CHAPTER XVI.

I was not sorry to be once again fairly settled in Lowndes Street. Even in the winter London has its charms. People don't watch everything you do or carp at everything you say. If there is more apparent constraint, there is more real liberty than in the country. Besides, you have so much society, and everybody is so much pleasanter in the metropolis during December than July. The frost had set in again harder than ever. Brilliant and White Stockings, like "Speir-Adam's steeds," were compelled to "bide in stall." John was lingering at the Lloyds or elsewhere in the Principality, though expected back every day. Aunt Deborah was still weak, and had only just sufficient energy to forbid Captain Lovell the house, and insist on my never speaking to him. I can't think what she had found out or what Aunt Horsingham had told her; but this I know, that if ever I have a daughter, and I don't want her to like Mr. Dash, or to be continually thinking about him, I shall not forbid her to speak to him; nor shall I take every opportunity of impressing on her that he is wild, unprincipled, reckless, and dissipated, and that the only redeeming points about him are his agreeable conversation and his good looks. Altogether, I should have been somewhat dull had it not been for Mrs. Lumley; but of that vivacious lady I saw a good deal, and I confess took a far greater pleasure in her society than on our first acquaintance I should have esteemed possible. When I am ill at ease with myself, not thoroughly satisfied with my own conduct, I always like the society of fast people; their liberality of sentiment and general carelessness of demeanour convey no tacit reproach on my own want of restraint, and I feel more at home with them than with such severe moralists as Aunt Horsingham or hypocritical Cousin Amelia. So I drove and shopped and visited with Mrs. Lumley—nay, I was even permitted as a great favour to dine with her on one or two occasions, Aunt Deborah only stipulating that there should be no male addition to the party except Mr. Lumley himself, or, as the lady of the house termed him, "her old man."

I confess I liked the "old man," and so I think in her own way did his wife. Why she married him I cannot think, more particularly as he had not then succeeded to the comfortable fortune they now enjoy: he was little, old, ugly, decrepit, and an invalid, but he was good nature and contentment personified. I believe he had great talents—for all his want of physical beauty he had a fine head—but these talents were wholly and unsparingly devoted to one pursuit: he was an entomologist. With a black beetle and a microscope he was happy for the day. Piles upon piles of manuscripts had he written upon the forms and classification of the bluebottle fly. He could tell you how many legs are flourished by the house-spider, and was thoroughly versed in the anatomy of the common gnat. This pursuit, or science as he called it, engrossed his whole attention. It was fortunate he had such an absorbing occupation, inasmuch as his general debility prevented his entering into any amusement out of doors. His wife and he seemed to understand each other perfectly.

"My dear," he would say when listening to some escapade that it would have been scarcely prudent to trust to most husbands' ears, "I never interfere with your butterflies, and you never trouble yourself about mine. I must, however, do myself the justice to observe that you get tired of your insects infinitely the soonest of the two."

He never inquired where she went or what she did, but late or early always received her with the same quiet welcome, the same sly, good-humoured smile. I firmly believe that with all her levity, whatever scandal might say, she was a good wife to him. He trusted her implicitly; and I think she felt his confidence deserved to be respected. Such was not the opinion of the world, I am well aware; but we all know the charitable construction it is so eager to put on a fair face with a loud laugh and a good set of teeth. Dear me! if he looked for a lady that had never been talked about, Caesar might have searched London for a wife in vain. Good Mr. Lumley professed a great affection for me, and would occasionally favour me with long and technical dissertations on the interior economy of the flea, for example; and once in the fullness of his heart confided to his wife that "Miss Coventry was really a dear girl; it's my belief, Madge, that if she'd been a man she'd have been a naturalist." These little dinners were indeed vastly agreeable. Nobody had such a comfortable house or such a good cook or so many pretty things as Mrs. Lumley. Her "old man" seemed to enjoy the relaxation of ladies' society after his morning labours and researches. With me he was good-humoured and full of fun; at his wife's jokes and stories, most of them somewhat scandalous, he would laugh till he cried.

"I'm responsible for you, Miss Coventry," he would say with a sly laugh. "You're not fit to be trusted with Madge; upon my life, I believe she is the wildest of the two. If you won't have the carriage, I must walk back with you myself.—How far is it, Madge? Do you think I can stay the distance, as you sporting people term it in your inexplicable jargon?"

"Why, you know you can't get a hundred yards, you foolish old man," laughed his wife. "A nice chaperon you'd make for Kate. Why, she'd have to carry you, and you know you'd tumble off even then. No, no; you and I will stay comfortably here by the fire, and I'll give you your tea and put you tidily to bed. I shan't be home any other night this week. Kate has a convoy coming for her;—haven't you, Kate?—Le beau cousin will take the best possible care of us; and even prim Aunt Deborah won't object to our walking back with him. I believe he came up from Wales on purpose. What would somebody else give to take the charge off his hands?—You needn't blush, Kate; I can see through a millstone as far as my neighbours. I'm not quite such a fool as I look;—am I, 'old man'?—There's the doorbell.—John, ask Mr. Jones if he won't step up and have some tea." We were sitting by a blazing fire in the boudoir, a snug and beautiful little room, to which no one was admitted but the lady's especial favourites; even the "old man" never entered it during the day.

"Mr. Jones's compliments, and he hopes you'll excuse him, ma'am," was the footman's answer on his return; "but it's very late, and he promised to bring Miss Coventry back by eleven."

"Well, I'm sure," said Mrs. Lumley, "if I was you, Kate, I shouldn't stand his anticipating his authority in this way. Never mind; be a good girl, and do as you're bid—pop your bonnet on. Shall I lend you an extra shawl? There, you may give my 'old man' a kiss, if you like. Bless him! he's gone fast asleep. Good-night, Kate; mind you come to luncheon to-morrow, there's a dear." So saying, Mrs. Lumley bid me a most affectionate farewell; and I found myself leaning on John's arm, to walk home through the clear frosty night.

I do like perambulating London streets by gaslight—of course with a gentleman to take care of one. It is so much pleasanter than being stewed up in a brougham. How I wish it was the fashion for people to take their bonnets out to dinner with them, and walk back in the cool fresh air! If it is delightful even in winter, how much more so in the hot summer nights of the season! Your spirits rise and your nerves brace themselves as you inhale the midnight air, with all its smoky particles, pure by comparison with that which has just been poisoning you in a crowded drawing-room. Your cavalier asks leave to indulge in his "weed," and you enjoy its fragrance at second-hand as he puffs contentedly away and chats on in that prosy, confidential sort of manner which no man ever succeeds in assuming, save with a cigar in his mouth. John lit his, of course, but was less communicative, to my fancy, than usual. After asking me if I had "enjoyed a pleasant evening," and whether "I preferred walking," he relapsed into a somewhat constrained silence. I too walked on without speaking. Much as I love the night, it always makes me rather melancholy; and I dare say we should have got to Lowndes Street without exchanging a syllable, had not some imp of mischief prompted me to cross-examine my cousin a little upon his sejour in Wales, and to quiz him half spitefully on his supposed penchant for pretty Fanny Lloyd. John rose freely in a moment.

"I know where you pick up all this nonsense, Kate," he burst out quite savagely; "I know where half the scandal and half the mischief in London originates! With that odious woman whose house we have just quitted, whose tongue cannot be still for a single moment; who never by any chance speaks a word of truth, and who is seldom so happy as when she is making mischief. I pity that poor decrepit husband of hers, though he ought to keep her in better order; yet it is a hard case upon any man to be tied to such a Jezebel as that."

"The Jezebel, as you call her, John," I interposed quietly, "is my most intimate friend."

"That's exactly what I complain of," urged my cousin; "that's my great objection to her, Kate; that's one of the things that I do believe are driving me out of my senses day by day. You know I don't wish you to associate with her; you know that I object extremely to your being seen everywhere in her company. But you don't care: the more I expostulate the more obstinate and wilful you seem to become."

It is my turn to be angry now.

"Obstinate and wilful indeed!" I repeated, drawing myself up. "I should like to know what right you have to apply such terms to me! Who gave you authority to choose my society for me, or to determine where I shall go or what I shall do? You presume on your relationship, John; you take an ungenerous advantage of the regard and affection which I have always entertained for you."

John was mollified in an instant.

"Do you entertain regard and affection for me, Kate?" said he; "do you value my good opinion and consider me as your dearest and best friend?"

"Of course I do, John," was my reply. "Haven't we known each other from childhood, and are you not like a brother to me?"

John's face fell a little and his voice shook as he spoke. "Am I never to be more than a brother to you—never to obtain a greater interest in you, a larger share of your regard than I have now? Listen to me, Kate; I have something to tell you, and I can put it off no longer. This delay, this uncertainty day by day, I do believe will drive me mad. Kate, I promised Aunt Deborah faithfully that I would never enter on this subject till you came of age, and you know by your father's will you don't come of age till you're five-and-twenty. 'By that time, John,' said my aunt, 'Kate will have seen plenty of others, and be old enough to know her own mind. If she takes you then, she takes you with her eyes open, and she won't get tired of you and find out she likes some one else better. Promise me, John, that you'll wait till then.' And I did promise, Kate; but I can't keep my word—I can't wait in this state of anxiety and uncertainty, and perhaps lose you after all. It's too great a stake to play for if one is to be kept so long in suspense, and I have resolved to be put out of my pain one way or the other."

John paused. I had never seen him so excited before. He was quite hot, though the night was keen and frosty; his arm trembled as mine leant upon it; and though his cigar was gone out, he kept puffing away, utterly unconscious of the fact. He seemed to expect an answer. I hesitated; I did not know what to reply. I had got so accustomed to Cousin John that I never looked upon him in any other light than that of a favourite brother, a constant companion and friend. Moreover, I was not prepared to take any such decisive step as that to which he now seemed to be urging me. There is a great difference between liking people and giving them power of life and death over one for the rest of one's days. I will not say that the image of another did not rise before me in all its winning beauty as I had seen it last, scarcely one short week ago. Altogether I did not know what to say; so I wisely said nothing, but walked on, looking straight before me, with an uncomfortable feeling that I was driven into a corner, and should ere long be compelled to do that which is always distasteful to our liberty-loving sex—namely, to "make up my mind."

