George was quite a lion, and I envied his easy tact, his unconscious grace of manner, and his faculty of saying bright things without effort. He and Miss Van got on famously together, and she found him an efficient and trustworthy aid in her capacity as hostess.

Mrs. Pinkerton made a lovely wall-flower, and I could not refrain from a wicked chuckle when I saw her sitting on a sofa, exchanging commonplaces with a puffing dowager. Presently, however, I noticed that she had gone, and I found that Mr. Desmond had been kind enough to relieve me from the onerous duty of taking her down to supper.

I wish I had a printed bill of fare of that supper, for even George, fresh from Vefour's and the Trois Freres Provencaux, acknowledged that it was sublime, magnificent, perfect. We men folks, in fact, talked so much about it afterwards, that Bessie rebuked us by remarking that "men didn't care about anything so much as eating."

As Fred Marston remarked to me, while helping himself a third time to the salad, "It's a stunning old lay-out, isn't it!" His wife was there, dressed "to kill," as he himself said, and dancing with every gentleman she could decoy into asking her.

After we had come up from the supper-room, Fred Marston pulled me into a corner, and inflicted on me a volley of stinging observations about the people in the room. George, Bessie, Mrs. Pinkerton, and Miss Van were, I supposed, in one of the other rooms; I had lost sight of them.

"Old Jenks lost a cool hundred thousand fighting the tiger at Saratoga, this last summer," said Fred. "I had it from a man who backed him. Do you know that young widow talking with him near the end of the piano? No? Why, that's Mrs. Delascelles, and a devil of a little piece she is,—twice divorced and once widowed, and she isn't a day over twenty-five. You ought to know her. By the way, that brother of yours is a whole team, with a bull-pup under the wagon. Does he let old Pink boss him around as she does you?"

"It's a fine night," I said.

"Delightful! I say, Charlie, it must be a terrible bore to lug the old woman around to all these shindigs with you, hey?"

"What do you think about the State election?" I demanded.

"The Republicans have got a dead sure thing, I'll lay you a V. She has bulldozed you till you don't dare open your head, my boy. Yours is one of the saddest and most malignant cases of mother-in-law I ever struck."

"Fred," I said, in hopes of bringing his tirade to an end, "your friendship is slightly oppressive. Confine your attentions to your own grievances. I will take care of mine."

"Ah! at last you acknowledge that you have one. Confess, now, that old Pink is a confounded nuisance!"

"Well, then, yes, she is! Does that satisfy you, scandal-monger? Now, for Heaven's sake, shut up!"

I heard a brisk rustling of silk just at my left and a little back of where I sat, and some one passed toward the front parlor.

"By Jove!" ejaculated Fred, looking intently. "It's old Pink herself, and I hope she got the benefit of what we said about her. I had no idea she was sitting near us."

"What we said about her!" I repeated. "I didn't say anything about her."

"Yes, you did. Ha, ha! You said she was a confounded nuisance!"

I shuddered.

"Oh, well, brace up! Perhaps she didn't hear that impious remark," said Fred, chuckling maliciously. "Or if she did, perhaps she'll let you off easy: only a few hours in the dark closet, or bread and water for a day or two."

"Confound your mischief-making tongue!" I growled. "Here comes Miss Van Duzen to bid you quit spreading scandal about her guests."

Miss Van Duzen, on the contrary, only wished Mr. Marston to secure a partner for the Lanciers, which he promptly did.

I sat brooding while the dancing went on, and was somewhat astonished, when it was over, to see George making for my corner.

"How's this?" he said. "Didn't you go home with them?"

"With them? What! You don't mean to say—"

"But I do, though! Bessie and mother made their adieux half an hour ago, and I thought of course you had gone home with them, as nothing was said to me. This is a pretty go! Bessie must have been ill."

"Nonsense!" I exclaimed. "I should have known if that was the case. Where's Miss Van?"

"I saw her. She thought it was odd, but supposed you had gone with them. What could have started them off in that fashion?"

"Well, well, don't let's stand here talking. Come on."

We did not stop for ceremony. Rushing up stairs, we donned our hats and coats, and made our way out to the sidewalk without losing any time. I hailed a carriage, and we drove rapidly out of town. It was about half past one o'clock when we arrived home. There were lights in our room and in Mrs. Pinkerton's chamber. George followed me up stairs, and I tapped at the door of our room.

"Is it you, Charlie?" said Bessie's voice.

"Yes,—and George."

She opened the door. It was evidently not long since their arrival home, for she had not begun to undress.

"Explain, for our benefit, the new method of leaving a party," said George, "and why it was deemed necessary to give us a scare in inaugurating the same." He threw himself into an easy-chair.

"Perhaps Mr. Travers is better able to tell you why mother should have left in the way she did," said Bessie, trying to make her speech sound sarcastic and cutting, but finding it a difficult job, with her breath coming and going so quickly.

"The deuce he is!" roared George. "Come, Charlie, what have you been up to? I must get it out of some of you."

"I am utterly unable to tell you why your mother should have left in the way she did," was all I could find to say.

"Sapristi! This is getting mysterious and blood-curdling. The latest feuilleton is nothing to it. Must I go to bed without knowing the cause of this escapade? Well, so be it. But let me tell you, young woman, that it wasn't the thing to do. If you find your husband flirting with some siren, you must lead him off by the ear next time, but don't sulk. Good night."

George walked out and shut the door after him.

"See here, Bessie," I said kindly, "don't cry, because I want to talk sensibly with you."

She was sobbing now in good earnest.

"I want you to tell me what your mother said to you about me."

She couldn't talk just then, poor little woman! But when she had had her cry partly out, she told me.

Her mother had not told her a word of what had passed between Fred Marston and me! The outraged dignity of the widow would not admit of an explicit account of the unspeakable insult she had received. She had simply given Bessie to understand that I had uttered some unpardonable, infamous slander, and had hustled the poor girl breathlessly into a cab and away, before she fairly realized what had happened.

I then told Bessie what our conversation had been, and left her to judge for herself. I had not the heart to scold her for her part in the French leave-taking, though it made me feel miserable to think how few episodes of such a sort might bring about endless misunderstandings and heart-aches.

Of course more or less talk was caused by the mysterious manner of our several departures from Miss Van's party; and, thanks to Fred Marston and his wife and similar rattle-pates, it became generally known that there was a skeleton in the Pinkerton closet.

Miss Van soon heard how it came about, and nothing could have afforded a more complete proof of her refinement of character than the delicacy and tact with which she ignored the whole affair.



CHAPTER VIII.

ANOTHER CHARLIE IN THE FIELD.

