.y MARIE CORELLlt 
 
CORNELL 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 FROM 
 
 W.C.Andrae 
 
CAMEOS 
 
 By 
 
 MARIE CORELLI 
 
 ' 
 
 AUTHOR OF " THE SORROWS OF SATAN," " BARABBAS," 
 " THE VENDETTA !" ETC. 
 
 PHILADELPHIA 
 
 J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY 
 1896 
 
Copyright, 1S95, 
 
 BY 
 
 J. B. LippiNcoTT Company. 
 
 ELEOTIIOTYPED and PmNTED BV i. B. LiPPINCOTT COMPANY, PHtUDELPHM, U.S.A. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGB 
 
 " Three Wise Men of Gotham" 3 
 
 Angel's Wickedness 45 
 
 The Distant Voice 63 
 
 The Withering of a Rose 77 
 
 Nehemiah p. Hoskins, Artist , - • • "3 
 
 An Old Bundle 131 
 
 " Mademoiselle Zephyr" - 145 
 
 Tiny Tramps 153 
 
 The Lady with the Carnations 163 
 
 My Wonderful Wife 177 
 
The original of tliis book is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31 92401 346691 1 
 
"THREE WISE MEN OF 
 GOTHAM." 
 
 THE Three Wise Men sat together in their 
 club smoking-room. They were met there 
 for a purpose — a solemnly resolved purpose — 
 though that fact was not to be discovered in the 
 expression of their faces or their attitudes. The 
 casual observer, glancing at them in that ignorant 
 yet opiniated fashion which casual observers gen- 
 erally affect, would have sternly pronounced them 
 to be idle loafers and loungers without a purpose 
 of any sort, and only fit to be classified with the 
 " drones" or do-nothings of the social hive. Three 
 stalwart bodies reclined at ease in the soft depths 
 of three roomy saddle-bag chairs ; and from three 
 cigars of the finest flavour three little spiral wreaths 
 of pale blue smoke mounted steadily towards the 
 ceiling. It was a fine day : the window was open, 
 and outside roared the surging sea of human life 
 in Piccadilly. Rays of sunshine danced round the 
 Wise Men, polishing up the bald spot on head 
 number one, malignly bringing into prominence 
 the grey hairs on head number two, and shining a 
 warm approval on the curly brown locks of head 
 number three. The screech of the wild newsboy 
 echoed up and down the street — " Hextra speshul ! 
 
 3 
 
4 THREE WISE MEN OF GOTHAM. 
 
 Evening piper ! Evening pepper ! Piper! Westy- 
 min-ister speshul ! Hall the winners !" A spruce 
 dandy alighting from a hansom commenced a 
 lively altercation with the cabby thereof, creating 
 intense excitement in the breasts of four Chris- 
 tian brethren — to wit, a dirty crossing-sweeper, a 
 match-seller, a District Messenger-boy and a man 
 carrying a leaden water-pipe. " Call yerself a 
 masher !" cried cabby vociferously. " Git along 
 with yer, an' hask one of the club blokes to lend 
 yer 'arf a crown !" Here the man carrying the 
 leaden water-pipe became convulsed with mirth, 
 and observed, " Bully, aint it ?" confidentially to 
 the messenger-boy, who grinningly agreed, the 
 smartly dressed young dandy growing scarlet with 
 rage and insulted dignity. The dispute was noisy, 
 and some minutes elapsed before it was settled — 
 yet through it all the mystic Three Wise Men 
 never stirred to see what was the matter, but 
 smoked on in tranquil silence with closed eyes. 
 
 At last one of them moved, yawned, and broke 
 the spell. He was fair, stoutish and florid; and 
 when he opened his eyes they proved to be of a 
 good clear blue — honest in expression, and evi- 
 dently meant for fun ; so much so, indeed, that 
 though their owner was by no means in a laughing 
 humour at the moment, he was powerless to 
 repress their comic twinkle. His name was George 
 — George Fairfax — and he was a "gentleman at 
 ease," with nothing to do but to look after his 
 estates, which, as he was not addicted to either 
 betting, drinking, or gambling, brought him in a 
 considerably substantial yearly income. 
 
THREE WISE MEN OF GOTHAM. 5 
 
 " Fact is," he said, addressing himself to his two 
 companions, whose eyelids were still fast shut, 
 " the world's a mistake. It ought never to have 
 been created. Things go wrong in it from morn- 
 ing till night. Fellows who write books tell you 
 how wrong it is ; they ought to know." Here he 
 knocked off the end of his cigar into the ash-tray. 
 " Then read the newspapers : by the Lord Harry ! 
 they'll soon prove to you how wrong everything is 
 everywhere !" 
 
 Man number two, in the chair next to Fairfax, 
 happened to be the individual with the hair 
 approved of by the sunshine — a long-limbed, well- 
 built fellow with a rather handsome face. Unclos- 
 ing his eyes, which were dark and languid, he 
 sighed wearily. 
 
 " No world in it !" he murmured in brief sleepy 
 accents, " Social institutions — civilisation — wrong. 
 Man meant for free life — savage — forest ; no 
 houses — no clubs — raw meat — suits digestion — no 
 dyspepsia — tear with fingers; polygamy. Read 
 ' Woman Who Did' — female polygamist — live with 
 anybody, noble; marriage, base degradation — 
 white rose in hair — polygamous purity — died." 
 
 Exhausted by this speech, he closed his eyes 
 again, and would no doubt have relapsed into an 
 easy slumber, had not Man number three suddenly 
 waked up in earnest, disclosing a pair of very keen 
 bright grey eyes, sparkling under brows that, by 
 their shelving form, would have seemed to denote 
 a fair depth of intelligence. 
 
 " Look here, you fellows," he said sharply, " it's 
 no use mincing matters. Things have come to a 
 
6 THREE WISE MEN OF GOTHAM. 
 
 crisis. We must take the law into our own hands 
 and see what can be done. Life as we live it — mar- 
 riedlife — has become impossible. You said so your- 
 self, Adair" — this with head reproachfully turned 
 towards the languid being with the shut eyes — 
 " you said no man of sense or spirit would stand it !" 
 
 Adair rolled his head feebly to and fro on the 
 saddle-bag chair-pillow. 
 
 " Sense — spirit — all up in me !" he replied dole- 
 fully. " Pioneers !" 
 
 As this word escaped him, more in the way of a 
 groan than an utterance, Man number three, other- 
 wise known as John Dennison, gave a gesture of 
 contempt. Dennison was a particularly lucky in- 
 dividual, who had managed to make a large for- 
 tune while he was yet young, through successful 
 land speculations ; and now at his present age of 
 forty-eight he bore scarcely any traces of the pass- 
 ing of time, save the small bald spot on the top of 
 his head which the sunlight had discovered, but 
 which few less probing searchers would have per- 
 ceived. He was of an energetic, determined tem- 
 perament, and the listless attitude and confessed 
 helplessness of Adair excited him to action. 
 Shaking himself out of his reclining posture, and 
 sitting bolt upright, he said sternly — 
 
 " Look here, Adair, you're too lazy to go through 
 with this thing. If you don't show a little more 
 character and firmness, Fairfax and I will have to 
 slope it without you." 
 
 At this Adair opened his eyes wide, and also sat 
 up, wearing an extremely astonished and injured 
 expression. 
 
THREE WISE MEN OF GOTHAM. 7 
 
 " I say, old man !" he expostulated — " no threats 
 — bad form — sneak out of promise — oh, by Jove !" 
 
 " Well then, pay some attention to the question 
 in hand," said Dennison, moUified. " Have we, or 
 have we not, resolved to make a move ?" 
 
 " We have !" declared Fairfax emphatically. 
 
 " Must make a move !" groaned Adair. 
 
 " I ask you both," went on Dennison, " does it 
 look well, is it creditable to us as men — men of 
 position, influence, and sufficient wealth — that we 
 should be known in society as the merest append- 
 ages to our wives ? Is it decent ?" 
 
 " Damned indecent, / think !" said Fairfax 
 hotly. 
 
 Adair gazed straight before him with the most 
 woebegone expression. 
 
 " Awful lot of fellows — same predicament," he 
 remarked. " Wife pretty — drags ugly man round 
 -^introduces him casually, ' Oh, my husband !' — 
 and all Society grins at the poor chap. Wife ugly 
 — goes in for football — asks husband to be spec- 
 tator — kicks ball his way — says ' Excuse me !' — 
 then explains to people standing by, ' My hus- 
 band !' and the poor devil wishes he were dead. 
 Fact ! Lots of 'em, I tell you ! We're not the 
 only ones." 
 
 " Of course we're not," said Dennison. " I never 
 supposed we were. But we are Three — and three 
 of us can show an example to the others. We will 
 give these women a lesson, my boys ! — a lesson 
 they'll never forget. Have you made up your 
 minds?" 
 
 " / have !" said Fairfax determinedly. " And I 
 
8 THREE WISE MEN OF GOTHAM. 
 
 know Adair will be with me— why, he and I were 
 married on the same day, weren't we, Frank?" 
 
 Frank smiled mournfully. 
 
 "Yes, and didn't the girls look pretty then — 
 your Belle cUid my Laura !" 
 
 "Ah! who would have thought it!" sighed 
 Fairfax. "Why, my wife was the simplest soul 
 that ever lived then — happy as a bird, full of life 
 and fun, no nonsense of any sort in her head ; and 
 as for dogs — well, she liked them, of course, but 
 she didn't worship them ; she didn't belong to the 
 Ladies' Kennel Association, or any other associa- 
 tion, and she didn't worry herself about prizes and 
 exhibitions. Now it's all dogs— dogs and horses ; 
 and as for that little beast Bibi, who has taken 
 more medals than a fighting general, I believe she 
 loves it better than her own boys. It's a horrible 
 craze for a woman to be doggy." 
 
 " It's not so bad as being Pioneery," said Adair, 
 rousing himself up at this part of the conversation. 
 " Your wife's a very pretty woman, George, and a 
 
 clever one, but my wife — well " He broke off 
 
 and waved his hand in a descriptive fashion. 
 
 " Yes, I admit it," said Fairfax respectfully. 
 " Your wife is lovely — a really beautiful creature ; 
 no one can deny it." 
 
 " That being the case," continued Adair, " what 
 do you suppose she can want with the Pioneers ?" 
 
 The other two Wise Men shook their heads 
 desperately. 
 
 " Only yesterday," resumed Adair, " I went home 
 quite unexpectedly in time for afternoon tea. She 
 was in the drawing-room, wearing a new tea-gown 
 
THREE WISE MEN OF GOTHAM. 9 
 
 and looking charming. ' Oh !' said she, with a 
 cool smile, 'you home! At this hour! How 
 strange ! Have some tea ?' And nothing more. 
 Presently in came a gaunt woman — short hair, 
 skimped skirt, and man's coat. Up jumps Laura, 
 hugs her, kisses her, cries ' Oh, you dear thing ! 
 How sweet of you to come !' She was a Pioneer 
 — and she got kissed. / had no kiss. / was not 
 called a ' dear thing.' I've got short hair and a 
 man's coat, but it doesn't go down somehow, on 
 me. It used to, before we were married; but it 
 doesn't now." 
 
 " Stop a bit !" interposed Dennison suddenly and 
 almost fiercely. " Think of me ! I've been mar- 
 ried longer than either of you, and I know a thing 
 or two ! Talk of fads ! my wife goes in for them all! 
 She's mad on 'em ! Wherever there's a faddist, 
 you'll find her. Whether it's the- Anti-Corset 
 League, or the Nourishing Bread Society, or the 
 Social Reformation Body, or anything else you like 
 to think of — she's in it. I've got nothing to say 
 against her intentions ; she means well, too well, all 
 round ; but she is so absorbed in her ' meetings,' and 
 ' councils,' and ' boards,' and what not, that I assure 
 you she forgets me entirely — I don't believe she re- 
 alises my existence ! When I go home of an evening 
 she hands me the papers and magazines with an ami- 
 ably provoking smile^ as if she thought the damned 
 news was all I could possibly want ; then she goes 
 to her desk and writes letters — scratch, scratch all 
 the time. She never gives me a word ; and as for a 
 kiss !" — here he gave an angry laugh — " God bless 
 my soul ! she never thinks of it !" 
 
lO THREE WISE MEN OF GOTHAM. 
 
 " I expect," said George Fairfax seriously, " we 
 are too old-fashioned in our notions, Dennison. 
 Lots of fellows would go and console themselves 
 with other women." 
 
 "Of course they would," retorted Dennison. 
 " There are plenty of dirty cads about who act that 
 way. And I believe, as it is, we don't get much 
 credit for keeping clean. / daresay our wives 
 think we are as bad as we might be." 
 
 "They've no cause to," said Adair quietly. 
 "And if I had any suspicion that Laura enter- 
 tained a low opinion of me, I should take the 
 liberty of giving her a piece of my mind." 
 
 Fairfax and Dennison looked at him, gravely at 
 first, then they laughed. 
 
 " A piece of your mind," echoed Dennison. " I 
 think I know what it would amount to ; just a 
 ' By Jove ! too bad !' and you would go to smoke 
 and think it over. No ; we cannot offer ' pieces of 
 our minds' to our spouses on any subject whatso- 
 ever, because, you see, we cannot bring any actual 
 cause of complaint against them. They are good 
 women " 
 
 His friends nodded. 
 
 " Good-looking women " 
 
 More nods. 
 
 " And clever women." 
 
 " Yes !" sighed Adair. " That's the worst of it. 
 If they had only been stupid " 
 
 " They would have been dull !" interposed Fairfax. 
 
 " And they might have grown fat," murmured 
 Adair, with a shudder. 
 
 " Well," went on Dennison, " they are not stupid, 
 
THREE WISE MEN OF GOTHAM. II 
 
 they are not dull, and they are not fat. We have 
 agreed that they are good, good-looking, and 
 clever. Yet, with these three qualities, something 
 is wrong with them. What is it ?" 
 
 " I know," said Adair. " It is want of heart." 
 
 "Indifference to home and home-affections," 
 said Fairfax sternly. 
 
 " All comprised in one glaring fault," declared 
 Dennison ; " a fault that entirely spoils the natural 
 sweetness of their original dispositions. It is the 
 want of proper respect and reverence for Vs ; for 
 Us as men ; for Us as husbands !" 
 
 Nothing could have been more majestically 
 grandiloquent than Dennison's manner while mak- 
 ing this statement, and his two friends gazed ad- 
 miringly at him in speechless approval. 
 
 "This state of things," he went on, "must be 
 remedied. All the unloved, miserable, hysterical 
 women who have lately taken to cackling about 
 their rights and wrongs, are doing it, I believe, out 
 of sheer malice and envy, in an effort to make 
 happy wives discontented. The upheaval and 
 rending of home-affections must be stopped. Our 
 wives, for example, appear to have no conception 
 of our admiration and affection for them " 
 
 " Perhaps," interposed Fairfax, " they think that 
 we have no conception of their admiration and 
 affection for us !" 
 
 " Oh ! I say, that won't do, old fellow," murmured 
 Adair. " Admiration for us is no go ! You don't 
 suppose Laura, for instance, admires mef Not 
 much ; though I believe she used to. Of course 
 Mrs. Fairfax may admire you " 
 
12 THREE WISE MEN OF GOTHAM. 
 
 Here a faint smile began to play about his 
 mouth, which widened into an open laugh as he 
 surveyed Fairfax's broad, good-natured counte- 
 nance — a laugh in which Fairfax himself joined so 
 heartily that the water came into his eyes. 
 
 " No ; of course it's ridiculous," he said, recover- 
 ing himself at last. " She couldn't admire me. 
 She's too pretty herself. All she sees is a red- 
 faced man coming home punctually to dinner. 
 However, she admires Bibi." 
 
 "Bother admiration," struck in Dennison sharply. 
 " I didn't suggest that our wives should admire 
 us ; I said that they should reverence and respect 
 us ; and I also said I thought they appeared to be 
 quite indifferent to the admiration and affection we 
 have for them." 
 
 " That's true !" said Fairfax gloomily. " It's a 
 positive fact." 
 
 " Well, then," went on Dennison, " as they don't 
 seem to want us, let's clear out." 
 
 "Agreed !" said Adair. " Gold coast and fever 
 for me !" 
 
 " Same for me," said Fairfax. " I don't want a 
 healthy climate !" 
 
 "All right. I'll see to that!" and Dennison 
 stood up, smiling a grim smile. " We'll take the 
 worst part of the coast, where even the natives 
 die! Of course I shall tell my wife where I am 
 going." 
 
 This with dreadful emphasis. 
 
 " And I shall tell mine," said Fairfax. 
 
 " And I mine," sighed Adair. 
 
 " Now come and look at the maps and the days 
 
THREE WISE MEN OF GOTHAM. 1 3 
 
 of sailing," went on Dennison. " We can easily 
 start in a fortnight." 
 
 They left the smoking-room for the reading- 
 room, and were soon absorbed in the discussion 
 of their plans. 
 
 That evening, when Adair went home, he found 
 his wife dressed for a party, and looking radiantly 
 youthful and lovely. 
 
 " Going out somewhere to-night, Laura ?" he 
 inquired languidly, as his eyes took in every 
 detail of her graceful figure and really beautiful 
 face. 
 
 " Yes," she replied. " Only round the corner to 
 the Jacksons. They have an 'at home.' Will 
 you come?" 
 
 " No, thanks," he said, as he sat down to dinner. 
 " I hate crushes." 
 
 She made no comment, but simply took her 
 place at table and smiled upon him like a beneficent 
 angel. He, meanwhile, was thinking within him- 
 self that she was the very prettiest woman he had 
 ever seen ; but he considered that if he ventured 
 to express that thought aloud she would laugh at 
 him. A husband to compliment his wife ? Pooh ! 
 the thing was unheard of! Besides, the butler 
 was in the room — a civil man in black, of high 
 repute and decorous character — and he would 
 have been truly shocked had his master made any 
 remark of a personal nature during the course of 
 his attendance at dinner. When this dignified re- 
 tainer had departed, leaving husband and wife 
 alone to dessert, the impulse to say pretty things 
 to his better half was no longer dominant in 
 
14 THREE WISE MEN OF GOTHAM. 
 
 Adair's mind, so instead of a compliment he made 
 an announcement. 
 
 " Laura, I am going away." 
 
 She looked at him straightly, her soft violet 
 eyes opening a little more than usual. 
 
 "Are you?" 
 
 " Yes. I want a change," he said, keeping his 
 gaze riveted on the table-cloth, and trying to work 
 himself up to the required pitch of melodramatic 
 feeling, "a change from this hum-drum society 
 life where- — where I am not wanted. You see, I 
 don't get enough to do here in London. I'm sick 
 of town life. I'm not necessary to you" — this 
 with a touch of bitterness. " You can do the 
 social round well enough without me, and I — I'm 
 going to try roughing it for a time." 
 
 Had he looked up that moment, he would have 
 seen his wife's face growing pale, and he might 
 also have noted that her breath came and went 
 quickly, as though she were trying to suppress 
 some strong emotion; but he did not look — not 
 just then ; he only heard her speak, and her voice 
 was both cheerful and calm. 
 
 " What fun !" she said. " It will do you a world 
 of good !" 
 
 He looked up this time, and his expression was 
 one of reproachful astonishment. 
 
 " Fun !" he echoed. " Well, I don't know about 
 that I am going to the Gold Coast with Jack 
 Dennison. It's full of fever, and even the natives 
 die. I don't suppose I shall escape scot-free." 
 
 " Why do you go, then ?" she asked, with a smile, 
 rising from her chair and preparing to put on her 
 
THREE WISE MEN OF GOTHAM. 1$ 
 
 evening cloak. Adair rose also, and taking the 
 mantle from her hands, put it round her. 
 
 "Why do I go?" he echoed, with just the 
 slightest suspicion of a tremor in his voice. " Well, 
 if you can't guess, Laura, / can't explain. I 
 couldn't be rough with you for the world, and it 
 might sound rough to say that I know you're 
 sick of me, and that I'm better out of your way 
 for a time. Married people ought to separate 
 occasionally; it's quite natural you should get 
 bored seeing me every day of your life. You 
 wouldn't take to the ' Pioneers' if you weren't in 
 need of a change of some sort from the monotony 
 of my company. If I go off to Africa, I shall 
 have the pleasure of hoping you'll be glad to see 
 me back. It'll giye you time to be glad. At 
 present you can't be glad, because you see too 
 much of me. You don't mind my going ?" 
 
 " Not in the least !" she answered, and to his 
 secret indignation he fancied he saw almost a 
 laugh in her eyes. " I think it will be jolly for 
 you. And Jack Dennison is going, is he ?" 
 
 " Yes ; and George Fairfax." 
 
 " Really ! How nice ! You three were always 
 such good chums. I expect you'll have a per- 
 fectly lovely trip. When are you thinking of 
 starting ?" 
 
 " In a fortnight." 
 
 "Delightful! We must have a little dinner- 
 party before you go to wish you all luck ! I hope 
 you mean to bring me some nuggets and any 
 amount of queer necklaces and bracelets and bar- 
 baric ornaments. Ta-ta for the present ! I must 
 
1 6 THREE WISE MEN OF GOTHAM. 
 
 be off or I shall be late at the Jacksons. Don't 
 sit up for me !" 
 
 She floated gracefully out of the room like a 
 sylph on wings, giving him a dazzling smile as 
 she went. When she had quite disappeared he 
 flung himself into a chair and said, " Damn it !" 
 very gently. Then he lit a big cigar, and medi- 
 tated. 
 
 " She doesn't care a bit !" he reflected. " That 
 hint about even the natives dying didn't affect her 
 in the least. She is quite callous. Ah! this is 
 what comes of social faddists and problemists, and 
 the artificial 'tone' at which life is taken nowa- 
 days. All humbug and sham, and no time for 
 sentiment. Love? — pooh! — that's over and done 
 with ; there's no such thing. Upon my life, I be- 
 lieve if I were dead, Laura would only squeeze a 
 couple of tears out of those pretty eyes of hers, 
 and then set about considering the newest fashions 
 for mourning." 
 
 While he sat thus absorbed in solitary musings 
 of a sufficiently dreary and despondent character, 
 his friend George Fairfax had likewise gone home 
 to dinner, and had, in quite another sort of fashion, 
 broken the news of his intended departure to his 
 wife, an exceedingly pretty, lively little woman, 
 with a quantity of fair hair and dancing, laughing, 
 roguish blue eyes. 
 
 " Well, I sha'n't be here for the Dog Show !" he 
 remarked abruptly, shooting out the words with 
 fierce emphasis, and casting an indignant glance at 
 a tiny Yorkshire " toy" terrier that was curled up 
 in its mistress's lap like a ball of fine spun silk. " I 
 
THREE WISE MEN OF GOTHAM. 1/ 
 
 shall be thousands of miles away. And if you 
 want to ' wire' me any of Bibi's triumphs you'll 
 find it expensive." 
 
 " Really 1" and Mrs. Fairfax looked up sweetly, 
 stroking her pet the while. " Why, where are you 
 going?" 
 
 " To Africa !" replied her husband solemnly. 
 "To the Gold Coast — to the worst part, where 
 fever rages, and where even the natives die." 
 
 He pronounced the last words with particular 
 emphasis. But she remained perfectly placid ; she 
 only bent over Bibi, and murmured with an ecstatic 
 chuckle, " Oh, zoo ducky 'ittle sing !" 
 
 George stared very hard at her without pro- 
 ducing any impression, and in a deeply injured 
 tone he resumed : " Yes ; I am going out with 
 Jack Dennison. I find it necessary; in fact, im- 
 perative to go " 
 
 " Ah, yes, agricultural affairs are in a bad way !" 
 she said sympathetically. " Do you know, I 
 thought you would have losses this year on the 
 lands — rentals are going down so much, and every- 
 thing is so hopeless for the farmers ; I really think 
 you are wise to try and recuperate. I suppose 
 Dennison has got a mine or something ?" 
 
 He favoured her with a look that was meant to 
 be scornful, but which only succeeded in being 
 plaintive. 
 
 " You mistake the position. Belle," he said, with 
 severe politeness. " I have had no losses, I do not 
 need to recuperate, and Dennison has no mine. I 
 am going because I wish to go ; because, as I have 
 had occasion to mention to you before, I do not 
 
 1 
 
1 8 THREE WISE MEN OF GOTHAM. 
 
 appear to be wanted here. You are too much 
 absorbed in — ^in your ' kennel' duties to attend to 
 me ;" and here he gave vent to what he considered 
 a culminating burst of sarcasm. " Yes, I feel in 
 the dog's way. The dog is master here — I am not. 
 You have several dogs, I know ; but the dog, the 
 one I mean at present in your lap, is the chief 
 object of your consideration, tenderness, and in- 
 terest. He always takes prizes ; he deserves atten- 
 tion. I do not take prizes ; I cannot compete with 
 him. Therefore I am going away for a change — a 
 change from society and dog shows. It will do me 
 good to grapple with danger and death" — here he 
 looked as tragic as his amiable round face would 
 allow him — •" and when I return home again, after 
 many adventures, you will be glad, perhaps, to see 
 me. 
 
 His wife's eyes twinkled prettily like sapphires 
 as she surveyed him. 
 
 " Of course I shall be glad," she said frankly ; 
 " but I quite agree with you in thinking that the 
 trip will do you all the good in the world. I have 
 thought for some time that you've been a little out 
 of sorts — a trifle hypochrondriacal — or a touch of 
 the spleen, because you say such funny things." 
 (" Funny things !'* George was speechless.) " And 
 Dennison will make a splendid travelling com- 
 panion. When do you go ?" 
 
 " In a fortnight," he answered feebly, utterly 
 bewildered at her cool way of taking what he 
 thought would prove a startling and fulminating 
 announcement. 
 
 " Oh, then I must see to your flannel shirts," she 
 
THREE WISE MEN OF GOTHAM. 1 9 
 
 observed. " They wear flannel next to the skin as 
 a preventive of fever in Africa." 
 
 " Ah ! there's no preventive against that fever," 
 he muttered, morosely, adding almost under his 
 breath, " Even the natives die !" 
 
 " Oh, I should think quinine and flannel would 
 be useful," she responded cheerfully. " The natives 
 don't know how to take care of themselves, poor 
 things ! Englishmen do. I sha'n't be a bit anxious 
 about youy 
 
 " Won't you ? No, I don't suppose you will ;" 
 and Fairfax began to feel rather snappish. " It 
 isn't as if I were Bibi. Adair is going, too." 
 
 " Is he really ? Can he bear to leave his lovely 
 Laura ?" 
 
 " His lovely Laura will get on very well without 
 him, I dare say," retorted Fairfax. " By the time 
 he comes back she'll very likely be in knicker- 
 bockers, playing football with the Pioneers !" 
 
 With this parting shot he marched out of the 
 room in haste, disappointed and indignant at his 
 wife's indifference. She, left alone, lay back in her 
 chair and indulged in a hearty laugh, which had 
 the effect of rousing the pampered " Bibi" to such 
 a pitch of wonder that he found it n,ecessary to rise 
 on his hind legs and apply his cold, wet nose to 
 his mistress's chin with a mild sniff of inquiry. 
 She caught the pretty little animal up in her arms 
 and kissed its silky head, still laughing and mur- 
 muring, " Oh, Bibi ! men are funny creatures ! ever 
 so much funnier than dogs ! You can't imagine 
 how nice and funny they are, Bibi !" 
 
 After a while she became serious, though her 
 
20 THREE WISE MEN OF GOTHAM. 
 
 eyes still danced with mirth. Putting her little 
 dog down, she began to count on her fingers. 
 
 " In a fortnight — well, I must see Laura, and 
 find out what she thinks about it. Then we'll both 
 go and consult Mrs. Dennison. The boys are at 
 school — so thafs all right. I wonder what the 
 steamer is ? We can easily find out. Dear old 
 George ! what a silly he is ! And John Dennison 
 and Frank Adair are equally silly — three of the 
 dearest old noodles that ever lived ! I must see 
 Laura to-morrow." 
 
 Meanwhile a conversation more or less similar 
 had taken place between Mr. and Mrs. Dennison. 
 John was a man of action, and prided himself on 
 the swift (and obstinate) manner in which he in- 
 variably made up his mind. His wife did not con- 
 sider herself behind him in resolution ; she was a 
 handsome woman of about thirty-eight, with a 
 bright expression and a frank, sweet smile of her 
 own which proved very attractive to her friends, 
 who came to her with all their troubles, and gave 
 her their unbounded confidence. She was active, 
 strong, and energetic, and never wasted a moment 
 in useless argument ; so that when, her husband 
 said quite suddenly, " I am going to Africa," she 
 accepted the statement calmly as a settled thing, 
 and merely inquired — 
 
 " When ?" 
 
 He eyed her severely. 
 
 " In a fortnight," he answered, jerking out his 
 words like so many clicks of a toy-pistol. " Gold 
 Coast. Bad place for fever. Even the natives die." 
 
 Mrs. Dennison's tender heart was touched at 
 
THREE WISE MEN OF GOTHAM. 21 
 
 once, but, as her husband thought, in quite the 
 wrong way. 
 
 " Poor things !" she said, pityingly ; " I dare say 
 their notions of medicine are very primitive. You 
 must take a double quantity of quinine with you, 
 John, dear, and you may be able to save many 
 lives." 
 
 He stared at her, his face reddening visibly. 
 
 " God bless my soul, Mary, I shall have enough 
 to do in taking care of my own life," he snapped 
 out, "without bothering after the natives. You 
 don't seem to think of that !" 
 
 " Oh, yes, I do," responded Mary, very tran- 
 "^uilly. " But you are a strong, healthy man, John, 
 and very sensible ; you know how to look after 
 yourself — no one better ; and I should indeed be 
 silly if I felt any anxiety about you. May I ask 
 what you are going to the Gold Coast for ? or is it 
 a secret?" 
 
 Now, John Dennison was, on the whole, a good 
 fellow ; honest, honorable, and true to the heart's 
 core ; but with all his virtues he had a temper, 
 and he showed it just then. 
 
 " No, it is not a secret, madam !" he burst forth, 
 trembling from head to foot with the violence of 
 his emotions. " If I were to speak quite plainly, I 
 should say the reason of my going is an open 
 scandal ! Yes, that is what it is ! Oh, you may 
 look at me as if you thought me a troublesome 
 lunatic — you have that irritating way, you know 
 — ^but I mean it. I may as well be a wanderer 
 and a vagabond on the face of the earth, for I have 
 no home. What should be my home is turned 
 
22 THREE WISE MEN OF GOTHAM. 
 
 into a meeting-place for all the crack-brained fad- 
 dists in London, who form " societies' for want of 
 anything better or more useful to do. It may be 
 very interesting to talk and make speeches about 
 the necessity of feeding the people on nourishing 
 bread instead of non-nourishing alum stuff, but it 
 has nothing to do with Me ! T don't personally 
 care what the people eat, or what they don't eat. I 
 ought to care, I suppose, but I don't ! When I was 
 a hard-working lad, I ate what I could get, and was 
 thankful ; no nice ladies and gentlemen met in draw- 
 ;ng-rooms to assert that I was badly fed, and that I 
 ought to be looked after more tenderly. ' Fads' were 
 not in fashion then ; people fought for themselves 
 manfully, as they should do, and came up or went 
 down according to their own capabilities ; and 
 there wasn't all this cosseting and coddling of the 
 silly and incompetent. It is quite ridiculous that 
 in an age like ours a ' society' should be formed 
 for the purpose of teaching the majority what sort 
 of bread to eat. By the Lord Harry! if they're 
 such confounded idiots that they can't distinguish 
 between good bread and bad, they deserve to starve. 
 Even the dullest monkey knows the difference be- 
 tween a real turnip and a sham one. I've given 
 you my opinion on these sort of subjects before. 
 I'm against all 'Leagues' and 'Bodies' and 
 ' Working Committees.' I hate them. You like 
 them. That's where we differ. You, in your 
 Anti-Corset League, want to make girls give up 
 tight-lacing; now, / say, let them tight-lace till 
 they spUt in half, if they like it ; there'll only be 
 so many feminine fools the less in the world. And 
 
THREE WISE MEN OF GOTHAM, Z3 
 
 as for the ' Social Reformation' busiaess— pah ! 
 that's not fit for a decent woman to meddle with. 
 If women would only begin to ' reform' themselves, 
 and make their husbands happy, society might be 
 purified to a great extent ; but so long as house- 
 holds are looked upon as a nuisance, husbands a 
 bore, and children a curse, nothing but misery can 
 come of it. And the reason I am going away is 
 this — that I do not feel myself the master of my 
 own house ; there are too many ' Committees' 
 accustomed to meet in it at their own discretion ; 
 your time is entirely taken up with laudable efforts 
 to improve the community" — here he indulged in 
 a mild sneer — " so much so that I have become 
 nothing but an unnecessary appendage to the im- 
 portance of your position. Now" — and he grew 
 fierce again — " I do not choose to play second 
 fiddle to any one, least of all to my own wife. So 
 I shall clear out and leave you to it. George Fair- 
 fax and Frank Adair feel the domestic wretchedness 
 of their positions as keenly as I do, and they are 
 going out to the Gold Coast with me. I shall 
 provide you amply with means — and ikej will do 
 the same on behalf of ikeir wives — and we shall 
 be absent for a considerable time. In fact, who 
 knows whether we may ever come back at all ?" — 
 here his voice became sepulchral. " Fortunately, 
 our wills are made !" 
 
 He ceased. Throughout his somewhat lengthy 
 tirade, his wife had sat quite still, patiently listen- 
 ing, her hands reposefully folded over a book on 
 her knee, her eyes regarding him with a clear 
 steadfastness in which there was a soft lurking 
 
24 THREE WISE MEN OF GOTHAM. 
 
 gleam of something like compassion. Now that 
 he had finished what he had to say she spoke, in 
 gentle deliberate accents. 
 
 " I am to understand then, my poor John," she 
 said, almost maternally, "that you are leaving 
 home on account of your dislike to the way I try 
 to employ myself (very ineffectually I admit) in 
 doing good to others ?" 
 
 He gave a short nod of assent and turned his 
 eyes away from her. It rather troubled him to be 
 called " my poor John !" 
 
 " And Mr. Adair finds equal fault with his beau- 
 tiful girl-wife Laura !" 
 
 " Poor Adair has equal reason to find fault," 
 was the stem reply. " A man may very well be- 
 come crusty when he finds the woman he loves to 
 adoration deliberately rejecting his affection for 
 that of a Pioneer !" 
 
 A curious little trembling appeared to affect Mrs. 
 Dennison's full white throat, suggestive of a rising 
 bubble of laughter that was instantly suppressed. 
 
 " Mr. Fairfax, you say, is going also ?" she mur- 
 mured gently. 
 
 " He is. Not having the necessary qualifications 
 for a dog-trainer, he is not required in his home," 
 replied her husband with intense bitterness. " Dogs 
 now occupy Mrs. Fairfax's whole time to the total 
 exclusion of her domestic duties." 
 
 Mrs. Dennison was silent for a little while, think- 
 ing. Then she put the book she held carefully 
 down on a side-table, and rose in all her stately 
 height and elegance, looking the very beau ideal 
 of a handsome English matron. Crossing over to 
 
THREE WISE MEN OF GOTHAM. 2$ 
 
 where her husband stood, she laid her plump 
 pretty hand, sparkling with rings, tenderly on his 
 bald spot, and said in the sweetest of voices — 
 
 " Well, John, dear, all I can say is that I am de- 
 lighted you are going! It will do you good; in 
 fact it's the very best thing possible for all three 
 of you. I think you've all been too comfortable 
 and lazy for a long time ; a voyage to the Gold 
 Coast will be the very tonic you require. Of 
 course I'm sorry you've no sympathy with me in 
 my humble efforts to do a little useful work among 
 my fellow-women during my leisure days, and 
 while the children are at school, but I don't blame 
 you a bit. Of course you have your ideas of life 
 just as I have mine, and there's no need for us to 
 be rude to each other or quarrel about it. An 
 ocean-trip will be just splendid for you. I'll see 
 to your things. I know pretty well what you 
 will want in Africa. I fitted out a poor fellow only 
 the other day, who was convicted of his first theft ; 
 the gentleman he robbed wouldn't prosecute, be- 
 cause of the sad circumstances. It's too long a 
 story to tell now, but we got him a place out in 
 Africa with a kind farmer, and I fitted him out. 
 So I know just the kind of flannels and things 
 required." 
 
 " Exactly !" said TDennison, quivering and snort- 
 ing with repressed wrath and pain. " Fit me out 
 like a convicted thief! Nothing could be better ! 
 Suit me down to the ground !" 
 
 His wife looked at him with that kind maternal 
 air of hers and laughed. She had a very musical 
 laugh. 
 
26 THREE WISE MEN OF GOTHAM. 
 
 "Oh, you dear old boy!" she said cheerfully. 
 " You must always have your little joke, yoii know !" 
 
 And with that she moved in a queen-like way 
 across the room and out of it. 
 
 Left alone, John sank into a chair and wiped his 
 fevered brow. 
 
 " Was there ever such a woman !" he groaned 
 within himself despairingly. " To think that she 
 once loved me ! and now — now she takes my going 
 to a malarial climate as coolly as if it were a mere 
 trip across Channel and back ! What a heart of 
 stone ! These handsome women (she is a hand- 
 some woman) are as impervious to all sentiment 
 as — as icebergs ! And as for tact, she has none. 
 Fancy bringing that convicted thief into the con- 
 versation. Almost as if she thought I resembled 
 him. Oh, the sooner I'm out of England the 
 better. I'll lose myself in Africa, and she can get 
 up an 'Exploration Fund' with a working com- 
 mittee, and pretend to try and find me. And then 
 when she hasn't found me, she can write a book 
 of adventure (made up at home) entitled How I 
 Found my Husband. That's the way reputations 
 are made nowadays, and by the Lord Harry, what 
 devilish humbug it all is !" 
 
 Plunging his hands deep in his pockets he sat 
 and stared at the pattern of the carpet in solitary 
 reverie, angrily conscious, through all his musings, 
 of having " felt small" in the presence of his wife, 
 inasmuch as throughout their conversation she had 
 maintained her wonted composure and grace, and 
 he, though of the " superior" sex, had been unwise 
 enough to lose his temper. 
 
THREE WISE MEN OF GOTHAM. 2/ 
 
 Two or three days later Mrs. Dennison, Mrs. 
 Fairfax, and Mrs. Adair had what they called " a 
 quiet tea." They spent the whole afternoon 
 together, shut up in Mrs. Adair's elegant little 
 boudoir, and spoke in low voices like conspirators. 
 The only witness of their conference was Bibi, who 
 took no interest whatever in their conversation, he 
 being entirely absorbed in the contemplation of a 
 tiger-skin rug which had a stuffed and very life-like 
 head. Desiring, yet fearing, to spring at the open 
 throat and glittering teeth of this dreadfully-alive 
 looking beast, Bibi occupied his time in making 
 short runs and doubtful barks at it, and quite 
 ignored the occasional ripples of soft and smothered 
 laughter that escaped from the three fair ones 
 seated round the tea-table, because he thought, in 
 his "prize-terrier" importance, that their amuse- 
 ment was merely derived from watching his clever- 
 ness. It never entered into his head that there 
 could be any other subject in the world so enter- 
 taining and delightful as himself. So he continued 
 his dead-tiger hunt, and the ladies continued their 
 causerie, till the tiny Louis Seize clock on the 
 mantelpiece tinkled a silvery warning that it was 
 time to break up the mysterious debate. 
 
 " You're quite agreed then ?" said Mrs. Denni- 
 son, as she rose and drew her mantle round her in 
 readiness to depart. 
 
 " Quite !" exclaimed Laura Adair, clasping her 
 hands in ecstasy, " it will be glorious !" 
 
 "Simply magnificent!" echoed Belle Fairfax, 
 with rapture sparkling in her blue eyes, then sud- 
 denly perceiving her Liliputian dog nigh upon 
 
28 THREE WISE MEN OF GOTHAM. 
 
 actually getting bodily in to the elaborately- 
 modelled throat of the tiger-head, she caught him 
 up, murmuring, " Zoo naughty sing ! zoo sail go 
 too ; rocky-pocky, uppy-downy, jiggamaree !" 
 
 "Good heavens. Belle," cried Mrs. Dennison, 
 putting up her hands to her ears in affected 
 horror, " no wonder your husband complains if he 
 hears you talk such rubbish to that little monster !" 
 
 " He isn't a monster !" protested Belle indig- 
 nantly. "You can't say it; you daren't! Just 
 look at him !" 
 
 And she held Bibi up, sitting gravely on his 
 haunches in one little palm of her hand. He 
 looked so absurdly small and quaint, and withal 
 had such a loving, clever, bright, wee face of his 
 own, that Mrs. Dennison relented. 
 
 " Positively he M a darling !" she said, " I'm 
 bound to admit it. Landseer might haye raved 
 over him. No wonder your husband's jealous of 
 him !" 
 
 All three ladies laughed gaily, though Laura 
 had something like tears in her beautiful eyes. 
 
 " I think," she said softly, " that as far as I am 
 concerned, Frank may have a little cause to feel 
 himself neglected. You see when one goes very 
 much into society as I do, one falls unconsciously 
 into society's ways, and one gets ashamed of 
 showing too decided a liking for one's own hus- 
 band. It is a false shame, of course, but there it 
 is. And I am really so deeply in love with Frank, 
 that when we were first married people remarked 
 it, and other women made fun of me, and then — 
 then I joined the Pioneers out of a silly notion of 
 
THREE WISE MEN OF GOTHAM. 2g 
 
 self-defence. The Pioneers, you know, are all 
 against husbands and the tyrannies of men 
 generally — even the loving tyrannies ; and I 
 thought if I was a Pioneer nobody would tease me 
 any more for being too fond of my own husband. 
 It was very stupid of me, yet when I once got 
 among them I felt so sorry for them all ; they 
 seemed to have such topsy-turvy notions of mar- 
 riage and life generally that I set myself to try and 
 cheer up some of the loneliest and most embittered 
 of the members, and do you know I have succeeded 
 in making a few of them happier, but Frank sees 
 it in the wrong light " 
 
 She stopped, and Belle Fairfax kissed her 
 enthusiastically. 
 
 " You are a dear !" she declared. " The prettiest 
 and sweetest woman alive ! The upshot of it all 
 is, that if we have made mistakes with the dear old 
 boys, so have they made mistakes with us, and 
 we've hit upon the best plan in the world for 
 proving how wrong they are. All we've got to do 
 now is to carry out our scheme thoroughly and 
 secretly." 
 
 " Leave that to me !" said Mrs. Dennison, smil- 
 ing placidly, " only you two girls be ready — ^the 
 rest is plain saihng." 
 
 The following week Mr. and Mrs. Dennison gave 
 a little dinner-party. The company numbered six, 
 and were the host and hostess, Mr. and Mrs. Adair, 
 and Mr. and Mrs. Fairfax. It was a "farewell" 
 feast ; the ladies were in high spirits, the gentlemen 
 spasmodically mirthful and anon depressed. Bright 
 Mrs. Fairfax, at dessert, made a telling little speech, 
 
30 THREE WISE MEN OF GOTHAM. 
 
 proposing the healths of " Our Three dear Hus- 
 bands ! A pleasant trip and a safe return to their 
 loving wives !" Laura smiled sweetly, and looked 
 volumes as she kissed her glass and waved it 
 prettily to Adair. Mrs. Dennison nodded smiling 
 from the head of the table to her husband sitting 
 glumly at the foot thereof, and Mrs. Fairfax openly 
 wafted a kiss to the silent George, whose face was 
 ' uncommonly red, and who, moreover, had evidently 
 lost his usual excellent appetite. As a matter of 
 fact the Three Wise Men were very uncomfortable. 
 Their wives had never seemed to them so perfectly 
 fascinating, and they themselves had never felt so 
 utterly " small" and embarrassed. However, they 
 were all too obstinate to confess their sensations 
 one to another ; their resolve was made, and there 
 was no going back upon it without, as they con- 
 sidered, a loss of dignity. 
 
 The days flew on with incalculable speed, and 
 the evening came at last when they all said " good- 
 bye" to the fair partners of their lives, and started 
 for Southampton. They had purposely arranged 
 to leave London on the evening before the steamer 
 sailed, in order that during the silence and solitude 
 of night each wife might have ample opportunity 
 for mournful meditation and the shedding of such 
 repentant tears as are supposed to befit these occa- 
 sions. But up to the last moment the fair ones 
 maintained their aggravating cheerfulness ; they 
 were evidently more inclined to laugh than to cry, 
 and they bade farewell to their husbands " with 
 nods and becks and wreathed smiles" suitable to 
 festal jollity. There was no sentiment in their last 
 
THREE WISE MEN OF GOTHAM. 3 1 
 
 words either ; Mrs. Dennison tripped out of her 
 house to see her husband into his hansom, and 
 pitching her " sweet soprano" in its highest key 
 cried, " Remember, your things for the voyage are 
 in the yellow portmanteau ! The yellow portman- 
 teau, mind 1 Good-bye !" 
 
 " Good-bye !" growled John. Then gathering 
 himself up into a heap in one corner of the cab, 
 he said, " Damn the yellow portmanteau !" 
 
 " Good-bye, Frank, dear !" Laura Adair had 
 chirruped like some pretty tame bird, as she raised 
 herself on tip-toe to kiss her tall and handsome 
 spouse. " All I ask is, do try not to get your nose 
 sunburnt ! It m so unbecoming. Such a lot of 
 African travellers have a peeled nose !" 
 
 " I'll do my best, Laura," returned Frank, with 
 melancholy resignation. " If I live, I will take 
 care of — my — nose. If I die " 
 
 " Oh, but you won't die !" declared Laura viva- 
 ciously. "You will come home and bring me 
 heaps of nuggets." 
 
 Then the cab had driven off with him, and 
 Laura had run into the house like a wild creature 
 to cry over the chair where he had lately sat, and 
 to kiss the stump of cigar he had left in the ash- 
 tray, and roll it up in paper like a precious relic. 
 Laughing and crying together, she behaved like a 
 lunatic for about five minutes; then becoming 
 rapidly sensible, she murmured " Darling ! It will 
 soon be all right," and went quietly upstairs to finish 
 something she had to do in the way of packing. 
 
 George Fairfax had to kiss the dog Bibi as 
 well as his wife when he left, and his parting words 
 
32 THREE WISE MEN OF GOTHAM. 
 
 were gruff and husky. He loved the bright little 
 woman with the blue eyes who stood watching 
 him off with her little toy-terrier in her arms — 
 loved her with all the tenderness of a strong man's 
 heart and once or twice he was tempted to break 
 his promise to Dennison and throw up the whole 
 business. But he fought obstinately against his 
 rising sentiment, and said, " Ta-ta, Belle !" as if he 
 were going to the club for an hour, and she laughed, 
 waved her hand, and said, " Ta-ta !" also. When 
 he had actually gone, however, she, like her friend 
 Laura, cried, and kissed things of his which she 
 found lying about; then she, too, became com- 
 posed and practical, and drying her eyes, went in 
 her turn to finish something she had to do in the 
 way of packing. 
 
 Next morning the Three Wise Men stood to- 
 gether on the deck of the great ship outward 
 bound, and mournfully watched the shores of Eng- 
 land receding rapidly from their view. They had 
 been almost the last to come on board, for having 
 carefully told their wives at what hotel in Southamp- 
 ton a telegram would find them, they had, each 
 one secretly, hoped against hope that some urgent 
 message from home might have forced them (much 
 against their wills, of course) to return in haste 
 to London. But no such "reprieve" had been 
 granted ; no news of any kind had arrived, and so 
 there they were — perfectly free to carry out their 
 plans, and steaming away as fast as possible from 
 the land they held dearest and fairest in all the 
 world. They were very silent, but they thought a 
 good deal. The captain of the ship, a jolly man, 
 
THREE WISE MEN OF OOTHAM. 33 
 
 with a pleasant twinkle in his eye, spoke to them 
 now and then in passing, and told them casually 
 that there were several very pleasant ladies among 
 the saloon passengers. They heard this with 
 stoical indifference, verging on bilious melancholy. 
 As the English coast vanished at last into a thin 
 blue line on the edge of the horizon, George Fairfax 
 broke the " dumb spell" by a profane " swear." 
 