John too walked on for a few paces in silence. We were at the corner of Lowndes Street. There was not a soul to be seen but our two selves. All at once he stopped short under the light of a lamp and looked me full in the face.

"Kate," said he, in a grave, deliberate voice, "you know what I mean—Yes or No?"

I shook like a leaf. What would I have given to have been able to take counsel of one of my own sex—Mrs. Lumley, Aunt Deborah, or even cold, pitiless Lady Horsingham! But I had to choose for myself. I felt that the turning-point of my destiny had arrived—that the game was in my own hand, and that now I ought to decide one way or the other. I shrank from the responsibility. Like a very woman, I adopted a middle course.

"Give me time, John," I pleaded—"give me time to weigh matters over in my own mind. This is an affair that equally concerns the happiness of each of us. Do not let us decide in a hurry. Aunt Deborah was quite right: her wishes ought to be my law. When I am five-and-twenty it will be soon enough to enter on this subject again. In the interval, believe me, John, I have the greatest regard and esteem for you."

"Nothing more, Kate," said John, looking as if he didn't know whether he was pleased or annoyed—"nothing but esteem?"

"Well, I mustn't say any more," was my reply; "but you know you have that."

John's face brightened considerably. "And in the meantime, Kate," he urged, "you won't allow yourself to be entangled with any one else?"

"Of course not," was my vigorous disclaimer; and by this time we had arrived at my aunt's door, and it was time to say good-night.

"What's the matter, Kate?" exclaimed Mrs. Lumley, when I called to lunch with her the following day, according to promise. "You look pale and worried. For goodness' sake tell me what has happened. Have you found out the rover transferring his adoration to Miss Molasses? or did mon cousin take advantage of the hour and the opportunity to lecture us last night on our love of admiration and general levity of conduct? Tell me all about it, dear. We shan't be disturbed. I'm not 'at home' to a soul; and my old man is busy dissecting an earwig, so he's quite safe till dinner-time. Sit you down on the sofa, out with your pocket-handkerchief, and make a clean breast of it!"

I told her the whole of my conversation with my cousin the previous night, only suppressing the unflattering opinions he had thought fit to express of my present confidante. "And oh, Mrs. Lumley," I exclaimed as I concluded, "how could I sleep a wink last night, with all this to harass and reproach me? No wonder I'm pale and worried and perfectly miserable. I feel I'm behaving shamefully to John, and not at all rightly towards Captain Lovell. I know I ought to come to an understanding with my cousin, and that Frank ought to be more explicit with me. I couldn't have given a decided answer last night if my life had depended on it. I can't give up the one without knowing exactly whether he means honestly (if I thought he did, Mrs. Lumley, nothing should induce me to throw him over); and I don't like to make the other miserable, which I am sure I should do if I refused him point-blank; nor do I think I could do at all well without him, accustomed as I have been to depend upon him for everything from childhood. So I have wavered and prevaricated, and behaved disingenuously, almost falsely; and what must he think of me now?"

"Think of you, my dear?" replied my worldly friend; "why, of course, he thinks of you more than ever. There is nothing like uncertainty, Kate, to keep them well up to the collar. You should always treat men like the beasts of the field. If you want to retain the upper hand of him, ride an adorer as you do Brilliant, my dear—a light hand, with just enough liberty to make him fancy he is going quite at his ease; and then, when he is getting a little careless and least expects it, give him such a jerk as makes his fine mouth smart again. He'll wince with the pain, and very likely rear straight on end; but he'll be all on his haunches well under control, and go on much the pleasanter during the rest of the day. Never mind how much they suffer; it's very good for them, and they will like you all the better for it."

"That may answer very well with some," I replied, "but I should be afraid to try the experiment too often. I am sure Brilliant would break away altogether if I used him so. And I think the very man that minds it most would be the least likely to stand a repetition of such treatment. No, Mrs. Lumley; I fear I must now choose between Frank and my cousin. The latter has behaved honourably, considerately, and kindly, and like a thorough gentleman. The former seems to think I am to be at his beck and call, indeed, whenever he chooses. He has never been to see me during the whole of this past week. At Dangerfield he was as little careful of my reputation as he was of his own limbs. Did I tell you how nearly drowned he was, crossing the moat? How you would have laughed, you wicked, unfeeling woman, if you had heard the splash that cold, snowy night! And then to disguise himself like a tramp, and stop those runaway ponies at the risk of his life, that he might speak three words to me before I went away. I will say for him that he is afraid of nothing; but I cannot conceal from myself which has behaved best towards me. And yet, Mrs. Lumley," I concluded, rising and walking off to the window, "I would rather have Frank for a lover than Cousin John for a husband."

"Many people would suggest there was no impossibility in your having both; but I don't give such bad advice as that," replied Mrs. Lumley. "However, Kate, do nothing in a hurry—that's my counsel. I grant you, I think Master Frank a very slippery gentleman. I do know some curious stories about him; but I never tell tales out of school. In the meantime you are, after all, only suffering from an embarras de richesses; it's far better to have too many suitors than none at all. Come, I'll take you out shopping with me till five; then we'll have some tea, and you can go home quietly to dinner and ask Aunt Deborah's leave to join me at the French play. I've got a capital box, and I'll send the carriage for you. Wait half a second, whilst I put on my bonnet."

So we went off shopping, and we had our tea, and I found no objections from Aunt Deborah to my going out again in the evening; and I was so restless I did not the least grudge the trouble of dressing, or anything to take me away from my own thoughts. But all the afternoon and all the evening I made up my mind that I would give up Frank Lovell. A little resolution was all that was needed. It was plain he did not really care for me. Why, he wasn't even in London, though he knew quite well I had been there more than a week. Very likely I shouldn't see him all the winter, and my heart sank as I thought how much easier this would make my sacrifice. At all events, I determined, when I did see him, to be cold, and demure, and unmoved—to show him unmistakably that I belonged to another; in which Spartan frame of mind I betook myself to the French play.

Alas, alas! Well may the bard complain,—

"Woman's vows are writ in water; Woman's faith is traced in sand."

Who should be in the back of the box but Frank Lovell himself! Mischievous Mrs. Lumley, was this your doing? Before I went away I had promised to meet him next morning in the park, and he was to explain all.



CHAPTER XVII.

I hope I have as much command of countenance as falls to the lot of any lady who don't paint; but when I returned from my walk in the Park the following morning I must have looked flushed or excited, or in some way different from usual. I met John at the corner of Lowndes Street, and he stopped short, and looked me piercingly in the face.

"Where have you been, Kate?" said he, without waiting to bid me "good-morning" or anything.

"A little stroll in the Park, John," was my reply.

"By yourself?" he asked, and his face looked pale and grave.

I cannot tell a story, so I hesitated and stammered,—

"No, not exactly—at least I met an acquaintance near the Serpentine."

"Have you any objection to telling me who it was?" said John, and his voice sounded very strange.

"Good gracious! what's the matter?" I asked, in my turn. "Has anything happened? Are you ill, John? you look quite upset."

"I insist upon knowing," answered he, without taking the slightest notice of my tender inquiries after his health.

"Did you or did you not meet Captain Lovel this morning in Hyde Park?"

"Yes, I certainly did meet him," I replied.

"Accidentally?" exclaimed my cousin.

"Why—no—not entirely," was my answer; "but the fact is——"

"Enough!" burst out John, breaking in upon my explanations with a rudeness I had never before seen him exhibit. "Kate, I have been deceived in you. I thought at least you were candid and straightforward: I find you faithless, ungrateful, ungenerous! But I will not reproach you," he added, checking himself by a strong effort: "it is only natural, I conclude, for a woman to be false. I thought you were different from the rest, and I was a fool for my pains. Kate, let us understand each other at once. I offered you last night all that man could give. I had a right to expect an answer then and there. I thought I had a favourable one, and I have spent twelve hours of happiness. I now see that I have deceived myself. Perhaps I value my own worth too highly; I own I feel sore and aggrieved, but you shall not be the sufferer. Kate, I am only 'Cousin John' once more. Give me a few days to get over a natural disappointment, and you and I will be friends and playfellows as we used to be. Shake hands, Kate: I spoke harshly, in a moment of anger; it is over now. God bless you, dear!"

And with these words John walked away, and left me standing on that eventful doorstep which seemed to witness all the changes and chances of my life. How stately was his walk as he strode down the street! I watched him all the way to the corner, but he never once looked back. John was grown much handsomer of late; he used to be too ruddy and prosperous-looking and boyish, but his countenance had altered considerably in the last two or three months—only, seeing him every day, I did not remark the change. Lady Scapegrace had found it out the first. I perfectly remember her saying to me, on the day of our Greenwich dinner,—

"My dear, your cousin has a great deal in him, if one did but know how to get it out. You have no idea what a good-looking man he would be, if you could only succeed in making him ill and unhappy."

Poor John! I am afraid I had made him unhappy, even now. It struck me he had a nobler bearing than Captain Lovell himself; although, of course, I could not think him so graceful, or so handsome, or half so charming as my dear Frank. I rushed into the house and locked myself in my boudoir, to think over and dwell upon the many events of that most eventful morning—my happy walk, my delightful companion, whose soft voice was still whispering in my ear, whose every look and gesture I could recall, even to the wind freshening his handsome brow and waving his clustering locks. How happy and contented I felt by his side! And yet, there was a something. I was not satisfied; I was not thoroughly at ease; my cousin's face would intrude itself upon my thoughts. I could not get out of my head the tone of manly kindness and regret in which he had last addressed me. I reflected on his sincerity, his generosity, his undeviating fidelity and good-humour, till my heart smote me to think of all he suffered for my sake; and I began to wonder whether I was worthy of being so much cared for, and whether I was justified in throwing all this faith and truth away.