The winter, with its petty trials and contentions, had gone by; spring, with its bloom and fragrance, was far advanced; and already another summer, with its possible pleasures and recreations, was close upon us. Before it had fairly set in, however, an event of extraordinary importance was to occur in our little household. There had been premonitions of it for some time, which had a tendency to soften and soothe all asperities, and cause a rather sober and subdued air to pervade the little cottage, and now there were active preparations going on. Of course, the widow was gradually assuming the management of the whole affair, and it was a matter in which I could hardly venture to dispute her right. Her experience and knowledge were certainly superior to mine, and it was an affair in which these qualities were very important. In fact, I seemed to be counted out altogether in the preparations, as if it was something in the nature of a surprise party in my honor. Mrs. Pinkerton had an air of mysterious and exclusive knowledge concerning the grand event. Miss Van, who had come to have confidential relations with Bessie, of the most intimate kind, notwithstanding the mother's objections, knew all about it, but had a queer way of appearing unconscious of anything unusual. There seemed to be a general consent to a shallow pretence that I was in utter and hopeless ignorance. It annoyed me a little, as I flattered myself that I knew quite as much about what was coming as any of them, and I thought it silly to make believe I didn't, and to ignore my interest in the affair. Bessie had no secrets from me, of course, and our understanding was complete, but one might have thought from appearances that we had less concern in the matter than anybody else.

As the auspicious time drew near, the goings-on increased in mystery and the widow's control grew more and more complete. Bessie showed me one day a wardrobe that amused me immensely. It was quite astonishing in its extent and variety, but so liliputian in the dimensions of the separate garments as to seem ridiculous to me.

"Aren't they cunning?" said the dear girl, holding up one after another of the various articles of raiment. Then she showed me a basket, marvellously constructed, with a mere skeleton of wicker-work and coverings of pink silk and fine lace, and furnished with toilet appliances that seemed to belong to a fairy; and finally, removing a big quilt that had excited my curiosity, she showed me the most startling object of all,—a cradle! I had seen such things before and felt no particular thrill, but this had a strange effect upon me. I didn't stop to inquire how these things had all been smuggled into the house without my knowledge or consent, but kissed my little wife fondly, and went down stairs in a musing and pensive mood.

The next day a decree of virtual exile was pronounced upon me. My mother-in-law thought perhaps it would be better if I would occupy another room in the house for a time, and let her share Bessie's chamber. The poor, dear girl might need her care at any time, and the widow looked at me as much as to say, "You cannot be expected to know anything about these matters, and have nothing to do but obey my directions." I consented without a murmur or the least show of resistance, for I admitted everything that could possibly be said, and lost all my spirit of independence in view of the impressive event that was coming. So I meekly took to the attic, and put up with the most forlorn and desolate quarters. One or two mornings after, I was aroused at an inhuman hour, and ordered in the most imperative tones to call in Dr. Lyman as quickly as possible, and haste after Mrs. Sweet. I hurried into my clothes in the utmost agitation, raced down the street in a manner that led a watchful policeman to stop me and inquire my business, rung up the doctor with the most unbecoming violence, and delivered my errand up a speaking-tube, in answer to his muffled, "What's wanted?" Then I rushed to the neighboring stable, and got up the sleepy hostler with as much vehemence in my manner as if he were in danger of being burned to death, and induced him to harness a team, in what I considered about twice the necessary length of time; drove three miles in the morning twilight for Mrs. Sweet, a motherly old maid in the nursing business, who had officiated at Bessie's own debut upon the stage of life. When I had got back and returned the team to the stable, and was walking about the lower rooms in a restless manner, feeling as if I had suddenly become a hopeless outcast, the doctor came down stairs, and said, with amazing calmness, as though it was the most commonplace thing in the world,—

"Getting on nicely. Fine boy, sir! Mrs. Travers is quite comfortable. Will look in again in the course of the morning."

Then I was left alone again, an outcast and a wanderer in my own home. All the life was up stairs, including the wee bit of new life that had come to venture upon the perils and vicissitudes of the great world. It was two hours, but it seemed a month, before any one relieved my solitude, and then it was at Bessie's interposition—in fact, a command that she had to insist upon until her mother was afraid of her getting excited—that I was admitted to behold the mysteries above.

Well, it is nobody's business about the particulars of that chamber. It was too sacred for description; but there was the tiny, quivering, red new-comer, already dressed in some of the dainty liliputian garments, and very much astonished and not altogether pleased at the effect. Bessie was proud and happy, the nurse, moving about silently, knew just what to do and how to do it, and the mother-in-law held supreme command. She was grand and severe, and evidently her wishes had been disregarded in respect to the sex of her grandchild. She feared the consequences of another Charlie launched into a world already too degenerate, and she had hoped for an addition to the superior sex. But Bessie and I were mightily pleased that it was a boy.

There was little to be said then, but in a few days the restraint began to be relaxed, and discussions arose about what had become the most important member of the household. Even the widow must be content with the second place now, but I began to have misgivings lest my position had been permanently fixed as the third. In my secret mind, however, I determined to assert my rights as soon as Bessie was strong again, and reduce my mother-in-law to the position in which she belonged. I had put off doing it too long, and advantage might be taken of the present juncture of affairs to strengthen her claim to supremacy, and it really wouldn't do to delay much longer.

"I think he looks just like Charlie," said Bessie to Miss Van, the first time the latter called after the great event.

"Well, I don't know," was the reply. "It seems to me he has his papa's dark eyes, but I can't see any other resemblance."

"Oh, I do!" Bessie replied with spirit. "Why, it is just his forehead and mouth, and his hair will be just the same beautiful brown when he grows up."

The old lady was looking on reproachfully, and finally said, "Bessie, my dear, that child looks precisely like your own family. George at his age was just such an infant; you couldn't tell them apart."

George entered the room at that moment, and with his boisterous laugh said, "You don't mean to say that I was ever such a little, soft, ridiculous lump of humanity as that, do you?"

"As like as two peas," was the reply of his mother.

For my part I kept out of the discussion, for I must confess I could see no resemblance between the precious baby and any other mortal creature, except another baby of the same age. I thought they looked pretty much all alike, and was not prepared to deny that it was the exact counterpart of anybody at that particular stage of development.

"I tell you what, Bess," said George, after the debate had fully subsided, "you must name that little chap for me."

"Oh, no," replied the proud mother, "that is all settled; his name is Charlie."

Nothing had been said on the subject before, and I was a little startled at Bessie's positive manner, for I thought even this matter would not be free from her mother's dictation. The old lady seemed surprised and vexed. "George is a much better name, I think," she said very quietly, keeping down her vexation, "but I thought perhaps you might remember your dear father in this matter. His name, you know, was Benjamin."

"Yes, I know," said Bessie, very firmly, "but I think there is one with a still higher claim, and the child's name is Charles."

"Good for you, little girl!" I thought, but I said nothing. Within me I felt a gleeful satisfaction at Bessie's spirit, which showed that if it ever came to a sharp contest with her mother, nothing could keep her from holding her own place by her husband's side. All my misgivings about her possible estrangement by her mother's influence vanished, and I saw that the new tie between us would be stronger than any earthly power.

"Well," said George abruptly, after a pause, "I wouldn't be so disobliging about a little thing like that."