 " Damn it ! I think Belle might have wired to 
 say good-bye !" 
 
 " I confess I am surprised," murmured Adair 
 slowly, " that Laura never thought of it." 
 
 "Women are all alike," snapped Dennison. 
 " Court them and they're all romance ; marry them, 
 and they're dead to feeling." 
 
 And grumbling inaudibly he went below. The 
 other two followed him in gloomy resignation, 
 angry with themselves and with all their surround- 
 ings. When, later on, they took their places at 
 the dinner-table, they were so unsocial, morose, 
 and irritable that none of the passengers cared to 
 talk to them or attempted to " draw them out." As 
 for the women — ^"I see no pretty ones," said 
 Adair. 
 
 "AH old frumps !" grunted Fairfax. 
 
 " Women's rights and men's lefts !" snarled Den- 
 nison. 
 
 Three seats at table were empty, 
 
 " Those three ladies who came on board early 
 this morning are dining below ?" inquired the cap- 
 tain cheerfully of the steward. 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 Towards evening the wind freshened, and pres- 
 
34 THREE WISE MEN OF GOTHAM. 
 
 ently blew a heavy gale. The waves ran high, 
 and many a bold heart began to sicken at the 
 giddy whirl of waters, the nervous plunging of the 
 ship, the shuddering of her huge bulk as she 
 slipped down into the gulfs and climbed up again 
 on the peaks of the foam-crested and furious bil- 
 lows. Next day, and the two next after that, the 
 storm went on increasing, till, in the Bay of Biscay, 
 the clamour and confusion of the elements became 
 truly appalling. All the passengers were kept 
 below by the captain's orders. The Three Wise 
 Men lay in their berths because it seemed better to 
 lie there than try to stand upright, and be tumbled 
 about with the risk of breaking bones. Adair, 
 too, was grievously seasick, and so reduced to 
 utter mental and bodily misery, that he thought 
 nothing, knew nothing, and cared nothing, though 
 the heavens should crack. One night the wind 
 sank suddenly, the waves continued to run into 
 high hills and deep hollows with dizzy pertinacity ; 
 but there was a comparative calm, and with the 
 calm came a blinding close grey sea-fog. The 
 steamer's speed was slackened : the dismal fog- 
 horn blew its melancholy warning note across the 
 heaving waste of waters ; and partially soothed by 
 the deadly monotony of the sound, and the slower 
 pace at which the ship moved, all Three Wise Men 
 dropped off into a profound and peaceful slumber 
 — the deepest and most restful they had enjoyed 
 since they came on board. All at once, about the 
 middle of the night, they were startled up and 
 thrown violently from their berths by a frightful 
 shock — a huge crash and cracking of timber. All 
 
THREE WISE MEN OF GOTHAM. 35 
 
 the lights went out ; then came roarings of men's 
 voices, whistlings, and faint shriekings of women, 
 accompanied by the rush and swirl of water. 
 
 " What's the matter ?" shouted Dennison, pick- 
 ing himself up from the floor of his cabin. 
 
 " Collision, / should say !" returned Adair, out 
 of the darkness, " Get your clothes on. Where's 
 George ?" 
 
 " Here !" answered Fairfax. "I am standing in 
 a pool of water. Our window's smashed in — the 
 sea's pouring through the port-hole." 
 
 They threw on what clothes they could find, 
 and made the best of their way on deck, where 
 they at once learned the extent of the disaster. A 
 large foreign steamer had borne down upon their 
 vessel in the fog, making a huge rent in the hull 
 through which the water was pouring, and the 
 prospect of sinking within half an hour seemed 
 imminent. The foreign liner had gone on her way, 
 as usual, without stopping to learn what damage 
 she had done ; all the passengers and crew were 
 assembled on deck, the former quiet and self-pos- 
 sessed, the latter engaged in actively lowering the 
 boats ; and the captain was issuing his orders with 
 the customary coolness of a brave Englishman 
 who cares little whether his own lot be death or 
 life so long as he does his duty. 
 
 " By Jove !" exclaimed Dennison as he surveyed 
 the scene : " we're in for it ! They're beginning to 
 fill the boats ; women and children first of course. 
 If there's no room for us, we'll have to sink or 
 swim in grim earnest !" 
 
 His two friends, Fairfax and Adair, looked on 
 
36 THREE WISE MEN OF GOTHAM. 
 
 at the scene for a moment in silence. What each 
 man thought within himself concerning the com- 
 fortable homes they had left behind cannot here be 
 expressed — ^they kept their feelings to themselves, 
 and merely went forward at once to proffer their 
 assistance to the captain. 
 
 " Oh, you will take care of me, I'm sure !" sud' 
 denly said a sweet pleading voice behind Adair, 
 while a face, fair as an angel's, shone full upon 
 him out of the storm and darkness, " I shall not 
 be at all frightened with you .'" 
 
 Adair turned sharply round, 
 
 " Laura f he gasped. 
 
 She slipped her arm through his, and smiled 
 bravely up at him. 
 
 " Yes, it's me !" she said. " You didn't suppose 
 I was going to part with you for such a long, un- 
 certain time, did you ? Oh no, darling ! How 
 could you think it ! Are we going to be drowned ? 
 I don't mind, if I stop with you, and you hold me 
 very tight as we go down. I'm so glad I came !" 
 
 He caught her in his arms, and kissed her with 
 the frenzied passion of a Romeo. Indeed it would 
 have been difficult even for a Shakespeare to depict 
 the tragic tumult then raging in this "modern" 
 husband's soul— the love, joy, terror, remorse, and 
 reverence that centred round this delicate and 
 beautiful creature who loved him so well that she 
 was ready to confront a horrible death for his sake ! 
 Meanwhile a little blue-eyed woman was clinging 
 to George Fairfax, sobbing and laughing together. 
 
 " Oh, are we going to die ?" she inquired hys- 
 terically, " Dear George, are we going to die ? Do 
 
THREE WISE MEN OF GOTHAM. 37 
 
 let us keep together, and poor Bi-bi with us I I've 
 brought Bi-bi !" 
 
 " Heaven bless Bibi !" cried George fervently, 
 hugging little woman and little dog together. 
 " Oh, my darling Belle ! who would have thought 
 of seeing you here ! Why did you come ?" 
 
 " To take care of you, of course !" she replied, 
 her blue eyes full of tears. "I didn't mean to 
 show myself till we got to that horrid place in 
 Africa, where you said the natives die of fever and 
 things. Oh, dear, are we to get into boats? I 
 Won't go without you, George ; nothing shall in- 
 duce me !" 
 
 " My dearest, women and children must go first," 
 said the unhappy George. "Oh, what fools we 
 were to leave England! To think we should 
 have brought you to this! Why, there's Mrs. 
 Dennison !" 
 
 There she was indeed, calm, and almost smiling 
 in the midst of danger. She held her husband's 
 arm, for bluff John Dennison was completely taken 
 aback and unnerved, and made no attempt to hide 
 the tears that filled his eyes and rolled down his 
 cheeks. 
 
 " It's all my fault," he said huskily, " If it 
 hadn't been for me, Fairfax and Adair would never 
 have started on this unlucky journey, and you dear 
 women would not have got into this danger. As 
 it is, God help us all ! I believe we are doomed." 
 
 " Oh let us hope not," answered Mrs. Dennison 
 softly and cheerily, " and if we are, it's not a hard 
 death if we can only keep together. Look ! there's 
 the captain beckoning us now ; come, girls 1" 
 
 4 
 
38 THREE WISE MEN OF GOTHAM. 
 
 And how it happened none of them could ever 
 quite realise, but certain it is, that within the next 
 few minutes, the Three Wise Men found them- 
 selves in a small open boat, with their three wives, 
 rocking up and down in the wallowing trough of 
 the sea, the dog Bibi being the only other passen- 
 ger. Fortunately, the clearance of the living freight 
 from the sinking steamer had been effected with 
 such promptness and method, that every soul on 
 board got safely away before she began to heel 
 under, and the pale light of morning showed the 
 little fleet of boats riding high on the crests of the 
 still uproarious billows. But as the hours went on, 
 and the sun rose, these boats began to part com- 
 pany, and by ten o'clock in the morning, the little 
 skiff containing the Three Wise Men and their fair 
 partners was the only object visible on the shining 
 expanse of the sea. The steamer had sunk. 
 
 Slowly and heedfully the Three pulled at their 
 oars, and many a loving and anxious look did each 
 man cast at the soft bundled-up figures in the stern, 
 huddled together for warmth and support. All 
 three women slept, out of sheer exhaustion, and 
 the morning sunshine beamed full on the sweet 
 face of the beautiful Laura, her peacefully closed 
 eyelids making her look like some dreaming saint, 
 while the fresh wind ruffled the bright uncovered 
 locks of Belle Fairfax, whose tiny dog, curled close 
 against her breast, was not asleep, but, on the con- 
 trary, was watchfully observing, with sharp eyes and 
 attentively quivering nose, every wave that threat- 
 ened to disturb his mistress's slumbers. Presently 
 John Dennison essayed a remark. 
 
THREE WISE MEN OF GOTHAM. 39 
 
 " They're too good for us." 
 
 The silence of his friends gave tacit consent. 
 Encouraged, he offered another opinion. 
 
 " If we drown we shall deserve it. We've been 
 fools." 
 
 Again silence implied agreement. Then all three 
 bent to the oars more earnestly, now and then turn- 
 ing their heads to scan the ocean in search of some 
 home-returning ship which might offer them res- 
 cue. The sun rose higher and higher, the great sea 
 sank to smoothness and turned to liquid gold, and 
 at about midday Belle awoke. At first she looked 
 frightened ; but, meeting her husband's fond eyes, 
 she smiled. 
 
 " Well, we're not dead yet !" she said briskly. 
 " But I'm afraid we shall soon be hungry !" 
 
 " I'm afraid so too !" responded George de- 
 jectedly. 
 
 Laura sat up just then, whereupon Mrs. Den- 
 nison spoke as if she herself had not been asleep 
 at all. 
 
 " I have some biscuits and some brandy," she 
 said, in her bright clear voice. " We can hold out 
 for a little while on that." 
 
 " Of course," said Belle ; then mournfully, " If 
 the worst comes to the worst, we must eat Bibi !" 
 
 At this a smile came on every face. Bibi him- 
 self, always alert at the mention of his own name, 
 seemed much interested at the direful proposal; 
 and presently, despite anxiety and danger, they all 
 laughed outright. 
 
 " I'd cut off my own hand and eat it rather than 
 eat Bibi," declared George emphatically. " Besides, 
 
40 THREE WISE MEN OF GOTHAM. 
 
 poor little chap, he would hardly be a mouthful for 
 a hungry man." 
 
 " Oh, but he would be better than nothing!" said 
 Belle, bravely, winking away the tears that would 
 come at the thought of the possible end of her 
 small favourite. " I would rather he were eaten 
 than that anybody should suffer " 
 
 As he spoke the distant heavy throbbing of 
 engines across the water was heard. Adair sprang 
 up in the boat, shading his eyes from the sun. 
 
 " Here comes a liner !" he cried, " bearing straight 
 down upon us, by Jove ! Here, let us wave some- 
 thing ; they're sure to see us !" 
 
 Quick as thought Mrs. Dennison slipped off a 
 dainty white petticoat she wore, and handed it to 
 her husband to serve as a signal of distress. Tied 
 to an oar, its lace frills fluttered to the breeze, and 
 in less time than it takes to relate they were per- 
 ceived and rescued. The vessel that took them on 
 board was bound for Southampton, and in due 
 time the Three Wise Men, with their wives and 
 Bibi, were landed on their native shore, none the 
 worse, though much the wiser, for their little ex- 
 perience. The rest of the shipwrecked passengers, 
 together with the captain and crew, were similarly 
 rescued. 
 
 About a week after their safe return to London, 
 Mr. and Mrs. Dennison gave another little dinner- 
 party. The same number sat down to table as 
 before, and the party was composed of the same 
 persons. It was a very blithe and festive gather- 
 ing indeed, and the Three Wise Men were much 
 merrier than most wise men are supposed to be. 
 
THREE WISE MEN OF GOTHAM. 4I 
 
 Healths were proposed of a strange and wild char- 
 acter by both the ladies and the gentlemen. 
 
 " Here's to Bibi !" cried George Fairfax, enthu- 
 siastically. " Long may he hold his own as the 
 smallest and prettiest of Yorkshires !" 
 
 Loud applause ensued, accompanied by wild 
 yapping on the part of the toasted canine hero, 
 who, in due consideration of his having been 
 shipwrecked and run the risk of being eaten, was 
 on a velvet cushion within kissable distance of 
 his mistress. Then Mrs. Adair got up, glass in 
 hand. 
 
 " I beg to propose the continuance of love-- 
 making between husbands and wives !" she said, 
 blushing divinely. " Kind words never do harm, 
 — ^tender nothings are more than learned some- 
 things ! Pretty courtesies save many misunder- 
 standings ; and, coupled with my toast, I will ask 
 you to drink to the womanlier and happier en- 
 lightenment of my friends the Pioneers !" 
 
 Amid loud clappings the toast was drunk ; and, 
 on silence being restored, John Dennison rose to 
 his feet, and, in a voice somewhat tremulous with 
 feeling, said— 
 
 " My dear boys — Frank Adair and George Fair- 
 fax, I have only one toast to propose, the only one 
 in my opinion worth proposing — our wives ! The 
 dear women who have patiently borne with our 
 humours, who have allowed us to have our own 
 way, who followed us in faithful devotion, when 
 out of a mere fit of the spleen we left them, and who 
 proved that they were ready and willing to die 
 with us if death had come. We imagined they 
 
42 THREE WISE MEN OF GOTHAM. 
 
 were faulty women — just because they endeavoured 
 to find some useful employment for themselves 
 while we were wasting our time at our clubs and 
 billiard-rooms ; but we have discovered that the 
 biggest fault we can accuse them of is their love 
 for us ! My boys, we don't deserve it, but we may 
 as well try to. Any man who has won for himself 
 the treasure of a good woman's entire love, should 
 do his level best to make himself as worthy of it 
 as he can. We're all lucky men ; we've got three 
 of the best women alive to share our fortunes with 
 us; we behaved like fools in leaving them, and 
 they behaved like angels in coming after us, and 
 now we're all together again there's nothing more 
 to say, but here's to them with all our hearts. 
 Our love to them ! our devotion ! our rever- 
 ence !" 
 
 The applause here was somewhat subdued be- 
 cause too deeply felt ; and Belle Fairfax was cry- 
 ing a little out of sheer happiness. Mrs. Dennison 
 thought it was time to make a diversion, and rose 
 to the occasion with her usual spirit. 
 
 " John, dear !" she said, smiling at him across 
 the table, " do you know when we were all in that 
 little boat in mid-ocean, uncertain whether we 
 should be rescued, or killed with starvation and 
 exposure, I was irresistibly reminded of the old 
 nursery jingle about the Wise Men of Gotham. 
 Do you remember it ? — 
 
 ' Three wise men of Gotham 
 Went to sea in a bowl — 
 If the bowl had been stronger 
 My song might have been longer !' 
 
THREE WISE MEN OF GOTHAM. 43 
 
 " You know, dear, you were all so like those 
 wonderful men ! You went to sea — you would go 
 to sea — in your own bowl of a theory ! Now, if 
 that bowl had been stronger, why the song might 
 have been longer ! As it is " 
 
 " It is finished," said John, with a smile, coming 
 round from his place and openly kissing her where 
 she sat. " And I defy any man to show me a 
 better ending !" 
 
ANGEL'S WICKEDNESS. 
 
 " T HATE God !" said Angel. 
 
 X And having made this un-angel-like state- 
 ment, she folded her short arms across her breast 
 and surveyed her horrified audience defiantly. 
 
 It was a cold December Sunday afternoon, and 
 the Reverend Josiah Snawley was superintending 
 a Bible-class in a small, white-washed, damp and 
 comfortless schoolroom in one of the worst quar- 
 ters of the East End. He was assisted in his 
 pious task by the virginal Miss Powser, a lady of 
 uncertain age, tall and lanky of limb, with sandy 
 locks much frizzled, and a simpering smile. The 
 children ranged in a forlorn row before these two 
 charitable persons were the miserable offspring of 
 fathers and mothers whose chief business it was in 
 life to starve uncomplainingly. And Angel — such 
 was the odd name given her by her godfathers and 
 godmothers in her baptism— was one of the thin- 
 nest and most ragged among all the small recipi- 
 ents of the Reverend Josiah's instructions, which 
 had that day consisted of well-worn mild platitudes 
 respecting the love of God towards His wretched, 
 selfish and for ever undeserving creation. She had 
 usually figured as rather a dull, quiet child, more 
 noticeable perhaps than others of her condition, 
 
 45 
 
46 angel's wickedness. 
 
 by reason of her very big dark eyes, small sensi- 
 tive mouth, and untidy mass of chestnut-golden 
 hair ; but she had never come prominently to the 
 front, either for cleverness or right-down naughti- 
 ness till now, when she boldly uttered the amazing, 
 blood-curdling declaration above recorded. 
 
 " Was that Angel Middleton who spoke ?" in- 
 quired the Reverend Josiah, with bland austerity. 
 " Say it again, Angel ! but no, no !" Here he 
 shook his head solemnly. " You will not dare to 
 say it again !" 
 
 " Yes, I will !" retorted Angel, stubbornly. " I 
 hate God ! There !" 
 
 A terrible pause ensued. The other children 
 stared at their refractory companion in stupefied 
 amazement; they did not quite understand who 
 " God" was, themselves being but poor little weak, 
 physically incapable creatures, who were nearly 
 always too hungry to think much about Infinite 
 and Unreachable splendours; but they had a 
 dim idea that whoever the " Unknown Quantity" 
 in Creation's plan might be, it was very wrong 
 to hate Him ! Dreadfully wrong ! Frightfully 
 wicked, and alarming from all points of view. 
 After staring at Angel till they could stare no 
 more, some of them put their fingers to their 
 mouths and stared at Miss Powser. What did 
 she think of it ? Oh, she was limp with horror ! — 
 her eyes had grown paler, greener, and more 
 watery than ever. She had clasped her hands, 
 and was looking plaintively at the Reverend Jo- 
 siah, as indeed it was her frequent custom to do. 
 He meanwhile laid down the Testament he held, 
 
ANGELS WICKEDNESS. 4/ 
 
 and surveyed the whole class with a glance of 
 righteous indignation. 
 
 " I am shocked !" he said slowly, " shocked, and 
 pained, and grieved ! Here is a child — one who 
 has been taught Bible-lessons Sunday after Sunday 
 — who tells me she hates God ! What blas- 
 phemy! What temper! Stand forward. Angel 
 Middleton ! Come out of the class !" 
 
 Whereupon Angel came out as commanded, 
 and fully declared herself. Like a small alien on 
 strange soil, she stood in advance of the other 
 children, her worn, bursting shoes showing the 
 dirty-stockinged feet within, her patched skirt 
 clinging scantily about her meagre little figure, 
 her arms still folded across her chest, and her lips 
 set in a thin, obstinate line. Something in her 
 look and attitude evidently irritated the Reverend 
 Mr. Snawley, for he said sharply — 
 
 " Unfold those arms of yours directly !" 
 
 She obeyed; but though the offending limbs 
 dropped passively at her sides, the little grimy 
 hands remained firmly clenched. 
 
 " Now !" and the clergyman drew a deep breath, 
 and taking up his Testament gave a smart rap 
 with it on the desk in front of him. " Explain 
 yourself! W/iai do you mean by such wicked 
 conduct ? WAy do you hate God ?" 
 
 Angel looked steadily on the floor, and her lips 
 quivered. 
 
 " Because I do /" she replied resolutely. 
 
 "That's no answer!" And the reverend gen- 
 tleman turned to his lady-assistant in despair: 
 " Really, Miss Powser, you should not have ad- 
 
48 angel's wickedness. 
 
 mitted such a child as this into the Sunday class. 
 She seems to me quite incorrigible ; a mere insolent 
 heathen !" 
 
 Miss Powser appeared quite crushed by the 
 majesty of this reproach, and feebly murmured 
 something about a " mjstaken idea of character," 
 adding as a bright suggestion that the child had 
 better be dismissed. 
 
 " Dismissed ? Of course, of course !" snorted 
 the Reverend Josiah angrily. "She must never 
 come here again. Such a bad example to the 
 other children Do you understand what I say. 
 Angel Middleton ? You must never come here 
 again !" 
 
 "All right," said Angel, calmly; "I don't 
 care." 
 
 " Oh, Angel ! Angel !" moaned Miss Powser 
 faintly. " I am so sorry to see this. I had 
 hoped for much better things from you. Your 
 father " 
 
 " That's it," interrupted the girl suddenly, her 
 breast heaving. " That's why I hate God. You 
 teaches us that God does everything ; well, then, 
 God is killing father. Father never did any harm 
 to anyone ; and yet he's dying. I know he is ! 
 He couldn't get work when he was well, and now 
 there isn't enough to eat, and there's no fire, and 
 we're as miserable as ever we can be, and all the 
 time you say God is good and loves us. I don't 
 believe it! If God won't care for father, then I 
 won't care for God." 
 
 The words rushed impetuously from her lips 
 with a sort of rough eloquence that almost carried 
 
angel's wickedness. 49 
 
 conviction ; her way of reasoning seemed for the 
 moment surprising and unanswerable. But the 
 Reverend Mr. Snawley was equal to the emer- 
 gency. 
 
 " You are a very wicked, ignorant child," he 
 declared sternly. " If your father can't get work, 
 it is most probably his own fault. If he is ill and 
 incapable there is always the workhouse. And 
 if God doesn't take care of him as you say, it must 
 be because he's a bad man." 
 
 Angel's big eyes flashed fire. 
 
 " Yer lie !" she said steadily. " He's worth a 
 dozen such as you, anyway." 
 
 And with this she turned on her heel and left 
 the schoolroom, her proud step and manner indi- 
 cating that she metaphorically shook the dust of it 
 for ever from her feet. Her departure was watched 
 in absolute silence by her startled companions, the 
 insulted and indignant clergyman, and the pathetic 
 Miss Powser ; but when she had fairly gone, Mr. 
 Snawley, turning to the rest of the class, said 
 solemnly— 
 
 " Children, you have seen to-day a terrible ex- 
 hibition of the power of Satan. No one that is 
 not possessed of a devil would dare to express any 
 hatred of God ! Now remember, never let me see 
 any of you playing with Angel Middleton ; keep 
 away from her altogether, for she's a bad girl — 
 thoroughly bad — and will only lead you into mis- 
 chief. Do you hear ?" 
 
 A murmur, which might have meant either as- 
 sent or dissent, ran through the class, and the 
 Reverend Josiah, smoothing his vexed brow, took 
 c d s 
 
50 ' angel's WICKEDNJESS. 
 
 up his Testament and was about to resume his in- 
 structions, when a little shrill, piping voice cried 
 out — 
 
 " Please, sir, I want to leave the class, sir !" 
 
 " You want to leave the class, Johnnie Coleman !" 
 echoed the clergyman — " what for ?" 
 
 " Please, sir, 'cos Angel's gone, sir !" and Johnnie 
 stumped his way to the front and showed himself 
 — z. small, bright, elfish-looking boy of about 
 twelve. "Yer see, sir, I can't anyways promise 
 not to speak to Angel, sir ; she's my gal J". 
 
 A gurgling laugh of evident delight rippled 
 along the class at Johnnie's bold avowal, but a 
 stern look from Mr. Snawley rapidly checked this 
 ebullition of feeling. 
 
 "Your ga/f" and the good clergyman repeated 
 the words in a tone of shocked offence; "John 
 Coleman, you surprise me !" 
 
 John Coleman, ragged, blue-eyed and dirty, 
 seemed to care but little as to whether he sur- 
 prised the Reverend Josiah or not, for he resumed 
 the thread of his shameless argument with the 
 most unblushing audacity. 
 
 "'Iss, sir. She's my gal, an' I'm her bloke. 
 Lor* bless yer, sir! we've bin so fur years an' 
 years — iwer since we wos babbies, sir. Yer see, 
 sir, 'twouldn't do fur me to go agin Angel now — 
 'twouldn't be gentleman-like, sir !" 
 
 Evidently John Coleman knew his code of 
 chivalry by heart, though he was only a coster- 
 monger's apprentice, and was not to be moved by 
 fear from any of the rules thereof, for, gathering 
 courage instead of alarm from the amazed and 
 
ANGELS WICKEDNESS. 5 1 
 
 utter speechlessness of wrath with which Mr, 
 Snawley regarded him, he proceeded to defend 
 the cause of his absent ladye-love after the fashion 
 of all true knights worthy of their name. 
 
 " I spec's Angel's hungry, sir. That's wot riles 
 her wrong-like. Don't yer know, sir, what it is to 
 'ave a gnawin' in yer inside, sir? Oh, it's orful 
 bad, sir ! really 'tis, sir — makes yer 'ate everybody 
 wot's got their stummicks full. An' when Angel 
 gets a bit 'ere an' there, she gives it all to 'er 
 father, sir, an' niver a mossul for 'erself ; an' now 
 e's a going to 'is long 'ome, so they sez, an' it's 
 'ard on Angel anyways, and " 
 
 " That will do !" burst out Mr. Snawley loudly, 
 and suddenly interrupting the flow of Master 
 Johnnie's eloquence, and glaring at him in majestic 
 disdain ; " you can go." 
 
 " 'Iss, sir. Thank-ye, sir. Much obleeged, sir." 
 And, with many a shuffle and grin, Johnnie de- 
 parted cheerfully, apparently quite unconscious of 
 having committed any breach of good manners in 
 the open declaration of his sentiments towards his 
 " gal," and entirely unaware of the fact that, apart 
 from the disgust his " vulgarity" had excited in the 
 refined mind of the Reverend Josiah, he had actu- 
 ally caused the pale suggestion of a blush to 
 appear on the yellow maiden-cheek of Miss Pow- 
 ser ! Immoral John Coleman ! It is to be feared 
 he was totally " unregenerate" — for once out of 
 the schoolroom he never gave it or his pious 
 teachers another thought, but, whooping and 
 whistling carelessly, started off at a run intending 
 to join Angel and comfort her as best he might. 
 
52 angel's wickedness. 
 
 for her private and personal griefs as well as for 
 her expulsion from the Bible-class. For once, 
 however, he failed to find her in any of those 
 particular haunts they two were wont to patronize. 
 
 " S'pose she's gone home !" he muttered discon- 
 tentedly. " An' she won't thank me for botherin' 
 round w'en 'er father's so bad. Never mind ! I'll 
 wait near the alley in case she comes out an' 
 wants me for ennythink." 
 
 And with this faithful purpose in view, he betook 
 himself to the corner of a dirty back slum, full of 
 low tenement houses tottering to decay, in one of 
 which miserable abodes his " gal" had her dwell- 
 ing; and, sitting down on an inverted barrel, he 
 began to con over a pictorial alphabet, a present 
 from Miss Powser, which, though he knew it by 
 heart, always entertained him mightily by reason 
 of the strange coloured monstrosities that adorned 
 every separate letter. 
 
 Meanwhile, as he imagined, Angel had gone 
 home — " home" being a sort of close cupboard, 
 dignified in East End parlance by the name of 
 " room," where on a common truckle-bed, scantily 
 covered, lay the sleeping figure of a man. He 
 was not old — not more than forty at most — but 
 Death had marked his pale, pinched features with 
 the great Sign Ineffaceable, and the struggle of 
 passing from hence seemed to have already begun, 
 for as he slept his chest heaved labouringly up 
 and down with the rapid breath that each moment 
 was drawn in shorter gasps of pain and difficulty. 
 Angel sat close by him, and her big soft eyes 
 were fixed with passionate eagerness on his face 
 
ANGELS WICKEDNESS. 53 
 
 — ^her whole little loving, ardent soul was mirrored 
 in that watchful, yearning gaze. 
 
 " How can I ?" she murmured to herself, " how 
 can I love God, when He is so cruel to father ?" 
 
 Just then the sick man stirred, and opening his 
 eyes, large, dark and gentle, like those of his little 
 daughter, he smiled faintly. 
 
 "Is that you. Angel?" he asked whisper- 
 ingly. 
 
 "Yes, fatWl" And taking his thin hand in 
 her own, she kissed it. His glance rested on her 
 lovingly. 
 
 " Ain't you been to class, dearie ?" 
 
 "Yes, father. But " She paused — then 
 
 seeing he looked anxious and inquiring, she added 
 — " But they don't want me there no more." 
 
 " Don't want yer there no more !" her father 
 echoed in feeble wonder. " Why, Angel " 
 
 "Don't ye worry, father!" she burst forth 
 eagerly, " it's all my fault ; 'tain't theirs ! I said I 
 hated God, and Mr. Snawley said I was wicked, 
 an' I s'pose I am, but I can't help it, and there's 
 all about it ! I'm sick of their preachin' an' non- 
 sense, an' it don't make you no better nor me, an* 
 we're all wretched, an' if it's all God's doing then 
 I do hate God, an' that's the truth !" 
 
 A flickering gleam of energy came across the 
 suffering man's fece, and his large eyes shone with 
 preternatural light. 
 
 "Don't ye, Angel! Don't ye hate God, my 
 little gel! ye mustn't — no, no! God's good; 
 always good, my dear! It's all right wi' Him, 
 Angel ; it's the world that forgets Him that's 
 
 S* - 
 
54 angel's wickedness. 
 
 wrong. God does everything kind, dearie. He 
 gave me your mother, and He only took her away 
 when she was tired and wanted to go. All for the 
 best, Angel ! All for the best, little lass ! Love 
 God, my child, love Him with all your heart, an' 
 all your soul, an' all your mind." 
 
 His voice died in indistinct murmuring, but he 
 still kept his gaze fixed wistfully on his daughter's 
 half-ashamed, half-sullen little face. She, continu- 
 ing to fondle his hand, suddenly asked, "Why 
 was I called Angel, father ?" 
 
 He smiled, a very sweet and youthful smile. 
 
 "Just a fancy o' mine an' your mother's, my 
 dear, that's all ! We was young an' happy-like 
 then, an' work was easier to get ; an' such a dear 
 sweet baby lass ye were when ye were born, with 
 gold curls all over your head and bonnie bright 
 eyes, that we said ye were like a little angel. An' 
 so we named ye Angel for the sake of the pleas- 
 antness of it an' the sound of it, an' ye must be an 
 angel, dearie, Angel by name and angel by nature. 
 Yes, yes ! it's all right ! God gave ye to me, an' 
 He knows all — all the trouble an' worry an' 
 fret " 
 
 He broke off suddenly, and sat up straight in 
 his bed, while Angel, terrified by a strange expres- 
 sion in his face that she had never seen there be- 
 fore, cried out sharply, "Father! Father! what 
 isit?" 
 
 He did not answer her ; his eyes were full of 
 radiance, and seemed to be looking at something 
 his frightened child could not see. 
 
 " Angel !" he said, presently, in a faint hoarse 
 
ANGELS WICKEDNESS. 55 
 
 whisper, " look ! There's your mother ! I knew 
 she'd come ! Don't ye hate God, my little gel ! 
 He's sent her for me. God's as good as good can 
 
 be ; it's the world that's wrong the world " 
 
 He paused ; his breathing almost stopped, and he 
 still stared steadily before him. 
 
 " Father ! Father !" sobbed Angel, sinking on 
 her knees in a passion of grief and fear. " Oh, 
 father !" 
 
 His hand wandered feebly to her bent head, and 
 lay coldly on her warm soft hair. 
 
 "Don't ye — hate — God — ^Angel," he gasped 
 brokenly, " Love Him ! — an' — an' He'll take care 
 of ye !" Then, all at once, with a rich manly ring 
 in his voice, such as his poor forlorn daughter had 
 seldom heard, he exclaimed, " All right, my lass, 
 I'm coming !" 
 
 Starting up at the sound and chilled to the heart 
 with dread, Angel gave one wild look at him ; and 
 lo ! while she yet gazed, he fell back heavily ; a 
 solemn shadow crossed his face — a shadow, which 
 passing as swiftly as it had descended, left the 
 features smooth and young ; every line of care and 
 perplexity vanished as if by magic ; a smile settled 
 on the lips, and all was over. With a shriek of 
 agony the desolate child flung herself across the 
 bed by her father's stiffening corpse, unable to re- 
 lalise his death, and out of the very acuteness of 
 her despair sank for the time being into merciful 
 insensibility. 
 
 Late on that same evening Johnnie Coleman, 
 sleepy and disappointed, prepared to leave the cor- 
 ner of the alley where he had kept faithful vigil all 
 
56 angel's wickedness. 
 
 the afternoon, and set himself to return to the dirty- 
 piece of matting on the floor in his master, the 
 costermonger's, abode, which matting he, being an 
 orphan, accepted as bed and lodgement. Suddenly 
 his eyes were attracted by a bright glare in the 
 sky, and hardly had he had time to receive the im- 
 pression of this when the cry of "Fire! Fire!" 
 resounded through the street, and set him running 
 off at racing speed for the exciting scene of the 
 disaster. It was some distance away, and as he 
 ran he was quite unaware that another fleet-footed 
 figure pursued him — no other than his "gal," 
 Angel Middleton. She had crept out of her 
 wretched dwelling, poor child, sick with hunger 
 and stupefied with grief, and perceiving her ragged 
 boy-friend waiting for her at the corner, had come 
 towards him slowly and languidly, and had been 
 just about to call him by name, when off he had 
 rushed at the pace described, not seeing her, where- 
 upon she, in the mere nervous impulse of the mo- 
 ment, followed. Soon the two, running thus, were 
 merged and lost in a great crowd of people, who 
 stood looking up at a wreath of brilliant flames 
 that darted from the roof and walls of a small shop 
 and dwelling in one — the house of a general grocer 
 and dealer in oil and household provision. Owing 
 to the inflammable nature of the goods kept in the 
 store, the fire grew fast and furious, and though 
 the engines rapidly arrived it was evident that very 
 little could be done to save the perishing building. 
 The owner of the place threw himself from one 
 of the windows and escaped by a miracle without 
 injury; but when his wife, half-suffocated with 
 
ANGELS WICKEDNESS. 57 
 
 smoke, was dragged out from the burning walls 
 more dead than alive, she struggled frantically to 
 rush back again into the heart of the flames. 
 
 " My children ! my baby !" she screamed and 
 wailed. " Save them ! Oh ! save them ! Let me 
 go ! — let me die with them !" 
 
 " Steady, mother !" said one of the pitying fire- 
 men, holding her arm in a tight grip. " 'Tain't 
 no use frettin'. Leave the little 'uns to God !" 
 
 Yes, truly to God, and— His "Angel"! For 
 suddenly the crowd parted; a little girl, white- 
 faced and dark-eyed, with golden-brown hair 
 streaming behind her like a comet, rushed through 
 and made straight for the burning house. There 
 was a horrified pause; then Johnnie Coleman's 
 shrill voice, rendered shriller by terror, cried out — 
 
 " It's Angel ! Angel Middleton !" 
 
 "Angel Middleton!" roared the crowd, not 
 knowing the name, but catching it up and echoing 
 it forth like a cheer in responsive excitement. 
 " Hooray for Angel ! There's a brave gel for ye ! 
 See ; she's got the baby !" 
 
 And, sure enough, there at one of the burnt-out 
 windows, with smok6 and flame eddying around 
 her, stood Angel, holding a tiny infant in her arms, 
 the while she looked anxiously down into the 
 street below for some further means of rescue. 
 Several people rushed forward, holding an ex- 
 tended sheet which had been hastily procured, and, 
 fearing lest she should be stupefied into inaction 
 by the smoke, they shouted — 
 
 " Throw it, Angel ! Never fear ! Throw it 
 down !" 
 
58 angel's wickedness. 
 
 Whereupon Angel threw the child ; it was caught 
 in safety, and she, the rescuer, vanished. Only to 
 reappear again, however, at the same window with 
 two more small children, of about two and four 
 years of age, at sight of which such a thunder of 
 acclamation went up as might have been heard at 
 the furthest holes and corners of degraded White- 
 chapel. She meanwhile, leaning far out over the 
 charred and smoking window-frame, demanded in 
 clear, ringing tones — 
 
 " Are there any more children ? Are these all ?" 
 
 " Yes, yes !" shrieked the frantic mother, run- 
 ning forward with her just-restored baby clasped 
 to her breast — " All ! You've saved them all ! 
 God love you, dear !" 
 
 Once more the protecting sheet was outspread, 
 and without any haste or alarm for her own safety, 
 Angel let one child after another drop straightly 
 and steadily from her hold ; they were caught and 
 saved, uninjurecf. Then all interest became cen- 
 tred on the girl-heroine herself; and as the wall 
 on which she had her footing tottered to and fro, 
 a great cry went up from the crowd. 
 
 " Quick, quick. Angel ! Jump !" 
 
 A smile crossed her pale face for a moment ; she 
 looked to right and left, and was just about to leap 
 from her perilous position, when, with a sickening 
 crash the brickwork beneath her gave way and 
 crumbled to ruins, while up roared a new and 
 fierce pyramid of fire. Quickly and courageously 
 all hands went to the rescue of the rescuer, and in 
 a few minutes, which, to the pitying onlookers 
 seemed long hours, they dragged her forth, cruelly 
 
angel's wickedness. 59 
 
 burnt but not disfigured ; crushed and dying but 
 not dead. Lifting her tenderly, they carried her 
 out of the reach of the smoke and laid her down — 
 one gentle-hearted fireman supporting her little 
 golden head against his arm, while the mother, 
 whose children she had saved, fell on her knees 
 beside her, weeping and blessing her, and kissing 
 her poor charred hands. She was quite conscious, 
 and very peaceful. 
 
 " Don't ye mind," she said placidly ; " father's 
 gone, and 'twould ha' bin no use for me to stay. 
 Why, Johnnie, are you there ?" And her wander- 
 ing eyes rested smilingly on a small doubled -up 
 object close by that looked more like a bundle of 
 rags than a boy. 
 
 " 'Iss," sobbed Johnnie. " Oh, Angel ! I've bin 
 waitin' for ye all the arternoon. I wouldn't stop 
 in class arter they wouldn't 'ave ye no more — an' 
 I wanted to see ye an' tell ye as how it wouldn't 
 make no change in me, an' now — now " 
 
 Tears prevented the faithful Johnnie's further 
 utterance ; and Angel, with an effort, made a sign 
 that she wished him to come nearer. He came, 
 and she put up her lips to his. 
 
 " Kiss me, Johnnie," she whispered. He obeyed ; 
 the great drops rolling fast down his grimy cheeks, 
 while the crowd, reverently conscious of the solemn 
 approach of death, circled round these two young 
 things and watched their parting with more pas- 
 sionate though unspoken sympathy than could 
 ever have been expressed by the noblest poet in 
 the noblest poem. 
 
 " I was wicked," said Angel softly, then. " You 
 
6o angel's wickedness. 
 
 must tell them all, Johnnie — at class — that I was 
 wicked, and — that I am — sorry I said I hated God ; 
 I didn't understand. It's all. for the best — father's 
 gone, and I'm goin' — an' I'm so glad, Johnnie — 
 so happy! Bury me with father, please; — and 
 tell everybody — everybody — that I love God — 
 now." 
 
 There was a silence. The fireman supporting 
 the girl's head suddenly raised his hand with sug- 
 gestive gravity, and those who wore hats in the 
 crowd reverently lifted them. The smothered sob- 
 bing of tender-hearted women alone broke the 
 stillness ; the stars seemed to tremble in the sky 
 as the Greater Angel descended and bore away 
 the lesser one on wings of light to heaven. 
 
 And the East End turned out from every grimy 
 hole and squalid corner all its halt and blind, and 
 maimed and miserable, and bad and good, to attend 
 at Angel's funeral. The East End has a rough 
 heart of its own, and that heart had been touched 
 by an Angel's courage, and now ached for an 
 Angel's loss. She and her father were buried to- 
 gether in the same grave on Christmas Eve ; and 
 the Reverend Josiah Snawley, realising perhaps for 
 the first time the meaning of the words — "Let 
 your light so shine before men, that they may see 
 your good works, and glorify your Father which is 
 in heaven" read the Burial Service with more 
 emotion than was usual with him. Poor Johnnie 
 Coleman, wearing a bit of crape in his hat, and 
 carrying three penny bunches of violets, to throw 
 upon his little sweetheart's coffin, was the most 
 sincerely doleful of all chief mourners ; desperately 
 
ANGELS WICKEDNESS. 6 1 
 
 rubbing and doubling his dirty fists into his eyes 
 he sobbed incessantly and refused to be comforted. 
 
 " Worn't she my gal ?" he blubbered indignantly 
 to a would-be consoler. " An' ain't I to be sorry 
 at losin' 'er ? I tell ye there ain't no one left alive 
 as good as she wos !" 
 
 Even Miss Powser forgot for the nonce that she 
 was a lonely spinster, whom nobody, not even Mr. 
 Snawley, seemed disposed to marry ; and, only re- 
 membering simple womanliness, shed" tears unaf- 
 fectedly, and spent quite a little fortune in flowers 
 to strew over the mortal remains of the " mere in- 
 solent heathen" — the rebellious child who had said 
 she " hated God." For in this one thing was the 
 sum and substance of Angel's wickedness ; she 
 hated what seemed to her poor unenlightened mind 
 the wanton cruelty of the inexorable Fate that 
 forced her father to starve and die! Forgive 
 her ! — ^pity her, good Christians all ! You who, 
 comfortably fed and clothed, go to church on 
 Christmas Day and try to shut out every sugges- 
 tion of misery from your thought, forgive her as 
 God forgives — God who knows how often His 
 goodness is mistaken and misrepresented by the 
 human professed exponents of Divine Law ; and 
 how He is far more frequently portrayed to His 
 most suffering, ignorant and helpless little ones 
 as a God of Vengeance rather than what He is — 
 a God of Love ! 
 
THE DISTANT VOICE. 
 
 " A FTER long sleep, to wake up in heaven to the 
 Xjl sound of a beautiful voice, singing ! . . ." 
 
 The sick man muttered these words aloud, and, 
 turning on his pillows, opened his eyes to meet 
 the cold, grey, passionless ones of his physician 
 who bent over him, watch in hand. 
 
 " DeUrious, eh ?" said the doctor, observing him 
 narrowly. "This won't do at all. How's the 
 pulse ?" The patient extended his wrist. " H'm ! 
 Not so bad ! You were talking nonsense just 
 now, Mr. Denver." 
 
 " Was I ?" Denver smiled faintly, and sighed. 
 " I was dreaming, I think ; a strange dream, 
 about" — he paused a moment, then went on — 
 " about heaven." 
 
 The doctor put his big watch back in its pocket, 
 and looked about for his hat and gloves. 
 
 " Ah, indeed !" he murmured abstractedly. 
 "Very pleasant, no doubt! Dreams are often 
 exceedingly agreeable. You must go on with the 
 medicine, Mr. Denver ; it will alleviate pain, and 
 it is all I can do for you at present. If you could 
 pick up your strength, we might try an operation ; 
 but it's no use just now." 
 
 Denver's sad dark eyes rested on him wistfully. 
 
 " Stop a moment, doctor," he said ; " I should 
 
 63 
 
64 THE DISTANT VOICE. 
 
 like to ask you a question. I'm not delirious ; 
 I'm quite myself — at least as much as I shall ever 
 be. I know mine is a hopeless case; cancer is 
 bound to kill, sooner or later. Still, you're only 
 mortal yourself, and the time must come when 
 you will have to go the same way I am going. 
 I'm on the verge of the grave, so it's not worth 
 while deceiving me. Now, tell me honestly, do 
 you believe in heaven ?" 
 
 The doctor had found his hat and gloves by this 
 time, and was ready for departure. 
 
 "Dear me, no!" he answered; "certainly not! 
 That is, if you mean a supernatural heaven. The 
 only heaven possible to the human being is the 
 enjoyment of a certain set of brain sensations 
 which elevate him into a particular mood of hap- 
 piness ; hence the saying that ' heaven is not a 
 place but a state of mind.' " 
 
 " Then," went on Denver slowly, " you do not 
 think there is any sort of conscious or individual 
 life after death ?" 
 
 " My dear sir," replied the doctor, somewhat tes- 
 tily — he was a great man in his profession and had 
 a number of distinguished patients waiting for him 
 that morning — " these are questions for the clergy- 
 man of the parish, not for me. I really have no 
 ability to argue on such abstruse matters. I can 
 only say, as a man who has studied science to some 
 extent, that I personally am convinced that death 
 is the natural and fitting end of the diseased or 
 superannuated human being, and that when he 
 dies, he is beyond all doubt absolutely dead and 
 done for." 
 
THE DISTANT VOICE. 6$ 
 
 John Denver still looked at him earnestly. 
 
 " Thank you !" he said at last, after a pause. 
 " You are a clever man, doctor, and you ought to 
 know. I am an ignorant fellow, always was igno- 
 rant, I'm afraid. But when I worked for my living- 
 as a lad down in the mines, and looked up from 
 the darkness of that deep earth, to the round bit 
 of blue sky that shone in thick with stars above 
 me, I used to believe heaven was there and God in 
 the midst of it. It was nonsense, I suppose, but 
 I wish I had the old faiths now. I think I should 
 be able to bear my trouble better." 
 
 The doctor was slightly embarrassed and per- 
 plexed. It was the old story; he had no drug 
 wherewith to " minister to a mind diseased." Pa- 
 tients often bored him in this way with trouble- 
 some questions. If John Denver had been a poor 
 man instead of a rich one, he might not have even 
 answered him ; but millionaires are not met with 
 every day, and Denver was a millionaire. 
 
 "Why do you not see your clergyman?" he 
 asked. " It is possible he might reinstate you in 
 your beliefs " 
 
 Denver's brows clouded. 
 
 " My clergyman ?" he echoed, a trifle sorrow- 
 fully. " My clergyman is far too much occupied 
 with the comforts of earth to think over deeply 
 concerning the joys of heaven. The last time I 
 saw him, he urgently begged me to leave some- 
 thing to the church in my will. ' I am sorry to 
 hear your disease is hopeless,' he said, ' but I am 
 sure you would wish a part of your wealth to be 
 of some benefit to the Almighty.' As if any man's 
 
 e 6* 
 
66 THE DISTANT VOICE. 
 
 money could really ' benefit' the Creator of all 
 things ! No, doctor ! My clergyman has no sup- 
 port to give me in the trial I am passing through. 
 I must bear it quite alone. Don't let me detain you 
 any longer. Good-morning, and again thank you !" 
 
 The physician muttered a hasty response, and 
 made his exit, glad to escape from what he con- 
 sidered the " fads" of a fanciful invalid. 
 