Reader, have you ever lived for weeks and weeks in a place which bored you to death? Have you learned to loathe every tree and shrub and hedge-row in the dreary landscape? Have you shivered up and down the melancholy walks, and yawned through the dull, dark rooms, till you began to think the hour never would arrive that was to restore you once again to liberty and light? And then, when the hour has come at last, have you been able to take your departure without some half-reproachful feeling akin to melancholy—without some slight shade of regret to think that much as you have hated it, you look upon it all now for the last time? Perhaps the sun breaks out and shines upon the old place as you catch your last glimpse. Ah! it never used to shine like that when you could see it from those windows every day; you almost wish your departure had been put off till the morrow; you think if you were back again, the walks would not be so very melancholy, the rooms no longer so dull and gloomy. You sigh because you are leaving it, and wonder at yourself for doing so. It is the same thing with friends, and more especially with those who would fain assume a tenderer title: we never know their value but by their loss.

"If it wasn't for Frank," I began to think, "I really believe I might have been very happy with Cousin John. Of course, it's impossible now; and, as he says himself, he'll never be anything but a cousin to me. Poor John! he's a noble, true-hearted, unselfish, generous fellow."

But to return to my walk. When a lady and gentleman meet each other by appointment, either at the edge of the Serpentine or elsewhere, their conversation is not generally of a nature to be related in detail, nor is it to be presumed that their colloquy would prove as interesting to the general public as to themselves. What I learnt of Frank's private history, his views, feelings, and intentions, on that morning, I may as well give in my own words, suppressing divers interruptions, protestations, and interjections, which, much as they added to its zest, necessarily rather impeded the course of the narrative, and postponed its completion till long after I ought to have been back at luncheon.

Frank had been an only child, and spoiled as only children are in nine cases out of ten. His father was a peer's second son, and married a wealthy cotton-spinner's niece for the sake of her money, which money lasted him about as long as his own constitution. When he died, the widow was left with ten thousand pounds and the handsome, curly-pated, mischievous boy. She soon followed her husband. Poor thing, she was very fond of him, and he had neglected her shamefully. The boy went to his uncle—the peer, not to his uncle the mill-owner—to be brought up. Frank was consequently what the world calls a "well-bred one;" his name was in the Peerage, though he had a first cousin once removed who was but an industrious weaver. The peer, of course, sent him to Eton.

"Ten thousand pounds," said that judicious relative, "will buy him his commission. The lad's handsome and clever; he can play whist now better than my boy's private tutor. By the time his ten thousand's gone, we'll pick up an heiress for him. 'Gad! how like my poor brother he is about the eyes!"

So Frank was started in life with a commission in the Light Dragoons, an extremely good opinion of himself, and as much of his ten thousand pounds as he had not already anticipated during the one term he spent at Oxford before he was rusticated. By the way, so many of my partners, and other young gentlemen with whom I am acquainted, have gone through this process, that it was many years before I understood the meaning of the term. For long I understood rustication to be merely a playful form of expression for "taking a degree;" and I was the more confirmed in this impression from observing that those who had experienced this treatment were spoken of with high respect and approbation by their fellow-collegians.

What odd creatures young men are! I can understand their admiring prowess in field-sports and athletic pursuits, just as I could understand one's admiring a statesman, an author, an artist, or a successful man in any pursuit of life; but why they should think it creditable to get drunk, to run into debt, to set at defiance all the rules and regulations enacted for their own benefit, and to conduct themselves in unswerving opposition to the wishes of their nearest and dearest friends, and all to do themselves as much harm as possible, is more than I can comprehend. Girls are not wrong-headed like this. Where the son is the source of all the annoyance, and ill-humour, and retrenchment in a family, the daughter is generally the mainstay, and comfort, and sunshine of the whole house. When shall we poor women be done justice to? But to return to Frank. By his own account he was a gambler, of course. A man turned loose upon the world, with such an education as most English gentlemen deem befitting their sons, and without means to indulge the tastes that education has led him to acquire, is very likely to become so.

As a boy, the example of his elders teaches him to look upon frivolous distinction as a great end and aim of life, whilst that of his comrades leads him to neglect all study as dry, to despise all application as "slow." At home he hears some good-looking, grown-up cousin, or agreeable military uncle, admired and commented on for being "such a capital shot," "such a good cricket-player," "such an undeniable rider to hounds," what wonder the boy grows up thinking that these accomplishments alone are the very essentials of a gentleman? At school, if he makes an effort at distinction in school-hours, he is stigmatized by his comrades as a "sap," and derided for his pursuit of the very object it is natural to suppose he has been sent there to attain. What wonder he hugs idleness as his bosom-friend, and loses all his powers of application in their disuse.

Then come the realities of manhood, for which he is so ill prepared. In the absence of all useful knowledge and practical pursuits, amusement becomes the business of life. Human nature cannot be idle, and if not doing good, is pretty sure to be doing harm. Pleasure, excitement, and fashionable dissipation must be purchased, and paid for pretty dearly, in hard coin of the realm. The younger son, with his ten thousand pounds, must soar in the same flight, must "go as fast" as his elder brother with ten thousand a year. How is it to be done? Why, of course, he must make money, if he can, by betting and play. So it goes on smoothly enough for a time. The Arch-croupier below, they say, arranges these matters for beginners; but the luck turns at last. The capital is eaten into; the Jews are called in; and the young gentleman is ruined. Frank, I think, at this time was in a fair way of arriving pretty rapidly at the customary catastrophe. He had gone through the whole educational process I have described above, had been regularly and systematically "spoilt," was a habitual gambler, and a confirmed "dandy." The ladies all liked him much, and I confess I don't wonder at it. Always good-humoured, never sentimental (I hate a sentimental man), invariably well dressed, with a very good opinion of his own attractions, Frank could make himself agreeable in all societies. He had never been troubled with shyness as a boy, and in his manhood was as "cool a hand" as one would meet with often, even in London. Then he had plenty of courage, which made the men respect him; and, above all, was very good-looking—an advantage which, doubtless, has a certain weight even with our far-sighted and reflective sex.

I never quite made out the rights of his liaison, or whatever people call it, with Lady Scapegrace; nor do I think his own account entirely satisfactory. He assured me that he met her first of all at a masked ball in Paris, that she mistook him for some one else, and confided a great deal to his ears which she would not have entrusted to any one save the individual she supposed him to be; that when she discovered her mistake she was in despair, and that his discretion and respect for her feelings had made her his fast friend for life. I cannot tell how this may be, but that they were great friends I have had reason to know too well. He declared, however, that he looked upon her "quite as a sister." I do not think, though she is always very kind to me, that I should exactly like her for a sister-in-law. I certainly have known Lady Scapegrace do most extraordinary things—such things as no other woman would be permitted to do without drawing down the abuse of the world. If she had been fair, and rosy, and pleasing, people would have scouted her; but she was dark, and stern, and commanding. The world was afraid of her, and it is very true that "in the world one had better be feared than loved." Scandal did not dare say all it thought of Lady Scapegrace; and if she brought Frank Lovell home in her carriage, or went to the opera alone with Count Coquin, or was seen, day after day, perambulating Kensington Gardens arm in arm with young Greenfinch of the Life Guards, instead of shouting and hissing, and, so to speak, pelting her off the stage, the world lifted its fingers to its lips, shrugged up its worldly shoulders, and merely remarked,—

"Always was very odd, poor woman! Hers has been a curious history—little cracked, I think, now—but what a handsome creature she was years ago, when I left school, before you were born, my boy!"

Whatever may have been her carelessness of appearances and levity of manner, I think it was never for an instant supposed that she liked any human being half so much as she hated Sir Guy. Then, again, Sir Guy and Frank were fast friends, almost inseparable. They say Frank kept things right between the ill-assorted pair, and that his good offices had many a time interposed to prevent scenes of abuse and violence such as must have ended in a separation at least. I was not quite clear that Frank's regard for the coach-driving baronet was alone at the bottom of all this friendship. I cannot conceive two men much worse suited to each other; but Frank vowed, when I cross-questioned him on the subject, which I thought I had a right to do, that he was under the greatest possible obligations to Sir Guy, that the latter had even lent him money, and stood by him when such assistance was most valuable; and that he looked upon him as a brother, just as he looked upon her ladyship as a sister. It seems to have been quite a family party altogether. Frank warmed with the topic.

"You will hear me talked about with all sorts of people, Kate," said he, as we took about our twentieth turn, each of which I had protested should be the last; "but the world is so officious and mischief-making, you must never believe a word it says. They know I am ruined, and they choose to decide that I must be making up to some wealthy young lady. As if I was a man to marry for money; as if I cared for anything on earth but one person, and that for the sake of her own dear self alone! You ask me about Miss Molasses; you declare I am continually riding with her, and dancing with her, and what you ladies call 'paying her attention'—that yellow lackadaisical miss! Do you think I would marry her if she had half a million? Do you think I could stand those sentimental airs, that smattering of learning, and affectation of being poetical, and romantic, and blue—I, who have only lately learned what a woman should be, and what a treasure such a woman is? No, no; I have known the whole family from a child; I can't quite stand the lady part of it, but old Molasses is a right good fellow, and one must be civil to them all. No, no, Kate; with my many faults, I am a very different person from what you seem to think. I have my hopes and wishes, certainly, but——"

I can't possibly go on to relate the conclusion of Frank's rhapsody, but he took great pains to convince me that if there was ever a high-principled, pure-minded, much-injured individual, that exemplary character was the gentleman now walking by my side; and I was convinced, but at the same time not exactly satisfied. In thinking over the whole of our conversation, I could gather nothing very definite, nothing that led to any particular result, from it.

One thing was clear to my mind, and that was at all events a gratifying reflection. Frank did not seem to be aware that I had any worldly prospects whatever: it was evident that if he liked me he liked me entirely for myself. I confess I should not wish to be a great heiress; I should always be fancying that it was the "fine eyes of my casket," as the French say, which attracted my admirers, and I could not stand that. No, Frank was not mercenary, I was sure, and if even—why the competency I should be possessed of would be an agreeable surprise. If, indeed! Nothing was clear, nothing was settled. What a fool I was to dwell so upon an uncertainty, to anchor my hopes upon a dream! I was not at all comfortable that afternoon: the more I thought, the more I walked about my boudoir in a state of high fidget and restlessness. One thing, however, was consolatory—the frost was breaking. Already in London it was a decided thaw, and I went to pay Brilliant a visit in the stable.