"Ah! you wait until you can afford the opportunity of furnishing names, and see what you will do," I said jokingly. My joke was not generally appreciated. The widow gave me a look a little short of savage. Bessie suppressed a smile, in order to give me a reproof with her eyes, and Miss Van just then thought of something wholly irrelevant to say, as if she had not noticed my remark at all. On the whole, I was made to feel that it was a disgraceful failure.



CHAPTER IX.

THE SHADOW ON OUR LIFE.

Another summer with all its glory was upon us. It was nearly a year since we were married, and I was beginning to feel the dignity of a family man. As Bessie regained her strength and bloom, she seemed to have a matronly grace and self-command quite new to her. As I looked back over our married life I saw no dark shadows, no coldness between us two, no misunderstandings that need occasion regret, but somehow it seemed as though that year had not been so bright and happy as it ought to have been. We had lived under an irksome restraint that was depressing. I had felt it more than Bessie, for she had been accustomed to submit to her mother, and did not chafe, but she plainly saw that my life had not that blithesomeness that would have been natural to me, and which she would have been glad to give it.

It was the presence and influence of the mother-in-law that gave a chill to my home life, and yet I could accuse the good woman of no special offence. She was no vulgar meddler, and never wished or intended to mar our domestic felicity. She had managed to keep control of our household arrangements and we had passively acquiesced, but I felt that it would be better if Bessie would take command and cater more to our own desires. We could then have things our own way, and her position would be more becoming as the lady of the house. She began to regard it in the same light herself. Our social life, too, had been restrained and restricted. I was very fond of having my friends about me, and wished them to come in for the evening or to dinner or to pass a Sunday afternoon in our little bower, as often as they could find it agreeable. Mrs. Pinkerton made no open objections, but I knew the company of my friends was not congenial to her, and so was reluctant and backward in my invitations to them. Besides, they were apt to be chilled and disconcerted by the widow's stately presence and rebuking ways, and were disinclined to make themselves quite at home with us. Fred Marston and his wife had been quite driven away. Mrs. Pinkerton had declined to speak to the latter, and had told the former in plain terms that he used language of which no gentleman would be guilty.

"By thunder!" roared the impulsive fellow, "I'll have you to understand that my wife and I are just as good as you, with your cursed airs of superiority!" and he stormed out of doors, and incontinently returned to town. When I met him afterwards he condescendingly declared that he didn't blame me, except that I ought to be a man and not allow "old Pink" to insult my guests. I did not particularly regret his discontinuing his visits, for, to tell the truth, I did not like his manners, and he had drifted into a circle and among associates not at all to my taste, but it galled me to have any one whom I chose to entertain driven out of my house.

I think nothing saved our charming friend, Miss Van Duzen, to whom we had both become greatly attached, from being gracefully snubbed and insulted, except the presence of her uncle, whenever she came out to visit us in the evening. Mr. Desmond's indisputable social rank, his unimpeachable demeanor as a gentleman, and the dignity and impressiveness of his presence, though it could by no means overawe my mother-in-law, made it impossible even for her to give him an affront. Besides, she seemed to have a real respect for that fine old gentleman. She would doubtless have thought better of him if he had been a regular attendant at St. Thomas's Church, but she could not learn that he was very constant at any sanctuary. His views were decidedly what are called liberal, and yet he was very considerate of the religious beliefs and practices of others, and would cheerfully acknowledge the worthy aims and good works of all the different Christian denominations. He seemed to understand why other persons should choose to join one or another, while he preferred to stand aloof, have his own ways of thinking, and do whatever good he might in his own way. He had large business interests and great wealth, and though he maintained his mansion in the city in great elegance, his family expenses were comparatively small, and he was reputed to make it up fully by supporting more than one poor family in a quiet way. He was liberal in his conduct as well as his belief, and his character and habits were above the reproach of the severest critic. Hence it was that the widow was forced to respect at least this one of our visitors, and to treat his niece with common civility, though cordiality was out of the question.

In fact, we owed to Mr. Desmond not a little for what relief we obtained in our social life from the chilling restraints of the mother-in-law's presence. He seemed to take a real pleasure in coming out to our little snuggery. His stately establishment in town could not be very home-like. His niece presided over it with great skill, and saw that every wish or taste of his was gratified. She could always entertain him with her sprightly wit, and their social occasions were among the most elegant in the city. He had his club to go to, which furnished every means that ingenuity and lavish resources could contrive to minister to the pleasures of man. And yet, there was wanting to his life that element that was the essence of home. He had longed for it when he was young, and had provided for it in his household; but the wife of his youth had been called from him early, and he had vainly tried to fill all his life with business, with silent works of charity, with elegance and profusion in his house, with his clubs, his studies, and his travels; but still there was a void, and when he came to visit us, he seemed to find something akin to the home feeling in our little circle. So he came far oftener than was to be expected of one in his position. Clara was his excuse, but it was plain to see that he liked to come on his own account, and he made himself very agreeable to us all; and when he came, we noticed the chilling influence of Mrs. Pinkerton much less than when he was not there.

Sometimes we had a whist party. It was generally Bessie and I against Clara and George, but the widow had no objection to whist and was occasionally induced to take a hand, while Mr. Desmond was quite fond of the game and was a consummate player. When we young people made up the set, Mr. Desmond would converse with the widow, for though reticent where politeness did not call upon him to talk, he was incapable of the rudeness of sitting silent with one other person, or in a small party of intimate friends; and these conversations, showing his wide information on all manner of subjects, his sympathy with all charitable movements, and his tolerant regard even for the widow's pet ideas on church and society, evidently increased her respect for him.

George must not be forgotten as a member of our circle, and never can be by those who were in it. His vivacity did much to relieve us from the depression that brooded over us. He and Clara Van, as he had taken to calling her as a sort of play upon caravan,—for was she not a whole team in herself? he would say,—he and Clara had many a lively contest of words, and were well matched in their powers of wit and repartee.

Thus there were lights as well as shades, relief as well as depression, in our social life, but over it all was a shadow, the shadow of my mother-in-law.



CHAPTER X.

MY MOTHER-IN-LAW SUBDUED.

As I was saying, I made up my mind that our happiness was marred by habitual submission to mother-in-law, and I determined to shake off the nightmare, to assert myself, and to reduce that stately crown of gray puffs to a subordinate place. How was I to do it? There was nothing that I could make the cause of direct complaint, and it was hard to get into a downright conflict which would involve plain speaking. I consulted with Bessie, and she agreed with me, and promised to assume the direction of household affairs. She did not like to hurt her mother's feelings, but she admitted that it was best for her to be mistress. I could but admire the matronly firmness and tact with which she played her part. She gave her orders and told her mother what she proposed to do, and then proceeded to execute it as if there was no room for question. If opposition was made, she very quietly and firmly insisted. Her mother was astonished and had some warm words, in which she accused me of trying to set her daughter against her.

"Oh, no," said Bessie, "Charlie does not wish to set me against you or to have you made unhappy, but he thinks it better that I should be the mistress here, and I quite agree with him, and propose henceforth to be the mistress."

The widow was not offended, but hurt. She had too much good sense not to see the propriety of our decision, and she surrendered and tried not to appear affected.