 Left to himself, John Denver stared wearily into 
 the vacancy of the great room in which he lay. 
 It was furnished simply, yet richly, and through 
 the large bay window set half open, he could see 
 the verdant stretches of park and meadow land 
 of which he was the owner. He thought of the 
 years of patient toil he had endured to amass his 
 present wealth, of his life out in the " far West," 
 of the sudden discovery of silver ore which had 
 made him one of the richest men in the world, 
 and of all the glamour and glitter of slavish so- 
 ciety which had attended him ever since his attain- 
 ment to fortune. He thought of the pretty woman 
 he had married — a fresh, lively girl when he had 
 first met her, and one whom he had fondly fancied 
 loved him for himself alone ; but who was now no 
 more than a frivolous mondaine, for whom nothing 
 was sacred but social conventionalism, and whose 
 heart had steadily hardened under the influence of 
 boundless wealth till she was as soulless as a 
 fashion-plate. He thought of his children who 
 had never loved him with really disinterested af- 
 fection, of his son, who only looked upon him* as 
 the necessary provider of his yearly allowance, of 
 his daughter, who was running the rounds of so- 
 
THE DISTANT VOICE. 67 
 
 dety in search of some titled noodle for a hus- 
 band, almost, if not utterly indifferent to the fact 
 that her father was dying of an incurable disease, 
 and as memory after memory chased itself through 
 his tired brain, a sudden rush of tears blinded 
 him, and he groaned aloud, " O God ! what has 
 my life been worth ! What worth has any life if 
 death must be the end ?" 
 
 At that moment a slight tap came at his door, 
 and before he had time to say " Come in !" the 
 intending visitor abruptly entered. 
 
 " I thought I should find you at home, John 
 Denver," he said, in singularly slow, musical tones ; 
 " I met your wife in the garden, and she told me 
 the doctor had just left you." 
 
 Denver nodded a faint assent. He was weary 
 and exhausted ; and in the presence of this par- 
 ticular friend of his, was always strangely disin- 
 clined to speak. Truth to tell, Paul Valitsky, 
 known to many as a great painter, and suspected 
 by some of being a dangerous Russian Nihilist, 
 was a rather remarkable-looking man, possessed, 
 too, of a certain fascination which attracted some 
 people and distinctly intimidated others. Though 
 small of stature and somewhat bent, he was not 
 old ; his face, pale and rather angular, was beauti- 
 fied by a pjiir of fine eyes, greenish-grey in hue, 
 with an occasional changeful light in them like 
 that which plays on opals. These eyes were his 
 chief feature ; they at once captivated and held all 
 who met their fiery iridescent glances, and as he 
 turned them now on Denver, a great kindness 
 softened them — an expression of infinite tender- 
 
68 THE DISTANT VOICE. 
 
 ness and regard, which was not lost upon the 
 invalid, though he lay still and apparently un- 
 moved to any responsive feeling by that gentle 
 and searching scrutiny. 
 
 " So the fiat has gone forth, and we must die !" 
 said Valitsky presently, in almost caressing ac- 
 cents. " Well, there are worse things in life than 
 death." 
 
 Denver was silent. 
 
 " You dislike the idea ?" resumed his visitor after 
 a slight pause. "The quiet of the tomb is not 
 an agreeable prospect ? You seem discomposed ; 
 but you are a brave man — you surely cannot be 
 afraid!" 
 
 " No, I am not afraid," replied Denver steadily. 
 " I am only — sorry !" 
 
 "Sorry! And why?" 
 
 "Well, in the first place I am sorry to have 
 made so little good use of my time. All I have 
 done has been to amass money, and what is that ! 
 — a delusive quest and an unsatisfactory gain, for 
 I profit nothing by my life's work — my gold can- 
 not cure sickness or keep back death. In some 
 unfortunate way, too," he paused and sighed, " I 
 have missed love out of all my fortunes, and now, 
 here at the last, I am left alone to, meet my fate as 
 best I can, and my 'best' is a bad attempt. Yes; 
 I am sorry to die ; I am sorry to leave the world, 
 for it is beautiful ; sorry to lose the sight of the 
 
 sun and the blue sky " he broke off for a 
 
 moment, then went on, " But I tell you, Paul, if I 
 could believe in another life after this one, as you 
 do, and if the dream I had an hour ago were a 
 
THE DISTANT VOICE, 69 
 
 truth, then I should not be sorry; I should be 
 glad !" 
 
 "Ay, ay!" and Valitsky nodded sympatheti- 
 cally. " And what was this dream ?" 
 
 " I dreamed I was in heaven," said Denver, his 
 troubled face lighting up with an inward rapture. 
 " But not such a heaven as the parsons preach of; 
 it was a world somewhat resembling this one, only 
 vaster and more beautiful. I seemed to myself to 
 have wakened suddenly out of a deep sleep, and 
 as I woke I heard a voice — the loveliest and ten- 
 derest voice imaginable! — singing a sweet song; 
 and I swear to you, Paul, I thought I knew and 
 loved the unseen singer !" 
 
 Valitsky rose from the chair he had occupied 
 near the window, and, approaching the bed, laid 
 his fine, nervous hand on Denver's wrist, fixing 
 him at the same time with his strange iridescent 
 eyes. 
 
 " So you have heard a voice from the other 
 world, my friend !" he said. " And yet you doubt ! 
 You know what I am — you know that for me, at 
 times, the portals of the Unseen are set open. Men 
 call me artist, idealist, madman, judging me thus 
 because I know the touch of higher things than are 
 common to ordinary eating, drinking, breeding, 
 perishing clay; but let them call me what they 
 will, at death my faith will bridge the tomb, where 
 their materialism shrinks away in fear and horror. 
 That voice you heard — listen and tell me — was it 
 at all like this ?" 
 
 He held up his hand with a warning gesture — 
 and, through the silence, a faint, delicious sound 
 
70 THE DISTANT VOICE. 
 
 of song came floating distinctly — clear, yet far off, 
 as though it fell from the regions of the upper air, 
 
 " My God !" cried Denver, starting up in his 
 bed. " It is the same — the very same I Paul, 
 Paul ! What does it mean ?" 
 
 "It means," answered Valitsky steadily, "that 
 you are on the verge of the Eternal, my friend ; 
 and that I, a poor unworthy medium of communi- 
 cation, am bidden to assure you of the fact. The 
 heaven you dreamed of is a real heaven ; the voice 
 you hear is a real voice ; and the One who sings 
 awaits your coming with all the love you have 
 missed in your life till now. Believe me or not as 
 you will, I speak the truth. Death, or what mor- 
 tals call death, will bestow upon you such joy as 
 is incapable of human comprehension or expres- 
 sion, but at the same time it is but fair to you to 
 say that you can have your choice ; knowing what 
 I have told you, you yet have the privilege given 
 to you to decide whether you will die or live on." 
 
 Denver stared amazedly. " You talk in riddles, 
 Paul ! Live on ? I ? My doom is sealed ; I 
 know that well enough. You can do nothing, 
 spiritualist and idealist though you are, to hinder it." 
 
 " If you choose to live, you shall live !" said 
 Valitsky firmly. " I will guarantee it, for so I 
 have been commanded. Cancer shall not kill nor 
 any other evil cut the thread of your existence. 
 But, were I you, I would die rather than live." 
 
 Denver had grown very pale. 
 
 " You — jou will guarantee my life if I choose 
 to live?" he asked, in low, tremulous tones. 
 "Can you guarantee it?" 
 
THE DISTANT VOICE. 7 1 
 
 " I can and will. I swear it ! I came here to- 
 day on purpose to tell you so. But think well 
 before deciding ! — the barriers of the unseen world 
 are lifted now, ready for your admission. If by 
 your own choice they close again, the Voice you 
 heard will sing to you no more." 
 
 With a wild, searching glance Denver scruti- 
 nised his strange friend's pale countenance. It was 
 passionate and earnest — only the eyes sparkled 
 with an intense, fiery gleam. Uncertain what to 
 believe, and yet strongly impressed by Valitsky's 
 steadfast manner, knowing him, too, for a man who 
 was credited, rightly or wrongly, with singularly 
 occult powers, he suddenly made up his mind and 
 spoke out impetuously. 
 
 " I will live !" he said. " The next world may 
 be a dream, the sweet voice that stole away my 
 heart may be a delusion, but this world is real, a 
 tangible fact, a place in which to move and breathe 
 and think in. I will stay in it while I can ! If 
 you indeed have the force you seem to possess, 
 why use it upon me and give me life — this life ? I 
 choose, not heaven but earth ; I will live on !" 
 
 Slowly Valitsky withdrew from the bedside, 
 and, standing a few paces away, surveyed Den- 
 ver with an intense expression of mingled scorn 
 and compassion. 
 
 " Be it so," he said. " Live, and try to find joy, 
 peace, or love in what life brings you. You have 
 chosen badly, my poor friend ! You have rejected 
 a glorious reality for a miserable delusion. When 
 you are tired of your choice let me know. For 
 the present, farewell !" 
 
72 THE DISTANT VOICE. 
 
 The door opened and closed softly — he was gone. 
 For hours John Denver lay still with wide-open 
 ^yss, going over and over every detail of the 
 strange conversation he had had with this strange 
 man, and wondering whether it was true that he 
 was granted a new lease of life, or whether it was 
 mere fantastic boasting on Valitsky's part. Finally 
 he slept a sound and dreamless sleep. The next 
 day, on awaking, he was free from pain, and during 
 the ensuing week he was so far recovered as to be 
 able to leave his bed and resume his ordinary oc- 
 cupations. The great physician who attended him 
 was completely taken aback, the supposed cancer- 
 ous ailment appeared after all to have no existence, 
 and for the thousandth time an apparently infallible 
 doctor was proved wrong. John Denver lived, as 
 Valitsky had sworn he should do. He lived to see 
 his son in the criminal's dock for forging a friend's 
 name ; he lived to see his daughter married to a 
 vicious "nobleman," whose days were passed in 
 gambling and nights in drinking ; he lived to know 
 that his wife had been faithless to him for years, 
 and that she had hoped for his death and was furi- 
 ously disappointed at his continuance of life ; he 
 lived to entertain flatterers who fawned upon him 
 for his wealth alone, to feed servants who robbed 
 him at every turn, to realise to the full the cruelty, 
 hypocrisy, meanness, and selfishness of his fellow- 
 creatures, till, at last, after seven tedious summers 
 and winters had passed away, a great weariness 
 came over him and a longing for rest. Conscious 
 of the failure and futility of his life, he sat all 
 alone one evening in his great library, looking 
 
THE DISTANT VOICE. 73 
 
 vaguely out on the misty moonlit lawn, and un- 
 bidden tears rose to his eyes as he thought, " If I 
 could only dream again that dream of heaven, and 
 wake to hear the sound of that beloved and beau- 
 tiful voice singing." 
 
 On a sudden impulse, he drew pen and paper 
 towards him, and wrote to Paul Valitsky, whom he 
 had only very rarely and casually seen since that 
 strange personage had offered him the choice of 
 life or death. 
 
 " My Friend, — You told me when I was tired 
 to let you know. I am tired now. Life offers me 
 nothing. I made, as you said, a bad choice. If 
 you believe in a heaven still, will you assure me of 
 it ? If that voice I once heard is real, if it is the 
 voice of one who is pitiful, and true, and tender, 
 may I not hear it again ? Certain mysteries are 
 unveiled to you, certain faiths are clear to you ; if 
 to your potent secret force I owe the gift of longer 
 life, take it back I entreat you, and let me find 
 myself where I was seven years ago, on the verge 
 of the Eternal, with the golden gates ajar !" 
 
 Several days elapsed before he received any 
 reply to this letter, and he was growing restless, 
 feverish, and impatient, when at last it came, its 
 characteristic brevity quieting him into a strange 
 and passive peace. It ran thus : " Heaven has not 
 altered its design or changed its place, my friend, 
 because blind Earth doubts its beauty. Your seven 
 years is a little seven minutes to the dwellers in that 
 higher sphere — a mere pause in the song you heard ! 
 D 7 
 
74 THE DISTANT VOICE. 
 
 Be satisfied, on the night you receive this letter the 
 song shall be continued and the Singer declared." 
 
 Dreamily John Denver sat at his open window, 
 with this missive in his hand; the glory of a rosy 
 sunset bathed all the visible country, and a thrush, 
 swaying to and fro on a branch of pine, piped a 
 tender little evening carol. He listened to the bird 
 with a vague pleasure ; he was quite alone, alone 
 as he had been for many months since his wife had 
 fled from him with her latest lover. He was con- 
 scious of a singular sensation, an impression of 
 duality, as though he, John Denver, were the mere 
 frame or casing for another individual and intelli- 
 gent personality, a creature that until now had been 
 pent up in clay, suffering and resentful, but that 
 at the present moment was ready to break loose 
 from imprisonment into a vast and joyous liberty. 
 
 " And yet," he murmured, half aloud, " if there 
 is a heaven, what right have I to enter it ? I have 
 done nothing to deserve it. I have honestly striven 
 to do my best according to my poor knowledge ; 
 but that is of no account. I have missed love on 
 earth, it is true ; but why should I expect to find 
 it in another world? Valitsky declares that all 
 God's work is founded on pure equity, and that 
 every human soul has its mate either here or else- 
 where ; if that were true — ^if that could be true — 
 perhaps by the veiy law of God which knows no 
 changing, I may meet and love the singer of that 
 heavenly song !" 
 
 At that very moment a sound, sweet and pene- 
 trating, pierced the silence — the full, delicious ca- 
 dence of a melody more dulcet than ever came from 
 
THE DISTANT VOICE. 75 
 
 the throat of any amorous lark or nightingale; 
 and John Denver, the weary and world-worn man 
 of many cares and many disappointments, stood 
 up alert, pale and expectant, peering wistfully yet 
 doubtfully into the gathering shadows of his room. 
 Earth and earth's gains had proved delusions — 
 would the hope of heaven prove equally vain? 
 
 " The voice divine !" he whispered rapturously. 
 " The same beloved voice I heard before ! ... it 
 sings again ! So sweet a voice could not deceive. 
 I will accept it as assurance of the truth of God !" 
 
 With straining sight he still gazed into the 
 deepening darkness . . . Was it fancy? or did 
 he see there an angel-figure, and face fairer than 
 that of any pictured vision ? — a. face luminous as a 
 star, and full of tenderest appeal, love, and ecstasy. 
 He stretched out his arms blindly . . . wonder- 
 ingly . . . with a supernal sense of joy. 
 
 " It is true [" he said. " God is just, and heaven 
 exists, despite all narrow, worldly doubtings ! 
 What has been missed shall be found ; what has 
 been lost shall be gained ; and even to the poorest, 
 the most sinful, and most ignorant shall consola- 
 tion be given. For death is not death — but Life !" 
 
 He staggered a little — his breath failed him — 
 and falling back in his chair he closed his eyes. 
 The mystic voice sang on, flooding the silence 
 with exquisite music ; he smiled, listening. 
 
 " After long sleep, to wake up in heaven to the 
 sound of a beautiful voice singing !" he murmured 
 — and then was still. 
 
 And even so John Denver slept the sleep of death ; 
 and, if all faiths are not frenzies, even so he woke ! 
 
THE WITHERING OF A 
 ROSE. 
 
 IMMEDIATELY above the picturesque town 
 of Lucerne there is a towering eminence 
 clothed with pines, to the summit of which the 
 exploring and aspiring tourist can ascend by one 
 of those ingeniously contrived " funicular" rail- 
 ways, now so common in all the mountainous dis- 
 tricts of Switzerland. 
 
 The little passenger-car is worked by the cog- 
 wheel-and- water system, and jogs slowly up a pre- 
 cipitous incline, which, surveyed from the bottom, 
 appears to slant at about an angle of ninety de- 
 grees. But it is not so perilous as it seems. The 
 journey is easy and safe enough ; and those who 
 are troubled with " nervous sensations," and who 
 insist on closing their eyes firmly while travelling 
 up in the strange conveyance, which, when ob- 
 served from a sufficient distance, certainly some- 
 what resembles a squat kind of blue-bottle cling- 
 ing to a wall, will have their full consolation and 
 reward on arriving at the top. 
 
 For there one of the most glorious landscapes 
 in the world is spread before the enraptured sight ; 
 the lovely " Lake of the Four Cantons" glitters 
 below in all its width of vasty blue, surrounded by 
 
 7* 77 
 
78 THE WITHERING OF A ROSE. 
 
 kindly mountains, the peaks of which, even in the 
 height of summer, still keep on their sparkling 
 diadems of virginal snow ; on either hand a forest 
 of tall pine-trees stretches away for miles, a forest 
 where one may wander in solitude for hours, walk- 
 ing on a thick carpet of the softest moss strewn with 
 the brown and fragrant "pine needles," scarcely 
 hearing one's own footsteps, and seeing nothing 
 but the arching cathedral-like splendour of solemn 
 green gloom, flecked through here and there by 
 the blue of the sky and the bright rays of the sun. 
 
 At the entrance of this forest stands one of the 
 prettiest of rustic hotels known as the " Pension 
 Gutsch," a house built in the true Swiss style, with 
 picturesque gabled roofs and wide wooden veran- 
 dahs — its charming seclusion and simplicity offer- 
 ing a delightful contrast to the garish glories of the 
 " Schweizerhof " and the other monstrous Ameri- 
 canized hotels of Lucerne, where the main object 
 of every one concerned, from the portier down to 
 the smallest paying guest, appears to be to forget 
 as completely as possible the fact that Switzerland, 
 as Switzerland, exists, and to live solely for the 
 enjoyment of the table-d'hbte, dress, flirtation, and 
 lawn-tennis. 
 
 It is a singular fact, but true, that all the big 
 hotels in Lucerne have their table-d'hote dinner 
 served precisely at the sunset-hour — the very time 
 when grand old Mount Pilatus is gathering around 
 his frowning brows strange and mystic draperies 
 of crimson and gold and green — when the lake 
 looks like melted jewels, and all the lovely hues of 
 heaven are merging by delicious gradations into the 
 
THE WITHERING OF A ROSE. 79 
 
 cool, pearly grey of such pure twilight as is never 
 seen save in countries where the air is rarefied by 
 the presence of perpetual snow. For this veiy 
 reason persons of a fanciful and romantic turn of 
 mind, who prefer scenery to soup, frequently do 
 battle with their nerves to the extent of being 
 lifted — like little frightened children in a basket — 
 up the precipitous " Gutsch" where, at the unpre- 
 tentious, spotlessly clean and fragrant hotel bear- 
 ing that name, they can do pretty much as they 
 like, and have the supreme comfort of quiet rooms 
 and refreshing sleep, luxuries completely denied 
 them at all the large hotels in the town. 
 
 Moreover, by making a special arrangement and 
 paying a little extra, they can have their meals 
 served at their own stated hours, all of which 
 sensible management and forethought on the part 
 of the proprietor has the result of making his 
 house a favourite resort of artists, poets, and 
 dreamers generally. The frivolous and empty- 
 headed would not care for such a place — it offers 
 nothing but repose and beauty ; it is not a suitable 
 abode for golfers or tomboy tennis-players — they 
 do well to remain in Lucerne and cling to the noisy 
 and overcrowded " Schweizerhof " But it is emi- 
 nently fitted for lovers in the first stage of senti- 
 mental ardour, and it is an ideal nook wherein to 
 spend a happy honeymoon. 
 
 When, on one dazzling afternoon in early July, 
 a gentleman with black moustaches got out of the 
 little "funicular" car, and assisted a charmingly 
 attired and very young lady with fair hair to alight 
 also, and when these twain were followed by a 
 
80 THE WITHERING OF A ROSE. 
 
 valet, a maid, and the porter bearing some very 
 new-looking luggage, none of the people already 
 staying at the " Gutsch" had any difficulty in 
 classifying them. They were newly married ; their 
 very appearance betrayed them. One of the regu- 
 lar habitues of the place, a dark-eyed young man 
 clad in carelessly-fitting tweeds, said as much to 
 the landlord, who, having bowed the couple in, 
 now stood on his doorstep benevolently surveying 
 the prospect. 
 
 " On their wedding tour, I suppose ?" he ob- 
 served, with a smile. 
 
 " It is possible," replied mine host discreetly. 
 " The lady is young. Not so young the gentle- 
 man. They have engaged the best rooms." 
 
 " Ah ! Plenty of money about, then ?" 
 
 " It is to be thought so," replied the proprietor, 
 as he continued to smile blandly at the scenery. 
 " The lady has a maid, the gentleman a valet. 
 Everything" — and he spread out his hands ex- 
 pressively — " is de luxe. They are English people 
 — evidently well bred. Perhaps you know the 
 name — AUingham — Mr. and Mrs. AUingham, of 
 Dunscombe Hall, Norfolk ?" 
 
 The dark-eyed artist thought a moment, then 
 said " No." A vague idea was in his mind that 
 he had-seen a sketch or photograph somewhere 
 of Dunscombe Hall, but he was not sure. And 
 mine host being called away at the moment, the 
 conversation was broken ofif! 
 
 The new arrivals had their meals served to them 
 privately in their own apartments ; so any curiosity 
 felt concerning them among the table-d' hote com- 
 
■ THE WITHERING OF A ROSE. 8 1 
 
 pany at the " Pension Gutsch" was not destined to 
 be largely gratified. One morning, however, Mr. 
 Francis Fane, the dark-eyed artist, already men- 
 tioned, met Mrs. Allingham walking by herself 
 in one of the lonelier and more outlying paths 
 of the pine forest, and was quite taken aback by 
 her extremely childish appearance. She was so 
 small and light on her feet, she had such a young, 
 wistful, wondering face, and her figure was cast in 
 such a dainty and delicate mould, that, as she 
 passed him silently by, in her simple white morn- 
 ing dress, tied round the waist with a knot of blue 
 ribbon, she looked like a little girl just fresh from 
 school, and it seemed impossible, almost absurd, to 
 consider her as a married woman. 
 
 " Why, she can't be more than fifteen or six- 
 teen!" he mentally ejaculated, staring after her 
 bewilderedly. As a matter of fact she was twenty, 
 and had seen two " seasons" in town ; but things 
 of the " world worldly" had as yet left no trace on 
 her fair features, and her eyes still held their dreams 
 of innocence unsullied, — hence, though a woman, 
 she was still a child. 
 
 " Mrs. Allingham, of Dunscombe Hall, NorfolkJ" 
 repeated Frank Fane to himself, with a short gruff 
 laugh. " By Jove ! It seems preposterous !" 
 
 It did seem, if not preposterous, a little^strange ; 
 and Rose Allingham herself sometimes thought 
 so.. She had been married just a fortnight, and 
 had not yet got over the novel sensation of having 
 a big thick wedding-ring on the tiny third finger 
 of her little white hand. She would turn it round 
 and round with a whimsical solemnity, and now 
 / 
 
82 THE WITHERING OF A ROSE. 
 
 and then she secretly polished it up with a small 
 bit of chamois leather kept in her jewel-case for 
 the purpose. And as she regarded her wedding- 
 ring even so she regarded her husband. The well- 
 dressed gentleman with the perfectly irreproachable 
 manner, even features, and well-groomed mous- 
 tache, was Harold Brentwood AUingham, of Duns- 
 combe Hall, Norfolk; and she was Mrs. Harold 
 Brentwood AUingham, of Dunscombe Hall, Nor- 
 folk. 
 
 It all seemed very interesting, and new, and 
 important. She was never tired of going over and 
 over the events which had, in their sequence, led 
 her up to this lofty position of matrimonial dig- 
 nity. She had left school to be "brought out" 
 and " presented" — oh, that presentation ! Would 
 she ever forget the misery of it ? The bother of 
 her long train — the nasty, spiteful behaviour of the 
 ladies who pushed her, pinched her, and generally 
 " scrimmaged" for entrance into the Throne-room ; 
 the bitter cold of the weather, and the horrible 
 draughts that blew all over her uncovered neck 
 and arms; the disappointment of there being no 
 Sovereign to receive her when she made her pretty 
 curtsey (practised for three weeks under the tuition 
 of one of the best mistresses of deportment in 
 London) but only one of the Princesses ; the ex- 
 treme hunger and thirst from which she suffered 
 during the long " wait ;" then, her utter prostration 
 and sinking into a dead faint when she got home, 
 and having beef-tea put down her throat in hot 
 spoonfuls by her anxious mother; all this was 
 perfectly fresh in her mind. 
 
THE WITHERING OF A ROSE. 83 
 
 Then came the memory of several balls and 
 dances, at many of which she had met the- good- 
 looking and rich Mr. Harold Brentwood AUing- 
 ham, and had danced with him — he was a splendid 
 dancer — then Henley, where the same Harold 
 Brentwood AUingham had invited her to his 
 house-boat, and given her flowers and bon-bons ; 
 then, a visit to a beautiful country house in Devon- 
 shire, where she had found him installed as one of 
 the house-party ; then, that afternoon when he had 
 discovered her alone in the rose-garden, reading 
 poetry, and taking the book out of her hands, and 
 begun to make love to her. Such funny love! 
 Not at all like the love the poets write about — 
 nothing in the least like it. There was no nonsense 
 about " breaking hearts" and " wild despairs" and 
 " passionate tinglings" in Mr. Harold Brentwood 
 AUingham. He was a very self-complacent man 
 — he thought marriage a sensible and respectable 
 institution, and was prepared to enter upon it in a 
 sensible and respectable manner. 
 
 So, without verbiage, or what is called " high- 
 flown" sentiment, he had put his case kindly and 
 practically. He had said " Rose, would you like 
 to marry me?" And she had surveyed him in 
 such astonishment that he was quite amused. 
 
 " I have spoken to your parents," he had then 
 continued, taking her hand, and patting it encour- 
 agingly ; " and they approve — very highly. You 
 are a charming, unspoilt girl; and though I am 
 some years older than you, that is just as it should 
 be. I am sure we shall be very happy together. 
 You know I can give you anything you want. 
 
84 THE WITHERING OF A ROSE. 
 
 My wife" — and here his back had stiffened slightly 
 — " would naturally occupy an enviable position in 
 society." And Rose had trembled all over with 
 nervousness. 
 
 " I know !" she had faltered. " But I am not 
 sure that I — I love you, Mr. Allingham." 
 
 He had laughed at this. " Oh, but I am sure," 
 he had replied, " I know you better than you do 
 yourself. There is no one else you care for, is 
 there ?" 
 
 " Oh, no," she answered earnestly, which indeed 
 was true. She had often reflected on the fact — 
 rather desolately. No one had shown her any 
 special kindness or attention since she " came out" 
 except this Mr. Allingham. 
 
 "Then let us consider it settled," he had said, 
 and had kissed her, and led her out of the rose 
 garden ; and later on in the day had given her 
 a wonderful engagement ring of the most superb 
 diamonds. And so things had drifted on, and the 
 preparation of her trousseau had been a great ex- 
 citement, and her marriage day another excite- 
 ment, and now, here she was, fast wedded, and on 
 her honeymoon in Switzerland, with the irre- 
 proachable gentleman, whose black moustache 
 would henceforth have to command her wifely 
 admiration, year after year, till it turned grey. 
 Somehow she had not realised the weight and 
 seriousness of marriage till it was consummated ; 
 she had read many love-stories, many love- 
 poems, in which all the heroes and heroines raved 
 and swore in exquisitely choice language, and 
 ended by killing themselves or somebody else 
 
THE WITHERING OF A ROSE. 85 
 
 with the dagger, pistol, or poison bowl, but the 
 even prosaicness of married life had not been set 
 before her in similarly graphic style. 
 
 Now and then she was a little afraid of herself 
 — afraid that she was not as happy as she ought to 
 be. She could not analyse her own feelings very 
 well, but occasionally she caught herself sighing 
 and murmuring uneasily, " I wonder if I really 
 love him ?" The doubt made her uncomfortable, 
 for she had a tender heart and sensitive conscience. 
 The relations between herself and her husband 
 had, up till now, been more formal than passion- 
 ate; for among his other idiosyncrasies, Mr. 
 Allingham had a nervous horror of ridicule, and 
 in consequence of this, had endured positive tor- 
 ments during their journey up the Rhine into 
 Switzerland. He suspected everyone he met of 
 the crime of Jcnowing he was on his honeymoon 
 " tour," and the unpleasant scowl he assumed for 
 would-be friendly strangers, frequently remained 
 on his brows for the benefit of his young wife, who 
 was thereby rendered constrained and depressed. 
 
 Arrived at the " Pension Gutsch," he adopted 
 an equally severe and distrustful demeanour to- 
 wards the good-natured landlord, who made a 
 dreadful mistake one morning by becoming too 
 friendly, and venturing to suggest a drive, which 
 he humbly considered would be a charming ex- 
 cursion for une jeune mariee. Mr. Allingham 
 gave him a look that ought to have transfixed 
 him, if looks had any such power, and told him 
 curtly that he did not care about "excursions," 
 and that " Madame" would please herself as to a 
 
 8 
 
86 THE WITHERING OF A ROSE. 
 
 choice of walks or drives. After this, the humil- 
 iated landlord took care to avoid giving further 
 offence by any undue exhibition of personal in- 
 terest in his best paying guests, and the days rolled 
 slowly on in a long sunshiny stretch of perfect 
 calm, without any change to vary or break their 
 peaceful monotony. Days of delicious weather 
 they were — pure and balmy as spring, though it 
 was full summer — happy days they might have 
 proved to Rose Allingham if they had not also 
 been days of ever-deepening perplexity. She was 
 a very loving little creature — quick to respond to 
 kindness — and she troubled herself desperately in 
 secret as to why she could not, though she tried, 
 be altogether loving to her husband. Something 
 held her back from him — there was some impal- 
 pable barrier between his nature and hers that kept 
 them singularly apart, though to all appearances 
 united. The veriest trifles helped to emphasise 
 this curious state of things. One evening, stroll- 
 ing together in the pine-woods, she began to think 
 of all the dainty love-poems she used to read and 
 be so fond of, and bringing to mind their dulcet 
 teachings, she suddenly took her husband's hand, 
 and gently slipped it round her waist, leaning her 
 fair little head confidently back against the shelter 
 of the arm thus encircling her. Then, looking 
 up, with shy, sweet eyes and a ravishing blush, she 
 said softly — 
 
 "There! Isn't that nice ?" 
 
 He regarded her with a gentlemanly amaze- 
 ment. 
 
 " Certainly not ! It is not ' nice.' It is any- 
 
THE WITHERING OF A ROSE. 87 
 
 thing but nice ! I am surprised at you, Rose ! I 
 really am ! Suppose anyone were to meet us 
 walking along in this ridiculous position ! Why, 
 they would take us for Cook's tourists — a Cock- 
 ney 'Arry and 'Arriet out for a stroll ! Nothing 
 could be more vulgar and degrading 1" 
 
 He withdrew his arm in haste, and walked be- 
 side her stiffly erect, scenting the piney air in vir- 
 tuous indignation. His young wife said not a word, 
 but walked on also, with crimsoning cheeks and 
 downcast eyes, her little feet moving somewhat 
 wearily. Presently he glared down upon her with 
 an air of relenting condescension. 
 
 " Surely you know that demonstrations of af- 
 fection in public are very bad form ?" he in- 
 quired. 
 
 She looked up, her soft eyes flashing for once 
 with something very like scorn. 
 
 " Where is the public ?" she asked. " We are 
 quite alone ; alone with the forest and the sunset — 
 and with God ! But I am sorry if my action of- 
 fended you." 
 
 "Dear me, I am not offended — why should I 
 be ?" he retorted pettishly. " You meant it well, 
 no doubt. But wherever we are, alone or before 
 witnesses, we must avoid even the appearance of 
 vulgarity. And pray do not quote poetry to me, 
 I hate it. ' Alone with the forest and the sunset, 
 and with God !' What rubbish that is !" 
 
 "Is it?" and she gave a little sigh. "It is not 
 poetry at any rate. It is only me !" 
 
 "Only you!" he repeated. "What do you 
 mean ?" 
 
88 THE WITHERING OF A ROSE. 
 
 " I mean that I said it — they are my own words ; 
 just as they came into my head. Very silly, of 
 course." 
 
 He eyed her with dignified wonder. 
 
 " Silly !" he echoed. " I should think so, in- 
 deed. Nothing could be sillier. They remind me 
 of the style which the newspaper critics condemn 
 as ' forcible feeble.' " 
 
 He smiled, and stroked his black moustache. 
 All at once she looked up at him with an expres- 
 sion of pathetic pleading in her young face. 
 
 " Harold," she said, in a low uncertain voice, 
 "are you sure — I mean — do you really love 
 me?" 
 
 At this he felt seriously vexed ; she was going 
 to be hysterical or something, he was sure — women 
 were all alike. 
 
 " My dear Rose," he replied, with laborious po- 
 liteness, " I think if you will take into consideration 
 the fact that I have married you, you will scarcely 
 need to ask such a very foolish question. If I had 
 not loved you I should not have made you my 
 wife. That you are my wife ought to be sufficient 
 for you — the deepest feelings, as you know, have 
 the fewest words. I hope," here his voice became 
 distinctly aggrieved in tone, " I hope you are not 
 going to cry. Nothing is more childish ; but per- 
 haps you are over-tired, and had better go indoors. 
 Pray remember that we are living more or less 
 under public inspection, and that an hotel is not 
 the place to make a ' scene' in." 
 
 She raised her eyes to his. They were dry and 
 bright and cold. 
 
THE WITHERING OF A ROSE. 89 
 
 " Do not be afraid," she said. " I am not cry- 
 ing, and I shall make no scene." 
 
 And, turning from him, she entered the hotel in 
 silence. He did not follow her, but remained 
 sauntering up and down on the turf outside, 
 smoking a cigar. 
 
 The next morning Mr. Francis Fane was out 
 in the woods with his easel and sketching-block, 
 bent on finishing a rather powerful study of a 
 tall pine-tree split through by lightning. He had 
 been hard at work for more than an hour before 
 he became aware that there was a small white 
 bundle lying, apparently thrown, on the moss at 
 some little distance off. He could not make it 
 out very distinctly, for the shadows of the pines 
 were so long and wide, and presently, moved by 
 curiosity, he got up and went to see what it was. 
 As he approached, it resolved itself into a figure — 
 a slight little figure clad in white with a blue 
 ribbon round its waist — and stopping abruptly in 
 his advance, he caught the smothered sound of 
 low sobbing. 
 
 " By Jove !" he muttered—" Mrs. Allingham !" 
 
 Indescribably pained and uncomfortable at this 
 discovery, he was about to step noiselessly back 
 to his easel without uttering a word, when the 
 girl suddenly raised her head, and perceiving him, 
 started up, nervously trying to control herself. 
 
 " I — I beg your pardon !" he stammered. " I — 
 I came out here to make a sketch " 
 
 " Not of me, I hope !" she said, with a little 
 tremulous smile ; then without the least pretence 
 or affectation, she dried her eyes with a tiny lace 
 
 8* 
 
go THE WITHERING OF A ROSE- 
 
 handkerchief and began to laugh, though a trifle 
 forcedly. 
 
 " I came out here, not to sketch, but to cry," 
 she confessed naively. " You know it's very nice 
 to have a little weep all to oneself sometimes." 
 
 " Is it ?" and he reddened foolishly. " I should 
 
 have thought " But he could not devise 
 
 any fitting end to the sentence; and she looked 
 at him with a touch of wistfulness in her dewy 
 eyes. 
 
 " May I see your sketch ?" she said, picking up 
 a large pine-cone from the ground and studying 
 its pretty polished divisions with intense interest. 
 " I have often noticed you wandering about with 
 your easel and paint-box. You are Mr. Francis 
 Fane, are you not? and you are staying at the 
 same hotel as we are?" 
 
 To all this he assented, walking beside her 
 dreamily, and always thinking what a child she 
 looked. As they drew near the spot where he 
 had left his easel, he woke up to consciousness of 
 prosy etiquette, and endeavoured to realise that his 
 companion was not a woodland sylph as she 
 seemed, but a " married lady" of position. 
 
 " I'm afraid my poor sketch is hardly worth 
 your looking at, Mrs. Allingham," he began for- 
 mally. She interrupted him by a little gesture. 
 
 "Oh, you know I am Mrs. Allingham?" she 
 queried, smiling. 
 
 "Of course I do!" he answered, somewhat 
 amused and surprised at her tone. " Everybody 
 at the ' Pension Gutsch' knows you by sight." 
 
 She mused a little, still intent on the mathe- 
 
THE WITHERING OF A ROSE. 9 1 
 
 matical partitions of the pine-cone she held. Sud- 
 denly she looked up. 
 
 " And what do they say of me ?" she asked. 
 
 Fane was quite taken aback by the directness 
 of the question. Meeting her eyes, however, and 
 noting the inquiring candour and sweet innocence 
 of their expression, he answered out and manfully — 
 
 " They say you are very young, and very pretty. 
 You could hardly expect them to say or to think 
 anything else, could you ?" 
 
 She smiled and blushed. 
 
 "Oh, I don't know!" she said. "You see, I 
 thought they might think me — well — funny !" 
 
 He stared. 
 
 " Funny ?" 
 
 " Yes. Because it does seem funny, doesn't it, 
 for such a little thing as I am to be a married 
 woman? Some people must think it curious. 
 Fancy — a married woman ! Oh, I am quite old 
 enough — I am twenty — but I don't seem to be tall 
 enough or big enough !" and she spread out her 
 pretty hands expressively and with a charming 
 smile. " I don't know quite where I got all my 
 silly ideas from, but when I was at school I used 
 to think a married woman meant somebody fat 
 and important-looking, who always wore a cap at 
 breakfast, and a bow of velvet on the exact top of 
 her head by way of full dress at dinner. I did, 
 really!" and her eyes sparkled at the sound of 
 Fane's joyous laughter. "Of course, I know 
 
 better now, but then " here she broke off as 
 
 she saw the easel just in front of her with the un- 
 finished sketch upon it. She looked at it long 
 
92 THE WITHERING OF A ROSE. 
 
 and earnestly, and Fane watched her, feeling some- 
 what curious to know what sort of criticism this 
 baby-faced creature would pass upon it. She 
 studied it from every point with close attention, 
 and her eyes grew soft and serious, 
 
 "It is very human!" she said, at last. "The 
 poor split tree tells its own history. You can see it 
 did not know anything — it grew up quite happily, 
 always looking at the sky and believing that no 
 harm could befall it — till all at once the lightning 
 struck it to the heart and killed it. And in this 
 picture of yours it seems to ask was it my fault 
 that I fell? Of course, you mean it as an emblem 
 of some noble ruined life, do you not ?" 
 
 He heard her with a certain wonder and rever- 
 ence — her voice was so very sweet and grave. 
 
 " I cannot say I ever thought of it in the way 
 you see it," he answered, " but I am very glad — 
 and proud, that you find so much poetry in my 
 poor effort." 
 
 " Poetry ? — oh, no, I am not at all poetical !" 
 she said quickly, and almost shamefacedly. " I 
 used to be rather fond of reading Keats and Byron, 
 but I never do that now — my husband does not 
 like it " 
 
 " Indeed!" murmured Fane vagudy, wishing he 
 could make a picture of her as she stood before 
 him in her little white gown, with a picturesque, 
 broad-brimmed hat resting on the sunny curls of 
 her abundant hair. 
 
 " No," she went on, confidingly, " he thinks it 
 such nonsense. You see, he is a very clever man, 
 and very scientific. He reads all the heavy maga- 
 
THE WITHERING OF A ROSE. 93 
 
 zines, and thinks it is very silly to waste time on 
 studying verse, when one can have so much prose." 
 
 " Yes, there certainly is a good deal of prose 
 about," said Fane. 
 
 At that moment a shadow crossed the sunlight 
 in which they stood, and Mr. Allingham suddenly 
 made his appearance. 
 
 " Why, Harold !" exclaimed his wife, springing 
 towards him, " I thought you had gone into the 
 town !" 
 
 " I have been into the town," he replied frigidly, 
 " but I returned a few minutes ago. Perhaps you 
 are not aware it is nearly our lunch hour ?" Then, 
 with a stand-offish yet would-be patronising air, 
 addressing himself to Fane, " You are an artist, sir ?" 
 
 "I do a little in that way," replied the young 
 man, modestly. " Mrs. Allingham happened to 
 pass by while I was at work, and she has been 
 kind enough to look at my sketch." 
 
 " Ah — yes — er — yes ! Very good indeed !" mur- 
 mured Mr. Allingham, scarcely glancing at the 
 picture as he spoke. " Rose, it is time we went 
 in. You are staying at our hotel are you not, Mr. 
 — er— Mr. ?" 
 
 " Fane," said that gentleman mildly. 
 
 " Fane, oh ! ah — ^yes. I think I have heard of 
 you in London. You have exhibited, have you 
 not ?" 
 
 "Frequently." 
 
 " Oh, yes, er — I remember ! Charmed — charmed 
 to meet you ! Are you coming our way now ?" 
 
 "No!" said Fane, rather brusquely, "I must 
 finish my work." 
 
94 THE WITHERING OF A ROSE. 
 
 And he raised his hat courteously as husband 
 and wife in their turn saluted him and walked 
 away together. He looked after them for some 
 minutes, noting with an artist's eye the swaying 
 youthful grace of the woman's dainty figure and 
 the stiff uncompromising squareness of the man's. 
 
 " Ill-matched in every way," he said to himself. 
 " She is too young ; and he is too — conceited." 
 
 That same evening he was somewhat surprised 
 when Mr. Allingham came up to him with almost 
 an air of cordiality, and invited him to take coffee, 
 and a smoke afterwards, in that private part of the 
 " Gutsch" verandah which had been specially par- 
 titioned off for the sole use and benefit of the 
 newly-wedded pair. He went, and was shyly wel- 
 comed by Mrs. Allingham, who looked more like 
 a small lost angel than ever, attired in a loose tea- 
 gown of silky white, adorned with old lace, and 
 sleeves of delicate chiffon. She sat a little apart, 
 looking out through the creepers which festooned 
 the verandah at the full moon, sailing slowly 
 through white clouds over the heights of Sonnen- 
 berg. 
 
 " Mrs. Allingham does not object to ' smoke' ? " 
 said Fane courteously, before lighting his cigar. 
 She turned her head, surprised; her husband 
 laughed. 
 
 " Well, I never asked her," he said. " Rose, do 
 you hear? Do you object to smoke?" 
 
 " Object ? I ? Oh, no," she faltered. " Not at 
 all !" 
 
 Her husband laughed again and passed the 
 liqueurs to his guest, who, however, helped him- 
 
THE WITHERING OF A ROSE. 95 
 
 self very sparingly. AUingham drank off some 
 cognac, and began to talk, and presently brought 
 round the conversation to the subject of his place 
 in Norfolk — Dunscombe Hall. 
 
 " I have been looking," he said, with a pompous 
 air, " for a competent person to make sketches of 
 the place. Now, I believe, if I am not mistaken, 
 that you are on the staff of one of the pictorials ?" 
 
 Fane admitted the fact. 
 
 " Then you would be the very man for me. I 
 should not at all mind giving you the job if you 
 would care to undertake it." 
 
 It was on the tip of Fane's tongue to say that 
 
 he would see him first, for the man's tone 
 
 was so bumptious and patronizing as to be dis- 
 tinctly offensive. But, glancing at the delicate 
 profile of the girl who leaned out among the clam- 
 bering vines, looking at the solemn beauty of the 
 night, he restrained himself by an effort. 
 
 " If my engagements will allow me to accept 
 any extra work I shall not object," he answered, 
 stiflfly, " but I should have to communicate with 
 my editor first." 
 
 " Oh, certainly, certainly," said Mr. AUingham 
 complacently. " Only if you do it at all you must 
 do it in October. If you can't arrange that I must 
 get somebody else. Dunscombe Hall is a very 
 fine subject for an artist's pencil. It used to be a 
 monastery, and there are still some ruins of the 
 old cloisters in the grounds. And there is a showy 
 bit of sketching always at hand in the Haunted 
 Mere." 
 
 " Is it haunted ?" 
 
96 THE WITHERING OF A ROSE. 
 
 " Well, they say so," replied AUingham, lighting 
 his cigar. " I've never seen the ghost myself, but 
 I am told that whenever there is to be a death in 
 the family a lady appears in a boat on the water 
 and beckons the departing spirit. All nonsense, 
 of course. But I rather like a family ghost." 
 
 " And you ?" asked Fane of Mrs. AUingham, 
 seeing that she had turned towards them and was 
 listening attentively. 
 
 " I cannot quite tell whether I do or not," she 
 said slowly, and he fancied he saw her tremble. 
 " I have never been in a haunted house to my 
 knowledge, and, of course, it will be a new experi- 
 ence." She forced a little smile. " I did not know 
 Dunscombe Hall had a ghost." 
 
 " Well, you know now," said her husband cheer- 
 fully. " But it is a ghost that never comes in- 
 doors. And the Haunted Mere is a mile off from 
 the house, so no one is likely to make its ac- 
 quaintance. You will let me know in good time, 
 Mr. Fane, as to whether you can undertake my 
 commission or not?" 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 The conversation then changed to other matters, 
 and when they parted for the night Fane thought 
 Mrs. Allingham looked very tired and sad. A 
 great pity filled his heart for the winsome little 
 creature who seemed made for special tenderness 
 and care, and who, despite the fact of her married 
 dignity, had such an air of pathetic loneliness about 
 her. 
 
 " Poor little woman !" he murmured, as he 
 strolled out by himself in the warm moonlight, 
 
THE WITHERING OF A ROSE. 97 
 
 before going to bed. "She has got a perfectly 
 irreproachable, commonplace prig for a husband — 
 he will never do her any harm openly — never 
 grudge her anything — never scandalise her in the 
 
 least — and yet " 
 
 He did not pursue the train of his reflections — 
 he glanced at the moon, the tall straight pine- 
 trees, the dewy turf — then, with a sigh over what 
 he, as a modern pessimist, was disposed to con- 
 sider the " fairness and futility" of creation gener- 
 ally, forgot everything in a sound and dreamless 
 sleep. 
 
 11. 
 
 During the rest of their stay at the " Pension 
 Gutsch" Mr. Fane saw a good deal of the Ailing- 
 hams. Moved by the consideration that the artist 
 was a man not unknown to fame, Mr. AUing- 
 ham unbent towards him as much as so important 
 a person could be expected to unbend, and even 
 condescended to take a few " excursions," such as 
 he had once declared he hated, in his new acquaint- 
 ance's company. They parted in August — Mr. 
 and Mrs. Allingham to return to England, and the 
 stately attractions of Dunscombe Hall, Norfolk, and 
 Fane to make a climbing tour in the Tyrol. They 
 left the " Gutsch" all together on the same day, 
 jogging down the steep declivity for the last time 
 in the odd little cog-wheel car. 
 
 "It is like coming down from heaven!" said 
 Rose Allingham, looking wistfully up at the re- 
 ceding pine-trees, bending to and fro like tall 
 plumes on the height. 
 E ^ 9 
 
gS THE WITHERING OF A ROSE. 
 
 " Let US hope we are not going to the ' rival re- 
 gion' !" laughed Fane. " You liked the ' Gutsch,' 
 then, Mrs. Allingham ?" 
 
 " Very much," she answered. 
 
 " It is a fairly pleasant place for a short sojourn," 
 said her husband disparagingly. " Very monoto- 
 nous, of course. I should never care to go there 
 again." 
 
 " Wouldn't you ?" murmured Rose timidly. " Oh, 
 I should." 
 
 " No doubt!" retorted her husband, with a hard 
 smil^. " But then, you see, I shouldn't." 
 
 And he began to read a London paper two 
 days old, which had arrived for him that morn- 
 ing. 
 
 At Lucerne station they said good-bye to Fane, 
 Mr. Allingham expressing his hope in language 
 that savoured more of command than entreaty, 
 that the artist would undertake his " commission" 
 in October to sketch the various beauties of Duns- 
 combe Hall. 
 
 " As to terms," he said loftily, " I think we need 
 not mention them, as nothing of that sort will stand 
 in your way or mine. Whatever you choose to fix 
 I shall very willingly agree to." 
 
 The young man flushed a little, but said nothing. 
 Shaking hands again with Mrs. Allingham, he pre- 
 sented her with a pretty bunch of Alpine blue 
 gentians and edelweiss as a parting " souvenir," 
 and lifting his hat, remained uncovered till the 
 train had steamed off. 
 