Now I dare say I shall be considered very bold and unladylike, and unfeminine—that's the word—for owning that I do indeed enjoy paying my favourites a visit in their comfortable quarters. It's worth a good deal to see Brilliant's reception of me when I approach his stable. From the instant I enter his abode and he hears my voice, he begins to move restlessly to and fro, whisking his dear tail, cocking his ears, and pawing up his "litter," till indeed that word alone describes the state to which he reduces his bed; then when I go up to him he lays back his ears with sheer delight, and gives a jump, as if he was going to kick me, and whisks that thin tail about more than ever. I lay my cheek to his smooth soft skin, and he nestles his beautiful head in my arms, and pokes his pretty muzzle into my pockets, and seems to ask for bits of bread and sugar and other delicacies, all of which are conferred upon him forthwith. I am sure he has more sense than a dog, and a great deal more affection than most men. I don't care how slang and "bad style" people may think me, but I feel every one of those strong flat black legs, and look into his hoofs, hind-feet and all, and turn his rug up to see that he has been properly cleaned and treated as he deserves; for I love Brilliant, and Brilliant loves me. It has sometimes been my lot to have an aching heart, as I conclude it is the lot of all here below. Like the rest of my fellow-creatures, I have been stung by ingratitude, lacerated by indifference where I had a right to expect attachment; or, worst of all, forced to confess myself deceived where I had bestowed regard and esteem. When I feel sore and unhappy on any or all of these points, nothing consoles and softens me so much as the affection of a dumb animal, more particularly a horse. His honest grave face seems to sympathize in one's grief, without obtruding the impertinence of curiosity or the mockery of consolation. He gives freely the affection one has been disappointed in finding elsewhere, and seems to stand by one in his brute vigour and generous unreasoning nature like a true friend. I always feel inclined to pour my griefs into poor Brilliant's unintelligent ears, and many a tear have I shed nestling close to my favourite, with my arms round him like a child's round its nurse's neck. That very afternoon, when I had made sure there was no one else in the stable, I leaned my head against Brilliant's firm warm neck, and sobbed, like a fool as I was.



CHAPTER XVIII.

Gentlemen think it right to affect a contempt for stag-hunting, and many a battle have I had with Cousin John when he has provoked me by "pooh-poohing" that exhilarating amusement. I generally get the best of the argument. I put a few pertinent questions to him which he cannot answer satisfactorily. I ask him, "What is your principal object in going out hunting? Is it to learn the habits of the wild animal, or to watch the instinct of the hound that pursues him? Do you enjoy seeing a fox walked to death, as you call it, on a cold scenting day—or do you care for the finest hunting run that ever was seen in a woodland country? Have I not heard you say a hundred times, when questioned as to your morning sport, 'Oh, wretched! hounds never went any pace!—couldn't shake off the crowd—yes, we killed our fox; but the whole thing was dead slow?' or else exclaim, with a face of delight, 'The fastest thing I have seen for years! Eighteen minutes up wind, extra pace! not a soul but myself in the same field with them when they threw their heads up. Fox was back, of course, and we never recovered him, but it was by far the best gallop of the season?' It is evident to me that what you like is riding a good hunter fast over a stiff country—going a turn better than your neighbours, and giving your own skill that credit which is due to the superiority of your horse. You only consider the hounds as a fleeting object at which to ride; the fox as a necessary evil, without which all this 'rasping' and 'bruising' and 'cutting down,' as you call it in your ridiculous jargon, cannot be attained. Why, then, do you waste so much energy, and money, and civility, and 'soft-sawder,' to preserve the vulpine race? Why don't you all hunt with stag-hounds, or, better still, devote yourselves to a drag, when you may gallop and jump and bustle about, and upset your horses, and break your own necks to your heart's content?" To all of which John answers, as men invariably do when they are worsted, that "women can't enter into these things, and I am talking great nonsense about what I don't understand."

However, let him despise "the calf," as he termed it, as much as he liked, I was not going to be stewed up in London, with the wind at south-west, the thermometer 45 deg., and the mud over one's ankles, whilst Brilliant and White Stockings were eating their heads off in the stable, so I took advantage of John's good nature to exact a promise that he would take me down and show me her Majesty's stag-hounds in the field; and on the express stipulation that Mrs. Lumley should join our party, and that we should confine ourselves religiously to the lanes, I was promised the enjoyment of a day's hunting. John did everything I asked him now; he was even kinder than he used to be; but it was a different sort of kindness, and it cut me to the heart.

Still, the idea was enchanting: the Great Western made a delightful cover-hack. We sent our horses on by the early train. The place of meeting was scarcely three miles from the station, so we had time to settle ourselves comfortably in the saddle, and to avoid the fuss and parade of two ladies in their habits stepping out of a first-class carriage into the midst of a metropolitan field. I ran my eye jealously over the brown mare as Mrs. Lumley jogged quietly along by my side, and I confess I had my misgivings whilst contemplating the easy pliant seat and firm graceful figure of her mistress, the strong lengthy frame and beautiful proportions of the mare herself; but then Brilliant felt so light and elastic under me, the day was so soft and fresh, the country air so fragrant, and the dewdrops sparkling so brilliantly on the leafless hedges, that my courage rose with my spirits, and I felt as if I could ride anywhere or do anything in sheer gladness of heart.

"Mr. Jones is very strict," said my companion, taking the brown mare lightly on the curb, and putting her into a canter along a level piece of sward by the roadside; "he declares he only takes charge of us under the solemn promise that there is to be no jumping. For my part, I never do what I am told, Kate; do you?"

"I always do as I like with John," said I; "but then I always like to do what he wishes."

My cousin's sorrowful smile almost brought the tears into my eyes.

"I dare say he's quite right," rejoined Mrs. Lumley. "For my part, I've no nerves left now. If you'll promise not to jump, I'll promise too. What say you, Kate—is it a bargain?"

"Agreed," I replied; and just then a turn in the lane brought us into full view of the meet of her Majesty's stag-hounds.

What a motley assemblage it was! At first I could not catch a glimpse of the hounds themselves, or even the servants, for the crowd, mostly of foot-people, that surrounded them. Where did these queer-looking pedestrians come from? They were not agricultural labourers; they were not townspeople, nor operatives, nor mechanics; they were the sort of people that one never sees except on such an occasion as this. I believe if I was in the habit of attending low pigeon matches, dog fights, or steeplechases, in the "Harrow County," I should recognize most of them enjoying the spectacle of such diversions. One peculiarity I remarked amongst them, with scarcely an exception. Although in the last stage of shabbiness, their clothes had all been once of fashionable texture and good material; but they entirely neglected the "unities" in their personal apparel. A broadcloth coat, much the worse for wear, was invariably surmounted by a greasy cap; whilst he who rejoiced in a beaver, usually battered in at the crown and encircled by a tag of threadbare crape, was safe to have discarded his upper garment, and to appear in his waistcoat and shirt-sleeves. A wiry sweep, in the full uniform of his profession, was by far the most respectable-looking personage of the lot. They clustered round the pack, and seemed to make remarks, more or less sarcastic, amongst themselves. As they opened out a little, I observed a very aristocratic-looking old man, clad in most gorgeous apparel of scarlet and gold, and seated on a remarkably handsome, powerful horse, long and low, with great strength in small compass, and to all appearance quite thoroughbred.

"That's the huntsman," said Mrs. Lumley, who kindly undertook to be my cicerone, for she often enjoyed "a day with the Queen's," and was quite at home here; "he'll be so glad to see me. We're great friends. If you like, Kate, I'll introduce you."

I declined the honour as rather too public. "But," said I, "do tell me who is in that green carriage with its back to us. Is it Prince Albert?" Mrs. Lumley laughed.

"Not exactly, my dear," she replied; "that's the calf! Come a little this way; and when they open the door we shall see him bounce out." So we edged our horses off to a spot at which the foot-people were already beginning to congregate, and sat there quietly anticipating the "enlargement of the deer."

"What are we waiting for now?" I asked at length, when my patience was nearly worn out. "Why don't we begin?"

"The Master of the Buck hounds, of course," replied my cicerone. "He's not come yet. You know, Kate, it's a political appointment, and they generally give it to somebody who hates hunting, and particularly stag-hunting, more than anything; so, of course, he wisely comes as late and goes home as early as he can. But this man is a good sportsman and a thorough gentleman, and very fond of it too, so we shall not have to wait much longer."

In fact, the words were hardly out of her mouth before a carriage-and-four drove up containing three very gentleman-like, good-looking men, "got up" to the utmost extent of hunting splendour, and looking the very personification of that dandyism which Melton engrafted upon London would be likely to produce. When they were mounted, I am obliged to confess that those magnificent animals made Brilliant himself look small. By this time there was great excitement amongst the foot-people; and an official in gold lace, a sort of mounted beadle, riding up with a heavy-thonged whip, cleared a lane at the back of the cart which I had so erroneously imagined to contain the Prince Consort. The doors flew open, and I was all eyes to witness the magnificent sight of "the monarch of the waste" leaping forth into the sunshine, exulting in his freedom. Shall I confess that I was somewhat disappointed?

A neutral-coloured beast, something like a donkey, bundled out in a clumsy, unwilling sort of manner, and on his egress commenced cropping the grass with the utmost sang froid and placidity. My friend the sweep threw his cap at him. He raised his head, shorn of its branching honours, and, after staring about him, trotted quietly off amongst the spectators, closely followed by two well-mounted officials, termed, I believe, "flappers" by disrespectful sportsmen, but whose duty, it appears, is to keep the chase in view till it either beats them off for pace, or leaves them "planted" at some large awkward impediment, the latter obstacle generally presenting itself in about three fields. On this occasion I saw the deer trot quite composedly up to a high thorn fence of at least six feet, and clear it without an effort; whereon its pursuers, looking blandly around for gate or gap, and finding none, prudently returned to their fellow-officials in scarlet and gold lace—I conclude, to report upon their own inefficiency. In the meantime nobody seemed to be in a hurry; there was, indeed, some slight stir among the equestrians; but there was no throwing away of cigars, no drawing of girths and taking up of curb-chains—none of the bustle and confusion created by the departure of a wild fox over a grass country. On the contrary, every one here seemed to know exactly how much time he had to spare. We ladies were naturally the most impatient of the throng. Presently the huntsman looked at his watch, and said something to the noble master, who looked at his, and replied, "I think we may begin."