This was the first victory. Another time, at the table, she had exercised her prescriptive right of extinguishing me for some remark of which she did not approve. I fired up and remarked, "I have the right to speak my own opinion in my own house, Mrs. Pinkerton."

"Certainly you have a right to speak your own opinion in your own house," she replied, with the least little sarcastic emphasis on "your own house," which cut me to the quick.

"But you don't seem to think so," I said. "You have had a way of snubbing me and putting me down which I don't propose to tolerate any longer. I am master of my own conduct and of my own household, and I hope, in future, that my liberty may not be interfered with."

The widow's lip quivered, her great eyes moistened, and she left the table, not because she was offended, but to hide her injured feelings. I felt mean, and would have apologized, but that I felt that my cause was at stake. There was no after-explanation. My mother-in-law came and went about the house as usual, calm and polite. A silly woman would have refused to speak to me for some weeks; but she was not a silly woman, and took pains to speak with the most studied politeness, and to avoid offence. Here, too, she had evidently surrendered.

This was victory number two. One more and the battle was won. It was a Sunday in June. I had especially invited Mr. Desmond and his niece to come out to dinner and to spend the afternoon, and had insisted to Fred Marston that he should come with his wife. I wanted to vindicate my right to have what friends I pleased, and then I didn't care overmuch if I never saw him again. Mrs. Pinkerton had gone to church alone as usual. For some weeks Bessie had been unable to accompany her, and I preferred the sanctuary at which the scholarly, but heterodox, Mr. Freeman preached. When she returned, our guests had arrived. She put on her eye-glasses as she entered the gate, and looked about with evident disapproval, as we were scattered over the lawn. She did not believe in Sunday visits. She was even stiff and distant to Mr. Desmond, and refused to see the Marstons at all, though they were directly before her eyes. She walked straight into the house.

"By Jove," said George to me in an undertone, "that isn't right! I shall speak to mother about cutting your guests in that way."

"Never mind," I replied, "don't you say a word; I want an opportunity."

He saw it in a minute, and acquiesced with a queer smile. He fully sympathized with me, and had even encouraged me in the work of emancipation. He had the utmost respect and affection for his mother, but he said it was not right for her to make my home unpleasant.

That Sunday Mrs. Pinkerton joined us at the dinner-table. I knew she would not be guilty of the incivility of staying away.

"You remember my friends, Mr. and Mrs. Marston?" I said, by way of introduction, as she came in.

"I remember them very well," was the reply; "too well," the tone implied. I made a special effort to be talkative, and to keep others talking during the dinner. It was very hard work, and I met with indifferent success. It was not a pleasant dinner. Mr. Desmond alone appeared not to mind the restraint, and he alone ventured to address the widow. She was polite, but far from sociable. We contrived to pass the afternoon tolerably, but not at all in the spirit which I wished to have prevail when I had friends to visit me, and all because of that presence.

After they were gone, I took occasion to introduce the subject, for I had learned that Mrs. Pinkerton's skill in expressing her disapproval in her manner was so great that she relied on it almost altogether, and rarely resorted to words for the purpose.

"I am afraid you did not enjoy the company very much to-day," I said, as we were sitting in the little parlor, overlooking an exquisite flower garden.

"No, sir," she answered, with the old emphasis on the "sir." "I do not approve of company on the Sabbath, and I had hoped you would never again bring those Marstons into my presence at any time."

"Excuse me, madam; but I propose to be my own judge of whom I shall invite to visit me, and of the time and occasion. I presume you admit my right to do so."

"Certainly, sir. I never disputed it, and had no intention of saying anything if you had not introduced the subject."

"I introduced the subject for the very purpose; in fact, I brought out the company for the very purpose of vindicating my right, and it would be very gratifying to me if you would concede it cheerfully, and not, by your manner and way of treating my friends, interfere with it hereafter."

I was almost astonished at my own courage and spirit, and still more so at Mrs. Pinkerton's reply. It was dusky and I could not see her face, but her voice trembled and choked as she answered,—

"God knows I do not wish to interfere with your happiness. Bessie's happiness has been my one thought for years, and now it is bound up with yours. I have my own notions, which I cannot easily discard, but I would not do or say anything that would mar your enjoyment for the world. I have long felt that I did do so, and have made up my mind to make any sacrifice of pride and inclination to avoid it."

Here she actually broke down and sobbed, and I was very near joining her. "Never mind," I said at length, quite softened; "I guess we shall get along pleasantly together in the future, now that we have an understanding."

"I hope so," she said, recovering her serenity, and we relapsed into a painful silence.

This was the third and final victory, but I felt no elation over it. My mother-in-law receded somewhat into the background, but it was so much in sorrow, rather than anger, that I felt her new mood almost as depressing as the old. I didn't want her to feel injured or subdued, but evidently she couldn't help it, and the mother-in-law, though conquered, was herself still, and that congeniality that would make our life together wholly pleasant was impossible. Her existence was still a shadow, less chilling and more pensive, but a shadow in our home, and it seemed destined to stay there.



CHAPTER XI.

GEORGE'S NEW DEPARTURE.

"George is growing very restless. I don't know what ails him," Bessie said to me.

"I can guess," I said, looking wise.

"What is it?"

"Do you remember what an uneasy, good-for-nothing chap one Charlie Travers was, when he first began to call on a certain young woman with conspicuous regularity?"

"O Charlie, you don't think he—"

"No, no! Now don't explode too suddenly. I wouldn't have him know that I suspect anything for the world. We won't name any names, but I keep my eyes about me, and I flatter myself I know the symptoms."

And with these mysterious words, I started for the bank, leaving to Bessie a new and delightful subject for speculation and air-castle building.

George did not come home to supper that day, but that was nothing extraordinary. I was sitting out on the porch, smoking after the meal, and saw him coming up the street.

"Where have you been?" I asked, as he joined me and took a seat.

"None of your business. In town."

"Is Miss Van well?" I asked mischievously.

"How should I know?"

"Come, George, you don't play the part of Innocence over well. Suppose you try Candor, and tell me where you have been."

"You mistake my identity. I'm not your baby. You will find the youthful Charlie entertaining his mother up stairs."

A long-drawn-out, agonized wail, proceeding from the regions above, showed how Bessie was being entertained.

"No opening yet?" I ventured to ask, changing the subject.

"Not the slightest prospect. If some of these doctors could only be inveigled into taking some of their own prescriptions! But no; they are too wise."

"The bitterness of your tone would seem to indicate that you have not enjoyed your visit to the town."

"The town be hanged, and the country too! Let's take a walk down the street. Give me a cigar, confound you! How hot it is!"

We strolled down the street.

"This is a terrible vale of tears, this world," said I. "The world is hollow, and my doll is stuffed with sawdust, which accounts for his howling."

George was silent. He pulled at his cigar ferociously, smoked it half up, threw it away, and replaced it by a cigarette.