 " If it were not for her," he mused, " I would 
 see Dunscombe Hall and its priggish owner at 
 
THE WITHERING OF A ROSE. 99 
 
 Jericho before I'd go near either of them. As it is 
 —well— I'll think about it." 
 
 September passed in a glorious blaze of beauty 
 and perfect weather ; and by the time October was 
 a week old, his " thinking about it" had resolved 
 into a definite course of action. So that, on one 
 solemn and shadowy evening, when the smell of 
 falling leaves was in the air, and the indefinable 
 melancholy of autumn darkened the landscape 
 even as a sad thought darkens a bright face, he 
 was driven under the frowning and picturesque 
 gateway of Dunscombe Hall, and up the fine- but 
 rather gloomy avenue of ancient elms that led to 
 the stately building. The carriage had been sent 
 to meet him at the station, and when he finally ar- 
 rived and got out at the door of the house, he was 
 received by a dignified man-servant in dark livery, 
 who informed him that Mr. Allingham had been 
 obliged to go out for an hour, but that Mrs. Alling- 
 ham was "waiting tea" for him in the drawing-room. 
 To the drawing-room he was therefore shown ; and 
 such was the size and antique splendour of that vast 
 apartment, that for a moment he could scarcely per- 
 ceive his young hostess, who at the announcement 
 of his name came forward to meet him. And when 
 he did realise her presence, such a shock of pain 
 went through him that he could scarcely speak. 
 The change wrought in her during a space of barely 
 two months was so terrible, that he could only 
 stammer out some unintelligible words, press her 
 small cold hand and gaze at her wonderingly. She 
 meanwhile met his pitying, inquiring regard with a 
 gentle patience in her own eyes. 
 
100 THE WITHERING OF A ROSE. 
 
 " I see," she said, with a faint smile, " you think 
 I am looking ill, don't you? Yes — everybody 
 does. It is quite true I am not well — I fancy 
 sometimes this place" — and a light shiver ran 
 through her — " does not agree with me. It is very, 
 very big" — here she laughed — "and I am very 
 small. I am sure a little woman ought to live in 
 a little house to be comfortable. But I have a 
 very good doctor — so kind and clever — he says it 
 is only want of tone and a little heart-weakness — 
 that's all. Come and have some tea — there's a fire 
 at this end of the room." 
 
 She led the way to a sort of "cosy corner," 
 where light and warmth were concentrated near 
 a tea-table set out with Queen Anne silver and 
 Sevres china, and sitting in a low chair oppo- 
 site her, Fane watched her in compassionate 
 silence. 
 
 If she had looked a child before, she seemed 
 more than ever one now — she had grown so thin 
 and pale and fragile, that it seemed as if the merest 
 puff of wind would blow her out of existence alto- 
 gether. Her little hands, waxen-white and deli- 
 cate, were scarcely equal to the task of lifting the 
 teapot to pour out the tea, but as she busied her- 
 self with her hospitable duties, a faint colour 
 came into her cheeks, and her eyes sparkled more 
 brightly. 
 
 " Isn't this a huge room ?" she said, as she passed 
 Fane his cup. " It's meant for hundreds of people, 
 you know — ^people in powdered wigs and court 
 suits. I don't think it accommodates itself to 
 modern life at all." 
 
THE WITHERING OF A ROSE. Id 
 
 " It is indeed enormous !" and Fane glanced up 
 and down and round about him. " The ceiling 
 appears to be frescoed." 
 
 " Oh, yes, it is wonderful. Quite horrid, in my 
 opinion — but Mr. Allingham says it is marvellous. 
 Any number of fat goddesses and Cupids. You 
 will see it much better by daylight. We have no 
 gas in this room, because it would spoil the fresco 
 — ^that is why it is always so dark — to light it up. 
 We should have to put candles in all those four 
 big Venetian chandeliers ; and each one of them 
 holds two hundred lights." 
 
 " No economy in candles there !" said Fane, 
 laughing. 
 
 " No, indeed ! But, of course, we never have 
 occasion to light it up — we never give parties; 
 there are not enough people in the neighbourhood 
 to come to them if we did." 
 
 " How far are you from Sandringham ?" he in- 
 quired. 
 
 " Oh, a long way. We are just conveniently 
 out of the reach of everybody worth knowing, 
 and everything that is going on." 
 
 And she laughed, a trifle bitterly. 
 
 " It must be rather dull at times," he said, study- 
 ing her changed face attentively. "You should 
 get some friends to come and stay with you — a 
 jolly house-party." 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Allingham would never hear of such 
 a thing," she said quickly. " He cannot bear to 
 have a number of people about him. My mother 
 came down for a short time in September, but she 
 declared the house was damp and gave her rheu- 
 
I02 THE WITHERING OF A ROSE. 
 
 matism. She went back to London after about a 
 week, and then I fell ill." 
 
 "What was the matter with you?" he asked 
 sympathetically. 
 
 She shrugged her shoulders. 
 
 "All sorts of things — fainting-fits, weakness, 
 nerves — disagreeableness generally. Here is 
 Harold." 
 
 She broke off" her conversation with Fane di- 
 rectly her husband entered the room, and seemed 
 to shrink into herself like a sensitive plant too 
 roughly handled. Allingham himself was the same 
 as ever — irreproachable in dress, demeanour, and 
 what is understood by a portion of society as 
 " gentlemanliness." He greeted Fane with ex- 
 actly the correctly measured air of cordiality — 
 namely, that of the wealthy host and encouraging 
 patron — and it was an air that galled the young 
 artist's pride considerably, though he was careful 
 for Mrs. Allingham's peace and comfort to show 
 no offence. He certainly could not complain of 
 his entertainment. A suite of rooms to himself, 
 and perfect liberty of action ; he breakfasted, 
 lunched, and dined at a table appointed with the 
 costliest luxuries ; a carriage was at his disposal 
 whenever he needed it; and Mr. Allingham had, 
 furthermore, given him the choice of any horse in 
 his stables, should he care for riding. He had 
 engaged to make two dozen sketches of Duns- 
 combe Hall from all the different points of view, 
 and when once he began his work he became al- 
 most entirely engrossed in it. 
 
 The place was undoubtedly a fine object for 
 
THE WITHERING OF A ROSE. lOJ 
 
 any artist's study — its architecture was well-nigh 
 perfect, and all the surroundings were eminently 
 picturesque, though indubitably of a solitary and 
 melancholy character. He did not see as much 
 of Mrs. Allingham as he could have wished ; she 
 was often ailing, and though she invariably exerted 
 herself to appear at dinner, there were times when 
 she was not equal even to the effort, and her hus- 
 band, seated in solitary state at his glittering board, 
 would make formal excuses for her absence. 
 
 " My wife is very young," he would explain 
 ponderously, " and is therefore inclined to give 
 way to any trifling ailment. The doctor assures 
 me she is suffering merely from a little want of 
 tone, and the autumnal air depresses her ; there is 
 nothing at all serious the matter." 
 
 " She looks extremely ill," said Fane impulsively. 
 
 "You think so?" and Mr. Allingham smiled 
 indulgently. " I expect you are not accustomed 
 to the ways of women ; they put their looks on 
 and off as easily as their gowns. In her present 
 nervous condition of health it quite depends on 
 Mrs. Allingham's own humour as to whether she 
 looks well or ill — it has nothing whatever to do 
 with any actually real organic mischief." 
 
 Fane swallowed a glass of wine hastily to keep 
 down the angry remark that rose to his lips, for 
 the cold callousness of his host was almost more 
 than he could bear. Reflecting quickly, however, 
 that it was not his business to interfere, and that 
 the less he said the better for Mrs. Allingham, he 
 was silent. 
 
 "You have not tried your hand yet at the 
 
I04 THE WITHERING OF A ROSE. 
 
 Haunted Mere?" inquired Mr. AUingham pres- 
 ently. 
 
 " No. I — er — the fact is — I have not yet had 
 time to go and look at it." 
 
 "True — ^you have been very much occupied 
 with the house itself," and Mr. AUingham nodded 
 approvingly — " and your work is admirable — quite 
 admirable! But I should suggest your visiting 
 the Mere before the foliage quite falls. I fancy you 
 will find it well worth your study." 
 
 " I will go to-morrow," said Fane. 
 
 And on the morrow he went. He started early 
 in the morning, one of the gardeners directing him 
 as to which path to follow. When he came in 
 full sight of the glittering sheet of water he could 
 scarcely refrain from uttering a cry of rapture. 
 It was so mystically beautiful; the deep solitude 
 surrounding it was so intense and unbroken, that 
 he no longer wondered at the reputation it had of 
 being "haunted." Grand old willow-trees, with 
 gnarled trunks and knotty stems bent above its 
 glassy surface, and beyond it in the distance the 
 land rolled away in gentle undulations of green 
 and brown, relieved here and there with a clump 
 of stately elms or a tangle of bright yellow furze. 
 The place was so still that not even the twitter of 
 a bird broke the breathless calm — and, powerfully 
 impressed by the whole scene. Fane took a rapid 
 pencil sketch in outline to begin with, his ultimate 
 intention being to make a large picture of it, with 
 a view to exhibition in one of the London gal- 
 leries. Returning rapidly to the house, to finish 
 what he had commenced the previous day, he met 
 
THE WITHERING OF A ROSE. lOJ 
 
 Mrs. AUingham walking slowly to and fro on the 
 terrace. 
 
 " Have you been to the ' Haunted Mere' ?' " she 
 asked, smiling. 
 
 For a moment he could not speak. The very 
 pathos of her young face, the fatigue of her soft 
 eyes, the listless expression of her very figure, all 
 this went to his heart, and made him pity her as 
 he had never pitied any woman. He felt her to 
 be no more than a little tired-out child — a child 
 longing to be taken up in tender arms and gently 
 carried home. There was a slight tremble in 
 his voice as he answered, with an effort at play- 
 fulness — 
 
 " Yes, I have seen the Mere, but not the ghost. 
 Do you know, Mrs. AUingham, I begin to think 
 you must be the ghost — ^you look like one this 
 morning." 
 
 " Do I ? I'm sorry. I hate to be ill — my hus- 
 band doesn't like it. I wish I could get strong 
 more quickly." 
 
 " Are you feeling worse, then, to-day ?" asked 
 Fane, with a touch of real anxiety in his tone, 
 which made her look at him in grateful wonder. 
 
 " Oh, no," she said. " I am only a little ' run 
 down,' as the doctor says, and weak. Harold 
 declares it is all woman's nonsense, and thinks I 
 don't exert myself to get well; but indeed I 
 do. It is very kind of you to take so much 
 interest " 
 
 " Kind !" echoed Fane, almost irritably ; then, 
 glancing about him to make sure there was no 
 one in sight, he approached her more closely. 
 
I06 THE WITHERING OF A ROSE. 
 
 " Look here, Mrs. Allingham, do forgive me if I seeih 
 officious or impertinent, but I can't help asking you 
 this one question — are you quite happy ?" 
 
 She glanced up at him almost affrightedly, and 
 meeting his friendly eyes, her own filled with 
 sudden tears. 
 
 " No, I am not," she faltered. " But it is wicked 
 of me to say so, because you see it is quite my 
 own fault. I ought to be happy — I have every- 
 thing I want." 
 
 " Except — love !" said Fane, in a half whisper, 
 struggling mentally with the insane desire that had 
 suddenly seized him, to take this pale little child- 
 woman in his arms and show her what the tender- 
 ness of love could be. 
 
 She looked at him almost reproachfully. 
 
 " I think you mistake," she said gently, with a 
 curiously sad little old-world air of dignity. 
 " Harold loves me very much in — his own way. 
 He is not of a demonstrative nature." 
 
 Fane was silent. Presently she resumed in the 
 same gentle accents. 
 
 " It is not his fault, indeed, it is nobody's fault 
 that I do not feel as happy as I ought to do. It is 
 something in my own temperament. I fancy that 
 perhaps I am too young to be married ; not in years 
 I mean, but in feeling and education. You see, 
 being quite small and slight as I am, I have always 
 been treated as more or less of a child. Even when 
 I came home from being presented at the Queen's 
 Drawing Room, and fainted away all in a heap on 
 the stairs, my mother called me a 'poor baby.' 
 You remember what I told you at the ' Gutsch' ? 
 
THE WITHERING OF A ROSE. I07 
 
 — how I had always imagined that married women 
 must be big and fat, and important ? Well, really 
 they are, as a rule, and I am so different ! All the 
 married ladies in this neighbourhood, for instance, 
 look upon me as quite an absurdity." 
 
 "Then they are very impudent and ill-bred," 
 said Fane hotly. 
 
 " Oh, no, they're not," and she laughed a little. 
 " They come and call on regular days, and ask me 
 if I am equal to the management of such a large 
 house? Do I not find the servants a great trial? 
 Have I a strong constitution ? One lady always 
 surveys me mournfully through her pince-nez, and 
 says, ' You are very young to have secured such a 
 magnificent establishment.' And that is quite 
 true ! Dunscombe Hall is magnificent — don't you 
 think so ?" 
 
 They paused on the terrace just at a point which 
 faced the extensive left wing of the grand old pile. 
 Carved escutcheons, flying buttresses and heraldic 
 devices were all thrown up into sharp prominence 
 by the mellow rays of the autumnal noonday sun, 
 and immediately opposite them was the sculptured 
 figure of a warrior-saint in a Gothic niche, fes- 
 tooned with clambering white roses, whose deli- 
 cate blossoms surrounded and softened the statue's 
 frigid aspect of frozen prayer. 
 
 Fane shivered shghtly. "Yes," he said in a 
 tone of one who makes reluctant admission. " It 
 is a fine old place. But its character is distinctly 
 melancholy. It is not a Beethoven ' Sonata' or a 
 Mendelssohn ' Lied' — it is one of Chopin's most 
 mournful ' Nocturnes.' " 
 
I08 THE WITHERING OF A ROSE. 
 
 Rose AUingham gave him a quick glance of 
 perfect comprehension, but said nothing in reply. 
 Moving in her light, bird-like way across the ter- 
 race, she gathered one of the roses that hung near 
 the statue in the niche and gave it to him. He 
 had scarcely taken it from her before its leaves fell 
 in a white fragrant shower at his feet. She smiled 
 a little forcedly. 
 
 " I was afraid of that," she said. " They are all 
 on the very point of falling. I will not give you 
 another from that tree. This afternoon — or to- 
 morrow — I will get you one from the rosery ; they 
 are in better condition there. Now I must not de- 
 tain you from your work any longer ; you want all 
 the daylight possible. Have you got this old stone 
 saint in any of your sketches yet ?" 
 
 " Not yet," he answered abstractedly, looking 
 first at her and then at the petals of the fallen rose. 
 
 " Oh, I hope you will put him in somewhere !" 
 she exclaimed, almost playfully. "He is such a 
 dear old thing ! You seem quite melancholy over 
 that wasted rose." 
 
 " I am," he admitted. " I hate to see any beau- 
 tiful thing perish." 
 
 " But then so many beautiful things do perish," 
 she said, with a musing regret in her eyes. " One 
 must get accustomed to that. You recollect your 
 picture of the great pine-tree on the ' Gutsch,' 
 split through by lightning? That suggested to 
 me the ruin of a noble life. Well, all these little 
 white roses that fall so easily at a touch, they are 
 to me the emblems of just such a number of little 
 lives ; quite little lives, you know, of no actual use 
 
THE WITHERING OF A ROSE.j IO9 
 
 to anybody; only just pretty and fragrant and 
 harmless, that at a rough touch or hasty misunder- 
 standing drop to pieces and sink into the ground 
 unnoticed and unmissed. I believe each little rose 
 has its own little secret sadness." 
 
 She smiled and waved her hand to him, and she 
 moved away slowly and re-entered the house. 
 
 When she was quite out of sight Fane, moved 
 by some odd sentiment which he could not him- 
 self analyse, picked up every one of the fallen rose- 
 petals and put them in his pocket-book. Then he 
 set about sketching the ancient sculptured saint, 
 while the sun was still bright on its weather-beaten 
 features and piously folded hands. 
 
 The next day was the first of November, the 
 " Feast of All Saints." The weather was beauti- 
 fully clear and warm, and Fane went out early, 
 without even seeing his host and patron as usual, 
 in order to profit by the clearness of the atmos- 
 phere and get a long day's steady work. When 
 he returned in time for the late dinner he heard 
 that Mrs. AUingham had been seized with a suc- 
 cession of fainting-fits, and that the doctor had 
 been sent for. Greatly disconcerted by this news 
 he entered the dining-room full of eager and sym- 
 pathetic inquiries, but found his host so bland and 
 calm, and so perfectly satisfied that there was no 
 cause whatever for anxiety as to his young wife's 
 condition, that he felt it would be deemed odd and 
 out of place if he, as a visitor and "paid artist," 
 had exhibited any unduly great concern. 
 
 " It was mere weakness and nervous prostra- 
 tion," said Mr. AUingham, drinking his champagne 
 
no THE WITHERING OF A ROSE. 
 
 with relish as he spoke, " and in these cases faint- 
 ing-fits are a relief rather than a danger. I am 
 sorry Rose has allowed herself to run down in this 
 way. I am afraid it will necessitate my going with 
 her to the sea-side for a short time. It would be 
 particularly inconvenient to me just now — ^but if 
 it must be done it must." 
 
 Fane could not speak. He gulped his food and 
 wine down hastily with such a sense of impotent 
 rage as almost choked him. He could scarcely 
 bear to look at the composed, sleek, self-satisfied 
 man beside him, attired as was his usual evening 
 custom in irreproachable dress-suit, starchy shirt 
 and white tie — he would have liked to knock him 
 down and trample on him. As soon as dinner was 
 ended, he left the room with a muttered hasty 
 excuse about " having letters to write," and went 
 out in the soft night air to smoke by himself and 
 " cool down," as he inwardly expressed it, for his 
 feelings were in a perfect tumult. Pity and anx- 
 iety for Mrs. AUingham, and contempt for her hus- 
 band, struggled for the mastery in his mind ; and 
 he walked on and on through the grounds under 
 the light of a full moon, not heeding where 'he was 
 going to in the heat of his wrath and excitement. 
 
 " I can't stand it !" he said, half aloud, at last. 
 " I'll leave the place to-morrow ! I can finish the 
 sketches at home now, I've got enough material to 
 go upon. If I stay here any longer I shall come 
 to fisticuffs with that egotistical prig, or — or — 
 otherwise make a fool of myself" 
 
 A sudden shiver ran through him ; and con- 
 scious of a certain dampness and unpleasant chill 
 
THE WITHERING OF A ROSE. lU 
 
 in the air, he stopped abruptly to see whither he 
 had come. 
 
 To his amazement, right in front of him stretched 
 the " Haunted Mere," gHttering like polished steel 
 in the silver rays of the moon. Something there 
 was in the weird aspect of the still water and the 
 twisted willows that impressed him with a sense of 
 awe; and, as though a cold hand had been laid 
 upon his heart, his anger died away into a dull, 
 aching pain. He stood like one hypnotised, staring 
 vaguely at the Mere, disinclined to move, and 
 scarcely capable of thought. And as he remained 
 thus, waiting for he knew not what, he saw dis- 
 tinctly a pale shadow fall like the reilection of a 
 cloud across the shining width of water — a shadow 
 that darkened slowly and grew, as it were, palpably 
 into the shape of a small boat with a curved and 
 curiously luminous prow; straining his eyes he 
 watched, every nerve in his body throbbing with 
 fear. The boat began to move out of shadow into 
 moonlight, and as it moved it showed its spectral 
 occupant — a woman's figure veiled completely in 
 misty white, that stood erect and waved its arms 
 beckoningly towards the turret of Dunscombe Hall. 
 Reaching the very middle of the Mere where the 
 moonlight shone broadest and brightest, the ghostly 
 skiiif paused on the water motionless. Again and 
 yet again the veiled phantom waved its arms ap- 
 pealingly, commandingly ; then, like a wreath of 
 mist or smoke, it vanished ! 
 
 Released from the terrible tension of his nerves. 
 Fane uttered a loud cry ; it was echoed among the 
 dark woods and answered by the mournful hooting 
 
112 THE WITHERING OF A ROSE. 
 
 of owls. All at once he remembered the legend 
 • — that the ghost of Dunscombe Hall was said only 
 to appear when death threatened some member of 
 the family. 
 
 " My God !" he exclaimed, " can it be possible !" 
 
 And without waiting to think another moment 
 he turned and ran, ran as though he were running 
 a race for life, straight back to the Hall. Breath- 
 lessly rushing through the dark antiquated porch, 
 he jostled against a man coming out. 
 
 " Mr. Allingham," he began. 
 
 " I am not Mr. Allingham," said the stranger, 
 " I am Dr. Dean." 
 
 " The doctor ? Oh, then " And he leaned 
 
 back against a pillar of the porch to recover breath 
 and equanimity ; " Mrs. Allingham is " 
 
 " Dead," said the doctor gently. 
 
NEHEMIAH P. HOSKINS, 
 ARTIST. 
 
 "T HEV," said Mr. Hoskins, " made up my mind 
 1 that this ' Daphne' will be the picture of the 
 year — ^that is, so far as visitors to Rome are con- 
 cerned. I do not exhibit at the French Salon, nor 
 at the English Academy. I find" — and Mr. Hos- 
 kins ran his hand through his hair and smiled 
 complacently — " that Rome suffices me. My pict- 
 ures need no other setting than Rome. The 
 memories of the Caesars are enough to hallow 
 their very frames ! Rome and Nehemiah Hoskins 
 are old friends. What ?" 
 
 This "What?" was one of Mr. Hoskins's 
 favourite expressions. It finished all his sentences 
 interrogatively. It gracefully implied that the 
 person to whom he was speaking had said, or was 
 going to say, something, and it politely expressed 
 Mr. Hoskins's own belief that no one would or 
 could be so rude as to hear his eulogies of him- 
 self without instantly corroborating and enlarging 
 them. Therefore, when, on the present occasion, 
 Mr. Hoskins said " What ?" it was evident that he 
 expected me to respond, and make myself agree- 
 able. Unfortunately, I had no flatteries ready; 
 flattery does not come easy to me, but I was able 
 h lo* 113 
 
114 NEHEMIAH P. HOSKINS, ARTIST. 
 
 to smile. Indeed, I found it convenient to smile 
 just then : the intimate association of the two 
 names, " Rome" and " Hoskins," moved me to this 
 pleasantness. Then, without speaking, I took up 
 a good position in the studio, and looked at the 
 " Daphne." 
 
 There was not the least doubt in the world that 
 it was a very fine picture. Drawing, grouping, 
 colouring, all were as near perfection as human 
 brain and hand could possibly devise. The scene 
 depicted was the legended pursuit of Daphne by 
 Apollo. It was an evening landscape; a young 
 moon gleamed in the sky, and over a field of 
 nodding lilies came the amorous god, with flying 
 feet and hair blown backward by the wind, his 
 ardent poetic face glowing with the impatience 
 and fierceness of repulsed passion. Pale Daphne, 
 turning round in fear, with hands uplifted in 
 agonised supplication, was already changing into 
 the laurel ; half of her flowing golden tresses were 
 transformed into clustering leaves, and from her 
 arched and slender feet the twisted twigs of the 
 tree of Fame were swiftly springing upward. The 
 picture was a large one ; and for ideality of con- 
 ception, bold treatment, and harmony of composi- 
 tion would have been considered by most impartial 
 judges, who have no "art-clique" to please, a 
 marvellous piece of work. Yet the wonder of it 
 to me was that it should have been painted by 
 Nehemiah P. Hoskins. The " Daphne" was grand, 
 but Hoskins looked mean, and the contrast was 
 singular. Hoskins, with his greased and scented 
 hair, his velveteen coat, his flowing blue tie, 
 
[ NEHEMIAH P. HOSKINS, ARTIST. II5 
 
 and his aggressive, self-appreciative, " up-to-date" 
 American " art" manner, clashed with the beauty 
 of his work discordantly. 
 
 " I presume," he said, twirling his moustache 
 with a confident air, "that picture is worth its 
 price. What ?" 
 
 " It is very fine — very fine, indeed, Mr. Hoskins !" 
 I murmured. " What are you asking for it?" 
 
 " Fifteen thousand dollars is my price," he 
 answered jauntily. " And cheap it is at that. My 
 friends tell me it is far too cheap. But what mat- 
 ter ? I am not hampered by mercenary considera- 
 tions. I work for the work's sake. Art is my 
 goddess ! Rome is my altar of worship ! I will 
 not debase myself or my profession by vulgar 
 bargaining. When I first set this picture up on 
 the easel for exhibition I said fifteen thousand 
 dollars would content me. Since that time my 
 countless admirers have reproached me, saying, 
 ' You ask too little, Hoskins ; you are too modest, 
 you do not realise your own greatness. You 
 should demand a hundred thousand dollars !' 
 But no ! Having said fifteen thousand, I stick to 
 it. I know it is cheap, ridiculously cheap, but 
 never mind ! there are more ideas still left in the 
 brain that produced this work. What ?" 
 
 " Indeed, I hope so," I said earnestly, endeavour- 
 ing to overcome my dislike of the man's person- 
 ality. " It is a magnificent picture, Mr. Hoskins, 
 and I wish I could afford to purchase it. But as I 
 cannot, let me say at least how warmly I congratu- 
 late you on the possession of so much true genius." 
 
 Mr. Hoskins bowed complacently. 
 
Il6 NEHEMIAH P. HOSKINS, ARTIST. 
 
 " A word of appreciation is always welcome," he 
 observed grandiloquently. " Sympathy is, after all, 
 the best reward of the inspired artist. What is 
 money ? — Dross ! When a friend comprehends 
 the greatness of my work and acknowledges its 
 successful accomplishment, my soul is satisfied. 
 Money can only supply the vulgar necessities of 
 life, but sympathy feeds the mind and rouses anew 
 the divine fires ! What ?" 
 
 I really could not find any words to meet his 
 interrogative " What ?" this time. It seemed to 
 me that he had said all there was to say, and more 
 than was necessary. I took my leave and passed 
 out of the studio, vaguely irritated and dissatisfied. 
 The " Daphne" haunted me, and I felt unreasonably 
 annoyed to think that one so vulgar and egotistical 
 as Nehemiah P. Hoskins should have painted it. 
 How came such a man to possess the all-potent 
 talisman of Genius? I could now comprehend 
 ,why the American colony in Rome made such a 
 fuss about Hoskins ; no wonder they were proud 
 of him if he could produce such masterpieces as 
 the " Daphne" ! Still thinking over the matter 
 perplexedly, I re-entered the carriage which had 
 waited for me outside the artist's studio, and should 
 have driven away home, had it not been for the 
 occurrence of one of those apparently trifling inci- 
 dents which sometimes give the clue to a whole 
 history. A little dog was suddenly run over in 
 the street where my carriage stood — one of its 
 forelegs was badly cut and bled profusely, but 
 otherwise it was not seriously injured. The driver 
 of the vehicle that had caused the mishap came to 
 
NEHEMIAH P. HOSKINS, ARTIST. 11/ 
 
 me and expressed his regrets, thinking that I was 
 the owner of the wounded animal, as, indeed, I 
 seemed to be, for it had limped directly up to me, 
 yelping pitifully, as though appealing for assistance, 
 I raised the small sufferer in my arms, and seeing 
 that it wore a plain brass collar inscribed " Mitu, 
 8, Via Tritone," I bade my coachman drive to that 
 address, resolving to restore the strayed pet to its 
 owner or owners. It was a pretty dog, white and 
 fluffy as a ball of wool, with soft brown eyes and 
 an absurdly small black nose. It was very clean 
 and well kept, and from its appearance was evi- 
 dently a favourite with its master or mistress. It 
 took very kindly to me, and lay quiet on my lap, 
 allowing me to bind up its wounded paw with my 
 handkerchief, now and then licking my hand by 
 way of gratitude. 
 
 " Mitii," said I, " if that is your name, you are 
 more frightened than hurt, it seems to me. Some- 
 body spoils you, Mitii, and you are affected! 
 Your precious paw is not half so bad as you 
 would make it out to be !" 
 
 Mitu sighed and wagged his tail ; he was evi- 
 dently accustomed to be talked to, and liked it. 
 When we neared the Via Tritone he grew quite 
 brisk, perked up his silky ears, and looked about 
 him with a marked and joyful recognition of his 
 surroundings ; and when we stopped at No. 8 his 
 excitement became so intense that he would cer- 
 tainly have jumped out of my arnig, in complete 
 forgetfulness of his injured limb, had I not re- 
 strained him. The door of the house was opened 
 to us by a stout, good-natured-looking lady, arrayed 
 
Il8 NEHEMIAH P. HOSKINS, ARTIST. 
 
 in the true Italian style of morning deshabille, but 
 who, in spite of excessive fat and slovenliness, 
 possessed a smile sunny enough to make amends 
 for far worse faults. 
 
 "Oh, Mitii! Mitu!" she cried, holding up her 
 hands in grave remonstrance, as she caught sight 
 of the little dog. " How wicked thou art ! Well 
 dost thou deserve misfortune ! To run away and 
 leave thy pretty signora i" 
 
 Mitu looked honestly ashamed of himself, and 
 tried to hide his abashed head under my cloak. 
 Curious to see the " pretty signora" alluded to, I 
 asked if I might personally restore the stray pet 
 to its owner then and there. 
 
 " But certainly !" said the smiling padrona, in 
 mellifluous tones of Roman courtesy. " If you 
 will generously give yourself the trouble to ascend 
 the stairs to the top — the very top, you understand ? 
 — of the house, you will find the signora's studio. 
 The signora's name, Giuletta Marchini, is on the 
 door. Ah, Dio ! But a minute ago she was here 
 weeping for the wicked Mitu !" 
 
 Plainly, Mitu understood this remark, for he gave 
 a smothered yelp by way of relieving his feelings. 
 And to put him out of his declared remorse, sus- 
 pense, and wretchedness as soon as possible, I 
 straightway began to " generously give myself the 
 trouble" of climbing up to his mistress's domicile. 
 The stairs were many and steep, but at last, well- 
 nigh breathless, I reached the topmost floor of the 
 tall old house, and knocked gently at the door, 
 which directly faced me, and on which the name 
 " Giuletta Marchini" was painted in neat black 
 
NEHEMIAH P. HOSKINS, ARTIST. II9 
 
 letters. Mitu was now trembling all over with 
 excitement, and when the door opened and a fair 
 woman looked out, exclaiming in surprised glad 
 accents " Oh, Mitu ! euro Mitii !" he could stand it 
 no longer. Wriggling out of my arms he bounced 
 on the floor, and writhed there with yelps and 
 barks of mingled pain and ecstasy, while I, in a 
 few words, explained to his owner the nature of 
 his misadventure. She listened, with a sweet ex- 
 pression of interest in her thoughtful dark eyes, 
 and a smile lighting up one of the most spirituelle 
 faces I ever saw. 
 
 " You have been very kind," she said, " and I 
 do not know how to thank you enough. Mitii is 
 such a dear little friend to me that I should have 
 been miserable had I lost him. But he is of a very 
 roving disposition, I'm afraid, and he is always 
 getting into trouble. Do come into the studio and 
 rest — the stairs are so fatiguing." 
 
 I accepted this invitation gladly, but scarcely 
 had I crossed the threshold of the room than I 
 started back with an involuntary exclamation. 
 There, facing me on the wall, was a rough cartoon 
 in black and white of the " Daphne" as exhibited 
 by Nehemiah P. Hoskins ! 
 
 " Why !" I cried, " that is a sketch of the picture 
 I have just seen !" 
 
 Giuletta Marchini smiled, and looked at me 
 attentively. 
 
 "Ah! you have been visiting the American 
 studios ?" she asked. 
 
 " Not all of them. This morning I have only 
 seen Mr. Hoskins's work." 
 
120 NEHEMIAH P. HOSKINS, ARTIST, 
 
 " Ah !" she said again, and was silent. 
 
 Impulsively I turned and looked at her. She 
 was attending to Mitu's injured paw. She had 
 placed him on a cushion and was bandaging hia 
 wound carefully, with deft, almost surgical skill, 
 I noticed her hands, how refined they were in 
 shape, with the delicate tapering fingers that fre- 
 quently indicate an artistic temperamental studied 
 the woman herself. Young and as slight as a reed, 
 with a quantity of fair hair partially lifted in thick 
 waves from a broad intelligent brow, she did not 
 bear any semblance to that type known as an 
 " ordinary" woman. She was evidently something 
 apart from the commonplace. By and by I found 
 out a certain likeness in her to the " Daphne" of 
 Hoskins's wonderful picture, and, thinking I had 
 made a discovery, I said — 
 
 " Surely you sat to Mr. Hoskins for the figure 
 of Daphne ?" 
 
 Smiling, she shook her head in the negative. 
 
 I felt a little embarrassed. I had taken her for 
 a model, whereas it was possible she might be an 
 artist herself of great talent. I murmured some- 
 thing apologetic, and she laughed — a clear, sweet, 
 rippling laugh of purest mirth and good-humour. 
 
 "Oh, you must not apologise," she said. "I 
 know it must seem to you very singular to find 
 the first sketch of the 'Daphne' here and the 
 finished picture in Mr. Hoskins's studio. And it 
 is really such an odd coincidence that, through 
 Mitii, you should come to me immediately after 
 visiting Mr. Hoskins that I feel I shall have to 
 explain the matter. But, first, may I ask you to 
 
NEHEMIAH P. HOSKINS, ARTIST. 121 
 
 look round my studio ? You will find other things 
 beside that ' Daphne' cartoon." 
 
 I did look round, with ever-growing wonder and 
 admiration. There were " other things," as she 
 said, things of such marvellous beauty and genius 
 as it would be difficult to find in any modern art- 
 studio. In something of incredulity and amaze- 
 ment I instantly asked — 
 
 " These studies are yours ? — ^you did them all 
 yourself?" 
 
 Her level brows contracted a little — then she 
 smiled. 
 
 " If you had been a man I should have expected 
 that question. But, being a woman, I wonder at 
 your suggesting it ! Yes — I do my work myself, 
 every bit of it ! I love it ! I am jealous of it 
 while it remains with me. I have no master — I 
 have taught myself all I know, and everything 
 you see in this room is designed and finished by 
 my own hand — / am not Mr. Hoskins !" 
 
 A sudden light broke in upon me. 
 
 " You painted the ' Daphne' !" I cried. 
 
 She looked full at me, with a touch of melan- 
 choly in her brilliant eyes. 
 
 " Yes, I painted the ' Daphne.' " 
 
 " Then how — why " I began excitedly. 
 
 " Why do I allow Mr. Hoskins to put his name 
 to it ?" she said. " Well, he gives me two thousand 
 francs for the permission — and two thousand francs 
 is a small fortune to my mother and to me." 
 
 " But you could sell your pictures yourself!" I 
 exclaimed. "You could make heaps of money, 
 and fame !" 
 
 F II 
 
122 NEHEMIAH P. HOSKINS, ARTIST. 
 
 " You think so ?" and she smiled very sadly. 
 " Well, I used to think so, too, once. But that 
 dream is past. I want very little money, and my 
 whole nature sickens at the thought of fame. 
 Fame for a woman in these days means slander 
 and jealousy — no more! Here is my history," 
 and with a quick movement of her hand she drew 
 aside a curtain which had concealed another 
 picture of great size and magnificent execution — 
 representing a group of wild horses racing furiously 
 onward together, without saddle or bridle, and 
 entitled " I Barberi." 
 
 " I painted this," she said, while I stood lost in 
 admiration before the bold and powerful treatment 
 of so difficult a subject, " when I was eighteen. I 
 am twenty-seven now. At eighteen I believed in 
 ideals ; and, of course, in love, as a part of them. 
 I was betrothed to a man — an Austrian, who was 
 studying art here in Rome. He saw me paint this 
 picture — he watched me draw every line and lay 
 on every tint. Well, to make a long story short, 
 he copied it. He brought his canvas here in this 
 studio and worked with me — out of love, he said 
 — for he wished to keep an exact fac-simile of the 
 work which he declared would make me famous. 
 I believed him, for I loved him ! When he had 
 nearly finished his copy he took it away, and two 
 days afterwards came to bid me farewell. He was 
 obliged to go to Vienna, he told me, but he would 
 return to Rome again within the month. We 
 parted as lovers part — with tenderness on both 
 sides — and when he had gone I set to work to give 
 the last finishing touches to my picture. When I 
 
NEHEMIAH P. HOSKINS, ARTIST, 1 23 
 
 had done all I thought I could do, I wrote to a 
 famous dealer in the city and asked him to come 
 and give me his judgment as to the worth of my 
 work. Directly he entered this room he started 
 back, and looked at me reproachfully. ' I can do 
 nothing with a copy,' he said ; ' I have just pur- 
 chased the original picture by Max Wieland.' " 
 
 I uttered an exclamation of indignation and 
 compassion. 
 
 " Yes," continued Giuletta Marchini, " Max Wie- 
 land was my lover. He had stolen my picture, he 
 had robbed me of my fame. I do not quite know 
 what happened when I heard it. I think I lost my 
 head completely for a time — my mother tells me I 
 was ill for months. But I myself have no remem- 
 brance of anything but a long blank of hopeless 
 misery. Of course, I never saw Max again. I 
 wrote to him ; he never answered. I told the 
 picture-dealer my story, but he would not believe 
 it. ' The design of " I Barberi" ' he said, ' is not 
 that of a feminine hand. It is purely masculine. 
 If Max Wieland is your damo, you do him a great 
 and cruel injustice by striving to pass off your 
 very accurate copy as the original. It will not do, 
 my dear little sly one, it will not do ! I am too 
 old and experienced a judge for that. No girl of 
 your age was ever capable of designing such a 
 work — look at the anatomy and the colouring! 
 It is the man's touch all over — noth\ng feminine 
 about it.' And then," went on Giuletta slowly, 
 " the story got about that I had tried to steal Max 
 Wieland's picture, and that he had broken off his 
 engagement with me on that account. My mother, 
 
124 NEHEMIAH P. HOSKINS, ARTIST. 
 
 who is old and feeble, grew almost mad with 
 anger, for she had witnessed his work of copying 
 from me — but no one would believe her either. 
 They only said it was natural she should try to 
 defend her own daughter. Then we were poor, 
 and we had no money to appeal to the law. No 
 dealer would purchase anything that bore my 
 name — as an artist I was ruined." 
 
 Here the dog Mitii, conscious that his mistress's 
 voice had rather a sad tone in it, limped across to 
 her on his three legs, holding up his bandaged 
 paw. She smiled, and lifted him up in her arms. 
 
 " Yes — we were ruined, Mitii !" she said, rest- 
 ing her pretty rounded chin on his silky head. 
 " Ruined as far as the world and the world's ap- 
 plause went. But one cannot put a stop to 
 thoughts — they will grow, like flowers, wherever 
 there is any soil to give them root. And though 
 I knew I could not sell my pictures, I continued 
 to paint for my own pleasure ; and to keep my 
 mother and myself alive I gave drawing-lessons 
 to children. But we were poor — intolerably, 
 squalidly poor — till one day Mr. Hoskins came." 
 
 " And then ?" I inquired eagerly. 
 
 "Why, then — well!" and the fair Marchini 
 laughed a little, " He made me a curious pro- 
 posal. He said he was an American artist who 
 desired to establish himself in Rome. He could 
 only paint landscapes, he told me, and he knew 
 he would require to have ' figure-pictures' in his 
 studio to ' draw.' He said he would pay me hand- 
 somely to do these ' figure-pictures' if I would sell 
 them to him outright, let him put his name to 
 
NEHEMIAH P. HOSKINS, ARTIST. 1 25 
 
 them, and ask no more about them. I hesitated at 
 first, but my mother was very ill at the time, and 
 I had no money. I was driven by necessity, and 
 at last I consented. And Mr. Hoskins has kept 
 his word about payment — he is very generous — 
 and my mother and I are quite well off now." 
 
 " But he is asking fifteen thousand dollars for 
 the ' Daphne,' " I cried, " and he only gives you 
 two thousand francs ! Do you call that generous ?" 
 
 Giuletta Marchini looked thoughtful. 
 
 " Well, I don't know !" she said sweetly, with a 
 plaintive uplifting of her eyebrows ; " you see it 
 costs him a great deal to live in Rome ; he enter- 
 tains numbers of people and has to keep a car- 
 riage. Now it costs us very little to live as we do, 
 and we have no friends at all. Two thousand 
 francs is quite as large a sum to me as fifteen 
 thousand dollars is to him." 
 
 "And you will never make any attempt to 
 secure for yourself the personal fame you so well 
 deserve ?" I asked in astonishment. 
 
 She shrugged her shoulders. 
 
 " I think not ! What is the use of it— to a 
 woman ? Celebrity for our sex, as I said before, 
 simply means — slander ! A man may secure fame 
 through the vilest and most illegitimate means, 
 he may steal other people's brains to make his 
 own career, he may bribe the critics, he may do 
 anything and everything in his power, dishonour- 
 ably or otherwise — provided he succeeds he is 
 never blamed. But let a woman become famous 
 through the unaided exertions of her own hand 
 and brain, she is always suspected of having been 
 
 II* 
 
126 NEHEMIAH P. HOSKINS, ARTIST. 
 
 ' helped' by somebody. No, I cannot say I care 
 for fame. I painted my picture, or, rather, Mr. 
 Hoskins's picture" — and she smiled — " out of a 
 strong feeling of sympathy with the legend. The 
 god approaches, and the woman is transformed 
 from a creature of throbbing joys and hopes and 
 passions into the laurel — a tree of bitter taste and 
 scentless flower ! I am happier as I am — unknown 
 to the world — while Hoskins 'is an honourable 
 man' !" she finished, making the Shaksperian quo- 
 tation with a bright laugh, as she dropped the 
 curtain over the great canvas of " I Barberi," the 
 picture that had been the cause of so much sorrow 
 in her life. 
 
 After this adventure I visited Giuletta Marchini 
 often, and tried to argue with her on the erroneous 
 position she occupied. I pointed out to her that 
 Nehemiah P. Hoskins was making out of her 
 genius a fraudulent reputation for himself But 
 she assured me there were many struggling artists 
 in Rome who made their living in the same way 
 as she did — namely, by painting pictures for 
 American '" artists" who had no idea of painting 
 for themselves. I discussed the matter with her 
 mother, a dried-up little chip of an old woman 
 with black eyes that sparkled like jewels, and I 
 found her quite as incorrigible on the subject as 
 Giuletta herself 
 
 " When a girl's heart is broken, what can you 
 do ?" she said, with eloquent gestures of her head 
 and hands. " The Austrian devil is to blame — 
 Max Wieland ; may all evil follow him ! Giuletta 
 loved him. I believe, if she would only confess 
 
NEHEMIAH P. HOSKINS, ARTIST. 12/ 
 
 it, she loves him now. Her character is not a 
 changeful one. She is one of those women who 
 would let her lover kill her and kiss the hand that 
 dealt the blow. She has genius — oh, yes ! Genius 
 is not rare in Italy. It is in the blood of the 
 people, and we do not wonder at it. Things are 
 best as they are. She is not happy, perhaps, but 
 she is at peace. She loves her work and we are 
 able to live. That is enough, and all we want in 
 this world. And for Giuletta, a woman does not 
 care for fame when she has lost love." 
 
 And from her I could get no other verdict. She 
 had, however, a strong sense of humour, I found, 
 and fully recognised the art-fraud practised on his 
 patrons by Nehemiah P. Hoskins, but she could 
 not see that her daughter was either affected or 
 injured by it. At Giuletta's own earnest request 
 I therefore refrained from any immediate interfer- 
 ence with Nehemiah's prosperity and growing 
 reputation. He was quite the "lion" in Rome 
 that year, and entertained whole embassies at tea. 
 The " Daphne" was purchased at his own price by 
 one of the wealthiest of his countrymen (a former 
 " navvy," who now keeps " secretaries" and buys 
 historical land in England), who has had it care- 
 fully " hung" in the most conspicuous part of his 
 new picture-gallery, and who calls Hoskins " the 
 American Raphael." 
 
 Meanwhile, at my suggestion, Giuletta Marchini 
 is painting a work which she intends to submit to 
 some of the best judges of art in Paris; and, 
 judging from its design so far as it has proceeded, 
 I think it is possible that in a couple of years 
 
128 NEHEMIAH P. HOSKINS, ARTIST. 
 
 Nehetniah P. Hoskins will be found to have " gone 
 off" in a singular manner, while Giuletta Marchini 
 will have " come up," to be received, no doubt, with 
 the usual mixture of abuse and grudging praise 
 awarded to work that is known to be woman's, 
 instead of the applause that frequently attends the 
 inane productions of pretentious and fraudulent 
 men. In truth, it would sometimes seem that it is 
 better, as this world goes, to be a man and an im- 
 postor, than a woman and honest. And concern- 
 ing American artists in Rome, it is well known 
 how many a one has there enjoyed a brief but 
 dazzling reputation for " genius," which has sud- 
 denly ended in " smoke," because the gifted Italian 
 who has played " ghost" behind the scenes has 
 died, or emigrated, or gone elsewhere to make a 
 name for himself This rapid and apparently mys- 
 terious failure has attended the career of one Max 
 Wieland, upon whom the Viennese journals now 
 and then comment in terms of reproach and dis- 
 appointment. His great picture, they say, of " I 
 Barberi," had led the world of art to expect works 
 from him of the very highest order, but, strange 
 to say, he has done nothing since worthy of re- 
 mark or criticism. Giuletta knows this, but is 
 silent on the subject, and for herself, is certainly 
 more alarmed than pleased at the prospect of 
 winning her deserved fame. 
 
 " To be censured and misunderstood," she says, 
 " is it pleasant — for a woman ? To be pointed out 
 as if one were a branded criminal, and regarded 
 with jealousy, suspicion, and even hatred — is it 
 worth fighting for? I myself doubt it. Yet if 
 
NEHEMIAH P. HOSKINS, ARTIST. 1 29 
 
 the laurel must grow from a human heart I sup- 
 pose it cannot but cause pain." 
 
 And even while she works steadily on at her 
 new picture, she tells me she is quite contented as 
 she is, and happier than she thinks she is likely to 
 be as an art " celebrity." In the interim, Nehe- 
 miah P. Hoskins, the " American Raphael," is tri- 
 umphant; accepting homage for genius not his 
 own, and pocketing cash for work he has not done ; 
 while he is never so magnificently convincing, so 
 grandiloquently impressive, as when, surrounded 
 by admiring male friends, he discourses com- 
 placently upon the " totally mistaken" vocation of 
 " woman in art" ! 
 
AN OLD BUNDLE. 
 
 " OHE'S a reg'lar old bundle — she is; more 
 
 O worry than she's wuth !" 
 
 The speaker was a buxom laundress of some 
 thirty-five or forty years of age, with a plump, 
 merry face, a twinkling eye, and an all-round com- 
 fortable, kindly manner ; and her words, though in 
 themselves apparently harsh, were uttered in such 
 a tone of genuine, if half-playful, affection, as 
 robbed them of every suspicion of ill-humour. She 
 was ironing out some dainty articles of feminine 
 apparel profusely trimmed with lace, and though 
 her attention was chiefly bent on her work, she 
 glanced every now and then, with a curious min- 
 gling of wearied patience and keen anxiety, to the 
 chimney-corner of her ironing-room, where, in a 
 large chair, propped up by a large pillow, sat the 
 " old bundle" alluded to. 
 
 " She will come in here on ironin' days ; it ain't 
 no good tryin' to prevent 'er. She can't see a bit 
 how the things is bein' done ; but she fancies she 
 can, an' that's just as good for 'er. Lor', now ! 
 Look at 'er, all droopin' forward fit to break 
 'erself in two ! Here, granny ! Hold up !" 
 