There was a slight bustle among the "knowing ones;" two or three officers of the Life Guards stole forward a few paces; one of the officials cracked his whip; and ere I knew exactly what had happened, the hounds were streaming away over an adjoining field, "heads up and sterns down," running perfectly mute, but at a pace which would have astonished my old friends of the Heavytop country to no small extent. Several desperate speculators were making frightful efforts for a start. Two of the Life Guardsmen were settled with the hounds, and the third would have been, had he not been "turned over" by an uncompromising flight of rails. Four London dealers and a young Berkshire farmer were flourishing about, determined to show their horses whilst they were fresh; the noble Master and his aristocratic friends were pounding down a lane running parallel to the line of chase. Mrs. Lumley was getting excited, and the Gitana reared straight on end. Brilliant was fighting most disagreeably with his bridle, and John nervously endeavouring to quiet our horses, and prevail on ourselves to submit to his guidance. We did follow him into the lane; but here what a scene of confusion it was! Mild equestrians, much at the mercy of their infuriated steeds; hot foot-people, springing out of the way of the charging squadrons, and revenging themselves for threatened annihilation by sarcastic jeers, not altogether undeserved.

"Give me a lead, sir!" implored a good-looking light-weight—who was evidently not in his usual place, and most anxious to get out of the lane—to a fat, jolly old sportsman in a green coat and brass buttons on a stiff bay horse.

"Certainly, sir," said the good-natured man; and turned his horse short at the fence, closely followed by the gentleman he was so ready to oblige. The bank was rotten and the bay horse unwilling. As might have been expected, the green coat kissed mother earth, whilst his own horse and his pursuer and his pursuer's horse rolled about on the top of him in a most complicated game of all-fours. As they picked each other up, I heard the fat man in green, much to my astonishment, apologizing for the accident with the greatest empressement.

"A thousand pardons, my dear sir! How could I be so clumsy? It might have been a most serious accident!" All of which excuses the aggressor, as was to be expected, received with boundless affability and good-humour. In the meantime we had a beautiful view of the run. The hounds were still streaming away, two fields in front of every one; the huntsman and the two officers going gallantly abreast in their wake. One of them reminded me a little of Frank Lovell. The noble Master, too, had cut in, and was striding along over every obstacle; the London dealers had dropped somewhat in the rear, and the farmer's horse was already completely sobered by the pace. The hounds turned towards us. John entreated us to stop. They crossed the lane under our horses' heads, and taking up the scent in the adjoining pasture, went off again at score—not a soul really with them.

"Flesh and blood can't stand this!" exclaimed Mrs. Lumley as, turning the Gitana short round at a high stile with a foot-board, she landed lightly in the field. "Don't attempt it, Kate!" she screamed out to me, half turning in her saddle. I heard John's voice too, raised in expostulation, but it was too late. I was already in the air. I thought Brilliant never would come to the ground; and when he did touch it, he was so excited with his previous restraint and his present position, that he broke clean away with me. I was a little frightened, but I never lost my nerve. I flew past Mrs. Lumley like an arrow; and though she put the Gitana to her speed, and made my horse more violent still as she thundered close upon his quarters, I was too proud to ask her to give me a pull, and a wicked, jealous feeling rose in my heart that was an excellent substitute for true courage at the time. My horse was almost frantic; but fortunately he knew my voice, and by speaking to him I was able to steady him before we reached the fence. He bounded over it like a deer, and went quite quietly, now that he had nothing before him but the hounds. I had never known till now what it was to ride for myself. Hitherto I had always followed a leader, but henceforth I resolved to enjoy the true pleasure of finding my own way. I looked back. I was positively first, but Mrs. Lumley was not fifty yards behind me, and coming up rapidly.

"Well done, Kate!" said she as we flew our third fence side by side. Still the hounds fleeted on, and I never took my eye off them, but urged my horse in their wake, taking every turn they did, and swerving from nothing. Fortunately, Brilliant was thoroughbred and the fences light, or, even with my weight, such a style of riding must soon have produced fatal results. I shall never go again as well as I did that day; but do what I would I could not shake off Mrs. Lumley. If I lost sight of her for an instant, she was sure to gain a turn upon me, and on one or two occasions she was actually in my front. I felt I could have ridden into a chalk pit, and dared her to follow me with the greatest satisfaction. At last the hounds checked; we stood alone with them; I felt almost delirious with the excitement.

"What an example we have made of the gentlemen, Kate," said Mrs. Lumley, turning the Gitana's head to the wind. "I had no idea you could ride like this."

I did not answer, but I thought "Wait a little, and I'll show you." I felt I hated her, though she was my friend. Again the hounds stooped to the scent; they crossed a deep narrow lane, up which I saw the crowd advancing. I put my horse into his pace.

"You can't go there, Kate," vociferated Mrs. Lumley. "This way; here's a gate in this corner."

I clenched my teeth, and rode straight for the fence. It looked dark and forbidding. I did not see how it was to be done, but I trusted to Brilliant, and Brilliant nearly did it—but not quite. There was a loud crash; one of my pommels gave me an awkward dig in the side. I saw the white star on my horse's forehead shoot below me; and the muddy, gravelly lane seemed to rise in my face and rasp my hands and smear my habit, and get conglomerated with my hair. The horsemen were all round me when I got up. I did not care for my accident; I did not care for being bruised—in fact, I did not know whether I was hurt or not—but my prevailing feeling was one of burning shame and horror as I thought of my dress. To have had a fall amongst all those men! I could have sunk into the earth and thanked it for covering me. But there was no lack of sympathy and assistance. The huntsman pulled up; the noble Master offered me his carriage to go back to London; everybody stopped to tender advice and condolences.

"The lady's had a fall."—"Give the lady some sherry."—"Catch the lady's horse."—"Can we render the lady any assistance?" John, of course, was much distressed and annoyed, but glad to find I was not seriously hurt. Mrs. Lumley only stood aloof and sneered. "I told you not to ride there, Kate," said she; "and what a fall you've had—amongst all these people, too!" She very nearly made me an enemy for life.

I was too much hurt to go on. The stag was taken, as usual, in a large pond about a mile from where I met with my accident; but our party had had enough of hunting for one day. I am sure I had; and I think the Gitana was nearly beat, though her mistress would not confess it. We soon got back to the station, where I washed my face and put myself to rights. After all, I was very little the worse, and everybody said I had "gone like a bird." As we returned to London by the fast train, and I sat in that comfortable, well-cushioned carriage, enjoying the delightful languor of rest after fatigue, I half resolved to devote my whole life to a sport which was capable of affording such thrilling excitement as that which I had so recently enjoyed. I had never been so happy, I thought, in my existence as whilst I was leading the field on my dear Brilliant. It was a pure, wholesome, legitimate excitement; there were no harassing doubts and fears, no wounded feelings and bitter thoughts, no hours and days of suspense and misery to atone for a few short moments of delight. If I was disappointed in other things, could I not devote myself wholly to hunting, and so lead a happy and harmless life? If I had been a man, I should have answered in the affirmative; but I am a woman, and gradually softer thoughts stole over me. A distant vision of a happy home, with home-interests and home-pleasures—others to love, others to care for, besides myself—all a woman's duties, and all a woman's best delights. I shut my eyes and tried to realize the picture. When I opened them again, Mrs. Lumley had gone fast to sleep; but John was watching me with a look of painful attention. He certainly had acquired a very earnest, keen look of late, such as he never used to wear. I do not know what prompted the question, but I could not forbear asking him, in a sort of half-laughing way, "John, if I had broken my neck to-day, what on earth should you have done?"

"Mourned for you as a sister, Kate," he replied gravely, even severely. I did not speak another word the whole way home.



CHAPTER XIX.

"I shall miss you sadly, Kate; but if you enjoy your visit I shall be quite satisfied."

It was Aunt Deborah who spoke. Dear Aunt Deborah! I felt as if I had not been half attentive enough to her lately. I had selfishly been so taken up with my own thoughts and my own schemes that I had neglected my poor suffering relative, and now my heart smote me for my want of consideration. Aunt Deborah had not left the house since our return from Dangerfield. She looked worn and old, but had the same kind smile, the same measured accents as ever. Though she endured a good deal of pain and was kept in close confinement, she never complained: patient and quiet, she had a kind word for every one; and even her maid avowed that "missus's" temper was that of an angel. "Hangel," the maid called it, but it was perfectly true. Aunt Deborah must have had something very satisfactory to look forward to, or she never would have been so light-hearted. One thing I remarked, she was fonder of John than ever.

"I won't go, my dear aunt," was my reply, for my conscience smote me hard. "I won't go; I don't care about it; I had much rather stay and nurse you here."

But Aunt Deborah wouldn't hear of it.

"No, no," said she, "my dear; you are at the right age to enjoy yourself. I don't know much about Scamperley, and I have a far more charitable opinion of Lady Scapegrace than the world in general; but I dare say you will have a pleasant party, and I can trust you anywhere with John."

There it was, John again—always John—and I knew exactly what John thought of me; and it made me thoroughly despise myself. I reflected that if I were John, I should have a very poor opinion of my cousin; I should consider her silly, vacillating, easily deceived, and by no means to be depended upon; more than woman in her weaknesses, and less than woman in her affections. "What a character! and what a contempt he must have for me!"

My cousin called to take me to the railway, and to accompany me as a chaperon on a visit to Sir Guy and Lady Scapegrace, who were, as usual, "entertaining a distinguished party of fashionables at their residence, Scamperley." By the way, what an odd phrase that same "entertaining" always sounds to my ear. When I learn that the Marquis of Mopes has been "entertaining" his friends, the Duke of Drearyshire, Count and Countess Crotchet, Viscount Inane, Sir Simon and Lady Sulkes, the Honourable Hercules Heavyhead, etc., etc., at his splendid seat, Boudoir Castle, I cannot refrain from picturing to myself the dignified host standing on his bald head for the amusement of his immovable visitors, or otherwise, forgetful of his usual staid demeanour, performing ludicrous antics, projecting disrespectful "larks," to woo a smile from those stolid countenances in vain! Sir Guy might be "entertaining," too, in this way, but hardly in any other. What a disagreeable man he was! although I could not help acknowledging his good nature in coming to fetch us from the station himself.