"When a man throws away the best part of a Reina Victoria he is either flush or badly in love," said I to myself. I waited patiently for him to speak, as I was perfectly willing to receive his confidence, but I didn't have the chance. He maintained a loud silence all the way, and we walked back home as we had gone out.

"Something's up—something serious," I informed Bessie that night, "but George does not confide in me worth a cent, which I think is a little unbrotherly."

The following day George was absent from an early hour in the afternoon till long after all the household were fast asleep at night. I was awakened at about midnight by a light tapping at the door of our room, and slipped out of bed without disturbing Bessie or the baby.

"Come up to my den!" whispered George, as I opened the door. "Don't wake the others."

I quietly got into my clothes and crawled noiselessly up to George's "den," devoured by curiosity. The moment I caught sight of his handsome face I saw that it was all right with him, and that he had nothing but good news to tell me. We sat down, hoisted our heels to a comfortable altitude, and George told his story. I let him tell it himself here:—

"I was feeling terribly blue yesterday, when you saw me," he began, "as you could see. In the afternoon I went into town, and, according to a previous arrangement, hired a horse and buggy and called to take her out riding."

(Of course "her" was Miss Van.)

"We had agreed to take the old Linwood road, and follow it to the village, returning through the Maplewood Park and so getting back to the city at about six. We left the town and passed through the suburbs rapidly, until we struck into the country, and there I let the horse go his own pace, which was slow. So much the better. Miss Van Duzen was never more charming. We had the most agreeable bit of talk, and she drew me out till I amazed myself. She always does. It's no use my telling you, Charlie, but I have been a fool in my love for her ever since the night she came into this cottage like a stray beam of sunshine on a cloudy day. My heart went out of my keeping the night she called here with the old gentleman. I believe it was her freshness, her moral purity, that acted on my morbid, half blase spirit, like a tonic, and brought me on my feet. I'm talking random nonsense, you say, but why shouldn't I? I'm drunk with love. Don't laugh at me. I'll be all right by daylight, except a headache. We got to talking about ourselves. Lovers always do, don't they? You ought to know. There doesn't seem to be much else in the world worth talking about. I told her all about myself,—my past, with its good and bad points, and my present hopes and purposes. It all popped out as naturally as possible. I suppose it would sound like drivel if I were to repeat it. Finally she began to laugh.

"'It is dangerous to make a woman your confidant,' she said. 'How do you know that I can keep a secret better than any other of my sex?'

"'I am not afraid on that score,' said I. 'This is my confessional. It is as sacred as any. Am I to receive absolution?'

"She could not fully promise that. She read me a neat little lecture. It was fascinating to thus receive correction at her hands. I pledged myself, when it was done, to follow the course laid out for me. Then I made bold to exchange roles. With some maidenly hesitation, which soon vanished, she in turn laid before me the inner history of her life. Ah, my boy, how little there was in it to gloss over! how much to humiliate the best and noblest of us men! It was a revelation that made me prostrate myself before her. I was not worthy to hear it."

George paused, and drummed on the table with his fingers nervously.

"I may as well tell you all," he resumed. "I had resolved to ask that girl to marry me when we started on our ride, but after what she said to me so simply and modestly, I positively could not do it. She expected me to speak, I know that, for she would not have told me what she did tell me, otherwise."

"So you didn't speak? Oh, stupid, stupid boy!"

"I know it. But my tongue was tied. Perhaps it was all cowardice; I can't say. I never was afraid of any one before. I came home utterly shattered and down-hearted. To-day I gravitated back to her, after a sleepless night. She received me with the same friendly smile as usual, but there seemed to be a slight shadow over her spirits. That little, almost imperceptible change filled me with joy. I jumped to a conclusion that intoxicated me, and made the plunge at once.

"'It is another case of the moth and the candle,' I said to her.

"'Thank you. So I am a candle? That is a fine figure of speech.'

"'Seriously speaking, I think we had not finished what we were talking of yesterday.'

"'What were we talking of yesterday?' she had the effrontery to ask. 'Oh, yes, now I recollect. It was yourself. That subject, I fear, you will never finish talking of.'

"'Now that's a very mean speech, all things considered,' I whined. 'Do you want to strike a man, when he's way down?'

"'Don't play Uriah Heep. I hate 'umble people. But if I have perchance pierced the thick epidermis of Parisian pride you have so long worn, I'm glad of it.'

"She likes to abuse me, and I enjoy it quite as well as she. She continued to scold me and mock me for some time, to disguise her actual mood. I saw through it, and let her have her way for a while. The meeker my replies, the greater the exaggerated harshness of her criticisms. At last I no longer attempted to reply at all. Leaning back in a corner of the sofa, I watched the play of her animated features and the light of her dark brown eyes, and felt that she was the one woman in the universe that suited me, the one woman I could respect and love passionately at the same time.

"'You say truly I am a coward. I am aware of that. I admit that I am all that is detestable. If such a wretch as you describe were to love a woman, what unhappiness for him! There could be no hope for him. He would know his own irredeemable unworthiness, and so could only slink away in shame.'

"'You are quite right,' she cried, laughing merrily. 'That would be the only course for him to pursue.'

"'By the way,' I said, 'that reminds me that my train goes out in twenty minutes.'

"I rose, and she also stood up to accompany me to the door. I held out my hand. It was an unusual demonstration, and perhaps she thought it meant good-by in earnest. At least, as she put her hand in mine, I detected a look I had never before seen in the depths of those fine eyes. With a sudden, unpremeditated, and irresistible movement, I drew her close to me, folded my arms about her, and kissed her passionately.

"'Clara!' I whispered, 'I love you! I love you! Don't tell me to go.'

"She gently drew herself out of my reluctant arms, and though her eyes were misty now, I saw in them that I was to stay.

"That's all the story I have to tell you, Charlie. I am too happy to-night to sleep, so I couldn't let you sleep. I stayed and spent the evening. Mr. Desmond, bless his dear old heart! cried over Clara, and gave her an old-fashioned blessing. I walked home on air. Do I look very badly corned?"

I gave him a rousing hand-shake, and wiped away a stray bit of moisture from my cheek.

"May I tell Bessie?" were my first words when I found my tongue.

"Why not? There will be no long engagement in this case. The knot shall be tied as soon as possible."

The announcement I made to my little wife the following morning was not entirely unexpected, yet it filled her with delight. Miss Van was the woman of all others that Bessie wished to have George marry. The arrangement was, therefore, completely to her satisfaction, and she beamed upon the happy George with true sisterly affection.

What effect would the news have upon Mrs. Pinkerton? I asked myself. I had not long to wait for an answer, for it was at the breakfast-table that George fired the shot.

"Mother," said the bold youth, "I'm going to be married."

His mother abruptly stopped stirring her coffee, and her spine visibly stiffened, but she said nothing.

"The event will occur without delay. Of course it is useless to inform you who is the—"

"Quite useless," Mrs. Pinkerton broke in; "my wishes in the matter are not of the slightest consequence to you."

"On the contrary. Now, look here; don't be so infernally quick to anticipate my wilfulness. I want to conform to your wishes if I can. Que faire?"