 And thus exclaiming, she hurried to the chair, 
 and, with tender zeal, lifted the " bundle" into a 
 
 131 
 
132 AN OLD BUNDLE. 
 
 better sitting posture, thereby disclosing to view a 
 little old woman with a nut-brown wrinkled face like 
 that of some well-preserved mummy. Two very 
 small, very dim eyes peered up at her as she settled 
 the pillow, and a weak wheezy voice piped out — 
 
 " That's 'er ! That's my little Betty, my young- 
 est grandarter ! I knows 'er — I knows 'em all — 
 fine-grown boys an' gels, for sure ! Betty, she's a 
 good hand at frills, but she can't do 'em as I could 
 when I was a gel. Lor' ! when I was a gel — eh, 
 
 dearie, dearie me " Here the voice sighed 
 
 away into indistinct murmurings, and ceased. 
 
 Her " youngest grandarter" looked round with 
 a matronly smile. 
 
 " That's the way old folks alius' goes on," she 
 observed indulgently. " I 'xpect I'll do the same 
 if I'm ever 'er age. She's a wonderful one for 
 'er time of life — ninety-five come Christmas. 
 Such a memory as she's got ! A bit mixed now 
 an' then, but there's a'most nothing she can't 
 remember. She was a married woman with a 
 family before the Queen was crowned; an' once 
 she was somewhere nigh Windsor Park an' saw 
 the Prince o' Wales carried about as a baby. 
 Didn't ye, granny ?" Here she raised her voice to 
 something between a shriek and a whistle. " Didn't 
 ye see the Prince o' Wales in long clothes ?" 
 
 A galvanic shock appeared to go through the 
 " old bundle," and two skinny hands were thrust 
 forth tremblingly in the air. 
 
 " Ay, that I did !" wheezed the weak voice again. 
 " He wor the dearest little dear, as rosy as rosy — 
 Lor' bless his 'art ! I seed 'im on his marriage- 
 
AN OLD BUNDLE. I33 
 
 day, too — me an' my 'usband; we were a'most 
 killed in the crowd, so we was, but I seed 'im, an' 
 he smiled at me — so did the beautiful princess 
 from Denmark, she smiled, too — just straight at 
 me. It's truth I'm tellin' — both on 'em smiled at 
 me just straight an' pleasant like — it's truth I'm 
 tellin' " 
 
 " No one's doubtin' ye, granny," said the comely 
 Betty, shaking out the ethereal-looking lace petti- 
 coat she had just finished, and unrolling another 
 preparatory to further operations. " You were a 
 fine, handsome woman still, then, worn't ye, eh ?" 
 This with a sly wink round. 
 
 " Ah, worn't I, worn't I ?" screamed granny, 
 now becoming wildly excited. " You ask William 
 what I wor ! He'll tell ye ! He used to say, 
 " You'll never get old, my dear ; that's what it is, 
 you'll never get old.' Where's William? You 
 ask 'im — he's the man to talk o' my looks; he 
 thought a deal o' them — he'll tell ye. It ain't for 
 me to praise mysell" — and here an odd chuckle 
 and creak came from the chair, whereby it became 
 dimly manifest that the " old bundle" was laughing 
 — "it ain't for me — ^you fetch 'im an' ask 'im — 
 he'll tell ye " 
 
 " That's poor grandfather she's chattering about 
 now," said Betty very softly. " He's been dead 
 these twenty years." 
 
 She went on ironing, meditatively, for a few 
 minutes, and then said — 
 
 " It's queer how some folks never get quite what 
 they want in this world. Now she" — jerking her 
 head in the " old bundle's" direction — " she's had 
 
134 AN OLD BUNDLE. 
 
 a particular wish all 'er days, an' it's never been 
 given to 'er — now and again she do harp on it till 
 she wears a body out. In all 'er terrible long life 
 she's never seen the Queen, an' that's 'er craziness. 
 She takes it awful badly. We've tried all we know 
 to manage it for 'er, an' it seems as if there was 
 a fate against it. She could never manage it for 
 'erself when she was well an' strong, an' now it's 
 more 'ard than ever. We took 'er with us on 
 Jubilee day, an' she began to cry at the sight of 
 the crowd, an' got nervous like ; then we took 'er 
 when the Imperial Institute was opened, an' that 
 worn't no use neither, she was too feeble to stand 
 the pushing an' scrambhng. We've done our 
 best, but something alius comes in the way, so I 
 expect it's no good trying any more." 
 
 At that moment granny lifted herself up with a 
 good deal of energy and peered at the ironing- 
 board. 
 
 " What are ye doin' with them frills ?" she de- 
 manded. " You ain't 'arf a hand at them. When 
 I was a gel, I could do frills fit for the Queen to 
 wear. Ah ! she must be a fine leddy, the Queen 
 of England, with 'er gold crown on 'er head an' 
 'er great jewels on 'er breast; an' 'er grand 
 robes all round an' about 'er, an' trailing yards on 
 the ground. Eh, dearie, dearie, dearie, me !" — and 
 she shook a sort of eldritch wail out of herself — 
 " I'll never be at peace till I see 'er — never ! I've 
 seen the Prince of Wales many a time, God bless 
 'im ! — an' the princess — an' they've smiled at me — 
 but Lor' ! the Queen is like the Lord Almighty — 
 we've got to believe in 'er without seein' 'er !" 
 
AN OLD BUNDLE. 13$ 
 
 Her granddaughter looked gravely shocked. 
 
 " Lor', granny, you shouldn't talk so — it sounds 
 as blasphemous as if ye were in church," she said, 
 with a most curious irrelevance. " I'm just sur- 
 prised at you — a decent. God-fearing body like 
 yourself. Surely there's no such need for us to 
 see the Queen; it's enough to know that she's 
 there." 
 
 '"Tain't!" shrieked the "old bundle" vehe- 
 mently. " 'Tain't, I tell ye ! She's there, is she ? 
 Where ? Where is she, ye silly gel ? Don't make 
 me a fool nor yourself neither! Where is 
 she?" 
 
 " Why, granny, in 'er palaces, for sure !" replied 
 Betty soothingly. 
 
 " Don't she never come out o' them palaces ?" 
 expostulated granny, getting shriller and shriller. 
 " Don't she never take no air ? Then it's a shame 
 to the country to let 'er be stifled up an' hidden 
 away from the people who would love to see 'er 
 with 'er robes an' crown on 'er 'ead, poor pretty 
 dear ! I call it just disgraceful, I do ! Get 'er 
 out of it — yes, you tell William what I say ; the 
 country ain't got no business to keep 'er shut up 
 first in one prison an' then another — an' I tell ye, 
 Betty, there's something very queerfabout the way 
 they send 'er to Scotland for such a long time — 
 'tain't right, Betty ! — you mark my words, 'tain't 
 right ! — it's a plot to keep 'er away from us, you 
 see if it ain't ! Lor' ! she's a young woman yet — 
 just lost 'er 'usband too ! it's 'ard on 'er to shut 
 'er up — it's powerful 'ard " 
 
 Here granny sank back exhausted, her withered 
 
136 AN OLD BUNDLE. 
 
 head shaking to and fro involuntarily with the 
 violence of her emotions. 
 
 " Lor' ! bless 'er 'eart !" cried Betty, running to 
 her, and tenderly caressing what now truly ap- 
 peared to be nothing but a sunken heap of clothes. 
 " How she do mix up things, to be sure ! She 
 can't get 'em right nohow. She ain't forgotten 
 nothing, an' yet she can't sort 'em straight. Hullo, 
 granny ! Lord love 'er ! If she ain't cryin' now !" 
 
 " They ain't got no right," whimpered granny 
 dolefully, burying her wrinkles in her grand- 
 daughter's ample bosom, " to shut up the Queen. 
 Let us 'ave a look at 'er, I say — we all loves 'er, 
 and we'll 'earten 'er up a bit " 
 
 " Don't you worrit, granny," said the buxom 
 Betty consolingly. " She isn't shut up — don't 
 you think it! She can go out whenever she 
 hkes." 
 
 "Can she?" and the "old bundle" lifted her 
 tear-stained, aged face, with a faint hope expressed 
 upon it. 
 
 " Ah, well, if it's the truth you're speakin', I'm 
 glad to 'ear it. I'm glad an' thankful she can 
 come out o' them palaces. But I've never seen 
 'er, an' I wish — I wish" — here came a prolonged 
 and dismal snuffle — " I wish I could see 'er with 
 my own eyes afore" — a. long pause — "afore I 
 die." 
 
 The poor " old bundle" was by this time com- 
 pletely done up, and meekly submitted to be put 
 comfortably back on her pillow, where in a few 
 minutes she was sound asleep. The kind-hearted 
 Betty resumed her ironing, and, glancing up once 
 
AN OLD BUNDLE. I37 
 
 wistfully at the interested visitor who had wit- 
 nessed the little scene, remarked — 
 
 " It do seem a pity that she can't 'ave what she 
 wants ! She won't last long !" 
 
 The visitor agreed sympathetically, and presently 
 withdrew. 
 
 It was then the " season" in town, and in due 
 course it was announced in the papers that the 
 Queen would visit London on a certain day to hold 
 a special " drawing-room," returning to Windsor 
 the next afternoon. Betty was told of this, and 
 was also informed that if she got a bath- chair for 
 her " old bundle," and started early, a friendly con- 
 stable would see that she was properly placed out- 
 side Buckingham Palace in order to view the 
 Queen as she drove by on her arrival from the 
 station, and before the carriages for the Drawing- 
 room commenced to block the thoroughfare. 
 There would, of course, be a crowd, but the 
 English crowd being the best-natured in the world, 
 and invariably kind to aged persons and little 
 children, no danger to " Granny" need be antici- 
 pated. The joy of the old lady, when she was 
 told of the treat in store for her, was extreme, 
 though her great age and frail health made her 
 nervous, and filled her with fears lest again she 
 should be disappointed of her one desire. 
 
 " Are you sure I shall see the Queen, Betty ?" 
 she asked, twenty times a day. " Is there no mis- 
 take about it this time? I shall really see 'er; 
 'er own darling self? God bless 'er !" 
 
 " Quite sure, granny !" responded the cheery 
 Betty. " You'll be just at the Palace gates, an' 
 12* 
 
138 AN OLD BUNDLE. 
 
 you can't help seeing 'er. An' I shouldn't wonder 
 if she smiled at you like the Prince o' Wales !" 
 
 This set the " old bundle" off into a fit of 
 chuckles, and kept her happy for hours. 
 
 " Like the Prince o' Wales !" she mumbled ; 
 then nodding to herself mysteriously : " Ah, he 
 do smile kind ! Everybody knows that. He do 
 smile !" 
 
 The eventful morning at last arrived, ushered 
 in by the usual " Queen's weather " — bright sun- 
 shine and cloudless skies. The " old bundle" was 
 wrapped up tenderly and carried into a comfort- 
 able bath-chair, wheeled by an excessively sym- 
 pathetic man, with an extremely red face, who 
 entered con amore into the spirit of the thing. 
 
 " A rare fine old lady she be," he remarked, as 
 he fastened the leather apron across his vehicle. 
 " Ninety-five ! Lord bless me ! I hope I'll have 
 as merry an eye as she has when I'm her age ! 
 See the Queen ? To be sure she shall; and as 
 close as I can manage it. Come along, mother !" 
 
 And off" he trotted with his charge, Betty bring- 
 ing up the rear, and enjoying to the full the fresh 
 beauty of the fine sunny spring morning. Out- 
 side Buckingham Palace a crowd had commenced 
 to gather, and a line of mounted soldiery kept 
 the road clear. Betty looked around anxiously. 
 Where was the friendly constable ? Ah, there he 
 was, brisk and business-like, though wearing a 
 slightly puzzled air. He joined her at once and 
 shook hands with her, then bent kindly towards 
 the aged granny. 
 
 " Lovely morning, mother," he said, patting the 
 
AN OLD BUNDLE. 1 39 
 
 mittened hand that lay trembling a little on the 
 apron of the bath-chair. " Do you a world of 
 good." 
 
 " Yes, yes," murmured the old woman ; " an' 
 the Queen ?" 
 
 "Oh, she's coming," returned the "Bobby," 
 looking about him in various directions ; " we ex- 
 pect her every minute." 
 
 " The fact is," he added, in an aside to Betty, 
 " I can't rightly tell which gate of the Palace Her 
 Majesty will enter by. You see, both are guarded ; 
 the crowd keeps to this one principally, just about 
 where we are, so I suppose it will be this one, but 
 I couldn't say for certain. It is generally this 
 one." 
 
 " Is it ?" said Betty, her heart sinking a little. 
 " Shall granny be placed here then ?" 
 
 " Yes, you can wheel her as far as here," and he 
 designated the situation. " If the Queen drives in 
 by this gate, she will pass quite close ; if she goes 
 by the other, well — it can't be helped." 
 
 " Oh, surely she won't !" exclaimed the sensitive 
 Betty. " It would be such a disappointment." 
 
 " Well, you see. Her Majesty doesn't know 
 
 that " began the constable, with an indulgent 
 
 smile. 
 
 " But the crowd is here — outside this gate," per- 
 sisted Betty. 
 
 "That's just why she may go in at the other," 
 said the guardian of the peace, thoughtfully. " You 
 see, the Queen can't abear a crowd." 
 
 " Not of 'er own subjects ?" asked Betty ; " when 
 they love 'er so ?" 
 
140 AN OLD BUNDLE. 
 
 " Bobby" discreetly made no answer. He was 
 busy instructing tlie man who wheeled the bath- 
 chair to place it in a position where there would 
 be no chance of its being ordered out of the way. 
 Once installed near the Palace gates, the " old 
 bundle" perked her wizened head briskly out of 
 her wrappings, and gazed about her with the most 
 lively interest. Her aged eyes sparkled ; her poor 
 wrinkled face had a tinge of colour in it, and some- 
 thing like an air of juvenility pervaded her aspect. 
 She was perfectly delighted with all her surround- 
 ings, and the subdued murmur of the patiently 
 waiting crowd was music to her ears. 
 
 " Ain't it a lovely day, Betty ?" she said, in her 
 piping, tremulous voice. " And, ain't there a lot 
 of nice good-looking people about ?" 
 
 Betty nodded. There was no denying the fact. 
 There were "nice good-looking" people about — 
 an English crowd respectfully waiting to see their 
 Sovereign is mostly composed of such. Honest 
 hard-workers are among them, men of toil, women 
 of patience ; and all loyal to the backbone — loyal, 
 loving, and large-hearted, and wishful to see their 
 Queen and Empress, and cheer her with all the 
 might of wholesome English lungs as she passes 
 them by. 
 
 " It's lucky it's a fine day," said a man standing 
 close to Betty, " else we shouldn't see the Queen 
 at all — ^she'd be in a close carriage." 
 
 " She won't be in one to-day," said Betty confi- 
 dently. 
 
 " I don't think so. She may. Let's hope not !" 
 
 Again Betty's faithful heart felt an anxious thrill, 
 
AN OLD BUNDLE, I4I 
 
 and she glanced nervously at her " old bundle." 
 That venerable personage was sitting up quite 
 erectly for her, and seemed to have got some of 
 her youth back again in the sheer excitement of 
 hope and expectation. Presently there was a stir 
 among the people, and the sound of horses' hoofs 
 approaching at a rapid trot. 
 
 " Here she comes !" exclaimed the bath-chair 
 attendant, somewhat excitedly, and Betty sprang 
 to her grandmother's side. 
 
 " Here she comes, granny ! Here comes the 
 Queen !" 
 
 With an access of superhuman energy the old 
 woman lifted herself in the chair, and her eyes 
 glittered out of her head with a falcon-like eager- 
 ness. Nearer and nearer came the measured trot 
 of the horses, a murmur of cheering rose from the 
 outskirts of the crowd. Betty strained her eyes 
 anxiously to catch the first glimpse of the royal 
 equipage, then — she shut them again with a dizzy 
 sense of utter desolation — it was a closed vehicle, 
 and not the smallest glimpse could be obtained of 
 England's Majesty. The Queen, no doubt fatigued, 
 sat far back in the carriage, and never once looked 
 out. The horses turned in at the very gate near 
 which the " old bundle" waited, alert — and in an 
 almost breathless suspense — trotted past and were 
 gone. 
 
 "We must go now, granny," said Betty, the 
 tears rising in her throat. " It's all over." 
 
 The old woman turned upon her fiercely. 
 
 " What's all over ?" she demanded quaveringly. 
 " Ain't I come here to see the Queen ?" 
 
142 AN OLD BUNDLE. 
 
 " Well, you've seen 'er," answered Betty, with 
 an accent of bitterness which she could not help, 
 poor soul. " You've seen all anybody has seen. 
 That was 'er in that carriage." 
 
 Granny stared in vague perplexity. 
 
 " In the carriage ?" she faltered. " That was 
 'er? Who? Who? Where? There worn't 
 nothin' to see — nobody " 
 
 " Get home, mother ; you'll get mixed up in the 
 crowd if you don't. We'll be having all the car- 
 riages along for the Drawing-room presently," said 
 the friendly constable kindly. "The Queen's in 
 the palace by now." 
 
 At this, the poor old dame stretched out her 
 trembling hands towards the palace walls. 
 
 " Shut up again !" she wailed. " Poor dear — 
 poor dear ! Lord help ye in your greatness, my 
 lovey ! God bless ye ! I'd a' given the world to 
 see your face just once — just once — eh, dearie, 
 dearie, dearie me ! It's a cruel day, an' I'm very 
 cold — very cold — I shall never see — the Queen, 
 now !" 
 
 The constable gave a startled glance at Betty, 
 and sprang to the side of the bath-chair. 
 
 "What, what, mother! Hold up a bit!" he 
 said. " Here, Betty — I say — be quick !" 
 
 Two or three bystanders clustered hurriedly 
 round, while Betty caught the drooping venerable 
 head, and, laying it against her bosom, burst out 
 crying. 
 
 " Oh, granny, granny dear !" 
 
 But " Granny" was dead. Betty's " old bundle" 
 had been suddenly moved out of her way, leaving 
 
AN OLD BUNDLE. 1 43 
 
 empty desolation behind, and an empty corner 
 never to be filled. Some of the crowd, hearing 
 what had chanced, whispered one to another — 
 
 " Poor old soul ! She wanted to see the Queen 
 just once before she died. She'd never seen her, 
 they say. Ah, well, the Queen has a rare kind 
 heart — she'd be sorry if she knew." 
 
 And there was many a wistful, upward glance at 
 the windows of the palace, as the " old bundle" 
 was reverently covered and borne home, giving 
 place to the daintier burdens of rich-robed beauty 
 and jewels brought freely to " see the Queen" on 
 Drawing-room day. 
 
cc 
 
 MADEMOISELLE ZEPHYR." 
 
 A VISION of loveliness ? A dream of beauty ? 
 Yes, she was all this and more. She was 
 the very embodiment of ethereal grace and dainty 
 delicacy. The first time I saw her she was queen 
 of a fairy revel. Her hands grasped a sceptre so 
 light and sparkhng that it looked like a rod of 
 moonbeams; her tiny waist was encircled by a 
 garland of moss rosebuds, glittering with dew, and 
 a crown of stars encircled her fair white brow. 
 Innocent as a snow-flake she looked, with her 
 sweet serious eyes and falling golden hair ; yet she 
 was " Mademoiselle Zephyr" — a mere danseuse on 
 the stage of a great and successful theatre — an 
 actress whose gestures were simple and unaffected, 
 and therefore perfectly fascinating, and whose 
 trustful smile at the huge audience that nightly 
 applauded her efforts startled sudden tears out of 
 many a mother 's eye, and caused many a fond 
 father's heart to grow heavy with foreboding pity. 
 For " Mademoiselle Zephyr" was only six years 
 old ! Only six summers had gilded the " refined 
 gold" of the little head that now wore its wreath 
 of tinsel stars ; and scarcely had the delicate 
 young limbs learned their use, than they were 
 twisted, tortured, and cramped in all those painful 
 G k 13 14s 
 
146 "mademoiselle zephyr." 
 
 positions so bitterly known to students of the 
 " ballet." 
 
 " A very promising child," the wealthy manager 
 of the theatre had said, noticing her on one of the 
 " training" days, and observing with pleasure the 
 grace with which " Mademoiselle" lifted her tiny 
 rounded arms above her head, and pointed her 
 miniature foot in all the approved methods, while 
 she smiled up into his big fat face with all the fear- 
 less confidence of her age and sex. 
 
 And so the " promising child" advanced step by 
 step in her profession, till here she was, promoted 
 to the honour of being announced, on the great 
 staring placards outside the theatre, as " Made- 
 moiselle Zephyr," the " Wonderful Child-Dancer !" 
 and, what was dearer far to her simple little soul, 
 she was given the part of the " Fairy Queen," in 
 the grand Christmas pantomime of that year — a 
 role in which it was her pride and pleasure to be 
 able to summon elves, gnomes, witches, and flower- 
 sprites with one wave of her magic wand. And 
 she did it well too ; never could wand or sceptre 
 sway with prettier dignity or sweeter gravity; 
 never did high commands issuing from the lips of 
 mighty potentates sound so quaintly effective as 
 " Mademoiselle Zephyr's" tremendous utterance — 
 
 •' You naughty elves ! begone to yon dark wood ! 
 You'll all be punished if you are not dood /" 
 
 This word "dood," pronounced with almost 
 tragic emphasis in the clearest of baby voices, was 
 
MADEMOISELLE ZEPHYR. I47 
 
 perhaps one of the greatest " hits" in Mademoiselle's 
 small repertoire of " effects ;" though I think the 
 little song she sang by herself in the third act was 
 the culminating point of pathos after all. The 
 scene was the " Fairies' Forest by Moonlight," and 
 there Mademoiselle Zephyr danced a pas seul 
 round a giant mushroom, with stage moonbeams 
 playing upon her long fair curls in a very pict- 
 uresque manner. Then came the song — the or- 
 chestra was hushed down to the utmost softness 
 in order not to drown the little notes of the tiny 
 voice that warbled so falteringly, yet so plaintively, 
 the refrain — 
 
 " I see the light of the burning day 
 Shine on the hill-tops far away, 
 
 And gleam on the rippling rivfer, — 
 Follow me, fairies ! follow me soon, 
 Back to my palace behind the moon. 
 
 Where I reign for ever and ever!" 
 
 A burst of the heartiest applause always re- 
 warded this vocal effort on the part of little 
 " Mademoiselle," who replied to it by graciously 
 kissing her small hands to her appreciative audi- 
 ence ; and then she entered with due gravity on 
 the most serious piece of professional work she 
 had to do in the whole course of the evening. 
 This was her grand dance — a dance she had been 
 trained and tortured into by an active and energetic 
 French ballet-mistress, who certainly had every 
 reason to be proud of her tiny pupil. " Mademoi- 
 selle Zephyr" skimmed the boards as lightly as 
 a swallow — she leaped and sprang from point to 
 
148 "mademoiselle zephyr." 
 
 point like a bright rosebud tossing in the air — she 
 performed the most wonderful evolutions, always 
 with the utmost grace and agility ; and the final 
 attitude in which she posed her little form at the 
 conclusion of the dance, was so artistic, and withal 
 so winsome and fascinating, that a positive roar 
 of admiration and wonderment greeted her as the 
 curtain fell. Poor little mite ! My heart was full 
 of pity as I left the theatre that night, for to give 
 a child of that age the capricious applause of the 
 public instead of the tender nurture and fostering 
 protection of a mother's arms, seemed to me both 
 cruel and tragic. Some weeks elapsed, and the flit- 
 ting figure and wistful little face of " Mademoiselle 
 Zephyr" still haunted me, till at last, with the usual 
 impetuosity that characterizes many of my sex, I 
 wrote to the manager of the theatre that boasted 
 the " Wonderful Child-Dancer," and, frankly giv- 
 ing my name and a few other particulars, I asked 
 him if he could tell me anything of the " Zephyr's" 
 parentage and history. I waited some days before 
 an answer came; but at last I received a very 
 courteous letter from the manager in question, 
 who assured me that I was not alone in the in- 
 terest the talented child had awakened, but that he 
 had reason to fear that the promise she showed 
 thus early would be blighted by the extreme deli- 
 cacy of her constitution. He added en passant, 
 that he himself was considerably out of pocket by 
 the " Zephyr's" capricious health ; that she had 
 now been absent from the boards of his theatre for 
 nearly a week ; that on making enquiries, he had 
 learned that the child was ill in bed and unable to 
 
"mademoiselle zephyr." 149 
 
 rise, and that he had perforce stopped her salary 
 and provided a substitute, an older girl not nearly 
 so talented, who gave him a great deal of trouble 
 and vexation. He furthermore mentioned in a 
 postscript that the " Zephyr's" real name was 
 
 Winifred M , that she was the daughter of a 
 
 broken-down writer of libretti, and that her mother 
 was dead, her only female relative being an elder 
 sister whose character was far from reputable. He 
 gave me the " Zephyr's" address, a bad street in a 
 bad neighbourhood ; and assuring me that it was 
 much better not to concern myself at all with the 
 matter, he concluded his letter. His advice was 
 sensible enough, and yet somehow I could not fol- 
 low it. It is certainly a worldly-wise and safe 
 course to follow, that of never enquiring into the 
 fates of your unfortunate fellow-voyagers across 
 the tempestuous sea of life ; it saves trouble, it 
 prevents your own feelings from being harrowed, 
 and it is altogether a comfortable doctrine. But 
 the sweet plaintive voice of the " Zephyr" haunted 
 my ears, the serious child-face, with its frame of 
 golden curls, got into my dreams at night, and at 
 last I made up my mind to go, accompanied by a 
 friend, to that questionable street in a still more 
 questionable neighbourhood, and make enquiries 
 after the " Zephyr's" health. After some trouble, 
 I found the dirty lodging-house to which I had 
 been directed, and stumbling up a very dark rickety 
 flight of stairs, I knocked at a door, and asked if 
 
 " Miss M " was at home. The door was flung 
 
 suddenly wide open, and a pretty girl of some 
 
 seventeen years of age, with a quantity of fair hair 
 
 13* 
 
150 "mademoiselle zephyr." 
 
 falling loosely over her shoulders, and large blue 
 eyes that looked heavy and tear-swollen, demanded 
 in a somewhat hardened tone of voice, "Well; 
 what do you want?" My companion answered, 
 " A lady has come to know how your little sister 
 is, the one that acts at the theatre." I then stepped 
 forward and added as gently as I could, " I heard 
 
 from Mr. , the manager, that the child was ill — 
 
 is she better ?" 
 
 The girl looked at me steadily without replying. 
 Then suddenly, and as if with an effort, she said, 
 " Come in." We passed into a dark and dirty room, 
 ill-smelling, ill-ventilated, and scarcely furnished at 
 all, and while I was trying to distinguish the objects 
 in it, I heard the sound of a feeble singing. Could 
 it be the " Zephyr's" voice that sounded so far 
 away, so faint and gasping ? I listened, and my 
 eyes filled unconsciously with tears. I recognized 
 the tune and the refrain — 
 
 " Follow me, fairies ! follow me soon 
 Back to my palace behind the moon, 
 Where I reign for ever and ever !" 
 
 "Where is she?" I asked, turning to the fair- 
 haired girl, who stood still regarding me, half-wist- 
 fuUy, half-defiantly. She nodded her head towards 
 a corner of the room, a corner which, though very 
 dark, was still sheltered from any draught from 
 either window or door, and there, on a miserable 
 pallet bed, lay the poor little " Fairy Queen," toss- 
 ing from side to side restlessly, her azure eyes wide 
 open and glittering with feverish trouble, her lovely 
 silken hair tangled and lustreless, and her tiny hands 
 
"mademoiselle zephyr." 151 
 
 clenching and unclenching themselves mechanically 
 and almost fiercely. But as she tossed about on 
 her miserable pillow, she sang unceasingly, if such 
 a feeble wailing might be called singing. I turned 
 from the heartrending sight to the elder girl, who, 
 without waiting to be asked, said abruptly, "She 
 has got brain-fever. The doctor says she cannot 
 live over to-morrow. It's all been brought on 
 through overwork, and excitement and bad food. 
 / can't help it. I know she has never had enough 
 to eat. I am often half-starved myself Father 
 drinks up every penny that we earn. It's a good 
 thing, / think, that Winnie will get out of it all 
 soon. I wish I were dead myself, that I do !" 
 And here the hardened look on the pretty face 
 suddenly melted, the defiant flash in the eyes 
 softened, and, flinging herself down by the little 
 pallet, she broke into a passion of sobs and tears, 
 crying out, " Poor Winnie — ^poor little Winnie !" 
 
 I prefer to pass over the remainder of this scene 
 in silence. Suffice it to say that I did what I could 
 to alleviate the physical sufferings of poor little 
 " Zephyr" and her unfortunate sister ; and before 
 leaving I earnestly entreated the now quite soft- 
 ened and still sobbing elder girl to let me know 
 whether her sister grew better or worse. This 
 she promised to do, and leaving my name and 
 address, I kissed the hot little forehead of the fallen 
 " Fairy Queen," and took my departure. The 
 next morning I heard that the child was dead. 
 She had died in the night, and with her last flutter- 
 ing breath she had tried to sing her little fairy 
 song. And so the human " Zephyr" had floated 
 
152 
 
 away from the stage of this life, where fairy-land 
 
 is only the dream of poets, to the unknown 
 
 country — to the 
 
 " Island valley of Avilion, 
 Where never wind blows loudly." 
 
 Thinking of her as I write, I almost fancy I see a 
 delicate sprite on rainbow pinions flitting past me ; 
 I almost hear the sweet child-voice rendered power- 
 ful and pure by the breath of immortality, singing 
 softly — 
 
 " Follow me soon 
 Back to my place behind the moon, 
 Where I reign for ever and ever !" 
 
 And who shall assert that she does not reign 
 in some distant glorified region — the little queen 
 of a chosen court of child-angels for whom this 
 present world was too hard and sorrowful ? 
 
TINY TRAMPS. 
 
 THE idea of childhood is generally associated 
 in our minds with mirth, grace, and beauty. 
 The fair-haired, blue-eyed treasures of proud and 
 tender mothers, the plump, rosy little ones whose 
 fresh young hearts know no sorrow save the some- 
 times ungratified longing for a new toy or new 
 game — these are the fairy blossoms of our lives, 
 for whom childhood really exists, and for whose 
 dear sakes we think no sacrifice too great, no pain 
 too wearisome, no work too heavy, so long as we 
 can keep them in health, strength, and happiness, 
 and ward off from their lives every shadow of suf- 
 fering. And as we caress our own dimpled dar- 
 lings, and listen to their merry prattling voices and 
 their delightful laughter, we find it difficult to real- 
 ise that there are other children in the world, born 
 of the same great Mother Nature, who live on 
 without even knowing that they are children, and 
 who have " begun life" in the bitterest manner at a 
 time when they can scarcely toddle ; children to 
 whom toys are inexplicable mysteries, and for 
 whom the bright regions of fairyland have never 
 been unclosed. 
 
 These poor little waifs and strays, no matter how 
 young they are in years, are old — one might al- 
 
 IS3 
 
154 TINY TRAMPS. 
 
 most say they were born old — they are familiar 
 with the dark and crooked paths of life, and the 
 broad, shining, golden road of love, duty, wisdom, 
 and peace has never been pointed out to their 
 straying little feet. 
 
 Homes for destitute children may and do exist, 
 refuges and charities of all kinds are open to those 
 who seek them, and yet, in spite of all that is done, 
 or is doing, poor child-wanderers walk the earth, 
 and meet us in streets and country roads, clothed 
 in rags, their pinched faces begrimed with dirt and 
 tears, and their tiny voices attuned to the beggar's 
 whine, while too often, alas ! their young hearts are 
 already withered by the corroding influences of 
 deceit and cunning. 
 
 The other day one of these tiny tramps came to 
 my door, and implored in piteous accents for a 
 crust of bread. He was a pretty little fellow of 
 some seven or eight years old, and his blue eyes 
 looked bright with innocence and trust. His tiny 
 naked feet were cracked and sore, and covered with 
 mud, and his clothes were in so dirty and ragged 
 a condition that it seemed a miracle how they 
 could hang together at all. Through the large 
 holes in these wretched garments, however, might 
 be seen many pretty glimpses of soft pink and 
 white skin, and his face was as plump, and fair, and 
 rosy as the fondest mother could desire it to be. 
 Nevertheless, he assured me in the most mournful 
 manner that he was very cold and hungry, and that 
 his feet were so very sore he could scarcely stand ; 
 so, without more ado, we took him into the kitchen, 
 bathed his feet for him in refreshing warm water, 
 
TINY TRAMPS. ; I55 
 
 and provided him with a warm pair of stockings 
 and a strong pair of boots. Then we put him on 
 a chair by the fire, and feasted him with a large 
 bowl of barley-broth, which he appeared to enjoy 
 exceedingly. A piece of cake was then given to 
 him as a concluding relish, and when he had quite 
 finished his meal, I asked him where he was 
 going. 
 
 My small tramp screwed his knuckles into his 
 eyes, and mournfully replied, " Home." 
 
 " Where is home ?" I inquired. 
 
 " With mother." 
 
 " And where does mother live ?" 
 
 " Please, 'm, she lives on the road." 
 
 " Lives on the road !" I exclaimed; "but where 
 does she sleep ?" 
 
 " On the road, 'm, please, 'm." 
 
 I looked at the small waif in silence. He met 
 my glance with a weird upraising of his eyes and 
 eyebrows, which gave him an expression that was 
 half-plaintive, half-cunning. 
 
 " What road does she live on ?" I asked. 
 
 " Please, 'm, any road as comes 'andy." 
 
 I sighed involuntarily. He was such a pretty 
 child; and what a life seemed in store for 
 him! 
 
 " What does your mother do ?" I continued. 
 
 " Please, 'm, she sells buttings." 
 
 "Buttings?" 
 
 " Yes, 'm, buttings, an' 'ooks an' 'ise." 
 
 Buttons, and hooks and eyes. I knew the kind 
 of woman she must be — bold, slovenly, and dirty, 
 most likely, wearing a flashy bonnet on one side 
 
IS6 TINY TRAMPS. 
 
 of her head, and brass rings on her fingers. A 
 woman with a carneying voice, with which she 
 insinuated herself into the good graces of servants, 
 and persuaded them to purchase her trumpery 
 goods. 
 
 " Have you a father ?" I asked. 
 
 " Yes, 'm. He gits drunk, 'm." 
 
 Dismissing the idea of the father at once, I con- 
 tinued my catechising. 
 
 " Why doesn't your mother send you to school ?" 
 
 " I dunno, 'm." Here the small knuckles were 
 screwed into the eyes more violently than ever. 
 
 " Where is your mother now ?" 
 
 " I dunno, 'm." 
 
 " Well, then, how are you going to find her ?" 
 
 " I dunno, 'm. I kin try." 
 
 " Do you know where to try ?" 
 
 " Yes, 'm. I knows her pub." 
 
 " Do you mean the public-house ?" 
 
 " Yes, 'm, please, 'm." And as if the recollec- 
 tion of the " pub" had suddenly aroused him to 
 action, the little forlorn wanderer slipped off his 
 chair by the fire, and prepared to start. I fastened 
 an old warm cloth jacket round him, and turning 
 his little rosy face up that I might survey it closely, 
 I said — 
 
 " Now, suppose you cannot find your mother, 
 will you come back here ? I'll take care of you 
 till we can find her for you, and you shall have 
 some more cake. Do you understand ?" 
 
 " Yes, 'm." 
 
 " Stop a minute," I said ; and seizing a scrap of 
 paper, I hastily wrote the words — " Should you 
 
TINY TRAMPS. 1 57 
 
 wish this child taken care of, put to school, and 
 brought up to earn an honest liveUhood, you can 
 call at this house any day during the next three 
 weeks ;" and adding my name and address, I sealed 
 the paper carefully. Then putting it in the pocket 
 of the jacket I had just given him, I again ad- 
 dressed my small tramp — 
 
 " Will you give that letter to your mother when 
 you find her?" 
 
 He looked decidedly astonished, and somewhat 
 doubtful about the propriety of acceding to this 
 request; but after a moment of consideration, he 
 gave me his invariable reply — 
 
 " Yes, 'm, please, 'm." 
 
 Raising the child in my arms, I kissed his rosy 
 intelligent face, my heart swelling with pity for his 
 hard fate, and then I led him to the front door. 
 He made a kind of attempt at a salute, by pulling 
 one of his chestnut curls into his eyes, and then 
 scrambled down the steps and ran away, while I 
 rushed to my window, which commands an entire 
 view of the street, and watched him. He looked 
 round now and then to see if any one were near, 
 and finding the road pretty well deserted, he finally 
 seated himself on a doorstep, and I was able to 
 observe the whole of his proceedings, which filled 
 me with the greatest surprise and dismay. 
 
 The first thing he did was to take off the boots 
 and stockings with which he had been provided, 
 and to tie them in a bunch together. He then 
 deliberately walked into a heap of the thickest 
 black mud he could find, and tramped and splashed 
 about therein till the feet, which had been so nicely 
 
 14 
 
IS8 TINY TRAMPS. 
 
 washed, were as black and grimy as they could 
 well be. This done, he took off the warm jacket, 
 and rolling it up in as small a bundle as he could 
 manage to make, he tucked it under his arm, then 
 giving himself two or three dexterous shakes 
 which had the effect of displaying the large holes 
 in his own tattered garments to the best advantage, 
 he uttered a sort of wild whoop or yell, and scam- 
 pering up the street as fast as he could go, he 
 disappeared from my sight. I knew his destination 
 as well as if it had been told to me then and there. 
 He was going to convert that jacket and those 
 boots and stockings into money at the nearest old- 
 clothes shop, and then he would no doubt hasten 
 to his mother's " pub," and detail to her his suc- 
 cessful morning's adventure. She would take the 
 money he had obtained for the clothes, and, per- 
 haps, give the child twopence for himself as reward 
 for his smartness and there would be an end, while 
 certainly the letter I had prepared would never be 
 thought of or even discovered unless by some old 
 Jew salesman, who would not comprehend its 
 meaning. Yet could I blame the poor little tramp 
 for his behaviour ? No, indeed, I only pitied the 
 unfortunate child more than ever. 
 
 Trained to deceive as thoroughly as we train our 
 children to speak the truth, could anything else 
 have been reasonably expected of him? It would 
 have been a real matter for surprise had he acted 
 differently. Still, I was foolish enough to feel 
 somewhat disappointed, for the boy's face had 
 attracted me. It is curious, too, to observe how 
 very many attractive child-faces there are among 
 
TINY TRAMPS. 159 
 
 the little vagrants of the London streets. Children 
 with beautiful eyes and hair — children whose flesh 
 is a perfect marvel of softness and fair delicacy, in 
 spite of the dirt that grimes them from top to toe 
 — and children whose limbs are so gracefully and 
 finely formed, and whose whole manner and bear- 
 ing are so indescribably lofty, that one would 
 "almost deem them to have been born in the purple. 
 An excellent type of the tramp aristocracy came 
 to me one morning in the shape of an Italian boy 
 of about ten or eleven years of age, who strolled 
 under my window, twanging prettily enough the 
 chords of a much-used, far-travelled, but still 
 sweet-toned, mandoline. I have always an extra 
 soft heart for these straying minstrels from my own 
 sunny land of song, and I immediately called him, 
 and entered into conversation with him. He told 
 me he had travelled far and earned little, and 
 that he seldom had enough to eat, but he was 
 merry. " Oh, yes," he said, smiling his bright 
 southern smile, " he was always hopeful and light- 
 hearted." 
 
 Some peculiarity in his accent impelled me to 
 ask him if he were not from Lombardy, and never 
 shall I forget the superb gesture of head and the 
 proud flash of his eyes, as he drew himself up, and 
 replied, with dignity, " No, signorina, io son Ro- 
 mano" (" I am a Roman"). 
 
 If he had declared himself an emperor, he could 
 not have asserted himself with more dignity. 
 Many a languid dandy, dawdling through the 
 saloons of fashion, might have envied his grace of 
 figure and princely bearing. 
 
l6o TINY TRAMPS. 
 
 There was a very interesting account once in 
 the Telegraph, concerning two baby tramps known 
 as " Sally and her Bloke." Sally was eight, and 
 her boy companion, the " Bloke," was nine. No 
 matter how great the distances each had to traverse 
 during the day in obedience to the will of the 
 tyrannical parents or masters who employed them 
 to beg, or sell matches in the streets, as surely as the 
 evening fell these two mites were always found to- 
 gether. Some irresistible attraction, some inexpli- 
 cable sympathy, drew them together, and the poor 
 little things entertained for each other so harmless, 
 and withal so true, an affection, that even the 
 coarse companions with whom their lot was cast 
 were touched by their behaviour, and spoke with 
 rough good-nature akin to respect of " Sally and 
 her Bloke," and forbore to interfere with their 
 pretty and pathetic little romance. I wondered at 
 the time if anything would be done for this forlorn 
 little couple, but the matter seems to have died 
 out in mere sentiment, and " Sally and her Bloke" 
 will no doubt be left to grow up as such children 
 do grow up — in vice and misery. 
 
 A great step in advance has been made since the 
 great English author, Charles Mackay, wrote his 
 famous poem, " The Souls of the Children," which 
 so powerfully impressed the late Prince Consort that 
 he had thousands of copies printed at his own per- 
 sonal expense, and circulated them freely all over 
 the land. This poem helped largely to influence 
 the minds of English philanthropists and states- 
 men in favour of universal popular education ; but, 
 surely, there yet remains much to be done ! True, 
 
TINY TRAMPS. l6l 
 
 the question may be justly asked, can anything 
 more be done ? It is, indeed, terrible to think that 
 we must always be doomed to see sorrow, igno- 
 rance, and vice imprinted on the tender, flower- 
 like faces of the very young, and that there must 
 always be, in spite of the efforts of the wisest and 
 best men, a large majority of babes and children 
 for whom there is and can be no hope of good. 
 Must there be a perpetual sacrifice of the innocents 
 to the god of all evil ? One of the saddest sights 
 to me, among all the sad sights of London, are the 
 neglected children who have somehow eluded the 
 kindly-meant, though occasionally stern, grasp of 
 the Government officials, and who have literally 
 nothing to hope for, nothing to render their lives 
 of value to the nation ; and who, as far as their 
 wretched parents are concerned, might be better 
 out of the world than in it. The streets swarm 
 with such helpless little ones, and yet it seems im- 
 possible to do more than is being done every day. 
 English men and women have tender hearts full of 
 pitiful gentleness for the helplessness of infancy, 
 and the charities that are instituted for poor and 
 neglected children are, I believe, most generously 
 supported ; yet, amid such a mass of distress and 
 evil, how futile seems all the best work of states- 
 men and philosophers ! We must, however, con- 
 tinue to hope for better times, when every child 
 that is born into the land may be recognised as 
 the child of the Government no less than of its 
 parents, and may be brought to realise its own re- 
 sponsible position and value as a servant of the 
 state. This was the condition of things in Sparta, 
 / 14* 
 
1 62 TIlSfY TRAMPS. 
 
 and, though the Spartans carried their ideas rather 
 too far, still it must be admitted that their system 
 had its foundation in very excellent common sense. 
 Whatever mistakes and shortcomings Lycurgus 
 may have had to answer for, it is certain that he 
 never would have tolerated baby tramps. 
 
THE LADY WITH THE CAR- 
 NATIONS. 
 
 A DREAM OR A DELUSION? 
 
 IT was in the Louvre that I first saw her — or 
 rather her picture. Greuze painted her — so I 
 was told ; but the name of the artist scarcely af- 
 fected me — I was absorbed in the woman herself, 
 who looked at me from the dumb canvas with that 
 still smile on her face, and that burning cluster of 
 carnations clasped to her breast. I felt that I knew 
 her. Moreover, there was a strange attraction in 
 her eyes that held mine fascinated. It was as 
 though she said " Stay till I have told thee all !" 
 A faint blush tinged her cheek — one loose tress 
 of fair hair fell caressingly on her half-uncovered 
 bosom. And, surely, was I dreaming ? — or did I 
 smell the odour of carnations on the air ? I started 
 from my reverie — a slight tremor shook my nerves. 
 I turned to go. An artist carrying a large easel 
 and painting materials just then approached, and 
 placing himself opposite the picture, began to copy 
 it. I watched him at work for a few moments — 
 his strokes were firm, and his eye accurate ; but I 
 knew, without waiting to observe his further prog- 
 ress, that there was an indefinable something in 
 that pictured face that he with all his skill would 
 never be able to delineate as Greuze had done — if 
 
 163 
 
164 THE LADY WITH THE CARNATIONS. 
 
 Greuze indeed were the painter, of which I did not 
 then, and do not now, feel sure. I walked slowly 
 away. On the threshold of the room I looked 
 back. Yes ! there it was — that fleeting, strange, 
 appealing expression that seemed mutely to call to 
 me ; that half-wild yet sweet smile that had a world 
 of unuttered pathos in it. A kind of misgiving 
 troubled me — a presentiment of evil that I could 
 not understand — and, vexed with myself for my 
 own foolish imaginings, I hastened down the broad 
 staircase that led from the picture-galleries, and be- 
 gan to make my way out through that noble hall 
 of ancient sculpture in which stands the defiantly 
 beautiful Apollo Belvedere and the world-famous 
 Artemis. The sun shone brilliantly ; numbers of 
 people were passing and repassing. Suddenly 
 my heart gave a violent throb, and I stopped short 
 in my walk, amazed and incredulous. Who was 
 that seated on the bench close to the Artemis, 
 reading ? Who, if not " the Lady with the Car- 
 nations," clad in white, her head slightly bent, and 
 her hand clasping a bunch of her own symbolic 
 flowers ! Nervously I approached her. As my 
 steps echoed on the marble pavement she looked 
 up; her grey-green eyes met mine in that slow 
 wistful smile that was so indescribably sad. Con- 
 fused as my thoughts were, I observed her pallor, 
 and the ethereal delicacy of her face and form — she 
 had no hat on, and her neck and shoulders were 
 uncovered. Struck by this peculiarity, I wondered 
 if the other people who were passing through the 
 hall noticed her deshabille. I looked around me 
 enquiringly — not one passer-by turned a glance in 
 
THE LADY WITH THE CARNATIONS. 1 65 
 
 our direction ! Yet surely the lady's costume was 
 strange enough to attract attention ? A chill of 
 horror quivered through me — was / the only one 
 who saw her sitting there? This idea was so 
 alarming that I uttered an involuntary exclama- 
 tion; the next moment the seat before me was 
 empty, the strange lady had gone, and nothing re- 
 mained of her but — the strong sweet odour oT the 
 carnations she had carried ! With a sort of sick- 
 ness at my heart I hurried out of the Louvre, and 
 was glad when I found myself in the bright Paris 
 streets filled with eager, pressing people, all bent 
 on their different errands of business or pleasure. 
 I entered a carriage and was driven rapidly to the 
 Grand Hotel, where I was staying with a party of 
 friends. I refrained from speaking of the curious 
 sensations that had overcome me — I did not even 
 mention the picture that had exercised so weird an 
 influence upon me. The brilliancy of the life we 
 led, the constant change and activity of our move- 
 ments, soon dispersed the nervous emotion I had 
 undergone; and though sometimes the remem- 
 brance of it returned to me, I avoided dwelling on 
 the subject. Ten or twelve days passed, and one 
 night we all went to the Theatre Fran^ais — it was 
 the first evening of my life that I ever was in the 
 strange position of being witness to a play without 
 either knowing its name or understanding its mean- 
 ing. I could only realise one thing — namely, that 
 "the Lady with the Carnations" sat in the box 
 opposite to me, regarding me fixedly. She was 
 alone ; her costume was unchanged. I addressed 
 one of our party in a low voice — 
 
l66 THE LADY WITH THE CARNATIONS. 
 
 " Do you see that girl opposite, in white, with 
 the shaded crimson carnations in her dress ?" 
 