As we emerged from the railway carriage, the first object that greeted my eyes was Sir Guy's great gaudy drag, with its three piebalds and a roan. The first tones that smote on my ear were those of his hoarse harsh voice (how it jarred upon my nerves!) in loud obstreperous welcome.

"Thought you'd come by this train, Miss Coventry," shouted Sir Guy from the box, without making the slightest demonstration of descending; "laid Frank five to two on the event.—Done him again, hey, Frank—I knew what you'd be up to; brought the drag over on purpose. Now then, give us your hand; one foot on the box, one on the roller-bolt, and now you're landed. Jones, my boy, get up behind. I've sent the van for servants and luggage. 'Gad! what a pretty maid you've got. Let 'em go, and sit tight!"

So we rolled smoothly out, the piebalds shaking their harness and trotting merrily along, the roan placed on the off-side, for the purpose of sustaining whatever amount of punishment our charioteer thought fit to inflict.

Behold me, then, seated on the box of Sir Guy Scapegrace's drag! a pretty position for a young lady who, during the last month or two, had been making daily resolutions of amendment as to slang conduct and general levity of demeanour. How I hated myself, and loathed the very sight of him, as I looked at my companion. Sir Guy was redder and fatter than when I had seen him last; his voice was more dissonant, his neckcloth more alarming, his jewellery more prominent, his hat closer shaved and the flower in his mouth less like a flower than ever. How came I there? Why, because I was piqued, and hurt, and reckless. I was capable of almost any enormity. John's manner to me in the train had well-nigh driven me mad. So quiet, so composed, so cold, so kind and considerate, but a kindness and consideration such as that with which one treats a child. He seemed to feel he was my superior; he seemed even to soothe and pity me. I would have given worlds to have spoken frankly out to him, to have asked him what I had done to offend him, even to have brought him back to that topic upon which I felt he would never enter more. But it was impossible. I dared not wound that kind, generous heart again—I dared not trust myself. No, he was only "Cousin John" now; he had said so himself. Surely he need not have given me up quite so easily; surely I was worthy of an effort at least: yet I knew it had been my own fault—though I would not allow it even to myself—and this I believe it was that rankled and gnawed at my heart till I could hardly bear my own identity. It was a relief to do everything I could think of to annoy him. To heap self-contempt on my wicked head, to show him I was reckless of his good opinion as of my own, to lay up a store of agonizing reproaches for the future, to gnash my teeth, as it were, and nerve myself into a savage indifference for the present. Nay, there was even a diabolical pleasure in it. Frank Lovell occupied the seat behind me: at another time I might have been gratified at his near neighbourhood, and annoyed to think he should have been paying so long a visit to Scamperley. I was startled to find how little I cared. He leaned over and whispered to me occasionally, and seemed pleased with the marked encouragement I gave him. After all, I could not help liking Frank very much; and was not my cousin at the back of the coach, to witness all that took place? But Sir Guy would not allow me to be "monopolized," as he called it.

"You've lost your roses sadly in London, Miss Coventry," said he, poking his odious face almost under my bonnet, and double-thonging the off-wheeler most unmercifully. "Never mind; I think a woman looks best when she is pale. Egad, you've more colour now, though. Don't be angry, it's only my way; you know I'm your slave."

"Sir Guy don't mean to be rude," whispered Frank, for I confess I was beginning to get indignant; and the Baronet went on,—

"Do you remember our picnic at Richmond, Miss Coventry, and my promise that if ever you honoured me by taking a place on my coach you should drive? Take hold of 'em now, there's a good girl; you ought to know something about the ribbons, and the next four miles is quite straight, and a dead flat."

I was in that state of mind that I should not have had the least scruple in upsetting the coach and risking the lives of all upon it, my own included; but I know not what imp of evil prompted me to turn round and call to my cousin at the back,—

"John, do you think I could drive four horses?"

"Pray don't," whispered Frank Lovell, who seemed to disapprove of the whole proceeding; but I did not heed him, for my cousin never answered till I asked him again.

"Do as you like, Kate," was his reply, "only I shouldn't advise you to try;" but he looked very grave, and seriously hurt and annoyed.

This was enough for me. I laughed aloud. I was determined to provoke him, and I changed places with Sir Guy. He showed me how to part and hold the reins; he lectured me on the art of putting horses together; he got into a state of high good-humour, and smiled, and swore, and patronized me, and had the effrontery to call me a "d—d fine girl," and I never boxed his ears, though I confess to having been once or twice sorely tempted. In short, I flirted with him shamefully, and even Frank got grave and out of sorts. At last Sir Guy removed the flower from his mouth, and pulled out his cigar-case.

"Have a weed, Miss Coventry!" said he, with his detestable leer. "Of course you smoke; any one who can tool 'em along as you do must be able to smoke. Mine are very mild, let me choose one for you."

I accepted his offer, though I had considerable misgivings as to whether it would not make me sick. I looked round to see how my cousin approved of all these goings on, and particularly this last cigar movement. He was sitting with his back to us, reading the morning newspaper, apparently totally indifferent to my proceedings. That decided me. I would have smoked now if there had been a barrel of gunpowder under my nose. I didn't care how sick it made me! I lit my cigar from Sir Guy's, I suffered him to put his horrid red face close to mine. I flirted, and laughed, and drove, and puffed away as if I had been used to these accomplishments all my life. I rattled through the turnpike without stopping to pay, as if it were a good joke. I double-thonged a sleeping carter over the face and eyes as I passed him. My near leader shied at a wheelbarrow, and I almost swore as I rated him and flanked him, and exclaimed,—

"Confound you, I'll teach you to keep straight!"

As we drove into the Park at Scamperley—for I fearlessly rounded the avenue turn, and vowed I would not abandon the reins till I had delivered my load at the front door—even Frank was completely disgusted. My cousin took not the slightest notice, but kept his seat with his back turned to the horses, and was still deep in his newspaper. Sir Guy was delighted; he shouted, and grinned, and swore more than ever. I was a "trump"—I was a "girl of the right sort"—I was a "well-bred one"—I had no end of "devil" in me—I was fit to be a "queen!" Whilst the object of all these polished encomiums could willingly have burst out crying at a moment's notice; indeed, she would have found it an unspeakable relief; and felt as she had never felt before, and as she trusts in heaven she may never feel again.

It was a lovely spot Scamperley—beautiful as a dream—with the quiet woodland beauty of a real English place. Such timber! Such an avenue! I wonder if any of the sporting dandies and thoughtless visitors who came down "to stay with Scapegrace" because he had more pheasants and better "dry" (meaning champagne) than anybody else ever thought of the many proprietors those old oaks and chestnuts had seen pass away, the strange doings they must have witnessed as generation after generation of Scapegraces lived their short hour and went to their account, having done all the mischief they could, for they were a wild, wicked race from father to son. The present Baronet's childhood was nursed in profligacy and excess. Sir Gilbert had been a fitting sire to Sir Guy, and drank, and drove, and sinned, and turned his wife out-of-doors, and gathered his boon companions about him, and placed his heir, a little child, upon the table, and baptized him, in mockery, with blood-red wine; and one fine morning he was found dead in his dressing-room, with a dark stream stealing slowly along the floor. They talked of "broken blood-vessels," and "hard living," and "a full habit;" but some people thought he had died by his own hand; and the dressing-room was shut up and made a lumber-room of, and nobody ever used it any more. However, it was the only thing to save the family. A long minority put the present possessor fairly on his legs again, and the oaks and the chestnuts were spared the fate that had seemed too surely awaiting them. Nor was this the only escape they had experienced. A Scapegrace of former days had served in the Parliamentary army during his father's lifetime; had gone over to the king at his death; had fought at Edgehill and Marston Moor—and to do Sir Neville justice, he could fight like a demon; had abandoned the royal cause when it was hopeless, and, by betraying his sovereign, escaped the usual fate and amercement of malcontent—the Protector remarking, with a certain solemn humour, "that Sir Neville was an instrument in the hand of the Lord, but that Satan had a share in him, which doubtless he would not fail to claim in due time." So Sir Neville lived at Scamperley in abundance and honour, and preserved his oaks and his rents, and professed the strictest Puritanism; and died in a fit brought on by excessive drinking to the success of the Restoration, when he heard that Charles had landed, and the king was really "to enjoy his own again." He was succeeded by his grandson Sir Montague, the best-looking, the best-hearted, and the weakest of his race. There was a picture of him hanging over against the great staircase—a handsome, well-proportioned man, with a woman's beauty of countenance, and more than womanly softness of expression. Lady Scapegrace and I have stopped and gazed at it for hours.

"He's not very like the present Baronet, my dear," she would say, her haughty features gathering into a sneer—and Lady Scapegrace's sneer was that of Mephistopheles himself; "he is beautiful, exceedingly. I love to look at his hazel eyes, his low antique brow, his silky chestnut hair, and his sweet melancholy smile. Depend upon it, Kate, no man with such a smile as that is ever capable of succeeding in any one thing he undertakes. I don't care what his intellect may be, I don't care what animal courage he may possess, however dashing his spirit, however chivalrous his sentiments—so surely as he has woman's strength of affection, woman's weakness of heart, so surely must he go to the wall. I have seen it a hundred times, Kate, and I never knew it otherwise."

Since the affair of the bull Lady Scapegrace had contracted a great affection for me, and would have me to roam about the house with her for hours. She was a clever, intellectual woman, without one idea or sentiment in common with her husband. In this state of mental widowhood she had consoled herself by study, amongst other things; and the history of the family into which she had married afforded her ample materials for reflection and research. She had collected every scrap of writing, every private memorandum, letter, and document that could throw any light upon the subject; and I verily believe she could have concocted a highly interesting volume, detailing the exploits and misdeeds, the fortunes and misfortunes, of the Scapegraces.