"We will talk about it after breakfast."

Accordingly, there was a serious passage-at-arms in the library after breakfast. George left the house a conqueror, but the conquered had no sort of intention of abandoning the campaign after a Bull Run defeat. In fact, war had only just been declared. It must not be supposed that it was a war the movements of which could be followed by the acutest military observer; the batteries were all masked, but the gunpowder was there. I felt confident that George would carry everything before him, and he did. He brought Miss Van over to spend the evening, and we had the pleasantest time imaginable. He would not allow his mother to say a word against Miss Van, and made a fair show of proving that the latter had, not only better blood, but also better breeding and a truer sense of propriety than my mother-in-law, that is, "when it came to the scratch," as George said. "But who would give a snap for a young woman who can't throw aside the shackles of conventionality once in a while, and be herself?"

Miss Van was her own jolliest, sweetest self at this time. Her beauty had never been so noticeable: joy is an excellent cosmetic, and love paints far better than rouge or powder.

As soon as Mrs. Pinkerton had recovered from her defeat, and when the engagement had become an acknowledged fact which all the world might know, the wedding began to loom up before us, and I could not help wondering if St. Thomas's Church was to be the scene of as fashionable and grand a display as on the occasion when Bessie and myself were made one.

I felt reasonably certain that Mrs. Pinkerton would make an effort to that end, and I was curious to see how George would look on it.

Bessie, I think, would have been glad to see the marriage take place with as much pomp and show as possible. She was intensely interested in what Clara should wear, and every visit from that young woman was the occasion for a vast deal of confidential and no doubt highly important tete-a-tete consultation.

Mother-in-law sailed into the library one evening with unusual celerity of movement.

"George, dear," she said, "this cannot be true! You would not permit such an eccentric, uncivilized proceeding. Surely you will not offend our friends by—"

"Avast there! Our friends be hanged!" cried George wickedly. "Yes, it's true, too true. The ceremony will be private, and no cards. You can come, though! Next Wednesday, at two o'clock, sharp!"

This was cruel. I could see his mother almost stagger under the blow. She attempted to remonstrate, but it was too late. George assured her that "it was all fixed," and that Clara had agreed with him regarding the details.

"Honest old John Stephens will tie the knot," said he, "and it will be just as tight as if Dr. McCanon manipulated the holy bonds. I trust we shall have the pleasure of your company, mother. Consider yourself invited. A few of the choicest spirits will be on hand. Clara will wear the most exquisite gray travelling suit you ever laid eyes on."

The widow was flanked, outgeneralled, routed along the whole line. She brought forward all her reserve forces of good-breeding, and thus escaped a disastrous panic by retiring in good order.

The ceremony occurred, as George had announced, the following Wednesday. The near relatives and best friends of the young couple were present, and it was a quiet and thoroughly enjoyable affair for all who participated. An hour after they had been pronounced man and wife, George and his bride rode away to take the train for the mountains.

"And on her lover's arm she leant, And round her waist she felt it fold, And far across the hills they went In that new world which is the old."



CHAPTER XII.

BABY TALK, OLD DIVES, AND OTHER THINGS.

The cottage seemed dull enough after the departure of George with his bride. Bessie was so absorbed by the care of our little one that she had very little time to think of anything else, and in fact the new-comer, for the time being, monopolized the attention of his grandmother as well as of his mother. I was therefore left to my own resources.

"Baby is not very well, Charlie," Bessie informed me, one morning, with an anxious air. "Do you think it would do to wrap him up well and take him for a little ride this afternoon?"

"Yes, that's a good idea. If I can get that black horse at the livery stable, I'll bring him around this afternoon. But I don't see why you should wrap him up. It's hot as blazes."

"You don't know anything about babies, Charlie. Go along. Get a nice, easy carriage, and we'll take mother with us. I long for a ride."

I departed, and secured the desired "team."

Towards two o'clock I drove up to the cottage, and the entire family bundled into the vehicle, and we were off. I chose a pleasant, shady road, and drove slowly, while Bessie and her mother filled the air with baby talk.

As we were climbing the hill near Linwood, I saw, a short distance ahead of us, the form of an elderly gentleman toiling up the ascent in the sun. He seemed fatigued, and stopped as we drew near him, to wipe the beads of perspiration from his brow.

"Why, it's Mr. Desmond!" exclaimed Bessie.

Sure enough! As he turned toward us I recognized the white vest, the expansive shirt-front, and the resplendent watch-chain that could belong to no other than "old Dives" himself.

"How d'ye do?" I cried, halting our fiery steed.

"Ah! Mr. Travers, Mrs. Pinkerton, how do you do? Delighted to meet you. It's very warm."

"How came you so far out in the country afoot?" I asked.

"I had some business at Melton, and lost the 2:30 train back to town, so I started to walk to Linwood with the purpose of taking a train on the other road. They told me it was only a mile and a half, but—." And he sighed significantly.

"How fortunate that we met you," said Mrs. Pinkerton quickly, taking the words out of my mouth. "Get in and ride to Linwood with us. We have a vacant seat, you see."

I seconded her invitation, and without much hesitation he accepted, and took a seat by my side. The conversation turned naturally upon the "young couple" (Bessie and I were no longer referred to in that way), and Mr. Desmond extolled his niece unreservedly. Mother-in-law was evidently somewhat impressed, but I think she made some mental reservations.

"Will you smoke, Mr. Desmond?" I asked, offering him a cigar.

"No, I thank you."

"Oh, I had forgotten you did not approve of the habit. Excuse me."

Mrs. Pinkerton explained to Mr. Desmond, apologetically, that I was an irresponsible victim of the nicotine poison. I laughed, but Mr. Desmond received the explanation solemnly, and expressed his abhorrence for "the weed."

The old gentleman professed great admiration for baby, and said that he looked exactly like his mother; in fact, the resemblance was almost startling.

By the time we had got to Linwood, our passenger had talked himself into a state of good-humor, and we left him at the railroad station, bowing and smiling with true old-school aplomb.

Bessie thought the ride did Charlie, junior, good, and so it became a regular thing, on pleasant afternoons, to take him out for a little airing. Mrs. Pinkerton overcame her scruples, and usually accompanied us. A sample of the sweet converse held with my son and heir on the back seat will suffice:—

"Sodywazzaleetlecatchykums! 'Esoodavaboobangy! Mamma's cunnin' kitten-baby!"

One day, just before noon, when I had been making a mental calculation as to how I should be able to cover the livery-stable bill, a fine equipage stopped in front of the bank, and through the window I saw the stately driver hand a note to our errand-boy. In a moment Tommy appeared in the room and handed me the billet, which ran thus:—

MY DEAR MR. TRAVERS,—I trust you will not take it amiss if I send my coachman out your way once in a while to exercise the ponies. Since Clara's taking-off, they have stood still too much, and knowing that you go to ride occasionally with your family, I take the liberty of putting them at your disposal for the present, with instructions to John, who is a careful and trustworthy driver, to place himself at your service whenever you are so disposed. The obligation will be entirely on my part, if you will kindly take a turn behind the ponies whenever you choose. My regards to your wife and Mrs. Pinkerton.