 My friend looked, shook her head, and re- 
 joined — 
 
 " No ; where is she sitting ?" 
 
 " Right opposite !" I repeated in a more excited 
 tone. " Surely you can see her ! She is alone in 
 that'large box en face." 
 
 My friend turned to me in wonder. " You must 
 be dreaming, my dear ! That large box is perfectly 
 empty !" 
 
 Empty — I knew better ! But I endeavoured to 
 smile; I said I had made a mistake — that the 
 lady I spoke of had moved — and so changed the 
 subject. But throughout the evening, though I 
 feigned to watch the stage, my eyes were contin- 
 ually turning to the place where SHE sat so 
 quietly, with her stedfast, mournful gaze fixed upon 
 me. One addition to her costume she had — a fan 
 — which from the distance at which I beheld it 
 seemed to be made of very old yellow lace, 
 mounted on sticks of filigree silver. She used 
 this occasionally, waving it slowly to and fro in a 
 sort of dreamy, meditative fashion ; and ever and 
 again she smiled that pained, patient smile which, 
 though it hinted much, betrayed nothing. When 
 we rose to leave the theatre " the Lady with the 
 Carnations" rose also, and drawing a lace wrap 
 about her head, she disappeared. Afterwards I 
 saw her gliding through one of the outer lobbies ; 
 she looked so slight and frail and childlike, alone 
 in the pushing, brilliant crowd, that my heart went 
 out to her in a sort of fantastic tenderness. 
 
THE LADY WITH THE CARNATIONS. 167 
 
 " Whether she be a disembodied spirit," I mused, 
 " or an illusion called up by some disorder of my 
 own imagination, I do not know; but she seems 
 so sad, that even were she a Dream, I pity her !" 
 
 This thought passed through my brain as in 
 company with my friends I reached the outer door 
 of the theatre. A touch on my arm startled me — 
 a little white hand clasping a cluster of carnations 
 rested there for a second — ^then vanished. I was 
 somewhat overcome by this new experience ; but 
 my sensations this time were not those of fear. I 
 became certain that this haunting image followed 
 me for some reason ; and I determined not to give 
 way to any foolish terror concerning it, but to 
 calmly await the course of events, that would in 
 time, I felt convinced, explain everything. I stayed 
 a fortnight longer in Paris without seeing any- 
 thing more of "the Lady with the Carnations," 
 except photographs of her picture in the Louvre, 
 one of which I bought — though it gave but a 
 feeble idea of the original masterpiece — and then 
 I left for Brittany. Some English friends of mine, 
 Mr. and Mrs. Fairleigh, had taken up their abode 
 in a quaint old rambling chateau near Quimperle 
 on the coast of Finisterre, and they had pressed 
 me cordially to stay with them for a fortnight — an 
 invitation which I gladly accepted. The house 
 was built on a lofty rock overlooking the sea ; the 
 surrounding coast was eminently wild and pictu- 
 resque ; and on the day I arrived, there was a bois- 
 terous wind which lifted high the crests of the 
 billows and dashed them against the jutting crags 
 with grand and terrific uproar. Mrs. Fairleigh, a 
 
1 68 THE LADY WITH THE CARNATIONS. 
 
 bright, practical woman, whose life was entirely 
 absorbed in household management, welcomed me 
 with effusion — she and her two handsome boys, 
 Rupert and Frank, were full of enthusiasm for the 
 glories and advantages of their holiday resort. 
 
 " Such a beach !" cried Rupert, executing a sort 
 of Indian war-dance beside me on the path. 
 
 " And such jolly walks and drives !" chorussed 
 his brother. 
 
 " Yes, really !" warbled my hostess in her clear 
 gay voice, " I'm delighted we came here. And the 
 chateau is such a funny old place, full of odd nooks 
 and corners. The country people, you know, are 
 dreadfully superstitious, and they say it is haunted ; 
 but of course that's all nonsense ! Though if there 
 were a ghost, we should send you to interrogate it, 
 my dear!" 
 
 This with a smile of good-natured irony at me. 
 I laughed. Mrs. Fairleigh was one of those emi- 
 nently sensible persons who had seriously lectured 
 me on a book known as " A Romance of Two 
 Worlds," as inculcating spiritualistic theories, and 
 therefore deserving condemnation. 
 
 I turned the subject. 
 
 " How long have you been here?" I asked. 
 
 "Three weeks — and we haven't explored half 
 the neighbourhood yet. There are parts of the 
 house itself we don't know. Once upon a time — 
 so the villagers say — a great painter lived here. 
 Well, his studio runs the whole length of the cha- 
 teau, and that and some other rooms are locked up. 
 It seems they are never let to strangers. Not that 
 we want them — the place is too big for us as it is," 
 
THE LADY WITH THE CARNATIONS. 1 69 
 
 " What was the painter's name ?" I enquired, 
 pausing as I ascended the terrace to admire the 
 grand sweep of the sea. 
 
 " Oh, I forget ! His pictures were so like those 
 of Greuze that few can tell the difference between 
 them — and " 
 
 I interrupted her. " Tell me," I said, with a faint 
 smile, " have you any carnations growing here ?" 
 
 " Carnations ! I should think so ! The place is 
 full of them. Isn't the odour delicious ?" And as 
 we reached the highest terrace in front of the cha- 
 teau I saw that the garden was ablaze with these 
 brilliant scented blossoms, of every shade, varying 
 from the palest salmon pink to the deepest, darkest 
 scarlet. This time that subtle fragrance was not 
 my fancy, and I gathered a few of the flowers to 
 wear in my dress at dinner. Mr. Fairleigh now 
 came out to receive us, and the conversation be- 
 came general. 
 
 I was dehghted with the interior of the house ; 
 it was so quaint, and old, and suggestive. There 
 was a dark oaken staircase, with a most curiously 
 carved and twisted balustrade — some ancient tap- 
 estry still hung on the walls — and there were faded 
 portraits of stiff ladies in ruffs, and maliciously 
 smiling knights in armour, that depressed rather 
 than decorated the dining-room. The chamber 
 assigned to me upstairs was rather bright than 
 otherwise — it fronted the sea, and was cheerfully 
 and prettily furnished. I noticed, however, that 
 it was next door to the shut- up and long-deserted 
 studio. The garden was, as Mrs. Fairleigh had 
 declared, full of carnations. I never saw so many 
 
 H IS 
 
I/O THE LADY WITH THE CARNATIONS. 
 
 of these flowers growing in one spot. They 
 seemed to spring up everywhere, like weeds, even 
 in the most deserted and shady corners. I had 
 been at the chateau some three or four days, when 
 one morning I happened to be walking alone in a 
 sort of shrubbery at the back of the house, when 
 I perceived in the long dank grass at my feet a 
 large grey stone, that had evidently once stood 
 upright, but had now fallen flat, burying itself 
 partly in the earth. There was something carved 
 upon it. I stooped down, and clearing away the 
 grass and weeds, made out the words 
 
 " MANON 
 Coeur perfide !" 
 
 Surely this was a strange inscription ! I told 
 my discovery to the Fairleighs, and we all exam- 
 ined and re-examined the mysterious slab, without 
 being able to arrive at any satisfactory explanation 
 of its pictures. Even enquiries made among the 
 villagers failed to elicit anything save shakes of the 
 head, and such remarks as " Ah, Madame ! si on 
 savait ! . . ." or " Je crois bien qu'il y a une his- 
 toire la !" 
 
 One evening we all returned to the chateau at 
 rather a later hour than usual, after a long and de- 
 lightful walk on the beach in the mellow radiance 
 of a glorious moon. When I went to my room 
 I had no inclination to go to bed — I was wide 
 awake, and moreover in a sort of expectant frame 
 of mind ; expectant, though I knew not what I 
 expected. 
 
THE LADY WITH THE CARNATIONS. I7I 
 
 I threw my window open, leaning out and look- 
 ing at the moon-enchanted sea, and inhaling the 
 exquisite fragrance of the carnations wafted to me 
 on every breath of the night wind. I thought of 
 many things — the glory of life ; the large benevo- 
 lence of Nature ; the mystery of death ; the beauty 
 and certainty of immortality, and then, though my 
 back was turned to the interior of my room, I 
 knew — I felt, I was no longer alone. I forced 
 myself to move round from the window; slowly 
 but determinedly I brought myself to confront 
 whoever it was that had thus entered through my 
 locked door ; and I was scarcely surprised when I 
 saw " the Lady with the Carnations" standing at a 
 little distance from me, with a most woebegone, ap- 
 pealing expression on her shadowy lovely face. I 
 looked at her, resolved not to fear her ; and then 
 brought all my will to bear on unravelling the mys- 
 tery of my strange visitant. As I met her gaze 
 unflinchingly she made a sort of timid gesture with 
 her hands, as though she besought something. 
 
 " Why are you here ?" I asked, in a low, clear 
 tone. " Why do you follow me ?" 
 
 Again she made that little appealing movement. 
 Her answer, soft as a child's whisper, floated 
 through the room — 
 
 '•' You pitied me !" 
 
 " Are you unhappy ?" 
 
 " Very !" And here she clasped her wan white 
 fingers together in a sort of agony. I was grow- 
 ing nervous, but I continued — 
 
 " Tell me, then, what you wish me to do ?" 
 
 She raised her eyes in passionate supplication. 
 
172 THE LADY WITH THE CARNATIONS, 
 
 " Pray for me ! No one has prayed for me ever 
 since I died — no one has pitied me for a hundred 
 years !" 
 
 " How did you die ?" I asked, trying to control 
 the rapid beating of my heart. The " Lady with 
 the Carnations" smiled most mournfully, and slowly 
 unfastened the cluster of flowers from her breast — 
 there her white robe was darkly stained with blood. 
 She pointed to the stain, and then replaced the 
 flowers. I understood. 
 
 " Murdered !" I whispered, more to myself than 
 to my pale visitor — " murdered !" 
 
 " No one knows, and no one prays for me !" 
 wailed the faint sweet spirit voice — " and though I 
 am dead I cannot rest. Pray for me — I am tired !" 
 
 And her slender head drooped wearily — she 
 seemed about to vanish. I conquered my rising 
 terrors by a strong effort, and said — 
 
 " Tell me — you must tell me" — here she raised 
 her head, and her large pensive eyes met mine 
 obediently — "who was your murderer?" 
 
 " He did not mean it," she answered. " He 
 loved me. It was here" — and she raised one hand 
 and motioned towards the adjacent studio — " here 
 he drew my picture. He thought me false — but 
 I was true. ' Manon, coeur perfide !' Oh, no, no, 
 no ! It should be ' Manon, coeur fidele !' " 
 
 She paused and looked at me appealingly. 
 Again she pointed to the studio. 
 
 " Go and see !" she sighed. " Then you will 
 pray — and I will never come again. Promise you 
 will pray for me — it was here he killed me — and I 
 died without a prayer." 
 
THE LADY WITH THE CARNATIONS. 1/3 
 
 " Where were you buried ?" I asked, in a 
 hushed voice. 
 
 " In the waves," she murmured ; " thrown in the 
 wild cold waves ; and no one knew — no one ever 
 found poor Manon ; alone and sad for a hundred 
 years, with no word said to God for her !" 
 
 Her face was so full of plaintive pathos, that I 
 could have wept. Watching her as she stood, I 
 knelt at the quaint old prie-Dieu just within my 
 reach, and prayed as she desired. Slowly, slowly, 
 slowly a rapturous light came into her eyes ; she 
 smiled and waved her hands towards me in fare- 
 well. She glided backwards towards the door — 
 and her figure grew dim and indistinct. For the 
 last time she turned her now radiant countenance 
 upon me, and said in thrilling accents — 
 
 " Write, ' Manon coeur fidele !' " 
 
 I cannot remember how the rest of the night 
 passed ; but I know that with the early morning, 
 rousing myself from the stupor of sleep into which 
 I had fallen, I hurried to the door of the closed 
 studio. It was ajar ! I pushed it boldly open and 
 entered. The room was long and lofty, but des- 
 titute of all furniture save a battered-looking, worm- 
 eaten easel that leaned up against the damp stained 
 wall. I approached this relic of the painter's art, 
 and examining it closely, perceived the name 
 " Manon" cut roughly yet deeply upon it. Look- 
 ing curiously about, I saw what had nearly escaped 
 my notice — a sort of hanging cupboard, on the 
 left-hand side of the large central bay window. 
 I tried its handle — it was unlocked, and opened 
 easily. Within it lay three things — a palette, on 
 
 IS* 
 
174 THE LADY WITH THE CARNATIONS. 
 
 which the blurring marks of long obliterated pig- 
 ments were still faintly visible; a dagger, un- 
 sheathed, with its blade almost black with rust; 
 and — the silver filigree sticks of a fan, to which 
 clung some mouldy shreds of yellow lace. I 
 remembered the fan the " Lady with the Carna- 
 tions" had carried at the Theatre Frangais ; and I 
 pieced together her broken story. She had been 
 slain by her artist lover — slain in a sudden fit of 
 jealousy ere the sofl colours on his picture of her 
 were yet dry — murdered in this very studio ; and 
 no doubt that hidden dagger was the weapon used. 
 Poor Manon ! Her frail body had been cast from 
 the high rock on which the chateau " stood " into 
 the wild cold waves," as she or her spirit had said ; 
 and her cruel lover had carried his wrath against 
 her so far as to perpetuate a slander against her by 
 writing " Cceur perfide" on that imperishable block 
 of stone ! Full of pitying thoughts I shut the 
 cupboard, and slowly left the studio, closing the 
 door noiselessly after me. 
 
 That morning as soon as I could get Mrs. Fair- 
 leigh alone I told her my adventure, beginning 
 with the very first experience I had had of the 
 picture in the Louvre. Needless to say, she heard 
 me with the utmost incredulity. 
 
 " I know you, my dear !" she said, shaking her 
 head at me wisely ; " you are full of fancies, and 
 always dreaming about the next world, as if this 
 one wasn't good enough for you. The whole thing 
 is a delusion." 
 
 " But," I persisted, " you know the studio was 
 shut and locked ; how is it that it is open now ?" 
 
THE LADY WITH THE CARNATIONS. 1/5 
 
 " It isn't open !" declared Mrs. Fairleigh — 
 " though I am quite willing to believe you dreamt 
 it wasy 
 
 " Come and see !" I exclaimed eagerly ; and I 
 took her upstairs, though she was somewhat re- 
 luctant to follow me. As I had said, the studio 
 was open. I led her in, and showed her the name 
 cut on the easel, and the hanging cupboard with 
 its contents. As these convincing proofs of my 
 story met her eyes, she shivered a little, and grew 
 rather pale. 
 
 " Come away," she said nervously — " you are 
 really too horrid ! I can't bear this sort of thing ! 
 For goodness' sake, keep your ghosts to yourself!" 
 I saw she was vexed and pettish, and I readily fol- 
 lowed her out of the barren, forlorn-looking room. 
 Scarcely were we well outside the door when it shut 
 to with a sharp click. I tried it — it was fast locked ! 
 This was too much for Mrs. Fairleigh. She 
 rushed downstairs in a perfect paroxysm of terror ; 
 and when I found her in the breakfast^room she 
 declared she would not stop another day in the 
 house. I managed to calm her fears, however; 
 but she insisted on my remaining with her to 
 brave out whatever else might happen at what she 
 persisted now in calling the " haunted" chateau, in 
 spite of her practical theories. And so I stayed 
 on. And when we left Brittany, we left all to- 
 gether, without having had our peace disturbed by 
 any more manifestations of am unearthly nature. 
 One thing alone troubled me a little — I should 
 have liked to obliterate the word " per fide" from 
 that stone, and to have had "fidele" carved on it 
 
176 THE LADY WITH THE CARNATIONS. 
 
 instead ; but it was too deeply engraved for this. 
 However, I have seen no more of " the Lady with 
 the Carnations." But I know the dead need pray- 
 ing for — and that they often suffer for lack of such 
 prayers — though I cannot pretend to explain the 
 reason why. And I know that the picture in the 
 Louvre is not a Greuze, though it is called one — it 
 is the portrait of a faithful woman deeply wronged; 
 and her name is here written as she told me to 
 
 write it — 
 
 " MANON 
 
 Cceur fiddle 1" 
 
MY WONDERFUL WIFE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 She was really a wonderful woman ! — I always 
 said so! She captivated me with a smile; she 
 subjugated my frail and trembling soul with a 
 glance. She took such utter possession of me 
 from the very moment I set eyes on her that I had 
 no longer any will of my own ; in fact, to this day 
 I don't know how I came to marry her. I have a 
 hazy idea that she married me. I think it is very 
 likely, knowing, as I know now, what a powerful, 
 sweeping-away-of-all-obstacles sort of intellect she 
 has. But when I first saw her she was a glorious 
 girl ! One of those " fine" girls, don't you know ? 
 — with plump shoulders, round arms, ample bosom, 
 full cheeks, good teeth and quantities of hair — a 
 girl with " go," and " pluck," and plenty of " style ;" 
 just the kind of creature for a small, mild, rather 
 nervous man like me. She had just come back 
 from the Highlands, where she had "brought 
 down" a superb stag with a single unerring shot 
 from her gun; and all the blowsy glow of the 
 Scotch breeze was about her, and all the scent 
 of the gorse and heather seemed to come out in 
 whiffs from her cropped and frizzy " fringe." She 
 talked — ye gods ! how amazingly she talked — she 
 m 177 
 
178 MY WONDERFUL WIFE. 
 
 laughed, till the superabundant excess of her 
 immense vitality made me positively envious ! 
 She danced with the vigour and swing of a stal- 
 wart amazon — danced till my brain swung round 
 and round in wild gyrations to the delirious excite- 
 ment of her ceaseless twirl. For she never tired, 
 never felt faint, never got giddy — not she! She 
 was in sound health, mark you ; sound and splendid 
 physical condition, and had appetite enough for 
 two ordinary men of middle size; moreover, she 
 ate a mixture of things that no ordinary man could 
 possibly eat without future spasms. I watched her 
 that night we met (we were at one of those " at 
 homes" with a small " dancing" in the corner of 
 the card which help to make up the melancholy 
 pleasures of London social life) — I watched her, 
 I say, in breathless surprise and admiration, as 
 between every couple of dances she ate three ices 
 and a plateful of lobster-salad — I stared at her in 
 unfeigned ecstasy and awe when at supper she 
 made such short work of the mayonnaise, the 
 salmon and cucumber, the veal and ham pie, the 
 cream puffs, the red jelly, the cheese and sardines, 
 the champagne and tipsy-cake, and then more ice- 
 cream ! I hastened to provide her with two cups 
 of coffee, one after the other, and a thrill of 
 wonder and delight ran through me when, in reply 
 to my interested query, " Does not coffee keep you 
 awake at night?" she gave a loud and cheerful 
 laugh at my simplicity and replied — 
 
 " Me ? Why, I sleep like a top, and wake as 
 fresh as a daisy." 
 
 Fresh as a daisy! How suggestively beauti- 
 
MY WONDERFUL WIFE. I79 
 
 ful ! I believed her thoroughly. Such a physique 
 as she had, such a clear skin, such a bright, full, 
 almost wild eye! Health radiated from her; her 
 very aspect was invigorating as well as command- 
 ing, and I was completely overpowered and taken 
 captive by her superb masterfulness and self-asser- 
 tion. She was so utterly unlike the women in 
 Walter Scott's novels, you know — the women our 
 great-grandfathers used to admire — those gentle, 
 dignified, retiring, blushing personages, who al- 
 ways wanted men to fight for them and protect 
 them — poor, wretched weaklings they were, to be 
 sure ! Of course, all that sort of thing was very 
 pretty and made a man think himself of some 
 consequence and use in the world; but it was 
 great nonsense when you come to consider it. 
 Why should men be at the bother of looking after 
 women? They can look after themselves, and 
 pretty sharply, too ; they have proved it over and 
 over again. And as to business, they beat a man 
 hollow in their keen aptitude for money transac- 
 tions. 
 
 Well, as I was saying, this splendid girl, Hono- 
 ria Maggs — that was her name — bowled me over 
 completely — " knocked me into a cocked hat," as 
 I heard the Duke of Havilands remark the other 
 day at a race-meeting, and as he is a royal and 
 exalted individual I suppose it is the most aris- 
 tocratic expression in vogue. One must always 
 strive to imitate one's betters ; and he is unques- 
 tionably my better by several thousands of pounds, 
 for nowadays, as we are all aware, we only rank 
 superiority in mind by superfluity of cash. I rec- 
 
l80 MY WONDERFUL WIFE. 
 
 ognised in this same Honoria Maggs my fate, 
 from whom there was no escaping ; I followed her 
 from " at home" to " at home," from ball to ball, 
 from concert to concert, from race-course to race- 
 course, with an unflagging pertinacity that bor- 
 dered on mania — a pertinacity which surprised 
 everybody, myself included. I don't know why 
 I did it, I'm sure. If it will gratify the " spiritual- 
 ists," I am quite willing to set it down to '• astral 
 influence." On the other hand, if it will oblige 
 the celebrated Dr. Charcot, of Paris, I am ready to 
 believe it weis hypnotism. She " drew" me — yes, 
 that is the correct term. Honoria Maggs " drew" 
 me on, and I allowed myself to be " drawn," re- 
 gardless of future consequences. At last things 
 came to the usual crisis. I proposed. I made a 
 full and frank statement of the extent of my 
 financial resources, carefully explained how much 
 I had to my credit in the bank, and how much 
 was invested in Consols, all with an agreeably 
 satisfactory result. I was accepted, and for the 
 next month or two went about receiving the con- 
 gratulations of my friends, and inanely believing 
 myself to be the happiest of men. During our 
 courtship Honoria was not in the least bit senti- 
 mental; she was far too sensible for that. She 
 never wanted a kiss in a dark passage ; she would 
 have been justly enraged had I suggestively trod- 
 den on her toes under the table. She never wished 
 to stop and look at the moon on her way home 
 from any neighbour's house or place of amuse- 
 ment ; not a bit of it ! She was a thoroughly 
 practical, capable, healthy female, utterly devoid 
 
MY WONDERFUL WIFE. l8l 
 
 of romance. I was glad of this, because I had 
 been lately reading in the magazines and news- 
 papers that romance of any kind was unwhole- 
 some, and I did not want an unwholesome wife. 
 And she was tremendously healthy; there was 
 no sickly mawkishness or die-away languor about 
 her! She wrote a novel — yes, and published it 
 too ; but it was not rubbish, you understand. By 
 rubbish, I mean it was not full of silly sentiments, 
 like Byron's verses or Shakespeare's plays ; it had 
 no idyllic-sublime stuff in it. It was a sporting 
 novel, full of slap-dash vigour and stable slang; 
 a really jolly, go-ahead, over-hill-and-dale, cross- 
 country sort of book, with just a thread of a plot 
 in it, which didn't matter, and an abrupt wind-up 
 that left you in the lurch, wondering what it was 
 all about ; in short, the kind of reading that 
 doesn't bother a fellow's brain. It was a great 
 success, partly because she, Honoria Maggs, found 
 out the names of all the critics and " beat them 
 up," as she frankly said, in her own irresistibly 
 dominant way, and partly because the Duke of 
 Havilands (I mentioned him just now) swore it 
 was "the most doosid clever thing he had ever 
 clapped eyes on in print." Her name was in 
 everybody's mouth for a short time, and in the 
 full flush of her glory she went off to the moors 
 partridge-shooting, and " bagged" such a quantity 
 of game that the fact was chronicled in all the 
 society journals; particularly that smart paper 
 that always abuses our venerable Queen in its 
 delightful columns. She rose higher than ever in 
 popular estimation. Redfern implored her to let 
 
 i6 
 
1 82 MY WONDERFUL WIFE 
 
 him "build" her gowns; all the rival tailors sent 
 her their circulars and estimates free of charge; 
 the various makers of soap entreated her to use 
 their different specimens regularly every morning; 
 the photographers offered her "sittings" gratis, 
 and she was very nearly becoming a " professional 
 beauty," as well as a crack shot and literary genius. 
 Yes, I know "genius" is a big word; but if Ho- 
 noria Maggs did not have genius, then, I ask, what 
 did she have? What active demon or legion of 
 demons possessed her ? But I anticipate. I have 
 just remarked that she was at this time nearly 
 becoming a " professional beauty," and in that char- 
 acter might possibly have gone on the stage, there 
 to get rid of some of that amazing energy of 
 which she had such a superabundance, but that 
 / stepped in and cut matters short by marry- 
 ing her. Yes ; I suppose I did marry her. I 
 must have done so, though, as I before hinted, it 
 seems to me that she was the imperative, and I the 
 passive party in the arrangement. I know my re- 
 sponses in church at the marriage service were 
 very inaudible, and that hers were so distinctly 
 uttered that they echoed through the chancel 
 and almost frightened me by their decisive reso- 
 nance. But she always had a resonant voice ; good 
 lungs, you know — not a touch of consumption 
 there ! 
 
 It was a pretty wedding, people said. It may 
 have been. I know nobody looked at or thought 
 of me. I was the least part of the ceremony — the 
 bride was everything ; the bride always is every- 
 thing. And yet the bridegroom is an absolute 
 
MY WONDERFUL WIFE. 1 83 
 
 necessity; he is wanted, is he not? The affair 
 would not go on well without him ? Then why is 
 he, as a rule, so obstinately ignored and despised 
 by his friends and relatives at his own wedding ? 
 This is one of the perplexing problems of social 
 life that I shall never, never understand ! 
 
 We had a great number of presents. My wife, 
 of course, had the most; and one among her 
 numerous marriage gifts struck me as singularly 
 inappropriate. It was a cigar and ash tray, in oak 
 and silver, very prettily engraved with her mono- 
 gram, and it came from the friend she had been 
 staying with in the Highlands, when she had 
 brought down the stag with the six-branched 
 antlers ; antlers which now, tipped with silver, 
 were destined to adorn the entrance-hall of our 
 new house. When we were driving away from 
 the scene of our bridal festivities, and endeav- 
 ouring to shield ourselves from the shower of 
 rice that was being pelted through the carriage- 
 windows by our over-zealous well-wishers, I re- 
 marked playfully — 
 
 " That was a singular gift for you, my darling, 
 from Mrs. Stirling of Glen Ruach — she must have 
 meant it for me !" 
 
 "Which?" demanded Honoria abruptly. (She 
 never wasted words.) 
 
 " The cigar and ash tray," I replied. 
 
 " Singular ?" and the newly-made partner of my 
 joys and sorrows turned upon me with a brilliant 
 smile in her fine eyes. " Not singular at all. She 
 knows I smoke." 
 
 Smoke ! A feeble gurgle or gasp of astonish- 
 
184 MY WONDERFUL WIFE. 
 
 ment came from my lips and I fell back a little in 
 the carriage. 
 
 "Smoke? You smoke, Honoria? You — 
 you " 
 
 She laughed aloud. " Smoke ? I should think 
 so! Why, you silly old boy, didn't you know 
 that? Haven't you smelt my tobacco before 
 now ? Real Turkish ! — here you are !" 
 
 And she produced from her pocket a mannish- 
 looking leather case embossed with silver, full of 
 the finest " golden-hair" brand so approved by con- 
 noisseurs, and having at one side the usual supply 
 of rice-paper wherewith to make cigarettes. She 
 rolled up one very deftly as she spoke, and held it 
 out to me. 
 
 " Have it ?" she asked carelessly ; but I made a 
 sign of protest and she put it back in the case with 
 another laugh. 
 
 "Very rude you are!" she declared. "Very! 
 You refuse the first cigarette made for you by your 
 wife!" 
 
 This was a stab, and I felt it keenly. 
 
 " I will take it presently, Honoria," I stammered 
 nervously ; " but — but — my darling, my sweetest 
 girl, I do not like you to smoke !" 
 
 " Don't you ?" and she surveyed me with the 
 utmost nonchalance. " Sorry for that ! But it 
 can't be helped now ! You smoke — I've seen you 
 at it." 
 
 " Yes, yes, / do ; but I am a man, and — and " 
 
 " And I am a woman !" finished Honoria com- 
 posedly. "And we twain have just been made 
 one ! So I have as much right to smoke as you. 
 
MY WONDERFUL WIFE. 1 8$ 
 
 old boy, being part and parcel of you ; and we'll 
 enjoy our cigars together after dinner." 
 
 " Cigars !" 
 
 "Yes; or cigarettes — which you please. It 
 doesn't matter in the least to me ; I'm accustomed 
 to both !" 
 
 I sat dumb and bewildered. I could not realise 
 the position. I stared at my bride, and suddenly 
 observed a masculine imperviousness in her counte- 
 nance that surprised me ; a determination of chin 
 that I wondered I had not noticed before. A 
 vague feeling of alarm ran through me like a cold 
 shiver. Had I made a mistake after all in my 
 choice of a wife? And was this fine bouncing 
 creature — this splendidly-developed, vigorously 
 healthy specimen of womanhood going to prove 
 too much for me ? I recoiled from my own pain- 
 ful thoughts. I had always laughed to scorn those 
 weak-spirited men who allowed themselves to be 
 mastered by their wives. Now, was / also des- 
 tined to become a laughing-stock for others? 
 And should / also be ruled with the female rod 
 of iron ? Never, never, never ! I would rebel — I 
 would protest ! But in the mean time — well, I was 
 just married, and, as a perfectly natural conse- 
 quence, I dared not speak my mind ! 
 
 1 6* 
 
1 86 MY WONDERFUL WIFE, 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 That evening — the evening of my marriage 
 day — I beheld a strange and remarkable spectacle. 
 It was after dinner in our private sitting-room (we 
 had engaged apartments at a very charming hotel 
 down at Tenby, where we meant to pass the 
 honeymoon), and my wife had just left me, say- 
 ing she would return in an instant. I drew a chair 
 up to the window and gazed at the sea ; and, after 
 a little while, I felt in my pocket and pulled out 
 my cigar-case. I looked at it affectionately, but I 
 resisted the temptation to smoke. I made up my 
 mind that I would not be the first to suggest the 
 idea to Honoria. For if she had fallen into such 
 an unwomanly vice, then it was clearly my duty 
 as her husband to get her out of it. Here some 
 captious readers may say, " Well, if you didn't 
 mind her going about with a gun, you ought to 
 have been prepared for her having other masculine 
 accomplishments as well." Now, just allow me 
 to explain. I did mind her going about with a 
 gun; I minded it very much; but, then, I was 
 always an old-fashioned sort of fellow with old- 
 fashioned notions (I am trying to break myself of 
 them by degrees), and one of these notions was a 
 deep respect and chivalrous homage for the ladies 
 of the English aristocracy. I believed them to be 
 the ne plus ultra of everything noble and grand in 
 woman, and I felt that whatever they did must be 
 right, and not only right, but perfectly well-bred, 
 since it is their business and prerogative to furnish 
 
MY WONDERFUL WIFE. 1 8/ 
 
 models of excellent behaviour to all their sex. 
 And when Honoria was still Miss Maggs, and made 
 her mark as a sportswoman, she was only imitating 
 the example (for I read it in the society papers) of 
 three of the most exalted ladies of title in the land. 
 Moreover, I thought that after all it was merely a 
 high-spirited girl's freak, just to show that she could, 
 on occasion, shoot as well as a man. I felt quite 
 sure that when Miss Maggs became Mrs. Hatwell- 
 Tribkin (William Hatwell-Tribkin is my name) she 
 would, to speak poetically, lay aside the gun for the 
 needle, and the game-bag for the household linen. 
 Such was my limited conception of the female tem- 
 perament and intelligence. But I know better now ! 
 And since I have learned that the " highest ladies 
 in the land" smoke as well as shoot — well, I will not 
 say openly what I think ! I will merely assure those 
 who may be interested in my feelings on the sub- 
 ject, that I have now no old-fashioned partiality 
 whatever for such aristocratic personages ; let them 
 do as they like and sink to whatever level they 
 choose, only for Heaven's sake let them not be 
 taken as the best examples we can show of Eng- 
 land's wives and mothers ! Several persons who 
 have recently aired their opinions in the roomy 
 columns of the Daily Telegraph (all honour to that 
 blessed journal, which provides so wide and liberal 
 a pasture land gratis for sheep-like souls to graze 
 upon !) have advocated smoking for women as a per- 
 fectly harmless and innocent enjoyment, tending 
 to promote pleasant good-fellowship between the 
 sexes. All I can say is, let one of these special plead- 
 ers marry an inveterate woman-smoker, and try it ! 
 
1 88 MY WONDERFUL WIFE. 
 
 The evening of one's marriage day is not exactly 
 an evening to quarrel upon, and so I could not 
 quarrel with Honoria, when she treated me to the 
 amazing spectacle alluded to at the commencement 
 of this chapter — the spectacle of herself, trans- 
 formed. She came back into the sitting-room 
 with that cheerful, wholesome laugh of hers (Oscar 
 Wilde and others might think it a trifle too loud, 
 still it was lively), and said — 
 
 "Now I'm comfortable! Got a chair for me? 
 That's right ! Push it up in that corner, and let's 
 be chummy !" 
 
 I gazed at her as she spoke, and my voice died 
 away in my throat ; I could almost feel my hair 
 rising slowly from my scalp in amazement and 
 horror. What — what did my Honoria — my bride, 
 whom I had lately seen a rustling vision of white 
 silk and lace and orange-blossoms, what did she 
 look like ? Like a man ! Ye gods ! yes, though 
 she had petticoats on — like a man! She had 
 changed her pretty travelling dress for a short and 
 extremely scanty brown tweed skirt ; with this she 
 wore a very racy-looking jacket of coarse flannel, 
 patterned all over with large horse-shoes on a blue 
 ground. On her head she had perched a red 
 smoking-cap with a long tassel that bobbed over 
 her left eyebrow, and she surveyed me as she sat 
 down with an air of bland unconsciousness, as 
 though her costume were the most natural thing 
 in the world. I said nothing ; she did not expect 
 me to say anything, I suppose. She glanced at 
 the sea, shining with a lovely purple in the evening 
 light, and said briefly — 
 
MY WONDERFUL WIFE. 1 89 
 
 " Looks dull rather, doesn't it ? Wants a few 
 racers about. Fancy ! I had no yachting this year 
 — all the boys went away to Ireland instead." 
 
 " What boys ?" I murmured faintly, still staring 
 at her with dazed, bewildered eyes. She was a 
 boy herself, or very like one ! 
 
 Again that cheerful laugh vibrated in my 
 ears. 
 
 " What boys ? Good gracious, Willie, if I were 
 to run over all their names, it would be like an 
 hotel visitors' list ! I mean the boys. All the men 
 who used to take me about, don't you know ?" 
 
 A kind of resolution fired my blood at this. 
 
 " They will hardly take you about now," I said, 
 with, I hope, a gentle severity. " You are married 
 now, Honoria, and it will be my proud privilege 
 to take you about, so that we shall be able to dis- 
 pense with the boys." 
 
 " Oh, certainly, if you like," she replied, smiling 
 unconcernedly ; " only you'll soon get tired of it, 
 I expect ! We can't always hunt in couples — 
 Darby and Joan sort of thing — awfully bad form ; 
 must go different ways sometimes. You'll get sick 
 to death of always doing the different seasons with 
 me. 
 
 " Never, Honoria !" I said firmly. " I shall be 
 perfectly happy with you for ever at my side ; per- 
 fectly contented to be seen always in your com- 
 pany !" 
 
 " Really !" and she raised her eyebrows a little, 
 then laughed again, and added coaxingly, " Don't 
 be spooney. Will, there's a good fellow ! I do hate 
 being spooned upon — you know ! Let us be as 
 
igO MY WONDERFUL WIFE. 
 
 jolly as you like; but though we are just married, 
 don't let people take us for a pair of fools !" 
 
 " I fail to understand your meaning, Honoria," 
 I said rather vexedly. " Why should we be taken 
 for fools ? I really cannot see " 
 
 " Oh, you know," laughed my boyish-looking 
 wife, diving into one of her capacious jacket- 
 pockets in search of a something — I instinctively 
 knew what it was. Yes, there, out it came ! No 
 cigarette-case this time, but one full of cigars, and 
 I at once rose to the occasion with a manly for- 
 titude that, I trust, did not ill become me. 
 
 " Honoria," I said, " Honoria, my dear, my 
 darling ! Do oblige me by not smoking ; not this 
 evening, at any rate ! I shall not be able to bear 
 the sight of a cigar in your sweet mouth ; I shall 
 not indeed. I am a ' spooney' fellow, perhaps, but 
 I love you and admire you, my dear, too much to 
 let you appear even before my eyes at a disadvan- 
 tage. It is not good for your health, I assure you ! 
 It will spoil your pretty teeth and play havoc 
 with your nerves ; and, besides this, Honoria, it is 
 not a nice thing for a woman, especially an Eng- 
 lish woman. It is all very well for ugly Russian 
 matrons and withered old Spanish gipsies, but for 
 a young, bonnie, fresh creature like you, Honoria, 
 it is not the thing, believe me ! Moreover, it gives 
 you a masculine appearance, which is not at all 
 becoming. I am in earnest, my dear ! I want my 
 wife to be above all things womanly, and now we 
 are married I can tell you frankly that I hope you 
 will never take a gun in your hands again. It was 
 very plucky of you to show that you could shoot, 
 
MY WONDERFUL WIFE. I9I 
 
 you know, Honoria. I admired your spirit, but, 
 of course, I always knew you only did it for fun. 
 A woman can never be an actual follower of sport, 
 any more than she can become a practised smoker, 
 without losing the beautiful prestige of modesty 
 and dignity with which Nature has endowed her." 
 
 Thus far Honoria had listened to me in absolute 
 silence, a smile on her lips and her cigar-case still 
 open in her hand. Now, however, she gave way 
 to unfeigned and irrepressible laughter. 
 
 " Upon my word," she exclaimed, " I never heard 
 a better bit of sentimental palaver than that! 
 Willie, you are a goose ! For pity's sake, don't 
 talk such old-fashioned nonsense to me. I'm past 
 it. Georgie might like that sort of thing" (Georgia 
 was my wife's youngest sister, a timid little morsel 
 of a woman I had always despised), " but I thought 
 you knew me better. Come, you're longing to 
 have a smoke yourself, you know you are! 
 Here !" and she held out her cigar-case with the 
 most brilliant smile in the world. " You won't ? 
 Don't be a mule, now !" and she whipped out of 
 her side-pocket a tiny silver match-box, lit a cigar, 
 and again proffered it to me. I took it mechan- 
 ically. I should have been a brute to refuse her 
 on that evening of all evenings ; but I still remon- 
 strated feebly. 
 
 " Honoria, I don't like it " 
 
 "Don't like what?" she inquired mirthfully. 
 " The cigar ? Then you don't know the flavour 
 of good tobacco !" 
 
 " No, no, I don't mean the cigar," I said, puffing 
 at it slowly as I spoke; "it is an exceedingly 
 
192 MY WONDERFUL WIFE. 
 
 choice cigar, in fact, remarkably so ; but I don't 
 like your smoking one." 
 
 And I watched her in melancholy amaze as she 
 placed a similar cigar to my own between her rosy 
 lips and began to puff away in evident delight. 
 " I don't like your smoking," I repeated earnestly. 
 " No, Honoria, I do not ! I shall never like it !" 
 
 " Then you're very selfish," she returned, with 
 perfect good-humour. " You wish to deprive 
 your wife of a pleasure you indulge in yourself." 
 
 Now, there was a way of putting it ! 
 
 " But, Honoria," I urged, " surely, surely men 
 are permitted to do may things which, pardon me, 
 are hardly fitted for the finer susceptibilities of 
 women ?" 
 
 She flicked off the ash from her " weed" with 
 her little finger, settled her smoking-cap, and 
 smiled a superior smile. 
 
 " Not a bit of it !" she replied. " Once, in those 
 detestable ' good old times' some people are always 
 talking about, men were permitted to keep women 
 out of every sort of enjoyment, and nice tyrants 
 they were ! But now, nous avons change tout cela" 
 — she had a very charming French accent by the 
 way — " and we are no longer the drudges, house- 
 keepers, general servants and nurses that adorned 
 that bygone age of darkness ! We are the equals 
 of man. What he can do, we can do as well, and 
 often better ; we are his companions now, not his 
 slaves. For instance, here am I — ^your wife — am 
 I not?" 
 
 "Just so, Honoria," I murmured. What an 
 excellent cigar she had given me, to be sure! 
 
MY WONDERFUL WIFE. 1 93 
 
 " You are indeed my wife, my very dearly beloved 
 wife " 
 
 " Don't !" she interrupted. " It sounds like an 
 epitaph !" 
 
 I laughed — it was impossible to help laughing. 
 She was such a whimsical creature, such an ex- 
 traordinary girl! She laughed too, and went 
 on — 
 
 "Suppose I had lived and suppose you had 
 lived in the ' good old times,' Willie, do you 
 know what we should have done ?" 
 
 I shook my head drowsily in the negative, and 
 blinked my eyes at her in bland admiration. 
 (That cigar was really first-class, and it was 
 gradually having a softening influence on my 
 brain.) 
 
 " We should have died of dulness," she de- 
 clared emphatically. " Just died of it ! We could 
 never have borne it. Fancy ! I should have been 
 shut up nearly all day in the house, with a huge 
 apron on, sorting jams and pickles, and counting 
 over the sheets and pillow-cases like a silly old 
 noodle, and you would have tumbled home drunk 
 regularly every afternoon, and gone to bed under 
 the table every evening !" 
 
 She nodded her head decisively and the tassel 
 of her smoking-cap came down over her nose. 
 She cast it off defiantly and looked at me with 
 such a twinkling mischief in her eyes that I fairly 
 roared. 
 
 " That last part of the daily entertainment would 
 have been lively, Honoria" — I giggled convul- 
 sively — " lively for me at any rate !" 
 I » 17 
 
194 MY WONDERFUL WIFE. 
 
 " No, it wouldn't," she said. " You've no idea 
 how tired you'd have got of being continually- 
 drunk ! It might be all very well for a time, but 
 you would have wanted a change. And in that 
 period there was no change possible! A man 
 and his wife had to jog on together for ever and a 
 day — Amen to it ! — without a single distraction to 
 mar the domestic bliss of the awful years ! Do- 
 mestic bliss — ugh ! it makes me shudder !" 
 
 I grew suddenly serious. "Why, surely, Ho- 
 noria," I said, "you believe in domestic bliss, 
 don't you ?" 
 
 " Certainly not ! Good gracious, no ! What on 
 earth is domestic bliss all about? I've studied it, 
 I assure you. I'll tell you what it is. In winter, 
 the united members of a large family sit solemnly 
 round the fire and roast chestnuts to the tune of 
 ' Home, sweet Home,' played by the youngest boy 
 on the old harmonium (harmonium that belonged 
 to darling dear grandmamma, you know!); in 
 summer they all go down to the sea-side (still 
 fondly united) and sit in a ring on the hot sand, 
 reading antediluvian novels, quite happy! and so 
 good, and so devoted to one another, and so ugly, 
 most of them ; no wonder they can never get any 
 other company than their own !" 
 
 She puffed away at her cigar quite fiercely, and 
 her eyes twinkled again. As for me, I was off 
 once more in an uncontrollable fit of laughter. 
 
 " Honoria, Honoria !" I gasped, " what a droll 
 girl you are ; where do you get your ideas from ?" 
 
 " Can't imagine," she replied smilingly. " They 
 come. Inspiration, I suppose, as the towzle-haired 
 
MY WONDERFUL WIFE. I9J 
 
 •geniuses' say. But I am jolly — I believe there's 
 no denying that. You'll find me quite a good 
 fellow, don't you know, when you've once got 
 accustomed to my ways. But I may as well tell 
 you at once that it's no use your expecting me to 
 give up my smoke. It's possible I may get tired 
 of shooting; when I do I'll let you know. And 
 one word more, old boy — don't preach at me 
 again, will you ? Can't bear being preached at ; 
 never could. Say right out what you mean with- 
 out sentiment, and we'll see how we can settle it. 
 I never lose temper — waste of time. Much better 
 to come to a calm understanding about everything 
 —think so ?" 
 
 I agreed heartily, and would have kissed her, 
 but that vile cigar stuck out of her mouth and 
 prevented me. Besides, I was smoking my own 
 particular "vile" and it was no use disturbing 
 myself or her just then. Moreover, did she not 
 evince a wholesome dislike of sentiment? And 
 is not kissing a sentimental business, totally un- 
 suited to the advanced intelligence of the advanced 
 woman of our advancing day ? 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Honeymoons are generally supposed to be the 
 briefest of all moons, and mine was particularly 
 so, as it only lasted a fortnight. I will not here 
 attempt to describe the chronic state of wonder, 
 
196 MY •WONDERFUL WIFE. 
 
 doubt, affection, dismay, admiration, and vague 
 alarm in which I passed it. It seemed to me that 
 I was all the time in the company of a very cheer- 
 ful, good-tempered lad just home from his college 
 for the holidays. I knew this " lad" was a woman 
 and my wife, but somehow, as the Americans say, 
 I couldn't "fix" it. At the end of our recognised 
 " spooney" season, we returned to our own house 
 in Kensington, a comfortable dwelling, luxuriously 
 furnished, and provided with all the modern im- 
 provements, electric light included, and settled 
 down to the serious reahsation of our married 
 existence. We had hosts of friends; too many 
 friends, I thought. We certainly could not boast 
 of a " quiet" home, neither could we be accused 
 of indulging in the guilty tameness of " domestic 
 bliss." All " the boys" fraternized with me ; those 
 " boys" who before Honoria's marriage had been, 
 she assured me, like so many brothers to her. 
 They were most of them young men, none of them 
 above thirty, and I was approaching my fortieth 
 birthday. Moreover, I had the sundry cares of 
 the business of living upon me ; the " Battle of 
 Life" (I have to thank the noble Daily Telegraph 
 for this admirable and entirely new expression) 
 had to be fought by me single-handed, and this 
 gave me the appearance of being older than I 
 actually was. In fact " the boys" seemed to con- 
 sider me a sort of harmless paterfamilias ; but I 
 myself often wondered whether I was not more 
 like the meek proprietor of an exceptionally con- 
 venient hotel, where bachelors under thirty might 
 find board, lodging, and good entertainment free 
 
MY WONDERFUL WIFE. 1 97 
 
 of charge. At first, I did not feel my position so 
 keenly, because really "the boys" were not bad 
 fellows. They were like young colts, frisky and 
 full of fun. They were fools undoubtedly, but 
 they were not knaves, and to this day I don't 
 think there was an ounce of wit among them, so 
 that they lacked the means to be seriously mis- 
 chievous ; in fact there was no malice about them, 
 they were too absolutely silly for that — more like 
 Brobdingnagian babies than men. They had a 
 great many old associations with Honoria. Many 
 of them had known her long before I did, and one 
 of these declared to me joyously that "it was no 
 end of a lark, dontcherknow, to think she was 
 married !" I would have sought an explanation 
 from this vivacious and muscular youth (he was 
 over six feet high) as to his reasons for considering 
 it " no end of a lark" but that he was such an 
 utterly brainless " boy," such a cheerfully-confessed 
 and openly-advertised donkey, that I saw at once it 
 would be no use asking him any questions that did 
 not lead up somehow or other to a discussion on 
 lawn-tennis, which was the only subject in earth 
 lor heaven that appealed to his minute fragment 
 of intellect. There was just one other individual 
 who surpassed him in fatuous foolishness; this 
 was a " boy" with heavy moustaches, whose sole 
 delight in life was to " scull." Sculling up and 
 down the river, sculling here, sculling there (with 
 a very useless skull of his own, Heaven knows ! — 
 excuse the unintentional pun), his pride and joy 
 were concentrated in the steady work of strength- 
 ening his muscles and reducing his brain by swift 
 
 17* 
 
198 MY WONDERFUL WIFE. 
 
 degrees from the little to the infinitely less. He 
 had fine eyes, this "boy," and his moustaches, 
 " long, silky and sweeping" {vide " Ouida"), threw 
 all little school-girls and inexperienced house- 
 maids into ecstasies of admiration. He looked 
 very well in his white boating flannels ; so well, 
 that he was, by some rash persons who did not 
 know him, judged intelligent, but, to speak with 
 exactitude, a more hopeless idiot never existed. 
 He was such an overpoweringly polite idiot too, 
 exceedingly deferential to me, and automatically 
 courteous to everyone, though he always main- 
 tained that delightfully funny air of coy reserve 
 which very good-looking young men sometimes 
 assume, that air which is meant as a mild touch- 
 me-not or warner-off to over-susceptible ladies — 
 for these sort of absurd fellows generally flatter 
 themselves that every woman who sees them is 
 bound to fall in love with them on the spot. This 
 particular " boy" was constantly in and out of our 
 house ; he liked Honoria because she made such 
 game of him and his stand-offish manner. I sup- 
 pose the poor devil was so flattered everywhere 
 else (on account of those moustaches) that he found 
 some comfort in being ridiculed now and then. 
 And my wife had a great talent for ridicule, an im- 
 mense and ever-developing talent ; she " chaffed" 
 people unmercifully ; in fact, after the novelty of 
 our marriage had worn off" a bit, she began to 
 " chaff"" me. I am bound to confess I did not 
 quite like this, but I forbore to complain — she 
 had such high spirits, I thought, and she did not 
 really mean to wound my feelings. 
 
