ' Poor fellow !' said Phillis, closing her purse. 
 
 They passed on, and the beggar-man cursed 
 audibly. I believe it is Mr. Tupper, in his Proverbial 
 Philosophy, who explains that what a beggar most 
 wants, to make him feel happier, is sympathy. Now 
 that was just what Phillis gave, and the beggar-man 
 only swore. 
 
 Colquhoun laughed. 
 
 ' You may keep your pity, Phillis, for some one 
 who deserves it better. Now let us take a cab and 
 go to the Park. It is four years since I saw the 
 Park.' 
 
 It was five o'clock. The Park was fftller than 
 when he saw it last. It grows more crowded year 
 after year, as the upward pressure of an enriched 
 multitude makes itself felt more and more. There 
 was the usual throng about the gates of those who 
 come to look for great people, and like to tell whom 
 they recognised, and who were pointed out to them. 
 There were the pedestrians on either side the road ; 
 civilians after office hours ; bankers and brokers from 
 the City ; men up from Aldershot ; busy men hasten-
 
 •276 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 ing home ; loungers leaning on the rails ; curious 
 colonials gazing at the carriages ; Frenchmen trying 
 to think that Hyde Park cannot compare with the 
 Bois cle Boulogne ; Germans mindful of their mighty 
 army, their great sprawling Berlin, the gap of a 
 century between English prosperity and Teutonic 
 militarism, and as envious as philosophy permits; 
 Americans owning that New York, though its women 
 are lovelier, has nothing to show beside the Park at 
 five on a spring afternoon, — all the bright familiar 
 scene which Colquhoun remembered so well. 
 
 ' Four years since I saw it last,' he repeated to 
 the girl. * I suppose there will be none of the faces 
 whom I used to know.' 
 
 He was wrong. The first man who greeted him 
 vras his old Colonel. Then he came across a man 
 he had known in India. Then one whom he had 
 last seen, a war-correspondent, inside Metz. Then 
 a man with whom he once visited Cashmere. He 
 shook hands with one, nodded to another, and made 
 appointments with all at his club. And as each 
 passed, he told something about him to his ward. 
 
 ' That is my old Colonel — your father's brother- 
 officer. The most gallant fellow who ever commanded 
 a regiment. As soon as you are settled, I should 
 like to bring him to see you. That is Macnamara of
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 277 
 
 the London Herald — a man you can't get except in 
 England. That is Lord Blandish ; we were together 
 np-country in India. He wrote a book about his 
 adventures in Cashmere. I did not.* 
 
 It was a new world to Phillis. All these car- 
 riages; these people; this crowd — who were they? 
 
 * They are not like the faces I see in the streets,' 
 she said. 
 
 * No. Those are faces of men who work for bread. 
 These are mostly of men who work not at all, or they 
 work for honour. There are two or three classes of 
 mankind, you know, Phillis.* 
 
 ' Servants and masters ?' 
 
 *Not quite. You belong to the class of those 
 who need not work — this class. Your father knew all 
 these people. It is a happy world in its way — in its 
 way,' he repeated, thinking of certain shipwrecks he 
 had known. 'Perhaps it is better to have to work. 
 I do not know. Phillis, who — ' He was going to ask 
 who was bowing to her, when he turned pale, and 
 stopped suddenly. In the carriage which was passing 
 within a foot of where they stood was a lady whom he 
 knew — Mrs. Cassilis. He took off his hat, and Mrs. 
 Cassilis stopped the carriage and held out her hand. 
 
 * How do you do, Phillis dear ? Mr. Colquhoun, I 
 am glad to see you back again. Come as soon as you
 
 278 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 can and see me. If you can spare an afternoon as 
 soon as you are settled, give it to me — for auld lang 
 syne.* 
 
 The last words were whispered. Her lips trem- 
 bled, and her hand shook as she spoke. And Law- 
 rence's face was hard. He took off his hat and drew 
 back ; Phillis did not hear what he said. But Mrs. 
 Cassilis drove on, and left the Park immediately. 
 
 * Mrs. Cassilis trembled when she spoke to you, 
 Lawrence.' It was exactly what a girl of six would 
 have said. 
 
 * Did she, Phillis ? She was cold perhaps. Or 
 perhaps she was pleased to see old friends again. So 
 you know her ?' 
 
 ' Yes. I have dined at her house ; and I have 
 been shopping with her. She does not like me, I 
 know; but she is kind. She has spoken to me about 
 you.' 
 
 * So you know Mrs. Cassilis ?' he repeated. * She 
 does not look as if she had any trouble on her mind, 
 does she ? The smooth brow of a clear consc ience — 
 Phillis, if you have had enough of the Park, I think 
 it is almost time to drive you home.' 
 
 Lawrence Colquhoun dined at Carnarvon-square. 
 The Twins dined at their club ; so that they had the 
 evening to themselves, and could talk.
 
 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 279 
 
 * I have made up my mind,' Lawrence said, ' to 
 ask my cousin to take charge of you, Phillis. Agatha 
 L'Estrange is the kindest creature in the world. Will 
 you try to like her if she consents ?' 
 
 * Yes, I will try. But suppose she does not like 
 me?' 
 
 ' Everybody likes you. Miss Fleming,' said 
 Joseph. 
 
 * She is sure to like you,' said Lawrence. ' And 
 I will come over often and see you ; we will ride to- 
 gether if you like. And if you would like to have 
 any masters or lessons in anything — ' 
 
 * I think I should like to learn reading,' Phillis 
 remarked meditatively. * Mr. Abraham Dyson used 
 to say' — she held up her finger, and imitated the 
 manner and fidgety dogmatism of an old man — 
 ' " Heading breeds a restless curiosity, and engen- 
 ders an irreverent spirit of carping criticism. Any 
 jackanapes who can read thinks himself qualified to 
 judge the afi'airs of the nation. Reading indeed !'» 
 But I think I should like after all to do what every- 
 body else can do.' 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
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