Believe me yours sincerely,

T. G. DESMOND.

I could find no objection to accepting this kindly offer, so delicately made, but I did not dare to do so before consulting Bessie and her mother, so I stepped into the carriage and had John drive me to the cottage. There was a consultation, and after I had overcome some feeble scruples on Mrs. Pinkerton's part, which I am afraid were hypocritical, we decided to take advantage of Mr. Desmond's generosity. I sent a note of thanks back by John, and thenceforth we took our rides behind "old Dives's" black ponies. Occasionally the old gentleman himself came out in the carriage, and proved himself as trustworthy and careful a driver as John, handling the "ribbons" with the air of an accomplished whip. The rides were very pleasant, those beautiful summer days, and the change from a hired "team" to the sumptuous establishment of Mr. Desmond was extremely grateful.

Mr. Desmond was doubtless very lonely without his niece. She had been the light of his home, and her absence was probably felt by the old gentleman with more keenness than he had anticipated at the outset. His large and beautifully furnished mansion needed the presence of just such a person of vivacious and cheery character as Clara, to prevent it from becoming cheerless in its grandeur. He intimated as much, and appeared unusually restless and low-spirited for him. He sought to make up for the absence of the sunshine and joyousness that "Miss Van" had taken away with her, by applying himself with especial diligence to business; but he really had not much business to engross his attention, beyond collecting his interest and looking out for his agents, and it failed to fill the void. He betook himself to his club, and killed time assiduously, talking with the men-about-town he found there, playing whist, and running through the magazines and reviews in search of wit and wisdom wherewith to divert himself. The dull season had set in; there was little doing, in affairs, commerce, politics, or literature; and direct efforts at killing time always result in making time go more heavily than ever. Mr. Desmond's attempt was like a curious pas seul, executed by a nimble actor in a certain extravaganza, the peculiarity of which is that at every forward step the dancer slides farther and farther backward, until finally an unseen power appears to drag him back into the flies.

It was during one of our afternoon drives, when Mr. Desmond usurped the office of his coachman, that he confided to us a plan which he had devised to cure his ennui.

"I have made up my mind," he said, "to go abroad for a good long tour. It will be the best move I could possibly make."

"I don't doubt it," I said. "How soon do you propose to go?" And Bessie sighed, "O dear, how delightful!"

"My plans are not matured," Mr. Desmond continued, "but I think I shall sail early next month. My favorite steamer leaves on the 6th."

"I hope you will enjoy a pleasant voyage, and a delightful trip on the other side," said Mrs. Pinkerton politely.

Mr. Desmond returned thanks. Nothing more was said that day concerning his project. When he left us at the cottage, he remarked,—

"By the way, Mr. Travers, I wish you would call at my office to-morrow morning at or about eleven o'clock, if you can make it convenient to do so."

"I will do so," I replied, wondering what he could want of me.

At the appointed hour the next day I was on hand at his office. He motioned to me to be seated and then said,—

"Yesterday morning I met John K. Blunt, of Blunt Brothers & Company, at my club, and he told me that their cashier had defaulted. An account of the affair is in this morning's papers. They want a new cashier. I have mentioned your name, and if you will go around to their office with me, we will talk with Blunt."

"Mr. Desmond—" I began, but he stopped me.

"Don't let's have any talk but business," he said. "The figures will be satisfactory, I am confident."

Satisfactory! They were munificent! Blunt liked me, and only a few short and sharp sentences from such a man as Desmond finished the business. I saw a future of opulence before me. My head was almost turned. I tried to thank Mr. Desmond, but he would not listen to my earnest expressions of gratitude.

"I have engaged passage for the 6th," he told me when we were parting; "I will try to call at your cottage before I get off. I am busy settling up some details now. Good day."

I hastened home with my good news. Bessie's eyes glistened when she heard it, and even my mother-in-law showed a faint sign of pleasure at my good luck.

The following Saturday evening Mr. Desmond came out to see us.

"Don't consider this my farewell appearance," he said. "I merely wished to tell you that my friends have inveigled me into giving an informal party Tuesday evening, at which I shall expect you all to appear."

He talked glibly, for him, and gave us an outline sketch of his proposed tour. I thought he seemed strangely restless and nervous, and I pitied him.

His "informal party" was really a noteworthy affair, and the wealth and respectability of the city were well represented. Bessie could not go, on account of the baby, so I acted as escort to Mrs. Pinkerton, who made herself amazingly agreeable. There were not many young people present, and the affair was quiet and genteel in the extreme. Bank presidents, capitalists, professional men, and "solid" men, with their wives, attired in black silks, formed the majority of the guests. They were Mr. Desmond's personal friends. My mother-in-law was in congenial company, and I believe she enjoyed the evening remarkably. Most of the conversation turned, very naturally, upon European travel. Americans who are possessed of wealth always have done "the grand tour," and they invariably speak of "Europe" in a general way, as if it were all one country.

"When I returned from my first tour abroad, a friend said to me that he 'supposed it was a fine country over there,'" said Mr. Desmond to me, laughing.

Some one asked him where he had decided to go.

"I shall land at Havre, and go straight to Paris," he answered. "I flatter myself I am a good American, and as I have been comparatively dead since my niece left me, I am entitled to a place in that terrestrial paradise."

I thought I had never seen Mrs. Pinkerton appear to so good advantage as she did on this occasion. Her natural good manners and her intelligence made her attractive in such a company, and she was the centre of a bright group of middle-aged Brahmins throughout the entire evening. Mr. Desmond appeared grateful for the assistance she rendered in making his party pass off pleasantly, and as for me, I began to feel that I had never quite appreciated her best qualities. She was a woman that one could not wholly know in a year, perhaps not in a lifetime. "Who knows?" I thought; "perhaps I have wronged my mother-in-law."



CHAPTER XIII.

A SURPRISE.

We were feeling a little solemn at the cottage. George, with his lively ways, and Clara, with her sparkling vivacity, were away on their wedding tour, and our good friend, Mr. Desmond, to whom we had taken a great liking, was about to sail for an indefinite absence in foreign lands. Though the mother-in-law's presence was less oppressive than formerly, there was now a pensiveness, an air of departed glory about it, that was not cheerful. There was danger of settling down to a humdrum sort of life, free from strife, perhaps, but at the same time devoid of that buoyancy which should make the home of a young couple joyous.

I was a little doubtful of making a vacation in the country this summer. To be sure, when George went away, it was agreed that after he had gone the round of the White Mountains, the attractions of Canada, Niagara Falls, and Saratoga, he would return for a quiet stay of a few weeks, at the close of the season, to the little resort which we had visited a year ago, and there, if Bessie's health would permit, and I could arrange for a sufficient absence from business, we would join them. But I almost dreaded taking Mrs. Pinkerton with us, and doubted whether she would go; at the same time, I did not like to propose leaving her behind to take care of the cottage. I was in perplexity, and, notwithstanding my splendid new prospects in business, was not feeling cheerful.