"I know all about him, Kate," she would proceed, fixing her great hollow eyes upon my face, and laying her hand on my arm, as was her habit when interested. "He is my pet amongst the family, though I despise him thoroughly. You see that distant castle, sufficiently badly painted, in the corner of the picture? That was the residence of her who exercised such a fatal influence over the life of poor Sir Montague. All his little sonnets, some of them touching and pretty enough, are addressed to 'The Lady Mabel.' I have found two or three of his love-letters, probably returned by her, tied up in a faded bit of ribbon; there is also one note from the lady to her admirer; such a production, Kate! Not a word but what is misspelt, not a sentence of common grammar in the whole of it; and yet this was the woman he broke his heart for! Look well at him, my dear, and you will see why. With all its beauty, such a face as that was made to be imposed upon. The Lady Mabel, however, seems to have been a notable strong-minded personage enough. She acknowledges the receipt of her lover's letters; which, however, without condescending to give any further explanation, she avers 'came to hand at an untoward moment,' and finishes by sending him a receipt for making elderflower wine—assuring him, with a certain sly malice, that it is 'a sovereign specific against colic, vertigo, and all ailments of the heart and stomach!' What a contrast to his protestations endorsed, 'These, with haste—ride—ride—ride!' which many a good horse must have been spurred and hurried to deliver. How he rings the changes upon his unalterable and eternal devotion! How he implores 'his dear heart' never to forget him! and calls her 'his sweet life,' and protests that 'he welcomes the very night-breeze blowing from the castle, because it must have swept past the windows of his love!' and pours out his foolish heart like a child pouring water into a sieve. Lady Mabel, however, seems to have been proof against sentiment, as she undoubtedly was against good looks. From all that I can gather, she appears to have made use of her adorer in furtherance of sundry political schemes, such as were so numerous at that period, and to have thrown him away, like a rusty blade, when she had no further occasion for his services. I cannot help thinking she despised him thoroughly. There are certain bills and memoranda, with his signature attached, relating to levies of men and great purchases of arms, which look as if he had plunged into some desperate enterprise, doubtless at her instigation; and in his sonnets there are frequent allusions to 'winning her by the sword,' 'loving her to the death,' and such Quixotic protestations, that look as if he had at one time meditated an unusually daring stroke. He was a fool," said Lady Scapegrace reflectively, "but he was a fine fellow, too, to throw wealth, life, and honour at the feet of a woman who was not worth a throb of that kind, generous heart, a drop of that loyal, gallant blood!

"Then he married, I can't quite make out why, as there is a considerable gap in the correspondence of the family about this time, only partially connected by the diary of an old chaplain, who seems to have been formerly tutor to Sir Montague, and to have cherished a great regard for his pupil. The lady was a foreigner and a Romanist; and although we have no picture of her, we gather from the reverend chronicler that she was 'low of stature, dark-browed, and swarthy in complexion,' though he gallantly adds that she was 'doubtless pleasing to the eyes of those who loved such southern beauty.' At the wedding it appears that Lady Mabel was present; and 'my good master's attire and ornaments,' consisting of 'peach-coloured doublet, and pearl-silken hose, and many gems of unspeakable price, dazzling to the sight of humble men,' are detailed with strange minuteness and fidelity. Even the plume in his hat and the jewelled hilt of his rapier are dwelt upon at considerable length. But notwithstanding his magnificence, the worthy chaplain did not fail to remark that 'my good master seemed ill at ease, and the vertigo seizing him during the ceremony, he must have fallen had I not caught him something cunningly under the arm-pits, assisted by worthy Master Holder and one of the groomsmen.' The chaplain, who seems to have been as blind as became his reverend character, cannot forbear from expressing his admiration of the Lady Mabel, whom he describes as 'fair and comely in colour, like the bloom of the spring rose; of a buxom stature, and of a lofty gait and gestures withal.' What was she doing at Sir Montague's wedding? No wonder the old attack of 'vertigo,' which her elderflower wine seems rather to have increased, should have come on again.

"One thing is pretty clear, the Baronet detested his wife (the Scapegraces have generally owned that amiable weakness, my dear). I think it must have been in consequence of her religion that he became so strenuous a supporter of the opposite faith. At last he joined Monmouth, and still the correspondence seems to have gone on, for the night before Sedgmoor he wrote her a letter. Such a letter, Kate! I was lucky enough to get it from a descendant of the lady, who was under great obligations to me; I'll show it you to-morrow. No man with that mouth could have written such a letter, except when death was looking him in the face. I often think when she got it she must have given way at last. But it was too late. He was killed in the first charge made by the royal troops. His own regiment, raw recruits and countrymen, turned at the first shot; but he died like a Scapegrace, waving his hat and cheering them on. We are rather proud of him in the family, after all. Compared with the rest of them, his was a harmless life and a creditable end."

"But what became of Lady Mabel?" I asked; for I confess I was a little interested in this disjointed romance of long-past days.

"Did you ever know a thoroughly unfeeling person in your life that did not prosper?" was her ladyship's reply; and again her features writhed into the Mephistopheles' sneer. "Lady Mabel married an earl, and had sons and daughters, and lived to a green old age. I have seen a picture of her at fifty, and she was still 'fair and comely and buxom' as when she dazzled the old chaplain's eyes and broke Sir Montague's heart. Yes, yes, Kate, there's nothing like a sensible woman; she's the evergreen in the garden, and blooms, and buds, and puts forth fresh shoots, when the rose is lying withered and trampled into the earth; but for all that, she has never had the charm of the rose, and never can have."

Such is a specimen of one of my many conversations with Lady Scapegrace, whom I liked more and more the better I knew her. But I have been anticipating sadly during my drive of Sir Guy's coach up Sir Guy's avenue. When I reached the front door, with all my recklessness, I felt glad to see no head poking out of windows—above all, no female witness to my unwomanly conduct. I felt thoroughly ashamed of myself as I got down from the box; and I confess it was with feelings of intense relief that a polite groom of the chambers informed me, with many apologies, "her ladyship and all the ladies had gone to dress," and handed me over, with a courtly bow, to a tidy elderly woman, in a cap that could only belong to a housekeeper. She conducted me to my room, and consigned me to Gertrude, already hard at work unpacking upon her knees.



CHAPTER XX.

A very pretty little room it was; none of your enormous dreary state-apartments, dull as a theatre in the daytime, with a bed like a mourning coach, and corners of gloom and mystery, uncomfortable even at noon, and fatal to the nerves when seen by the light of a solitary wax-candle. On the contrary, it was quite the room for a young lady: pink hangings tinted one's complexion with that roseate bloom which the poet avers is as indispensable to woman as "man's imperial front"—whatever that means—is to the male biped. A dark carpet with a rich border relieved the light-coloured paper, picked out sparingly with flowers; the toilet-table was covered with a blushing transparency of pink under white, like sunset on snow—perhaps I should rather say like a muslin dress over a satin slip; and there was a charming full-length glass, in which I could contemplate my whole person from top to toe, without slanting it an inch off the perpendicular. The lookout was into Lady Scapegrace's garden, a little bijou of a place, that bore ample witness to the good taste of its mistress. Every shrub had been transplanted under her own eye, every border filled according to her personal directions. She tied her own carnations, and budded her own roses, like the most exemplary clergyman's wife in England. I do believe she would have been a good wife to anybody but Sir Guy.

However, it was too dark for me to see anything of her ladyship's garden. It was already getting dusk when we arrived, and although it wanted three mortal hours of dinner, all the ladies, including the hostess, had retired to their own rooms, to while away the time by writing letters, reading novels, and going to sleep. I was much too restless to embark in any of these occupations. It would have been a relief to write, certainly—to pour out all one's thoughts and feelings before some sympathizing correspondent; but I owned none such. I could not have settled to read, no, not the most interesting novel that was ever penned, although I might have left it off the day before in an agony of uncertainty at the critical place which is always to be found near the conclusion of the second volume; and as for sleep—sleep, indeed!—I felt as if I should never sleep again.

When I am unhappy, and particularly when I am angry with myself, I must always be doing something—no matter what—but I must be occupied, so I hurried Gertrude, and bustled about, and got myself dressed, and found my own way to one of the drawing-rooms, where I hoped to be at least secure from interruption, and to brood and worry myself for an hour or two in unbroken solitude. I ought to have been safe enough here. As I had wandered through unknown passages and passed uncertain doors, I had heard the click of billiard balls, the sound of many voices, and the harsh laugh of Sir Guy; I knew consequently that the gentlemen were all busy at "pool," or some equally intellectual pastime, and had not yet gone to dress. I was sufficiently conversant with the habits of my own sex to be aware that no lady would willingly tarnish the freshness of her dinner toilette by coming down before the very last minute, and I anticipated therefore no further interruption than a housemaid coming to put the fire to rights, or a groom of the chambers to light fresh candles, functionaries, especially the former, who would be much more incommoded by my presence than I should be by theirs. Good gracious! there was a gentleman down and dressed already; sitting with his back to me, immersed in the thrilling pages of "The Drawing-Room Scrap Book," which he was studying upside-down. I came in very softly, and he never heard me, nor turned his head, but I knew the back of that head pretty well. It was Cousin John. I also took a book, and sat down.

"Perhaps," I thought, "he's not going to speak to me at all. Well, what do I care? I've a temper, too, if it comes to that."

So I read my book assiduously; it was the "Comic Almanac," but I don't know that it made me feel very much inclined to laugh. The clock ticked loud and disagreeably. I determined not to speak till I was spoken to; but after a time the silence grew irksome, and the ticking of the clock so loud, that I ventured on a slight cough, merely to break it. "Ahem," said I, still intent on the "Comic Almanac." John turned slowly round, made a half rise, as if out of compliment to my presence, and returned to "The Drawing-Room Scrap Book," which, however, he was now reading the right way. This would not do; I resolved to wait a little longer, just a quarter of an hour by the clock, and see whether he would not have the common civility to speak to me. What a long quarter of an hour it was! The hand reached it at last—it passed it—I gave him another five minutes. It was getting painful. I spoke, and the sound of my own voice quite startled me, yet was my remark as harmless and commonplace as well could be.