MY WONDERFUL WIFE. IQQ 
 
 However, taking it all in all, home was not the 
 home I had hoped for. There was no repose in 
 it — no relief from the business fatigues and worries 
 of the day. And the whole place was always 
 horribly redolent of tobacco — tobacco-smoke per- 
 meated every room in it, including even the big 
 dining-room — and the smell of cigars was in my 
 nostrils morning, noon and night. All those 
 '' boys" smoked, of course ; they were very friendly, 
 and used to sit chatting away with me after dinner 
 till long past midnight (Honoria being of the party). 
 I could scarcely turn them out without being rude, 
 and naturally I did not wish to be rude to my 
 wife's old friends. I had my own friends also, but 
 they were men of a different stamp. They were 
 older, more serious, more settled in their modes of 
 life ; they liked to talk on the politics, progress 
 and science of the age j and though they admired 
 Honoria (for she could converse well on any 
 subject) they could not get on with the "boys," 
 no, not with any of them. So one by one they 
 dropped off, and by and by a sort of desolate shut- 
 out feeling began to steal over me — and I won- 
 dered ruefully if I should be obliged to go on liv- 
 ing like this for the rest of my days. I sat down 
 in my arm-chair one evening and seriously con- 
 sidered my position. Honoria was out; she had 
 gone to supper with her friend Mrs. Stirling, of 
 Glen Ruach (the misguided woman who had 
 presented her with that wedding-gift of the cigar 
 and ash tray), who was staying in London for a 
 couple of weeks, and I knew they and their " set" 
 would make a night of it. I had not been asked 
 
200 MY WONDERFUL WIFE. 
 
 to join the party — I was evidently not wanted. I 
 sat, as I said, in my chair, and looked at the fire ; 
 it was cold weather, and the wind whistled drearily 
 outside the windows, and I took to hard and earnest 
 thinking. Was I happy in my married life ? No ! 
 most emphatically not. But why? I asked my- 
 self. What prevented my happiness? Honoria 
 was a bright woman, a clever woman, handsome, 
 good-tempered and cheerful as the day, never ill, 
 never dull, never cross. What on earth was my 
 complaint? I sighed heavily; I felt I was un- 
 reasonable ; and yet, I had certainly missed some- 
 thing out of my life — something I felt the want of 
 now. Was it the frequent visitations of "the 
 boys" that fretted my mind? No, not exactly; 
 for, as I said before, they were thoroughly harmless 
 fellows. And as for Honoria herself, whatever 
 her faults (or what I considered her faults) might 
 be, she was good as gold, with a frank, almost 
 blunt straightforwardness and honesty about her 
 that was really admirable — in fact, she was the 
 kind of woman to knock down a man who would 
 have dared to offer her any insult ; and thus far 
 her " mannishness" set her above all suspicion of 
 deceit or infidelity. It was impossible to doubt 
 her word — she never told a lie — and she had a 
 sort of military-disciplined idea of honour, rare to 
 find in the feminine nature. Yes, her sterling 
 virtue was unquestionable. What qualities, then, 
 did she lack ? Why did I feel that she was in a 
 way removed from me, and that instead of having 
 a woman by my side, I had a sort of hybrid 
 hijmaii growth which was neither man nor woman 
 
MY WONDERFUL WIFE. 201 
 
 — which confused and perplexed me instead of 
 helping and comforting me, and which filled me 
 with surprise rather than respect? Again I 
 sighed, and stirring the smouldering fire into a 
 blaze watched its flickering flashes on the wall of 
 the room. It was a large room — we called it the 
 library, because there were books in it. Not rare 
 volumes by any means, still what there were I 
 liked; in fact they were mostly mine. My wife 
 read nothing but the newspapers; she devoured 
 the Referee on Sundays, and she took the Sporting 
 Times because she always had certain bets on 
 certain racing events. Needless to say I objected 
 to her betting, but with no result beyond the 
 usual laugh, and the usual, " Don't be a goose, 
 Willie; it's all right! I never bet with your 
 money !" Which was true enough. She had 
 turned out another sporting novel at a " dead heat," 
 as she herself expressed it; the publisher had 
 paid her well for it, and she certainly had every 
 right to do as she liked with her own earnings. 
 Moreover, she generally won her bets, that was the 
 odd part of it ; she seemed to have an instinctive 
 faculty for winning. Her losses were always 
 small, her gains always large. In fact, as I have 
 already remarked, she was a wonderful woman 1 
 
 Apropos of this last novel of hers, I reflected 
 uneasily that I had not yet read a word of it. It 
 was only just published, I had seen no reviews of 
 it, and she seemed to attach no importance to it 
 herself. She had no real love for literature ; she 
 called all the ancient classic writers " old bores," 
 and all the works of the after-giants, such as Shake- 
 
202 MY WONDERFUL WIFE. 
 
 speare, Byron, Shelley, Walter Scott, Dickens, or 
 Thackeray, " stuff and rubbish." She wrote a novel 
 as she wrote a letter — almost without taking 
 thought, and certainly without correction. She 
 would hand the proofs over to one of " the boys" 
 who knew all about sporting terms, that he might 
 see whether her slang was correct, and when his 
 hall-mark said (as it did once, for I saw it pen- 
 cilled on the margin of a chapter), "Bully for 
 you !" off the whole thing went to the publisher 
 without further anxiety or trouble on her part. 
 And when people said to me, sweetly, " Your wife 
 is quite a literary genius ?" in the usual humbug- 
 ging way of polite society, I was very well aware 
 that they didn't mean it ; I knew in my very heart 
 of hearts that Honoria, judged strictly from an 
 art and letters point of view, was z. fraud — ^posi- 
 tively a fraud! The thought stabbed me to the 
 soul, but still I had to think it if I would be at 
 peace with my own conscience. I am not a clever 
 man myself, yet I know very well what female 
 literary " genius" is. We have it in the poems of 
 Elizabeth Barrett and the romances of Georges 
 Sand, and when we consider the imperishable 
 work of such women as these, the sporting novels 
 of even a Honoria Hatwell-Tribkin sink into 
 shadowy insignificance! And I am a great be- 
 liever in woman's literary capability. I think 
 that, given a woman with a keen instinct, close 
 observation and large sympathies, she ought to be 
 able to produce greater masterpieces of literature 
 than a man. But there is no necessity for her to 
 part with her womanly gentleness because she 
 
MY WONDERFUL WlFE. 203 
 
 writes. No, for it is just that subtle charm of her 
 finer sex that should give the superiority to her 
 work — not the stripping herself of all those deli- 
 cate and sensitive qualities bestowed on her by 
 Nature, and the striving to ape that masculine 
 roughness which is precisely what we want elimi- 
 nated from all high ideals of art. But, as I have 
 hinted, it was absurd to call m.y wife " literary ;" 
 she was a mere scribbler of sporting platitudes, 
 and I have only been led on to speak of her enter- 
 ing the ranks of pen and ink at all, because (on 
 referring to some back numbers of the Daily Tele- 
 graph) I understand that there are a few unin- 
 structed persons about, in the shape of " London 
 clergymen" and others, who think that women who 
 write books are therefore rendered unwomanly. 
 Never was there a greater mistake. One of the 
 sweetest and most womanly women I ever met is 
 rapidly coming to the front as a most gifted and 
 brilliant writer. She neither smokes nor keeps late 
 hours ; she does not hunt, or fish, or shoot ; she 
 dresses exquisitely ; her voice is " low and sweet" 
 as " Annie Laurie's," and the roughest man of her 
 particular circle — one who has been called the 
 "Ursa Major" of literature — becomes the softest 
 and most courtly preux chevalier in her presence, 
 much to the relief and satisfaction of all his and 
 her friends. To my idea the " mannish" woman 
 should be altogether debarred from entering into 
 the profession of literature, inasmuch as she can 
 do no good whatever in it. She takes a wrong 
 view of life; her theories are all at sixes and 
 sevens; she mixes up her rights and privileges 
 
204 MY WONDERFUL WIFE. 
 
 with those of the coarser sex till she does not 
 know which is which ; she has wilfully blunted 
 all her finer susceptibilities, and is therefore practi- 
 cally useless as a thinker-out of high problems, or 
 a consoler to her fellow-creatures. Literature of 
 itself does not unsex a woman ; its proper influence 
 is a softening, dignifying and ennobling one ; there- 
 fore if, in that calling, a woman proves herself 
 unwomanly in her speech, manners and customs, 
 you may be sure the unsexing process was pretty 
 well completed before she ever took up the pen. 
 
 I was still sitting before the fire in melancholy 
 mood, musing over what, reasonably or unreason- 
 ably, I felt to be the desolation of my wedded ex- 
 istence, when I heard a latch-key turn in the lock 
 of the street door — another instant, and a firm step 
 marching along the outer passage assured me of 
 my wife's return. I glanced at the clock — it was 
 close upon midnight. I had been alone since 
 dinner-time, alone and melancholy, and I felt 
 more injured and irritated than I cared to admit 
 to myself. A strong whiff of tobacco heralded 
 Honoria's approach; she entered, clad in a long 
 buttoned-up ulster and cloth jockey cap, her eyes 
 brilliant, her cheeks flushed, and a half-smoked-out 
 cigar in her mouth. A sudden anger possessed 
 me. I looked up, but did not speak. She threw 
 off her cloak and cap, and stood before me in 
 evening dress — a clinging gown of grey velvet, 
 touched here and there with silver embroidery. 
 
 " Well !" she said cheerfully, removing her cigar 
 from her lips to puff out a volume of smoke, and 
 then sticking it in again. 
 
MY WONDERFUL WIFE. 20$ 
 
 " Well," I responded somewhat sullenly. 
 
 Her bright eyes opened wide. 
 
 " Hullo 1 All down in the mouth and low in 
 the dumps — eh, old boy ?" and she poked the fire 
 into a blaze. " What's up ? Stocks queer ? Bank 
 broken ? Shares gone down ? You look like an 
 unfortunate publisher !" 
 
 " Do I ?" and I averted my gaze from hers and 
 stared gloomily into the fire. 
 
 " Yes," and she gave that ringing laugh that 
 somehow had latterly begun to jar my nerves. 
 " You know the man ! — bad-times-no-sale-out-of- 
 season-no-demand-in-the-provinces sort of fellow ! 
 Awful ! — and all the while he's pocketing profits 
 on the sly. Funny expression he gets after long 
 practice. You've got it exactly just now !" 
 
 " Thanks !" I said curtly. 
 
 She surveyed me wonderingly. 
 
 " Got the toothache ?" she asked with some 
 commiseration in her voice. 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Headache ?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 She gave me a meditative side-glance, still 
 smoking, then nodded in a wise and confidential 
 manner. 
 
 " / know — indigestion !" 
 
 This was too much ; I jumped up from my chair 
 and faced her. 
 
 "No, Honoria," I said, in accents that trem- 
 bled with suppressed excitement — " it is not in- 
 digestion ! It is nothing of the kind, madam ! 
 You see before you a broken, dispirited man — a 
 
 i8 
 
206 MY WONDERFUL WIFE. 
 
 miserable, homeless wretch who hasn't a moment's 
 peace of his life — who is disgusted — yes, disgusted, 
 Mrs. Tribkin — at the way you go on ! You are 
 out every day, more often with others than with 
 me; and if you are not out, the house is full of 
 gorging, lounging, grinning young fools, who no 
 doubt laugh at me (and at you too, for that matter) 
 in their sleeves. You smoke like — like — a dra- 
 goon ! Yes !" — I sphittered this word out desper- 
 ately, determined to bring her to book somehow — 
 " and behave yourself altogether in a fashion that 
 I consider indecorous and unbecoming to a lady 
 in your position. I will not have it, Honoria ! I 
 will NOT have it ! I have borne it as long as I 
 can bear it, and my patience is quite exhausted ! 
 I tell you I am sick of the smell of tobacco — I 
 loathe the very sight of a cigar ! Smoking is a 
 detestable, vulgar, and unwholesome vice, and as 
 far as / am concerned I have done with it for 
 ever ! I used to like a quiet smoke in the even- 
 ing" — here my voice took on a plaintive, almost 
 tearful, wail — " but now — now, Honoria, I hate it ! 
 You have worked this change in me! I have 
 seen you smoking, morning, noon and night, till 
 my very soul has been nauseated by such an un- 
 natural and unfeminine spectacle! You have 
 robbed me of what was once my own peculiar 
 enjoyment — and I can endure it no longer! I 
 cannot, Honoria ! I will NOT . . . !" 
 
 I gasped for breath, and sinking back again 
 in my chair, glared steadily at the wall. I was 
 afraid to encounter the whimsical look of my 
 wife's eye, lest I should give way to convulsions 
 
MY WONDERFUL WIFE. 20/ 
 
 of wild laughter — laughter which really would 
 not have been far off the verge of tears, I was so 
 thoroughly shaken from my usual self-control. 
 
 " Whe-e-e-e-w !" — and the long and dismally 
 drawn-out whistle she gave made me glance at 
 her for a second. She had taken her cigar from 
 her mouth, and was regarding me fixedly. " Good 
 gracious, Willie ! I never did ! Look here, you 
 know this won't do at all ! I never lose temper — 
 it's no use your trying to make me. / see what 
 it is. You've got the fidgets, and you want to 
 quarrel and make me cry and go off into a fit of 
 hysterics, and then pet me and bring me round 
 again. But it isn't the least bit of good attempt- 
 ing it. I caiit do it — I catCt work hysterics any- 
 how ! I never could since I grew up. I might 
 manage to scream once, if that would oblige you, 
 but I know it would scare the people next door ! 
 Now, don't rant and rave like Wilson Barrett 
 when he's got his red Chatterton wig on, but be 
 calm and sensible, and tell us what's the matter." 
 
 She spoke like a friendly young man, and I 
 peered at her doubtfully. 
 
 " Honoria," I began, then my feelings got the 
 better of me again, and I muttered, " No, no ! it 
 is too much ! I will NOT — I cannot be calm !" 
 
 " Then go to bed," she said soothingly, laying 
 one hand on my shoulder, and looking quite be- 
 nignantly at me, in spite of my endeavour to 
 bestow upon her a lordly scowl. " Something's 
 upset you ; your liver's wrong, that 1 can see in 
 the twinkling of an eye. I haven't studied medi- 
 cine for nothing ! You should have taken a cool- 
 
20S MY WONDERFUL WIFE. 
 
 ing draught and gone to bye-bye" (gone to bye- 
 bye.' Silly minx! did she take me for a baby!) 
 " hours ago. Why did you sit up for me ?" 
 
 I fixed my reproachful gaze upon her, solemnly, 
 penetratingly, and — quailed ! She looked so hand- 
 some, especially now that she had thrown away 
 the end of that horrible cigar. She had such a 
 commanding presence — ^that clinging grey velvet 
 gown became her so admirably, and round her full 
 white throat she wore the diamond pendant I had 
 given her on our wedding-day — a pendant contain- 
 ing a miniature portrait of myself. My portrait ! 
 She wore it — she, this stately, beautiful young 
 woman wore my miserable physiognomy on her 
 bosom ! My wrath melted into sudden maudlin 
 sentiment. 
 
 " Honoria," I said feebly, slipping my arm round 
 her waist — " oh, Honoria ! if you only loved me !" 
 
 She bent her head towards mine, lower and 
 lower till her lips almost touched my ear. 
 
 " Look here, old boy," she then whispered 
 confidentially, "you may as well make a clean 
 breast of it 1 Have you — have you been at that 
 brandy I left out on the sideboard f" 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 It will now, I think, be readily understood that 
 Honoria was a difficult woman to argue with. 
 There was no imaginativeness about her, no ro- 
 mance, no sentiment. If a man gave way to his 
 
MY WONDERFUL WIFE. 209 
 
 feelings (as I did on the occasion just related), she 
 set his natural emotion down either to indigestion 
 or insobriety. The " tide of passion" — the " over- 
 flowing of the human heart," and all that sort of 
 thing — belonged, she considered, to the " stuff and 
 rubbish" books written by Scott, Thackeray, and 
 Dickens, or, worse still, suggested poetry. And 
 if there was anything in the world Honoria posi- 
 tively hated, it was poetry. She didn't mind the 
 " Ingoldsby Legends" or the " Biglow Papers," 
 but poetry, real poetry, was her favourite abomi- 
 nation. She always went to sleep over a play of 
 Shakespeare's. The only time I ever saw her 
 laugh at any performance of the kind was during 
 Irving's representation of " Macbeth." Then she 
 was in silent convulsions of mirth. Whenever 
 the celebrated Henry gasped a gasp, or wriggled 
 a wriggle, she seemed to be seized with spasms. 
 But the play itself didn't move her one iota ; she 
 dozed off comfortably in the carriage going home, 
 and waking up suddenly just as we reached our 
 own door, she demanded — 
 
 " I say, Willie, what became of the old man who 
 went to stop with Irving in his cardboard castle ? 
 Never saw him again ? Wasn't it funny ? Must 
 have left out a bit of the play by mistake !" 
 
 I realised then that she had never compre- 
 hended the leading motif of the sublime tragedy 
 —namely, the murder of King Duncan — and with 
 anxious care and laboured precision I explained 
 it to her as best I could. She listened amiably 
 enough, and, when I had finished, yawned capa- 
 ciously. 
 
 i8* 
 
2IO MY WONDERFUL WIFE. 
 
 " Good gracious ! So that was what it was all 
 about! Well, it didn't seem clear to me! I 
 thought Irving had stuck the blue man — the old 
 blue thing with a patch over his eye that came up 
 through a trap-door at dinner-time." (She meant 
 Banquo's ghost !) " He was funny — awfully 
 funny ! He was just the colour of a damp lucifer 
 match — you know, one of those things that worit 
 strike, but only fizzle and smell ! Anyhow it was 
 a muddle, couldn't tell who was killed and who 
 wasn't. Lovely last sprawl that of Irving — 
 looked as if he were coming out of his skin! 
 He was done for — he was killed in the play, 
 wasn't he ?" 
 
 " He was," I assented gravely. 
 
 " Thats all right ! Hope he ate a good supper 
 afterwards ! Must make a man peckish to work 
 about a big sword like that — all for nothing too ! 
 Poking at the air — just fancy! Dreadfully ex- 
 hausting !" 
 
 And off she went to bed with no more notion 
 of the grandeur and terror and pathos of Shake- 
 speare's most awe-inspiring production than if she 
 had been a woman of wood ! So I knew she had 
 no sentiment in her, and of course I was a fool to 
 expect any sympathy from her in my hours of 
 irritation or despondency. And those hours were 
 getting pretty frequent, but for various reasons I 
 held my peace and made no further complaints. I 
 would wait, I resolved, and patiently watch the 
 course of events. 
 
 Events progressed onward as they are prone to 
 do, and my wife continued her independently 
 
MY WONDERFUL WIFE. 211 
 
 masculine mode of living without any fresh re- 
 monstrances from me just then. The time I had 
 anticipated came at last, and a boy was born to us ; 
 a remarkably fine child — (yes, I know ! the most 
 weazened infant, if it be the first-born, is always 
 " remarkably fine" in the opinion of its parents ; 
 but this one was not a humbug — he was really and 
 truly a good specimen), and with his birth I be- 
 came happy and hopeful. Surely now, I thought, 
 with a swelling heart — now my Honoria will 
 realise her true position, and will grow ashamed 
 of those " mannish" habits, which rob a woman of 
 the refined grace and sweetness that should attach 
 to the dignity of motherhood. My spirits rose. 
 I pictured my wife as a different and more lovable 
 creature, retaining all her bright humour and 
 frank vivacity, but gradually becoming more 
 softened in character, and more chastened in dis- 
 position; I saw her, in my mind's eye, carrying 
 her child in her arms, and murmuring all that 
 pretty baby nonsense which men pretend they 
 despise, but which in their hearts they secretly 
 love to hear, and I built up a veritable chateau en 
 Espagne of home-happiness as I had never yet 
 known it, but which I now sincerely believed I 
 was destined to enjoy. 
 
 Need I say that my hopes were doomed to dis- 
 appointment, and that I cursed myself for being 
 such a sentimental ass as to imagine they could 
 ever be realised? Honoria was up and about 
 again in no time, and seemed almost, if not quite, 
 cheerfully unconscious of our boy's existence. 
 He, poor mite, was consigned to the care of two 
 
212 MY WONDERFUL WIFE. 
 
 nurses — large, beer-consuming women both, and 
 ungrammatical of speech — and when his screams 
 announced that all was not going well with his 
 infant career — that pins were being put in the 
 wrong places, or that windy spasms were the 
 result of over-feeding, Honoria would smile at me 
 and remark blandly — 
 
 " There's a savage little brute ! Doesn't he 
 roar ! Never mind 1 Perhaps he'll scare away 
 the organ-grinders !" 
 
 On one of these occasions, when my son's com- 
 plaints were so heartrending that they threatened 
 to lift the very roof off the house by sheer volume 
 of sound, I said — 
 
 " Don't you think you'd better go and see 
 what's the matter, Honoria ? It's not quite fair to 
 leave him entirely at the mercy of the nurses !" 
 
 " Why not ?" she responded composedly. " They 
 understand him — I don't. He's a perfect mystery 
 to me. He screams if I touch him, and rolls right 
 over on his back and makes the most horrible 
 faces at me when I look at him. Nurse says I 
 hold him wrong — it seems to me impossible to 
 hold him right. He's as soft as putty, and bruises 
 everywhere. Can't lay a finger on him without 
 bruising him black and blue. You try it! I 
 wanted to amuse him yesterday — blew the cab 
 whistle for him as loud as I could, and I thought 
 he would have burst with howling. We don't 
 take to each other a bit — isn't it funny? He 
 doesn't want me, and I don't want him — we're 
 better apart, really !" 
 
 " Honoria," I said (we were at breakfast, and I 
 
MY WONDERFUL WIFE. 21 J 
 
 rose from the table with an angry movement), 
 " you are heartless ! You speak cruelly and 
 slightingly of the poor child You don't deserve 
 to be a mother \" 
 
 She laughed good-humouredly. 
 
 "You're right, Willie; that's one for you! I 
 don't deserve to be, and I didn't want to be. Oh, 
 what a bear you look! Be off to the City, for 
 goodness' sake ; don't stop scowling there ! Would 
 j/ou like to take baby out for once ? I'll fetch him 
 for you — he'll be suck a nice quiet companion for 
 you down-town !" 
 
 I beat a hasty retreat ; I had no words where- 
 with to answer her, but I released my pent-up 
 wrath by banging the street door as I went out 
 with a violence that I freely admit was femininely 
 pettish and unworthy of a man. And I went down 
 to my office in a very angry mood, and my anger 
 was not lessened when, turning sharp round a 
 corner, I ran up against the " boy" with the mous- 
 taches. 
 
 " So glad to meet you," he said with his gentle- 
 manly drawl and elegant air. " Hope you're com- 
 ing to the moors this year with Mrs. Tribkin ?" 
 
 I stared at him — he looked provokingly cool 
 and comfortable in his white flannels (always white 
 flannels! However, it was a fact that August 
 had just begun) — and then I replied with some 
 frigidity — 
 
 " I am not aware that Mrs. Tribkin is going to 
 the moors at all. I believe — indeed I am sure — 
 our — er — my intention is to spend a quiet holiday 
 at the seaside for the benefit of the child's health." 
 
214 MY WONDERFUL WIFE. 
 
 " Oh," murmured the " boy" languidly. " Then 
 I suppose I have made a mistake. Some one told 
 me she had taken a share in the grouse-shootings 
 this season — gone halves with Mrs. Stirling, of 
 Glen Ruach, dontcherknow. Quite a big party 
 expected down there on the Twelfth." 
 
 " Really," I snarled, for I was getting angrier 
 every minute. " Are you going ?" 
 
 He looked fatuously surprised. 
 
 " Me ? Oh, dear, no ! I'm on the river." 
 
 " You're always on the river now, I suppose, 
 aren't you ?" I enquired, with a sarcastic grin. 
 
 "Always," he replied placidly. "Won't you 
 and Mrs. Tribkin come and see me in my little 
 house-boat? Awfully snug, dontcherknow — 
 moored in capital position. Delighted to see you 
 any time !" 
 
 " Thanks, thanks !" and here I strove to snigger 
 at him politely in the usual " society" way. " But 
 we are very much tied at home just now — my son 
 is rather too young to appreciate the pleasures of 
 river-life !" 
 
 "Oh, of course!" And for once the "boy" 
 appeared really startled. " It would never do for 
 a — for a little kid, you know. How is he ?" This 
 with an air of hypocritical anxiety. 
 
 " He is very well and flourishing," I answered 
 proudly. " As fine a child as " 
 
 " Yes — er — no doubt," interrupted Moustaches 
 hurriedly. "And Honoria — Mrs. Tribkin — is 
 awfully devoted, I suppose ?" 
 
 " Awfully !" I said, fixing my eyes full and 
 sternly upon his inanely handsome countenance. 
 
MY WONDERFUL WIFE, 21 S 
 
 "She is absorbed in him — absorbed, heart and 
 soul !" 
 
 " Curious — I mean delightful !" stammered the 
 hateful young humbug. " Well — er — give my 
 kind regards, please, and just mention that I'm on 
 the river !" 
 
 As well mention that Queen Anne was dead, 
 I thought, scornfully, as I watched him dash over 
 a crossing under the very nose of a plunging cab- 
 horse and disappear on the opposite side. He was 
 a fish, I declared to myself — a fish, not a man ! 
 Scrape his gills and cook him for dinner, I mut- 
 tered deliriously as I went along — scrape his gills 
 and cook him for dinner! This idiotic phrase 
 became fixed in my mind, and repeated itself over 
 and over again in my ears with the most tiresome 
 monotony, whereby it will be easily comprehended 
 that my nerves were very much unstrung and my 
 system upset generally by the feverish mental 
 worry and domestic vexation I was undergoing. 
 
 On reaching home that afternoon I found 
 Honoria in high glee. She was lounging in one 
 of those long, comfortable " deck" chairs, which, 
 when properly cushioned, are the most luxurious 
 seats in the world, smoking a cigarette and reading 
 
 "I say!" she exclaimed, turning round as I 
 entered. " Here's a lark ! Georgie's going to 
 marry the Earl of Richmoor !" 
 
 I confess I was rather surprised. 
 
 " What, Georgie f" I echoed incredulously. 
 
 "Yes, Georgie!" repeated my wife with em- 
 phasis. " Little sly, coaxy-woaxy Georgie, who 
 
2l6 MY WONDERFUL WIFE. 
 
 can't say bo ! to a goose. Going to be a real live 
 countess — think of it! Good gracious, what a 
 fool Richmoor is — he might have had me J" 
 
 " Might he, indeed, Honoria ?" I enquired coldly, 
 drawing off my gloves, and thinking for the thou- 
 sandth time what a thorough man she looked. 
 " Did he know that such a chance of supreme 
 happiness was to be had for the asking ?" 
 
 " Of course he didn't." Here she tossed away 
 Truth, and catching up a horrible fat pug she 
 adored, she kissed its nasty wet nose with effu- 
 sion. " And he never tried to find out. He's an 
 awful swell, you know — the kind of fellow that 
 coolly ' cuts' the fresh-dollars American, and won't 
 have anything to do with trade. Writes books 
 and sculpts." 
 
 " Is that a new word, sculpts f" I asked satiri- 
 cally. 
 
 " Don't know, I'm sure. It means that he 
 carves out busts and things in marble — not for 
 money, you know, just for his own amusement. 
 Oh, he's a queer card ! But fancy his proposing 
 to Georgie, of all people in the world — ^such a little 
 scrub of a woman !" 
 
 I reflected on this description. My wife's 
 youngest sister was little, certainly, but she could 
 scarcely, in justice, be called a " scrub." She had 
 beautiful eyes — not so beautiful in colour as in 
 their dreamy expression of tenderness ; she had a 
 sweet, soft, kissable face, a charming fairy-like 
 figure, and a very gentle, yet fascinating, manner. 
 There was nothing decidedly " striking" about her, 
 and yet she was about to make a more brilliant 
 
MY WONDERFUL WIFE. 21/ 
 
 match than could have been possibly hoped for an 
 entirely portionless girl in her position. Honoria 
 went on meditatively — 
 
 " Yes, he might have had me, and just think of 
 the difference ! Look at me, and look at Georgie ! 
 One would scarcely take us for sisters." 
 
 " Scarcely, indeed !" I assented, with a muffled 
 sigh. " Your ways are rather opposed to hers, 
 Honoria. For instance, site does not smoke !" 
 
 " No, poor little thing !" and Honoria threw 
 away the end of her cigarette and immediately 
 lit another. " She thinks it horrid." 
 
 "So do I," I said with marked emphasis — 
 " Honoria, so do / think it horrid !" 
 
 She glanced at me, smiling. 
 
 " I know you do," she cheerfully admitted ; 
 "you've said so often enough." She smoked a 
 little in silence, and then resumed, "Now look 
 here, Willie, Hsten to me! I've been thinking 
 over things lately, and I've come to the conclu- 
 sion that we must talk it out ! That's the term — 
 talk it out." 
 
 "Talk what out, Honoria?" I stammered ner- 
 vously. 
 
 " The marriage question," she replied. " There's 
 no doubt whatever that it has been, and that it is, a 
 ghastly mistake !" 
 
 " Our marriage a mistake, dear ?" I began 
 anxiously. " Surely you " 
 
 But she checked me with a slight gesture of her 
 hand. 
 
 " I don't wish to say that I think ours a greater 
 mistake than anybody else's," she went on. " Not 
 K 19 
 
2l8 MY WONDERFUL WIFE. 
 
 a bit of it. I think all marriages are mistakes — 
 the institution itself is a mistake." 
 
 I gazed at her blankly. My mind recoiled 
 upon itself and wandered drearily back through 
 long vistas of back numbers of the Daily Tele- 
 graph (that glorious and ever-to-be-praised journal 
 is everybody's discussion-ground), and there be- 
 held, set forth in large capitals, " Is Marriage a 
 Failure ?" attended by masses of correspondence 
 from strong-minded ladies and woeful-spirited 
 men. Was Honoria of the former class, as I most 
 assuredly was of the latter ? 
 
 "The institution of marriage is itself a mis- 
 take," repeated Honoria firmly. " It ties a man 
 to a woman, and a woman to a man, for the rest 
 of their mortal lives, regardless of future con- 
 sequences. And it doesn't work. The poor 
 wretches get tired of always trotting along cheek 
 by jowl in the same old road, and there's no way 
 of breaking loose unless one or the other elects 
 to become a scamp. There's not change enough. 
 Now, take us two, for example. You want a 
 change, and / want a change — that's plain !" 
 
 The time had come for me to speak my mind 
 out manfully, and I did so. 
 
 " I do want a change, Honoria," I said gently, 
 and with all the earnestness I felt, " but not the 
 sort of change you hint at. I want a change, not 
 away from you, my dear, but in you. I want to see 
 the womanly side of your nature — the gentleness, 
 softness and sweetness that are all in your heart, 
 I am sure, if you would only let these lovely 
 qualities have their way, instead of covering them 
 
MY WONDERFUL WIFE. 219 
 
 up under the cloak of an assumed masculine be- 
 haviour, which, as I have often said to you before, 
 is highly unbecoming to you, and distresses me 
 greatly. I suffer, Honoria, I really suffer, when 
 I see and hear you, my wife, aping the manners, 
 customs, and slang-parlance of men. It is surely 
 no disgrace to a woman to be womanly; her 
 weakness is stronger than all strength ; her mild- 
 ness checks anger and engenders peace. In her 
 right position, she is the saving-grace of men; 
 her virtues make them ashamed of their vices, 
 her simplicity disarms their cunning, her faith 
 and truth inspire them with the highest, noblest 
 good. Honoria, dear Honoria ! I know there are 
 many women now-a-days who act as you do, and 
 think no shame or harm of it — who hunt and fish 
 and shoot and smoke and play billiards, and who 
 are the declared comrades of men in all their 
 rough sports and pastimes — but, believe me, no 
 good can come of this throwing down of the 
 barriers between the sexes ; no advantage can 
 possibly accrue to a great nation like ours from 
 allowing the women to deliberately sacrifice their 
 delicacy and reserve, and the men to resign their 
 ancient code of chivalry and reverence! No, 
 Honoria, it is not in keeping with the law of na- 
 ture, and whatever is opposed to the law of nature 
 must in time be proved wrong. It will be a bad, 
 a woeful day for England when women as a class 
 assert themselves altogether as the equals of men 
 — for men, even at their best, have vile animal 
 passions, low desires, and vulgar vices that most 
 of them would be bitterly sorry to see reflected in 
 
220 MY WONDERFUL WIFE. 
 
 the women whom they instinctively wish to re- 
 spect. Believe me, dear, I speak from my heart ! 
 Give me a little of that self-abnegation which so 
 gloriously distinguishes your sex in times of 
 sickness and trouble ! Be a true woman, Honoria; 
 leave off smoking and betting, and let me find in 
 you the sweet wife I need to encourage and cheer 
 me on my way through the world ! You are 
 precious to me, Honoria; I want to see you at 
 your best — I want " 
 
 Here my voice failed me. I was sincerely 
 moved ; a foolish lump rose in my throat, and I 
 could not go on. Honoria, too, was serious. 
 She had listened with admirable patience, and 
 now, taking her cigarette from her lips, she flicked 
 the ash off" and looked at it reflectively. 
 
 " It's a bad job," she said at last with a short 
 sigh — "a regular bad job! I'm — I'm awfully 
 sorry for you, old boy !" 
 
 And she held out her hand to me with a sort of 
 manly candour that was simply indescribable. , I 
 clasped that hand, I kissed it, whereupon she 
 hastily withdrew it. 
 
 "Don't do that," she laughed. "It gives me 
 the creeps! Fact, really! can't bear it! Now 
 listen, Willie ! The case is as clear as daylight. 
 You've married the wrong sister !" 
 
 "Married the wrong sister!" I echoed bewil- 
 deredly. 
 
 "Of course you have, you dear old dunder- 
 head ! You should have taken Georgie while 
 you had the chance of a choice. She would have 
 sat on your knee, cuddled in your arms, curled 
 
MY WONDERFUL WIFE. 221 
 
 your hair with her fingers, and kissed you on 
 the tip of your nose! That's Georgie all over! 
 Turtle-dove and ' Mary's lamb' in one ! That's 
 what you wanted, and that's what you haven't 
 got, poor dear ! I'm not a dove, and I'm certainly 
 not a lamb. I'm — I'm a fair specimen" — she 
 smiled candidly — " a fair specimen of the woman 
 of the future, and you, old boy, you want a woman 
 of the past. Now haven't I hit it off exactly ?" 
 
 I leaned back in my chaiir with a half groan, 
 and she continued — 
 
 " You see, Willie, you want me to change my 
 nature and become a big transformation scene 
 like they have in those pantomimes, when the old 
 witch of the piece turns into a fairy perched on 
 the edge of a rainbow. Those things are all very 
 well on the stage, but they can't be done in real 
 life. You know I was at school at Brighton ?" 
 
 I assented, wondering what was coming next. 
 
 "Well, there, among other accomplishments, 
 we learnt how to ride, and our riding-master (a 
 dashing sort of fellow, full of fun) taught us how 
 to smoke, lessons gratis. Fact ! We all learnt it 
 — on the sly, of course, just as he flirted with us 
 all on the sly ; but we became proficients in both 
 arts. We were fifty girls at that place, and we all 
 smoked whenever we had the chance, and got to 
 like it. We ate loads of scented bonbons after- 
 wards to kill the smell, and we were never found 
 out. Brighton schools are not celebrated for 
 strictness, you know ; the young women do pretty 
 much as they like in every way, and get into no 
 end of scrapes often. But that's wide of the mark. 
 19* 
 
222 MY WONDERFUL WIFE. 
 
 The point is, that I learnt to smoke at school, and 
 when I came home I met lots of women who 
 smoked also, and naturally I went on with it till 
 the habit became second nature. Why, you might 
 as well ask a washerwoman to give up her tea as 
 ask me to give up my cigar !" 
 
 " Is it so bad as that ?" I stammered weakly. 
 
 " Yes, it is ' so bad as that' — or so good !" she 
 laughed amiably. " You used not to have such 
 violent prejudices, Willie ! You've smoked enough 
 yourself, I'm sure !" 
 
 " But, Honoria, / am different " I began. 
 
 " Pardon me," she interposed smilingly ; " that 
 is just what I cannot see ! I do not understand 
 why there should be any difference between the 
 customs of men and the customs of women." 
 
 " Good God !" I exclaimed, sitting bolt upright 
 and speaking with some excitement. " Do you 
 mean to say that women are capable of doing 
 everything that men do? Can you contemplate 
 a battle being fought by women? Could they 
 undertake a naval engagement? Are women fit 
 to lay down railways, build bridges and construct 
 canals ? Will they break stones on the road and 
 drive hansom-cabs and omnibuses? Will they 
 become stokers and porters ? Will they dig wells 
 and put up telegraph wires ? I tell you, Honoria, 
 this craze, this mania for striving to make women 
 the equals of men, is as wicked as it is unnatural, 
 and can engender nothing but misery to the nation 
 as well as to the individual !" 
 
 " In what rank, then, would you propose to 
 place woman," demanded Honoria calmly, " if 
 
MY WONDERFUL WIFE, 223 
 
 she is not (as / hold she is) the equal of man ? Is 
 she his inferior or superior ?" 
 
 " She is his inferior in physical strength," I 
 answered warmly ; " his inferior in brute force and 
 plodding power of endurance ; his inferior too in 
 consecutive far- planning and carrying out of plans ; 
 her brain is too quick, too subtle, too fine, to hold 
 much of the useful quality of that dogged and de- 
 termined patience which distinguishes so many of 
 our greatest inventors and explorers. But, Ho- 
 noria, she is (if she is true to herself) infinitely his 
 superior in delicate tact, sweet sympathy, grand 
 unselfishness and divinely-awful purity. I say 
 divinely-awful, because if she be indeed ' chaste 
 as ice and pure as snow,' though she may not 
 escape the calumny of the wicked, she commands 
 and retains the passionate reverence of men who 
 know the worst, side of the world well enough 
 to appreciate such angelic and queenly qualities. 
 Compared with man, woman is therefore his in- 
 ferior and superior both in one — a complex and 
 beautiful problem, a delicious riddle which the best 
 men never wish to have completely guessed ; they 
 prefer to leave something behind the veil — some- 
 thing mysterious and forever sanctified, and shut 
 out from the vulgar gaze of the curious crowd !" 
 
 Thus far I had proceeded in eloquence when 
 Honoria interrupted me. 
 
 "That sounds all very nice and pretty," she 
 said, " but to speak bluntly, it won't wash ! Don't 
 talk of your sex, my dear boy, as though they 
 were all romantic knights-errant of the olden time, 
 because they're not ! They're nasty fellows, most 
 
224 MY WONDERFUL WIFE. 
 
 of them, and if womea are nasty too, why, then 
 they help to make them so ! Look at them [ 
 Talk of smoke, why they're always smoking — 
 dirty pipes, too, full of beastly tobacco — cheap 
 tobacco ; and as for their admiration of all those 
 womanly qualities you describe, they don't care a 
 bit for them ! They'll run after a ballet-dancer 
 much more readily than they'll say a civil word 
 to a lady, and they'll crowd round a woman whose 
 name has been bandied about in a horrid divorce 
 case, and neglect the good girl who has never 
 made herself notorious." 
 
 " Not always," I interposed quickly, " You've 
 got an example in your own sister, and she is to 
 marry the Earl of Richmoor." 
 
 "True enough," and my wife rose from her 
 chair, shook her skirts, and flung away the last 
 fragment of her cigarette. " But he's an exception 
 — a very rare exception — to the rule. And all 
 the same, Willie, I can't change myself any more 
 than the leopard can change his spots, as the 
 Bible says. I'm a result of the age we live in, 
 and you don't quite like me !" 
 
 " I do like you, Honoria " I began ear- 
 nestly. 
 
 " No, you don't — not quite !" she insisted, her 
 eyes twinkling satirically. "And I promise you. 
 I'll think over the position very carefully and see 
 what I can do. Meanwhile, you needn't have the 
 boys any more if they're disagreeable to you." 
 
 " They're not disagreeable," I faltered ; " but — " 
 
 " Yes, I understand — want the house to your- 
 self. All right I I'll give them the straight tip ! 
 
MY WONDERFUL WIFE. 225 
 
 I can see them elsewhere, you know ; they're not 
 bound to come here often." 
 
 "Elsewhere?" I questioned in some bewilder- 
 ment. " Where, Honoria, if not here ?" 
 
 " Oh, all sorts of places," she answered laugh- 
 ingly. " On the river, at the Grosvenor, Hurling- 
 ham — heaps of old haunts we used to go to." 
 
 " But suppose I object, Honoria," I said with 
 warmth. "Suppose I do not approve of your 
 meeting the ' boys' at these different haunts, what 
 then ?" 
 
 " Oh, you won't be such an old goose," she 
 replied cheerfully. " You know there's no harm, 
 no real mean lowness about me, don't you ?" 
 
 Her clear eyes met mine straightly and truth- 
 fully as star-beams. 
 
 " Yes, I know, Honoria," I said gently but 
 seriously ; " I'm perfectly aware of your goodness 
 and honour, my dear — but there is such a thing 
 as gossip; and that you should go about at all 
 with these young men seems to me like a rash 
 laying of yourself open to society backbiting and 
 scandal." 
 
 " Not a bit of it," she averred. " Lots of women 
 do it — in fact, Vve not yet come across a married 
 woman who wants to set up for a prude in these 
 days ! And I couldn't drop the boys altogether, 
 you know — poor chaps, they'd feel it awfully! 
 Now don't be so down in the mouth, Willie. 
 Cheer up ! As I told you, I'm going to think 
 over the position and see what I can do for 
 you." 
 
 Just at that moment a wild screech from the 
 P 
 
226 MY WONDERFUL WIFE. 
 
 nursery announced more sufferings on the p^rt of 
 Master Hatwell-Tribkin. 
 
 "Doesn't he just yell!" remarked Honoria 
 serenely. " Lungs of seasoned leather he must 
 have ! Ta-ta !" 
 
 And with a light wave of her hand she left nie 
 to my own reflections, which were very far indeed 
 from being consolatory. What a strange difficulty 
 I was in ! There was not a tinge of wickedness, 
 not the least savour of deceit, about Honoria. 
 She was as honest and true as steel, and yet — yet 
 I was never more dismally conscious of anything 
 in my life than that the time was approaching when 
 I might find it no longer possible to endure her 
 company ! 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 The next day, having business in that particular 
 neighbourhood, I lunched at the Criterion. I had 
 scarcely sat down to my modest chop and potatoes 
 when two gentlemen entered and took the table just 
 behind me, and glancing round in a casual sort of 
 way I recognised in one of them the Earl of Rich- 
 moor. He was a good-looking fellow, with rather 
 a thoughtful yet kindly face, and a very " winning" 
 smile. I had only met him on one occasion at a 
 large " at home" given by Honoria's mother, and 
 it was not likely he would have any very distinct 
 recollection of me; so I kept my back carefully 
 turned, not wishing to obtrude myself upon his 
 
MY WONDERFUI. WIFE. 22/ 
 
 notice. Presently, however, something he was 
 saying to his friend attracted my attention. With 
 my knife and fork suspended in air I listened 
 anxiously. 
 
 " It's a thousand pities," he remarked. " She's a 
 handsome creature, wonderfully clever and spirited. 
 I was half inclined to fall in love with her myself 
 at one time, but, by Jove ! I wanted a woman, you 
 know, not a semi-man in petticoats !" 
 
 " She won't wear petticoats long, I should say," 
 returned the other man with a laugh. " If report 
 knows anything about her, she'll be in trousers 
 before she's many years older." 
 
 " Heaven forbid !" exclaimed Richmoor, and I 
 heard him pouring out wine into his glass. " If 
 
 she does, I shall have to cut her, though she is 
 Georgie's sister !" 
 
 Down clattered my knife and fork, and I drank 
 a large gulp of water to cool my feverish agita- 
 tion. It was my wife they were talking of! and 
 my ears tingled with shame and anger. My wife ! 
 My Honoria ! 
 
 " She's a good woman, you know," added Rich- 
 moor presently. " Never plays a double game — 
 couldn't be false if she tried. In fact her only 
 fault is that horrible masculinity of hers; she 
 thinks it's 'the thing,' unfortunately; she fancies 
 men admire it. Poor soul 1 if she only knew ! Of 
 course there are some young asses who like to see 
 women smoking and who encourage them to do 
 it, and a few despicable snobs who urge them to 
 shoot and go deer-stalking; but these sort of 
 gaby fellows are in the minority, after all. It's a 
 
228 MY WONDERFUL WIFE. 
 
 most pitiable thing to see otherwise nice women 
 wilfully going out of their natural sphere." 
 
 " It is — exceedingly so," agreed his friend ener- 
 getically. "I can't think why they do it; they 
 only get laughed at in the long run. That 
 woman Stirling, of Glen Ruach, helped to spoil 
 Honoria Maggs ; she's a regular cad. Have you 
 ever met her ?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Oh, she dresses as nearly like a man as is com- 
 patible with the present convenances ; cuts her hair 
 quite short, wears shirt-fronts and men's ties, 
 shoots, bags her game, goes after salmon (she 
 landed two the other day weighing twelve pounds 
 each), rides a tricycle, has a perfect mania for fox- 
 hunting (always in at the death), and smokes — ye 
 gods, how she does smoke ! She's got a regular 
 Turkish pipe in her boudoir, and is always at it." 
 
 " Disgusting !" said Richmoor. " Where's her 
 husband ?" 
 
 "Where?" and the other laughed. "Not with 
 her, you may depend upon it ! Couldn't stand her 
 for long ! He's in India, beating up tigers in the 
 jungle, I believe; most probably he thinks it 
 better to be torn to pieces by tigers than live with 
 such a wife." 
 
 "Talking of husbands, I wonder how poor 
 Hatwell-Tribkin gets on," said Richmoor medi- 
 tatively. " He must have an awful time of it, I 
 expect !" 
 
 I could stand this no longer. Rising abruptly 
 from my seat I seized my hat and umbrella and 
 grasped them convulsively in one hand; then. 
 