Coming home from a restless round of the city on the Fourth of July, where I had found the great national holiday a bore, I noticed Mr. Desmond's team coming up to the garden gate with a brisk turn. That fine old gentleman—I always feel like calling him old on account of his gray whiskers, though he was little more than fifty—came down the walk and with stately politeness assisted Bessie and the baby out of the carriage. I looked to see Mrs. Pinkerton follow, but she was not there, and clearly Mr. Desmond had not been to ride. It struck me as a little queer, not to say amusing, that they had been having a quiet tete-a-tete together in the cottage while John gave Bessie and the baby their airing. But then, it was not so strange either, for was he not going to leave us in two days? It was no uncommon thing for Mrs. Pinkerton to stay within while Bessie was out, and he had probably dropped in late in the afternoon, expecting to find us all at home, as it was a holiday. I bade him good by in case I did not see him again, as he got into the carriage to ride back to the city.

"Oh, I shall see you to-morrow," he said in a brisk tone which had not been habitual with him of late.

That evening my mother-in-law was uncommonly gracious, a little absent-minded, and more pleasant in spirit than I had ever known her. She seemed to be filled with an inward satisfaction that I could not make out at all. Bessie and I both remarked it, but could not surmise any cause for the apparent change that had come over the spirit of her dream.

Next morning, on reaching town, I found a note asking me to step over to Mr. Desmond's office when I could find time. I went at my leisure, wondering what was up. As I entered, he seemed remarkably cordial and happy.

"I find that Blunt," he said in a business-like way, "would like to have you take hold at once, if possible. Their affairs are in some confusion and need an experienced hand to straighten them out. It will be necessary for you to give a bond, which I have here all prepared, with satisfactory sureties, and you need only give us your signature, which I will have properly witnessed on the spot."

"Oh, is that it?" I thought. Strange I didn't think of its having something to do with my new position. I knew I could get away from my old place at a week's notice, as I had already made known my intention to leave, and there were several applicants for the position. The bond was executed without hesitation.

"You will not lose your vacation," Mr. Desmond said, "though your salary will begin at once. As soon as you can get matters in order, which may take a month or more, you are to be allowed a few weeks' absence to recuperate and get fully prepared for your new responsibilities."

Thanking him for his kindness, I was about to go, when he said, "Sit down, Mr. Travers. I have something else to say to you."

"What's coming now?" I wondered, as I took my seat again. Mr. Desmond seemed a little at a loss how to begin his new communication, and came nearer appearing embarrassed than I should have thought possible for him.

"The fact is," he said at last, "I have changed my mind about going abroad."

I have no doubt I looked very much surprised and puzzled, and smiling at the expression of my face, he went on,—

"Your mother-in-law, Mrs. Pinkerton, is a very worthy woman; in fact, a remarkably worthy woman."

I couldn't deny that; but why should he choose such a time and place to compliment her?

"Do you know," he added, with a still nearer approach to embarrassment in his manner, and something like a blush on his usually calm face, "I have asked her to become Mrs. Desmond."

"The devil you have!" was my thought as astonishment fairly overcame me. I didn't say it, though, but it was my turn to be embarrassed, and I hardly knew what to say.

Having got it out, Mr. Desmond fairly recovered his equanimity. "Yes," he said, "I put the idea away from me for a long time, but it would persist in growing upon me, and I finally concluded that perhaps it might contribute to the happiness of all parties, so I have taken the plunge. I hope you approve of it," he added, with a queer twinkle in his eye.

"With all my heart, sir," I said earnestly; "and I am sure it will be as pleasing as it is surprising to us all."

Throughout that afternoon I was restless, and eager to get home to tell Bessie the wonderful news. It was the longest afternoon I ever saw, but at length it passed and I hurried home. As Bessie met me at the door I said eagerly, "I've got a surprise for you, deary."

Now I noticed for the first time that she was all smiles and full of something that she was eager to surprise me with. Simultaneously each recognized that the other had the secret already. Of course; what a fool I was! Her mother naturally enough would tell her while Mr. Desmond broke the matter to me.

"Isn't it jolly?" I said.

"Why, Charlie, are you then so anxious to get rid of poor, dear mamma?" she said, half reproachfully and half teasingly.

"Oh, no, of course not, but it is really nice for all of us, isn't it now? She won't be far off, you know; we shall have our little home all to ourselves, and Mr. Desmond will be a sort of guardian for us. And as I said before, I think it is jolly."

"Well, I must confess I do not altogether like the idea of mamma marrying again, and I shall miss her very much, after all."

I couldn't help laughing at the little woman's demure countenance, as she said this. There was a little trace of jealousy in her gentle heart—jealousy so natural to women—at the idea of another's taking her mother off, just as that good woman had been jealous at her taking off. I accused her of it, and she repudiated the idea.

But everybody must admit that things had fallen out just right for all parties, and the shadow was to be taken from our household by a new burst of sunlight, without any heart-burning for anybody, and with nothing but satisfaction for all. It was arranged that the new marriage should presently occur, and the mature couple take a little trip, and surprise George and Clara by being at the Fairview Hotel before them. Their first knowledge of the turn of affairs was to come when they arrived there late in August, and found their new relations in possession. Bessie and I were to join the party for a brief stay, and so my perplexity was happily ended.



CHAPTER XIV.

A HAPPY PROSPECT.

The landscape is lovely in these latter days of August. The mountains are grand and solemn in their everlasting silence. We are together at the Fairview, and everybody feels free and happy. There is no restraint, and our future prospects are delightful. Before George left home in June he had made application for a vacant chair in the Medical College and presented his credentials and testimonials. He expected nothing from it, he said, but would leave me to look out and see what decision was made. I had brought with me the news of his appointment. I had also secured for him the refusal of an elegant house which had been suddenly vacated and offered for sale on account of the failure in business of its owner. It was very near our cottage, had lovely surroundings, was beautifully furnished, and was to be sold with all its contents. It has now been decided between George and Mr. Desmond that it shall be purchased at once, and shall become the legal possession of Clara, being paid for out of her ample fortune, now under her own control, but not yet taken from her uncle's keeping.

Mr. and Mrs. Desmond will take possession of the city mansion, and I have no doubt that its state and elegance will be fully kept up. I see before me happy times for us all, and at last I think we understand and appreciate each other. Our relations being properly and happily adjusted, there will be no more "unpleasantness." And I must acknowledge that, in spite of past feelings and the little clouds that have flecked our sky, sometimes appearing dark and portentous, these happy results are due in no small measure to MY MOTHER-IN-LAW.

THE END.



Transcriber's Note: The table below lists all corrections applied to the original text.

p. 039: a hand encased in a mit -> mitt p. 128: [added quotes] better than any other of my sex?' p. 131: [added quotes] slink away in shame.' p. 133: [added quotes] Que faire?" p. 145: And Besssie sighed -> Bessie