"John," said I, "what time do we dine?"

"A quarter before eight, I believe," answered John, quite good-humouredly, and as if nothing had happened to estrange us. "Dear me, Kate, how early you're dressed!"

I could have cried with vexation; but I resolved, if possible, to find a sore place somewhere, and give him "one" before I had done with him; so I made a saucy face, and asked him, half laughing, whether "he didn't think I had driven them very well from the station?"

"Inimitably, Kate," was his reply; "I hadn't the least idea you were so accomplished a charioteer."

I should have burst into tears, I verily believe, but just then Lady Scapegrace sailed in, and the usual forms of society had to be gone through; and she kissed me, and shook hands with Mr. Jones, as if she really liked us; and we talked of the weather, and the shameful stoppages of the train we had come by, and the general inconveniences of railways; and presently more ladies came down, neat and crisp as if turned out of a bandbox, followed by their lords in choking white neckcloths; and then Sir Guy himself appeared in a costume of surpassing splendour; but still, although in his evening dress, brilliant with starch and polish and buttons and jewellery, looking like a coachman in masquerade; and "dinner" was announced, and we all paired off with the utmost ceremony, and I found myself seated between Frank Lovell and dear old Mr. Lumley, and opposite the elder Miss Molasses, who scowled at me with an asperity of which I should have believed her unmeaning face incapable, as if she hated me on this particular evening more than all the other days of the year. I soon discovered the cause. Frank was more attentive to me than I had ever known him, although there was a something in his manner that I did not altogether like, a sort of freedom that I had never remarked before, and which made me colder and more reserved than usual. It was evident he thought he might venture as far as he liked with a young lady who drove four horses and smoked a cigar the while. I felt I was blushing under my skin; but I was determined to brave it all out, to hide from every living soul my own vexation and self-contempt. Once I caught a telegraphic signal exchanged between my neighbour and Miss Molasses, after which she seemed more at ease, and went on with her dinner in comfort. I was so angry now that I turned my shoulder towards Master Frank, and took refuge with my dear old friend Mr. Lumley, who, utterly regardless of the noise and flirtation his better half was carrying on at the other end of the table, discussed his cutlet quite contentedly, and prosed away to me in his usual kind, consolatory manner. I was one of his great favourites; in fact, he told me so, then and there. He always called me "my dear," and often vowed that if he had only the use of his legs he would walk to the end of the world to make me a thoroughgoing naturalist like himself. I was getting more at ease under his dear old wing. I had gone through so much excitement during the day that this comparative inaction was a positive relief, and I was really beginning to enjoy a sort of repose, when the Baronet's horrid voice from the bottom of the table aroused me once more to an agony of shame and despite.

"Do me the honour to drink a glass of champagne; the champagne to Miss Coventry!" shouted Sir Guy; "you must require it after your exertion. Egad! my team won't get over it in a hurry—the roads were woolly and the time short—hey, Miss Kate? But d——n me if the whipcord was scarce. I've done that seven miles in all weathers, and a sweet seven miles it is, but I never came anything like the pace we did to-day. Your good health, Miss Kate; I'll have a fresh team put together for you to-morrow, and a better cigar to smoke than the one I gave you to-day."

I could willingly have sunk into the earth—nay, crept under the table-cloth—anything to hide my dishonoured head. The ladies looked at each other aghast, and then at me. The gentlemen, even the stiffest of them, turned boldly round to survey such a phenomenon as the tobacco-smoking, four-in-hand Miss Coventry. Mrs. Lumley showered her long ringlets all over her face with one toss of her pretty little head that I might not see how heartily she was laughing. Lady Scapegrace good-naturedly made an immense clatter with something that was handed to her, to distract attention from my unfortunate self; but I believe I must have got up and left the room had not Cousin John come adroitly to the rescue. He had not been studying the daily paper for nothing, and his voice rose loud and clear through the awful silence that succeeded Sir Guy's polished remarks.

"Did you see that article in to-day's Times about Ministers?" asked John, of the public in general; "there's another split in the Cabinet—this time it's on the malt-tax. To-day, in the City, they were betting five to two there's a general election within a fortnight, and taking two to one Ambidexter is Premier before the first of next month."

John! John! if you had saved my life I could not have been more obliged to you. Many of the present party were members of Parliament—all were deep in politics. Most of them had seen the Times, but none, like John, had the earliest intelligence from the City. I have since had reason to believe he invented every syllable of it. However, such a topic was too engrossing not to swamp every other, and no more allusions were made to my unfortunate escapade till Lady Scapegrace had drawn on her gloves, bent her haughty head, and "made the move," at which we all sailed away to tea and coffee in the drawing-room.

Here I was more at my ease. Lady Scapegrace and Mrs. Lumley, hating each other, were, of course, inclined to be excessively kind to me—I formed a bond of union between the foes. We three, particularly with such a weapon as the tongue of Mrs. Lumley, were more than a match for any number of our own sex, and most of the other ladies gave in at once. Only Miss Molasses held out, and eyed me once more with an expression of eager malice for which I could not easily account. I remarked, too, that she seemed restless and fidgety, glanced anxiously ever and anon at the door by which the gentlemen would join us, and seemed uncomfortable if any of us approached an empty chair which was next to her seat. I began to have my suspicions of Frank Lovell, notwithstanding all his asseverations. I determined to watch him narrowly; and if I found my misgivings were true—if I discovered he was false and treacherous, why, then, I would—after all, what could I do? It stung me to think how powerless I was.

Now, the establishment of Scamperley, although doubtless the bonds of domestic discipline were by no means over-tightly drawn, was one in which servants, from the stately curly-headed "groom of the chambers," down to the little boy in green that was always too late for the post, had more than enough upon their hands. In the first place, nobody ever seemed to think of going to bed much before daylight. This entailed a breakfast, protracted by one late sleeper after another till luncheon-time; that meal was of unusual magnificence and variety; besides which, a hot repast, dressed by the French cook, and accompanied by iced champagne, etc., required to be served in one of the woods for the refreshment of Sir Guy's shooting guests. Then in the afternoon there were constant fresh arrivals and rooms to be got ready; for when the host and hostess were at home they kept the house full, and the day concluded with a large dinner-party, at which seldom less than sixteen sat down to discuss the inspirations of Monsieur Horsd'oeuvre and the priceless wines of Sir Guy. No wonder the servants looked tired and overworked, though I fancy the luxury and good living downstairs was quite equal to that which elicited encomiums from bon-vivants and connoisseurs above. Nevertheless, it was but just that they too should have their share of relaxation and amusement; therefore did Sir Guy in his generosity give an annual servants' ball, which he attended and opened himself in a state of hilarity not calculated to inspire much respect amongst his retainers. He had, however, sufficient self-command invariably to select as his partner the prettiest maidservant in his establishment. But if the baronet failed in his dignity as head of the house, her ladyship had enough for both. She looked like a queen as she sailed in, amongst her own domestics and all the retainers and hangers-on for miles round. On the evening in question it amused me much to see the admiration, almost the adoration, she elicited from old and young. No wonder: that stately form, that queenly brow, had been bent over many a sick-bed; those deep, thrilling tones had spoken words of comfort to many a humble sufferer; that white hand was ever ready to aid, ever open to relieve; good or bad, none ever applied to Lady Scapegrace in vain.

"The virtuous it is pleasant to relieve and make friends of," she has often said to me in her moments of confidence; "the wicked it is a duty to assist and to pity. Who should feel for them, Kate, if I didn't? God knows I have been wicked enough myself."

The men-servants never took their eyes off her, and I fear made but sorry partners to the buxom lasses of the household till "my lady" had left the room. I saw two stable-boys, evidently fresh arrivals, who seemed perfectly transfixed with admiration, as at an apparition such as they had never pictured to themselves in their dreams; and one rough fellow, a sort of under-keeper in velveteen, with the frame of a Hercules and a fist that could have stunned an ox, having gazed at her open-mouthed for about ten minutes without winking an eyelash, struck his hand against his thigh, and exclaimed aloud to his own inexpressible relief, though utterly unconscious of anything but the presence which so overpowered him,—

"Noa, dashed if ever I did!"

This was soon after "my lady" had sailed into the servants' hall at the head of her guests. It was the custom of the place for all the "fashionables" and smart people who were actually in the house to attend the servants' ball, most of us only staying long enough to set the thing going with spirit, though I believe some of the young dandies who found partners to their liking remained to the end, and "kept it up" till daylight. Down we all went, as soon as the gentlemen had finished their wine and discussed their coffee in the drawing-room, down we went, through stone passages and long underground galleries into a splendidly-lighted apartment, somewhat devoid of furniture, but decorated with evergreens, and further adorned by a sort of muslin transparency hanging from the roof. This was the servants' hall, and although on a stone floor, a capital room for dancing it was. We were all soon provided with partners. Sir Guy, much to her triumph, selected my maid, Gertrude. Lady Scapegrace paired off with the steward, a fat, rosy man, who quite shone with delight at the honour. The French cook carried off Miss Molasses, with whose native stupidity I thought the vivacious foreigner seemed a little disappointed. Frank Lovell was taken possession of by the fat housekeeper, to whom he "did the amiable," as Frank had the knack of doing to anything with a petticoat. Cousin John handed off a stately damsel, whom I afterwards recognized as the upper housemaid, and I was claimed by a dapper little second-horse rider, of whom I flatter myself I made a complete conquest by the interest I took in his profession and the thorough knowledge I displayed of its details. I had to make most of the conversation myself, certainly, for his replies, though couched in terms of the deepest respect, and accompanied by a chivalrous deference for my sex to which I was totally unaccustomed from the partners of a London ball-room, consisted for the most part of little more than "Yes, Miss," and "No, Miss," with an additional smooth of the smoothest, shiniest head I ever beheld. When I had exhausted the meets of the hounds for the ensuing week, with a few general observations on the pursuit of hunting, and the merits of that noble animal, the horse, I began to get high and dry for further topics, and was not sorry when three fiddles and a flute struck up their inspiriting tones, and away we all went, "cross hands," "down the middle and up again," to the lively and by this time tolerably familiar air of "Sir Roger de Coverley."