MY WONDERFUL WIFE. 229 
 
 approaching the next table, I forced a politely 
 awful smile and laid my visiting card solemnly 
 down beside Richmoor's plate without a word ! 
 
 He started violently and his face flushed deeply, 
 the colour spreading to the very roots of his hair. 
 
 " Tribkin !" he exclaimed. " My dear fellow, 
 
 I — I — I really Upon my word, I — I " 
 
 He broke off confused, and exchanged uneasy 
 glances with his friend. I watched his discomfort 
 keenly, in that special way that the snake, accord- 
 ing to novelists, watches the fascinated sparrow. 
 
 " I overheard your remarks, my lord," I said 
 in a sort of stage whisper, accentuated by much 
 stuttering severity. " I overheard — unintentionally 
 and with pain — ^your remarks concerning my — my 
 wife! I need scarcely say that they were not 
 agreeable to me. I consider — I most emphatically 
 consider, sir, that you owe me an apology !" 
 
 " My dear Tribkin," and the young man eagerly 
 extended his hand, " pray let me make it at once ! 
 I apologise most sincerely, most penitently. I am 
 awfully sorry, really! My friend here, Mr. Her- 
 bert Vaughan, is as sorry as I am, I'm sure, aren't 
 you, Vaughan ?" The gentleman appealed to, 
 who had been diligently sorting crumbs on the 
 table-cloth, looked up with a burning blush, bowed 
 low, and acquiesced. " It's very foolish to get 
 talking about — about people, you know ; one can 
 never be certain that they are not close at hand. 
 I hope you forgive me ! I really didn't mean " 
 
 Here I cut him short; he was evidently so 
 sincerely grieved and vexed that my anger cooled 
 down completely, and I pressed his proffered hand. 
 
230 MY WONDERFUL WIFE. 
 
 " That's enough," I said dismally, but gently too. 
 " I know people will talk, and I suppose Mrs. Trib- 
 kin" — here I brightened up a bit — " is handsome 
 enough and clever enough to be talked about !" 
 
 " Exactly," and the young earl looked im- 
 mensely relieved at this way of putting it. 
 "That's what Georgie always says. You know 
 I'm going to marry Georgie ?" 
 
 " I know," I replied, " and I congratulate you !" 
 
 " Thanks ! Now do have a glass of wine, won't 
 you? Here, waiter, bring another bottle of 
 Beaune." 
 
 I was half disposed to decline this invitation, 
 but he pressed me so cordially that I could not 
 very well refuse. I therefore sat down, and we 
 all, including the young gentleman named Vau- 
 ghan, conversed for some time on the subject of 
 Woman generally — woman judged from two points 
 of view, namely, the high and dignified position 
 which Nature evidently intended her to occupy, 
 and the exceedingly cheap and low level at which 
 she, in these modern days, seems inclined to place 
 herself. It may and it will no doubt surprise many 
 fair readers of these unpretending pages to learn 
 that, taken the majority of opinion held by the 
 best and bravest men of England (and by the best 
 and bravest I mean those who have their country's 
 good at heart, who revere their Queen, and who 
 have not yet trampled chivalry in the dust and 
 made a jest of honour), it will be found that they 
 are unanimous in wishing to keep sweet woman in 
 her proper sphere; a sphere, I may add, which 
 is by no means narrow, but, on the contrary, wide 
 
MY WONDERFUL WIFE. 23I 
 
 enough to admit all things gracious, becoming 
 and beautiful ; inspiring things both in art and 
 loftiest literature; things that tend to refine, but 
 not to degrade and vulgarize. Men have no sort 
 of objection to make when women, gifted with a 
 rare and subtle power of intellect, take to the 
 study of high philosophy and glorious science ; 
 if, like Mary Somerville, they can turn their bright 
 eyes undismayed on the giddy wonders of the 
 firmament and expound in musical phrase the 
 glittering riddles of astronomy, we hear them 
 with as much reverence and honour as though 
 they were wise angels speaking. If, like Elizabeth 
 Barrett, they pour from a full sweet heart such 
 poetry as is found in the " Sonnets from the Portij- 
 guese," we listen entranced and moved to the 
 lovely music that " Gentlier on the spirit lies, 
 Than tired eyelids upon tired eyes." Who does 
 not admire and revere the woman who wrote the 
 following exquisite lines which, with all their 
 passion, are still true womanly : 
 
 " How do I love thee ? Let me count the ways ; 
 I love thee to the depth and breadth and height 
 My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight 
 For the ends of Being and Ideal Grace ; 
 I love thee to the level of every day's 
 Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight; 
 I love thee freely, as men strive for Right, 
 I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise ; 
 I love thee with the passion put to use 
 In my-old griefs, and with my childhood's faith { 
 I love thee with a love I seemed to lose 
 With my lost saints — I love thee with the breath, 
 Smiles, tears of all my life ! — and, if God choose, 
 I shall but love thee better after death !" 
 
232 MY WONDERFUL WIFE. 
 
 In fine, we — I speak for the men — we do not want 
 to shut out woman from what she can becomingly 
 do without destroying the indefinable soft attrac- 
 tion of her womanhood. But when she wishes to 
 vulgarize herself; when instead of a queen she 
 elects to be a street scavenger or the driver of a 
 dust-cart, we object. We object for her sake quite 
 as much as for our own ; because we know what 
 the direful result of such a state of topsy-turvy- 
 dom must infallibly be. When women voluntarily 
 resign their position as the silent monitors and 
 models of grace and purity, down will go all the 
 pillars of society, and we shall scarcely differ in 
 our manners and customs from the nations we 
 call "barbaric," because as yet they have not 
 adopted Christ's exalted idea of the value and 
 sanctity of female influence on the higher develop- 
 ment of the human race. 
 
 But I am getting serious — too serious to be 
 borne with by the impatient readers of to-day. 
 All the same, we must be serious sometimes ; we 
 cannot always be grinning about like apes among 
 cocoa-nut trees. There's too much grinning now- 
 a-days — false grinning, I mean. We grin at our 
 friends, grin straight through the length and 
 breadth of an " at home," grin in church and out 
 of church, grin at scandals, grin at suicides, grin 
 at everything, everywhere. We might as well be 
 death's heads at once and have done with it. We 
 shall be some day; but I fancy we are rather 
 anticipating the pleasure ! 
 
 When I got home that evening I did not fail 
 to report to my wife the faithful account of my 
 
MY WONDERFUL WIFE. 233 
 
 meeting with the Earl of Richmoor and his friend 
 Mr. Vaughan, and what they had said, and what 
 / had said about her and about her sex generally. 
 She heard me with that admirable equanimity 
 which always distinguished her, but it made no 
 effect upon her. 
 
 " Richmoor's a prig," she said curtly. " He 
 always was, you know. One of those dreadfully 
 stuck-up, blue-blood, long-lineage fellows. Bobbie 
 is nothing to him." ("Bobbie" was the "boy" 
 with the moustaches ; scrape his gills and cook 
 him for dinner, I mused dreamily.) " And so you 
 said I was handsome and clever enough to be 
 talked about, did you ?" 
 
 " I did." 
 
 " Well now, old boy, that was awfully nice of 
 you," and she gave me a bright smile. " Hus- 
 bands are not always so complimentary behind 
 their wives' backs. You deserve a reward, and 
 I'm going to give it to you ! You shall get rid 
 of me for a whole six weeks : there !" 
 
 " Get rid of you, Honoria ?" I faltered amazed. 
 " What do you " 
 
 " Look here," she went on rapidly, " I've ar- 
 ranged it all. Mother will take baby — she's quite 
 agreeable — and you can shut up the house and 
 go where you like and do what you like, and have 
 a real jolly good time. / sha'n't ask what you've 
 been up to ! This is the fourth of August ; well, 
 say we meet again here about the twentieth of 
 September, or later if you like ; that'll give us a 
 good long swing apart." 
 
 " But, Honoria," I exclaimed in utter bewilder- 
 
234 MY WONDERFUL WIFE. 
 
 ment, "what do you mean? Where are you 
 going ? What do you propose to do ?" 
 
 " Shoot," she replied promptly. " I'm booked to 
 Trottie Stirling for the Twelfth, and mean to bag 
 more game than any of the male duffers she's 
 asked down to Glen Ruach this season. She's 
 invited you ! — Poor dear ! it would never suit yoii 
 to see me blazing away over the heather and 
 tramping across the moors in leggings; but it's 
 awful fun though !" 
 
 " No, you are right ! It would not suit me !" I 
 vociferated, giving way to the wrath I could no 
 longer restrain. "It would not, and it wUl not 
 suit me ! Honoria, I am master in my own 
 house; you are my wife, and I expect you to 
 obey me. I have never exacted my right of obe- 
 dience from you till now, Honoria; but now, now 
 I do exact it ! You will not go to this horrible 
 woman at Glen Ruach (wretch ! she ought to be 
 ashamed of herself), you will not, Honoria ! You 
 will remain with me and the child, as it is your 
 duty to do. I will not permit you to indulge in 
 these unladylike sports any longer ; you will be- 
 come the laughing-stock of the town and make 
 me a laughing-stock too ! And no wonder ; no 
 man with any spirit would allow you to make such 
 a fool of yourself — yes, a fool, Honoria, whether 
 you like the expression or not ; you micst look a 
 fool with a gun in your hand, ' blazing away,' as 
 you call it ; and in leggings too — good God !" 
 
 And I laughed bitterly, and flung myself into 
 a chair, trembling with excitement. She surveyed 
 me quite coolly, showing no sign of temper. 
 
MY WONDERFUL WIFE. 235 
 
 " Thanks !" she said. " Thanks awfully ! You 
 are polite, upon my word! You don't want a 
 six-penny handbook on etiquette, evidently ! But 
 you're old-fashioned, Willie— frightfully old-fash- 
 ioned! Behind the time altogether — miles and 
 miles behind! You don't suppose I'm going to 
 disappoint all my ' set' down at Glen Ruach just 
 to gratify your middle-ages prejudices, do you? 
 Not a bit of it! I advise you to run across 
 Channel for a while^ — take the waters at Hom- 
 burg or something — you'll feel twenty per cent, 
 better afterwards. I've arranged to leave here on 
 the tenth, so you can make your plans accordingly." 
 
 She was imperturbable, and I flared round upon 
 her once more. 
 
 " Honoria, I shall speak to your mother !" 
 
 " What for ?" she calmly enquired. 
 
 " I shall tell her of your unwomanly — ^your 
 unwifely — your impossible conduct !" 
 
 " Good gracious ! That will be funny ! Poor 
 old Mammy ! She knows all about me, and so 
 did fou know all about me before you married me 
 — what in the world are you grumbling at ?" 
 
 " I did not know," I gasped, wrenching my 
 handkerchief round and round in my hand as a 
 sort of physical relief to my feelings. " I did not 
 know you went to — to such lengths, Honoria !" 
 
 "As the leggings?" she demanded. "Well, 
 they are long, there's no doubt about that !" 
 
 And with a ringing burst of laughter she left 
 me — left me to consume myself in as silent and 
 impotent a fury as ever racked a long-enduring 
 spirit of married man ! 
 
236 MY WONDERFUL WIFE. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 I KEPT my word. I did speak to Honoria's 
 mother, and a very dreary conversation we had 
 of it. Mrs. Maggs was a thin, sheep-faced, flabby 
 old lady, who impressed people at first sight as 
 being " so sweet !" on account of the feebly-smiling 
 chronic amiability of her expression; but those 
 who came to know her well, as I did, grew rapidly 
 sick of her smile, and passionately yearned to 
 shake her into some semblance of actual vivacity. 
 She was the most helpless, tame old woman I 
 ever met with, watery blue eyes, and tremulous 
 hands that were for ever busy smoothing down 
 the folds of her black silk dress, or settling the 
 lace she always wore about her shoulders, or 
 playing with the loosely-flying strings of her cap. 
 Those hands used to worry me — they were never 
 still. When she made tea (which she did fre- 
 quently and always badly) they hovered above 
 the tray like bleached birds' claws, shaking over 
 the sugar and wobbling about with the cream-jug, 
 till any enjoyment of the " cup that cheers" be- 
 came impossible to me. I spoke to her, however, 
 because I had threatened Honoria I would do so 
 (and it is very foolish to threaten and not per- 
 form — even children find that out and despise you 
 for it). I called on her for the express purpose of 
 speaking to her, as I explained in a note marked 
 " Confidential" which I sent round to her house 
 
MY WONDERFUL WIFE. 237 
 
 (three squares off from us) by my man-servant. 
 Time was going on, and Honoria was going on 
 too, or rather she was going off. Her portman- 
 teau was packed and labelled for Scotland; her 
 gun-case and sporting equipments stood prepared 
 in the hall; she herself had been absent from 
 home for three or four days, staying with a Mrs. 
 Netcalf on the river — a place quite close to the 
 spot where " Bobbie" with the moustaches had 
 got his "little house-boat" moored. She had 
 written to me briefly explaining that they were all 
 having a " high old time," and asking me (for mere 
 form's sake, of course) whether I would not leave 
 my "prejudices" behind and join them? To this 
 letter, which I thought impertinent, considering 
 the seething state of our domestic affairs, I vouch- 
 safed no reply ; my mind was too full of my own 
 increasing grievances. The baby — my helpless 
 son — had already been packed off to his grand- 
 mother's, nurses and all. He was sent away 
 during one of my daily absences in the city, and 
 a nice row we had about him, poor innocent, when 
 his screams no longer cheered the silence of our 
 dwelling. I learned then that Honoria, after all, 
 had a temper ; not precisely the sort of temper we 
 generally credit woman with, which may be de- 
 scribed as a swift summer hurricane — eyes flashing 
 lightning and pouring tears at once, followed by 
 brilliant sunshine. No ! Honoria's temper merely 
 developed itself into a remarkable facility for say- 
 ing very nasty and sarcastic things — things that 
 riled a fellow horribly and rubbed him up entirely 
 the wrong way. Witty, cold-blooded, "smart" 
 
238 MY WONDERFUL WIFE. 
 
 remarks she threw at me • epigrammatic sentences 
 that were about as clever as they could well be — 
 and I knew they were clever, and was all the more 
 hurt by them. Because, as far as her intelligence 
 went, she was (I must really repeat it) a wonderful 
 woman — simply wonderful ! She leaped across 
 country, metaphorically speaking, and seized a 
 galloping idea by the mane, as though it were a 
 horse, while others were peeping doubtfully at it 
 under cover and round the corner — that was her 
 way of mastering information. Men can't dp that 
 sort of thing ; they have to coax knowledge into 
 their slow brains by degrees; clever women ab- 
 sorb it like sponges, without any apparent trouble. 
 So that we had once or twice what I should freely 
 describe as a devil of a row. / got red in the 
 face, and she never changed colour — / swore, and 
 she dropped me a mocking curtsey — / held on to 
 a chair to save myself from getting lifted bodily 
 off the ground by the honest warmth of my in- 
 dignation, and she lounged on a sofa, smoked, and 
 grinned at me. Yes! 1 say grinned! I would no 
 longer call that white glistening tooth-display of 
 hers a smile ; it had a cold and snarly look that I 
 could not conscientiously admire. And yet I was 
 fond of her too, and I knew she was a good 
 woman — none better, so far as honesty and 
 straight principles were concerned. And thus it 
 was that, torn by conflicting emotions, fagged and 
 worn out by the constant fret of my own domes- 
 tic wretchedness, I determined to appeal to Mrs, 
 Maggs, though I instinctively felt, before I made 
 the attempt, that it was an act of mere despera- 
 
MY WONDERFUL WIFE. 239 
 
 ticm, and that it would result in no sort of advan^- 
 tage or help to me in the unfortunate position I 
 occupied. 
 
 The old lady was in a more than usually ner- 
 vous state when I arrived, and came fluttering to 
 meet me at the drawing-room door with that 
 anxious propitiatory smile I abhorred, more pro- 
 nounced than ever. 
 
 " My dear William !" she murmured, her hands 
 waving about me like the hands of a very stagey 
 mesmerist. "It is so nice of you to come and 
 see me, so very nice and kind of you !" Here she 
 caught her breath and sighed. She was fond of 
 doing that — her pet idea was that she had heart- 
 disease. " Dear baby is doing so well, and is quite 
 happy upstairs! Georgie goes and sits on the 
 floor and lets him play with her back hair, and he 
 does tear it so" — her pale eyes watered visibly at 
 this- — " I tell her she'll have none left on her scalp 
 to be married with. Dear girl! You've heard 
 about Richmoor? Yes, such a brilliant match, 
 and he's such a nice man ; not very communicative, 
 but very gentlemanly. And he plays with baby 
 too ; isn't it pretty of him ? He goes upstairs with 
 Georgie constantly, and I hear them laughing 
 together, dear things ! It is so nice of him, you 
 know, being a man, to like stopping up in the 
 nursery, which must be dull — no newspapers or 
 anything — and he can't smoke, or he won't, on 
 account of Georgie's being there ; he's very par- 
 ticular about that sort of thing; besides smoke 
 would be bad for baby's eyes." Here she stopped 
 for breath again, pressing her hand on her side. 
 
240 MY WONDERFUL WIFE. 
 
 4 
 
 while I gazed at her and forced a politely-soothing 
 smile. (I was obliged to smile, because she 
 thought everybody who didn't smile at her was 
 cross or ill, and I did not wish to pose as either 
 one or the other.) " Yes, baby is quite a boon," 
 she went on in plaintively cheerful tones. "A 
 positive boon ! keeps everybody employed, and is 
 such a darling ! I'm so glad you'll let us take 
 care of him while Honoria is away." 
 
 " It is just about Honoria that I came to speak 
 to you," I said, clearing my throat and edging past 
 those ghostly fingers of hers that seemed to give 
 me Honoria's favourite malady, "the creeps." 
 " I am sorry to say we've had a little differ- 
 ence " 
 
 " Oh, dear !" faltered Mrs. Maggs, gliding ner- 
 vously to the tea-tray, which stood ready as usual, 
 and beginning to make a feeble noise with the 
 cups and saucers, " Oh, dear me, William ! don't 
 say so I One cannot have all sunshine, you know, 
 dear William, in one's married life. I'm sure 
 when Mr. Maggs was alive — ah ! it seems only 
 the other day he died, poor darling ! (Lord bless 
 the woman, he had been mouldering in his grave 
 for eighteen years !) — we used often to have a little 
 quarrel about things, especially about blue ties ! 
 I never could bear blue neckties, and he always 
 would wear one on Sundays ! It was really very 
 tiresome, because we used to find the Sundays so 
 disagreeable, you know — so — so unchristian ! Of 
 course it was my fault as much as it was his ; both 
 were to blame, and that is the way always with 
 married people, dear William ; both are to blame, 
 
MY WONDERFUL WIFE, 24I 
 
 it is never all on one side — it can't be — you must 
 bear and forbear " 
 
 Here she let fall the sugar-tongs with a clatter, 
 and trailed off into unintelligible nothings. 
 
 " Yes, I know — I know all about that," I said, 
 making a desperate effort to be patient with this 
 trembling, pale jelly of a woman, who always 
 seemed on the point of dissolving into tears. " But 
 the present matter is very serious, and it is be- 
 coming more and more serious every day. You 
 see, when a man marries he wants a home " 
 
 " Oh, my dear William, I'm sure you've got a 
 home," moaned Mrs. Maggs, turning her weak 
 eyes reproachfully upon me. " You can't say you 
 haven't — you really carit, William ! A beautiful 
 home ! Why, the carpets alone in it cost a small 
 fortune, and as for the drawing-room curtains, 
 they're good enough to make court-trains of — they 
 positively are, William ! Every bit pure silk, and 
 all the flower-pattern raised ! I can't imagine 
 what you can want better ! And I remember 
 when that overmantel was bought at Salviati's, all 
 Venetian glass ! I couldn't sleep a wink for nights 
 and nights, thinking of it, and I went myself to 
 see the men put it up, for I was so afraid they 
 would break it, and it was so expensive ! Why, 
 you've got lovely things everywhere, William, and 
 how can you say you want a home ?" 
 
 By this time I was beginning to lose my equa- 
 nimity. 
 
 " Dear me, madam," I snapped out testily, " you 
 surely don't suppose it's the furniture that makes 
 a home, do you ! The drawing-room curtains 
 L ? 21 
 
242 MY WONDERFUL WIFE. 
 
 won't cure me of misery; the Venetian mirror 
 won't help me out of a difificulty !" My voice 
 rose agitatedly. " I can't exist on the tables and 
 chairs, can I ? I can't make a friend and confidant 
 of the carpet ! I repeat, that when a man marries, 
 he wants a home; and when I married your 
 daughter Honoria, /wanted a home, and I haven't 
 got it !" 
 
 " You haven't got it, William ?" stammered 
 Mrs. Maggs, approaching me, with a cup of that 
 weak, over-sweetened tea she always made in her 
 shaking hand. " You haven't got it, dear ? Why, 
 how is it that Honoria " 
 
 I motioned the tea away with a tragic gesture, 
 and my pent-up passion burst forth. 
 
 " Honoria is not a woman !" I exclaimed wildly 
 — " not a whole woman by any means ! She is 
 half a man ! She is a mistake ; she is a freak of 
 nature" — here I broke into a delirious laugh. 
 " She should be exhibited as an eccentricity in 
 some museum !" 
 
 This time I had achieved a feat not common to 
 man — I had scared my mother-in-law ! The poor 
 feeble thing tottered back to the tea-tray and set 
 down the cup I had just rejected; then nervously 
 drawing her lace scarf round her shoulders, she 
 quavered — 
 
 "Don't, William, don't. Oh! don't be so — 
 so dreadful! You frighten me ! You don't know 
 what you say, William, you really don't. You've 
 been taking something in the city, haven't you ? 
 There now, don't be offended, William ! Will you 
 have some soda water ?" 
 
MY WONDERFUL WIFK. 243 
 
 I have said there were times when those who 
 knew Mrs. Maggs well, yearned to shake her. 
 One of those times had come now. It was with 
 the greatest difficulty that I refrained from poun- 
 cing on her frail form and rendering her suddenly 
 breathless. But I controlled myself; I made a 
 desperate effort to be calm, and succeeded in 
 merely surveying her with a proper manly scorn. 
 
 " You are very like your daughter in some 
 respects," I said. "When you see a fellow as 
 wretched as he can be, suffering mental tortures 
 more acutely than he can describe, you think him 
 drunk 1 Very sympathetic, I'm sure !" 
 
 She smoothed her grey hair tremulously and 
 produced her chronic smile. 
 
 " I'm sorry you are suffering, William, very 
 sorry ; but you needn't be so rough, dear ! Tell 
 me what's the matter. Has Honoria been flirting 
 with Bobbie ?" 
 
 " No," I answered proudly. " That is one thing 
 I cannot accuse her of; she does not flirt. She 
 has — I will say that for her — too great a sense of 
 honour. She is guiltless of all feminine coquetries 
 and petty vanities. She puts on no airs, and 
 though she's handsome, she's not a bit conceited. 
 She's good and honest — but — but she should 
 never have married ; she's not fit for it !' 
 
 " Not fit for it," whimpered Mrs. Maggs. " Oh, 
 William ! how cruel you are ! Not fit for it ! 
 How can you say so ?" 
 
 " I can say so because I've proved so," I replied 
 bluntly. " I repeat — she's not fit for it. She 
 should have lived in the world apart, alone, and 
 
244 MY WONDERFUL WIFE. 
 
 worn her no-sex as best she could. She would 
 have no doubt worn it admirably ! As a wife she's 
 out of her element ; as a mother she's still further 
 out of her element. A smoking, betting, crack 
 shot is scarcely the person to undertake the com- 
 monplace care of an infant ; a notable female deer- 
 stalker is not precisely suited to the degradation 
 (and I emphasised the word bitterly) of marriage. 
 In fact, it is because I feel the position of affairs 
 as so extremely serious — serious even to the 
 degree of possible mutual separation — that I have 
 come to you, Mrs. Maggs, to ask you to speak to 
 Honoria quietly, to reason with her, and point out 
 how little her behaviour conduces to my happiness, 
 and also how much she exposes herself to the 
 ridicule and slanderous judgment of those who do 
 not understand her as well as you and I do. A 
 mother's arguments may win the day where those 
 of a husband fail." 
 
 I had spoken with so much gravity that my 
 mother-in-law's eyes now watered in real earnest, 
 and she pulled out a filmy bit of a lace handker- 
 chief and wiped away the tears effusively. 
 
 " It's no use, William," she snivelled weakly ; 
 " no use whatever my speaking to Honoria ! She 
 wouldn't listen to me for a minute; she never 
 would when she was a child, and now she is 
 married she'd only tell me I had no business to 
 interfere. I used to say I thought it was very 
 wrong for her to smoke and go shooting with that 
 Mrs. Stirling — really a very vulgar woman — but 
 she only laughed at me. She's got a great way 
 of laughing at everything, has Honoria. But 
 
MV WONDERFUL WIFE. 245 
 
 she's very clever, William ; you know she is ! 
 Professor Muddlecums, who was here the other 
 evening, said that she was simply the most wonder- 
 ful woman he ever met ! Such a grasp of things, 
 and such a memory ! You mustn't mind, William, 
 you really mustn't mind her smoking, and all that. 
 I don't believe she could do without it ; you know 
 some of the papers say it's very soothing to the 
 nerves. Don't you like smoking, dear ?" 
 
 " I used to like it," I answered gloomily. " I 
 don't now ; Honoria has sickened me of it !" 
 
 " Dear, dear, that is a pity," and Mrs. Maggs's 
 hovering hands went to work again in the usual 
 style. " But perhaps you'll take to it again after 
 a bit. Anyway, don't ask me to speak to Hono- 
 ria, William ! I couldn't, you know ! My heart 
 is very weak, and I should be almost dead with 
 nervousness. You must arrange your little mat- 
 rimonial differences" — chronic smile once more — 
 " between you ; it never does any • good to inter- 
 fere. What! are you going?" For I had risen 
 dispiritedly and was now making my weary way 
 towards the door. " Won't you see baby before 
 you go ? He is such a dear darling, do see him !" 
 
 I hesitated, but there was a certain parental 
 tugging at my heart-strings. After all, he was my 
 child, and I wanted him to know me a little. 
 
 " Yes, I'll see him," I said briefly. 
 
 Whereupon Mrs. Maggs became mildly fluttered 
 and pleased, and, opening the drawing-room door, 
 she called up the stairs — 
 
 " Georgie ! Georgie !" 
 
 " Yes," answered a clear girlish voice. 
 
 21* 
 
24© MY WONDERFUL WIFE. 
 
 " Bring baby down ; William's here, and wants 
 to see him." 
 
 Another couple of minutes, and Georgia entered, 
 carrying my young hopeful in her arms, clean and 
 fresh as a rose, not screaming, not angry, as was his 
 wont, but with a fat smile puckering up his small 
 features into countless little wrinkles, and a fear- 
 less confidence shining in his round, big, honest 
 blue eyes. The child was evidently perfectly 
 happy, and I knew at once who had made him so. 
 
 " Thank you, Georgie," I said simply, as I shook 
 hands with her. 
 
 " For what ?" she asked, laughing. 
 
 " For taking such care of him." 
 
 " Nonsense !" And she set her burden down on 
 the hearth-rug, where he immediately pulled off 
 his woollen shoe and began eating it. " He wants 
 scarcely any care, he's so good. Do you know I 
 don't think we need more than one nurse; would 
 you mind if we sent away the other ?" 
 
 " Not at all." I replied. " Do as you like." 
 
 She seated herself in a chair and looked at her 
 mother, smiling. 
 
 " Give me some tea, mammy dear," she said. 
 " Haven't you had any, William ?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Have some now, and keep me company," and, 
 springing up, she peered doubtfully into the fresh 
 cup Mrs. Maggs poured out, then shook her head 
 in playful remonstrance. 
 
 "Too weak, mammy; William likes it rather 
 strong. May I put some more tea in the pot ?" 
 
 "I'm sure Georgie," began her mother plain- 
 
MY WONDERFUL WIFE. 247 
 
 tively, " there's plenty in, only it doesn't seem to 
 draw properly. I don't know how it is, the tea 
 isn't half so good now it gets advertised on the 
 walls so much ; in my young days it was a 
 luxury !" 
 
 "Yes, mother," laughed Georgie, who during 
 this feeble chatter had been quietly manipulating 
 the teapot, and now handed me a delicious cup, 
 aromatic in odour and tempting to look at, " and 
 now it's a positive necessity ! All the worse, say 
 the wise men, for us and our poor nerves. Oh, 
 baby !" This as Master Tribkin uttered a sound 
 something between a chuckle and a coo, expres- 
 sive of his ecstasy at having found on the carpet 
 a large tin-tack which he was laboriously striving 
 to put in his eye. " Oh, what an ugly thing for 
 baby to play with ! Auntie doesn't like it. See !" 
 and she made the most comical little face of dis- 
 gust and threw the objectionable nail out of the 
 window ; whereupon my infant became imitatively 
 disgusted also, and in turn made eloquent signs 
 of deep repulsion for the vanished thing he had 
 lately deemed a treasure; signs which were so 
 excessively flabby and funny that Georgie laughed, 
 and I, catching the infection from her, laughed 
 also, heartily, and a trifle nervously too, for there 
 was something very queer about my feelings just 
 then. I tell you, let the "practical" period say 
 what it will, a man has a heart ; he is not a mere 
 machine of wood and iron ; and I was conscious 
 of a soft and sudden sense of rest in Georgie's 
 presence — little Georgie, whom I once had scarcely 
 noticed, the " scrub of a woman" looking just now 
 
24$ MY WONDERFUL WIFE. 
 
 the very picture of sweet maidenhood and modesty 
 in her pretty white cotton gown, with a " fetching" 
 little bunch of pansies and mignonette carelessly 
 slipped into her waistband. I drank my tea in 
 slow sips and surveyed her, while Mrs. Maggs 
 sank languidly down in an arm-chair and heaved 
 her heart-disease sigh. 
 
 " William is vexed," she began, glancing at me 
 with a gently distrustful melancholy. " Georgie, 
 William is vexed about Honoria." 
 
 " Yes ?" and Georgie looked up quickly. " You 
 do not want her to go to Mrs. Stirling's, I sup- 
 pose ?" 
 
 " No, I do not" I said emphatically. " Georgie, 
 I'm SMxe you can understand " 
 
 Georgie nodded. " Yes, I understand," she re-^ 
 plied instantly. " But I'm afraid it's no use arguing 
 about it, William. She will go ; nothing will dis^ 
 suade her. I've spoken to her about it," 
 
 " You have ? That was kind of you," I said. 
 Then, after a pause I added, " You always were 
 a kind little soul, Georgie. Richmoor's a lucky 
 man !" 
 
 She smiled, and a warm blush swept over her 
 cheeks. 
 
 "I'm lucky too," she answered softly. "You 
 can't imagine, Williani, what a nice fellow he is !" 
 
 " I'm sure of that " I hesitated, then went 
 
 on desperately, "So you think it's best to let 
 Honoria have her own way then this time, 
 Georgie ?" 
 
 "I'm afraid so," and she looked at me very 
 sympathetically. " You see when she's away she 
 
MY WONDERFUL WIFE. 249 
 
 may take a better view of things — she may even 
 get tired of all those vulgar sporting men and 
 women, and begin to long for home, and — and for 
 you, and the baby — and that would be such a good 
 thing, you know !" 
 
 " Yes, it would," I answered despondently, " if 
 it ever happened ; but it woiit happen !" 
 
 "Wait and see," said Georgie confidently. 
 "Honoria's got a good heart after all; she can 
 be very sweet if she likes, and if you don't thwart 
 her just now she may completely alter her ideas. 
 I think it's quite possible — it would be natural — 
 for she's certain to give up sporting and hunting 
 some day ; it carit last " 
 
 " Can't last ? Of course it can't last I" declared 
 Mrs. Maggs, unclosing her eyes, which had been 
 shut till now in placid resignation. " No woman can 
 go on shooting for ever, William dear ; why, she'll 
 get old, you know, and she'll want to be quiet !" 
 
 " And I must wait till she gets old, I suppose ; 
 that's what you mean to imply?" I said with a 
 haggard attempt at smiling. " All right ; but age 
 will not cure her of smoking, I fear! However, 
 I won't bore you any more with my worries. 
 Good-bye, Georgie !" 
 
 " Good-bye !" and she held out her hand ; then, 
 as I took it, she whispered, " I'm so sorry about it 
 all, William — so sorry, I mean, for you" 
 
 " I know you are," I answered in the same 
 low tone, and I pressed her kindly-clinging little 
 fingers. " Never mind ; every one has got 
 troubles ; why should I be an exception ? Good- 
 bye, youngster 1" 
 
250 MY WONDERFUL WIFE. 
 
 This to my small son, who was now busy 
 dragging all the music out of the music-stand in 
 a cheerfully absorbed silence, " I suppose he'd 
 scream if I took him up ?" 
 
 "Oh, no," said Georgie; "he's not a bit shy; 
 try him !" 
 
 Whereupon I lifted him gingerly in my arms, 
 and he stared at me with deliberate and inquisi- 
 torial sternness. Suddenly, however, he burst 
 into a wild war-whoop of delight, and patted my 
 cheeks violently and condescendingly ; and when 
 I set him down again he was convulsed with 
 laughter. I don't know why, I'm sure. I cannot 
 pretend to enter into an infant's sense of humour. 
 I only realised that he was a very good-natured 
 baby, and that his good-nature had never been 
 apparent under the maternal roof. Mrs. Maggs 
 bade me farewell very effusively. 
 
 " Do come and sit with us, dear William, in the 
 evening whenever you feel lonely," she entreated 
 mournfully; " and perhaps you can arrange to come 
 down to Cromer with us also. We are going there 
 for a little change of air ; it will do baby so much 
 good. We shall be quite pleased to have you, you 
 know. Indeed, it is to be expected you will want 
 to see your own baby sometimes, especially when 
 you cannot see your own wife ! You will come, 
 won't you, William ?" 
 
 I said I would think of it, and with a few more 
 hurried words I departed. No good had come of 
 my visit there I thought, as I shut the street door 
 behind me ; no good whatever, except the sight of 
 Georgie. She was a refreshing glimpse of woman- 
 
MY WONDERFUL WIFE. 2$ I 
 
 hood at any rate, and I dwelt on her pretty image 
 in my mind with pleasure. I reached my own 
 house and let myself in as usual with the latch- 
 key ; the place had a vacant and deserted air ; the 
 rooms smelt of stale tobacco, and a sense of de- 
 spondency, loss, and failure crept over me as I 
 stood for a moment looking in at the semi-dark- 
 ened library, where I had passed so many solitary 
 evenings. It was no good stopping at home I de- 
 cided ; the very word " home" was a mockery to 
 one in my position. I therefore did what every 
 man does who finds his wife UKwifely and his 
 domestic surroundings uncomfortable ; went down 
 to my club to dinner, and returned no more till I 
 returned to bed. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 August was past and gone. September was 
 drawing near its close; my wife had won fresh 
 distinction as a sportswoman of the highest rank 
 down at Glen Ruach, and I had spent a very quiet 
 holiday at Cromer with Mrs. Maggs and all her 
 family (seven boys and girls, without counting 
 Honoria), passing the time in making friends with 
 my own infant son. And now the summer vaca- 
 tion was over ; people were returning to town in 
 straggling batches, and I returned amongst others. 
 My wife had written to me now and then, chiefly 
 on post-cards, and I had replied by the same cheap 
 and convenient method of correspondence, which 
 
252 MY WONDERFUL WIFE. 
 
 leaves no room for romance. She was not ro- 
 mantic, and if / had a vein of sentiment any- 
 where in my composition, I was determined not 
 to make a display of it to her again. She was 
 coming home; she had announced her intention 
 of arriving on a particular evening which she 
 named, and she had requested me not to bother 
 about meeting her at the station. So I didn't 
 bother about it. Georgia had been busy at our 
 house — Mrs. Maggs also ; preparing it and putting 
 it in order for the return of its mistress, and all 
 was in readiness — all except the baby, who still 
 remained with his young aunts and uncles and 
 grandmother. The time fixed upon had come, 
 and I sat at the library window looking out on 
 the square and awaiting my wife's arrival. I had 
 made up my mind to welcome her as an affec- 
 tionate husband should ; I had resolved that we 
 would talk about our differences in a quiet and 
 perfectly amicable manner, and that if she could 
 not or would not resign her mannish habits out 
 of love or respect for me, why, then I would in all 
 gentleness suggest a mutually-agreed-upon separa- 
 tion. I hoped it would not come to this ; but I 
 was positively determined I would stand her mas- 
 culine behaviour no longer. It had sickened me 
 to the soul to read the various accounts of her 
 that appeared from time to time in the " Society" 
 papers. I had longed to thrash the insolent little 
 paragraphists who wrote of her as the "Amazonian 
 Mrs. Hatwell-Tribkin," "the stalwart Mrs. Hatwell- 
 Tribkin," et cetera, especially when they finished 
 off their descriptions with satirical exclamations, 
 
MY WONDERFUL WIFE. 253 
 
 such as " Bravo, Honoria !" or " Well done for 
 Mrs. H.-T. 1" I had felt every drop of blood in 
 my body tingle with vexation whenever I saw her 
 name bandied about in company with all the the- 
 atrical and " fast" notorieties of the day, but how 
 could I complain ? She had laid herself open to 
 it ; her conduct invited it, and if her gowns were 
 described, and her good looks discussed and her 
 "points" criticised as though she were some fine 
 mare for sale at Tattersall's, it was her fault — it 
 was certainly not mine. I was tired of the whole 
 business, and I had firmly and finally resolved 
 that I would not consent to be known merely as 
 the matrimonial appendage of Mrs. Hatwell-Trib- 
 kin. I would have a distinct personality of my 
 own. There are too many weak, good-natured 
 husbands about in society, who, rather than have 
 continual rows with their wives, consent to be 
 overshadowed and put to shame by their feminine 
 arrogance and assumption of superiority. I tell 
 these wretched beings once for all that they are 
 making a woeful mistake. Let them assert them- 
 selves, no matter with how much difficulty and un- 
 pleasantness, and it will be better for them in the 
 long run. The world will never blame any fellow 
 for steadily refusing to live with a woman who, in 
 mind and character, is more than half a man. 
 
 I waited, as I said, at the library window — 
 waited and watched for Honoria's return, glancing 
 from time to time at the evening papers and listen- 
 ing intently to every distant sound of cab wheels. 
 At last I saw a hansom (one of those dangerously 
 silent things, with tinkling bells which scarcely 
 
254 MY WONDERFUL WIFE. 
 
 suffice to warn aside the unwary foot passenger) 
 whirl round the comer of the square, with the 
 well-known gun-case and portmanteau on top ; in 
 one minute it had stopped at the door ; in another 
 Honoria was out of it and in the hall. 
 
 " How do ?" she exclaimed loudly as I went 
 forth to greet her. (Naturally, I made no foolish 
 attempt to kiss her.) " You look fairly fit ! H6re, 
 Simmons !" — this to the man-servant — " take all 
 my traps out and send them upstairs — half-a-crown 
 fare — here you are !" 
 
 And she tossed him the coin and marched into 
 the library with a firm, rather heavy tread, I follow- 
 ing her in a deeply hurt and vexed silence, for I 
 noticed at the first glance that she had cut her hair 
 quite short. All those beautiful bright nut-brown 
 tresses I had admired when I courted her were 
 gone, and I had some ado to speak with any sort 
 of gentleness. 
 
 " I see you have cut your hair, Honoria," I said, 
 looking at her as she stood before me, tall and 
 commanding as a grenadier guard, clad in her 
 buttoned tweed ulster and deer-stalking cap. " I 
 think you've spoilt yourself" 
 
 " Do you ? I don't !" she retorted, taking off the 
 cap and displaying a mass of short boy's curls all 
 over her head. " It's ever so much cooler, and 
 ever so much less troublesome. Excuse me, don't 
 be shocked !" 
 
 And unfastening her ulster, she threw it off] 
 Great heavens ! what — what extraordinary sort 
 of clothes had she got into ! I mistrusted my 
 own eyesight ; were those — those nether garments 
 
MY WONDERFUL WIFE. 255 
 
 knickerbockers ? positively knickerbockers f Yes ! 
 by everything amazing and unfeminine they were ! 
 and over them came a loose blouse and short — 
 very short — frilled petticoat, something like the 
 " Bloomer" costume, only several degrees more 
 " mannish" in make. I stared at her open-mouthed 
 and utterly dismayed; so much so that I was 
 speechless for the moment. 
 
 " My shooting costume," she explained cheer- 
 fully. " It's such a comfort to travel in, and no 
 one sees under my ulster !" 
 
 " Would you care if any one did see, Honoria ?" 
 I inquired coldly. 
 
 " No, I don't suppose I should," she answered 
 gaily, ruffling up her curls with one hand. " Well, 
 Willie, as I said before, you look fit.' Had a good 
 time at Cromer ? and are you glad to see me back 
 again ?" 
 
 " Of course, Honoria," I replied in the same 
 quietly unmoved tone ; " of course I am glad to 
 see you, but — well, we will talk over things pres- 
 ently. Supper is ready, I believe; will you not 
 change your — your " 
 
 And I pointed to the knickerbockers with, I 
 think, rather a sarcastical expression on my counte- 
 nance. She flushed just a little ; it must have been 
 my glance that confused her for an instant ; then, I 
 suppose, a devil of mischief entered into her and 
 made her obstinate. 
 
 " No, what's the good of changing ; such a 
 bother !" she answered. " Besides, I'm as hungry 
 as a hunter; I'll sit down to supper as I am. 
 Awfully comfortable, you know !" 
 
256 MY WONDERFUL WIFE. 
 
 " Honoria !" I said with a sort of desperate 
 politeness, " you must really pardon me ! I refuse 
 — I utterly refuse to sit at table with you in that 
 costume ! Do you want the very servants to 
 giggle at you all through the meal ?" 
 
 " They may giggle if they like," she replied 
 imperturbably ; "their giggles won't hurt me, I 
 assure you !" 
 
 " Honoria !" and I spoke with deliberate gentle- 
 ness and gravity. " Will you oblige me by chang- 
 ing those masculine habiliments of yours, and 
 dressing like a lady ?" 
 
 She looked at me, laughed, and her eyes flashed. 
 
 " No, I won't !" she said curtly. 
 
 I bowed; then quietly turned round and left 
 the room, and not only the room but the house. 
 I went to my club and supped there, needless to 
 say, with no enjoyment whatever, and with no 
 heart to enter into conversation with any of my 
 friends. I think most of them must have seen I 
 was seriously put out, for they left me pretty much 
 alone, and I was able to take counsel with my- 
 self as to what I should do next. I returned 
 home late, and retired to a separate apartment, so 
 that I saw no more of Honoria till the next morn- 
 ing, when she came down to breakfast in her 
 smoking-suit — i.e., the same sort of skirt and large- 
 patterned man's jacket she had surprised me with 
 on the evening of our marriage day. I studied 
 her attentively. Her skin, which had recently 
 been exposed so ruthlessly to the sun and wind 
 on the grouse moors, was beginning to look rough 
 and coarse ; her eyes had a bold, hard, indifferent 
 
MY WONDERFUL WIFE. 257 
 
 expression ; her very hand, as she poured out the 
 tea, was red and veiny, lilce that of a man accus- 
 tomed to rough weather, and I realised with im- 
 mense regret that her beauty would soon be a thing 
 of the past ; that it was even possible she might 
 become positively ugly in an incredibly short time if 
 she continued (as it was pretty evident she would 
 continue) her masculine mode of life. It was she 
 who first began the conversation that morning. 
 
 " Got over your temper, Willie ? Do you know 
 you're becoming a perfect demon ?" 
 
 " Am I ?" I said patiently. " I'm sorry, Ho- 
 noria; I used to be considered a good-natured 
 fool enough, but I've had a great deal to vex me 
 lately, and I fancy you know the cause of my 
 vexation." 
 
 " Yes," she answered indifferently, helping both 
 me and herself to toast as she spoke ; " I know, 
 but I've settled all that. I never take long making 
 up my mind ! We must part — that's about the 
 long and the short of the matter. We can't work 
 together — it's no use, oars won't pull evenly — we 
 shall only upset the boat. It's easily done — have 
 an agreement drawn up as they do for house 
 leases, sign it before witnesses, and we split — 
 quite amicably — no fuss. And that will leave me 
 free and comfortable for my lecturing tour." 
 
 " Your lecturing tour !" I echoed, forgetting for 
 a moment my own annoyances in the fresh surprise 
 of this announcement. " Are you going a-lectur- 
 ing, Honoria ?" and despite my wish to be gentle, 
 I am aware my voice was decidedly sarcastic in its 
 inflection. " What on, pray ? Politics or temper- 
 
 r 22* 
 
258 MY WONDERFUL WIFE. 
 
 ance ? Do you like the idea of becoming a plat- 
 form woman ?" 
 
 " As well be a platform woman as a platform 
 man," she replied with a touch of defiance. " I've 
 got a good voice — better than most men's — and 
 I've heaps to say. I met a Mr. Sharp down at 
 Glen Ruach ; he's an agent for that sort of thing — 
 farmed out lots of lecturers both here and in the 
 States ; he's agreed to farm out me. Good terms 
 too ; he says he knows I'll ' draw' immensely. 
 All expenses paid — in fact, you needn't bother 
 about making me any allowance unless you want 
 to for form's sake — I can earn my own living com- 
 fortably." 
 
 " Has he heard you lecture ?" I inquired, ignor- 
 ing this independent latter part of her speech. 
 " Is he acquainted with your capabilities in that 
 line?" 
 
 She smiled — a wide hard smile. 
 
 " Rather ; I gave them all a taste of my quality 
 down at Glen Ruach — lectured on Man — and I 
 thought Sharp would have split with laughing! 
 Awfully funny fellow, Sharp — Sharp by name and 
 Sharp by nature. But he's first-class — awfully 
 first-class ! I signed the agreement with him be- 
 fore leaving." 
 
 "Without consulting me" I observed frigidly. 
 " Very wifely and kind on your part, Honoria !" 
 
 " Oh, bother !" she said rapidly ; " wives don't 
 consult their husbands now-a-days — that sort of 
 thing's exploded. Each party manages his or her 
 own affairs. Besides, I knew you'd make all man-i 
 ner of objections." 
 
MY WONDERFUL WIFE. 259 
 
 " Oh, you did know that !" and I looked at her 
 steadfastly. " Well, Honoria, in that case perhaps 
 it will be best to do as you say — mutually agree to 
 separate, for a time at least ; though you have not 
 thought of the child in the matter ; is he to be my 
 care or yours ?" 
 
 " Good gracious ! Yours, of course," she replied 
 very emphatically. " I can't go touring about the 
 country with a shrieking brat ! Has he roared old 
 Mammy into deafness yet ?" 
 
 " No, he has not," I said. " He has not indulged 
 much in ' roaring,' as you call it, since he left your 
 tender maternal care, Honoria !" 
 
 I pronounced the words " tender maternal care" 
 with marked and slightly scornful emphasis. She 
 glanced at me, and her full lips curled disdain- 
 fully. 
 
 " Look here, Mr. William Tribkin !" she an- 
 nounced. " You're a slow coach ! that's what you 
 are — a slow coach of very mediaeval pattern ! Your 
 wheels want greasing ; you take too long a time 
 getting over the road ! And you talk a vast deal 
 of old sentimental rubbish, and I never could put 
 up with sentimental rubbish. I hate it ! I hate 
 fads too, and you are a faddist ! You want me — 
 me — to be a docile, thank-you-for-nothing-humble- 
 servant-yours-faithfuUy sort of woman, dragging 
 about the house with a child pulling at her skirts 
 and worrying her all day long ; you want to play 
 the male tyrant and oppressor, don't you ? but you 
 won't! not with me, at any rate! You've got a 
 free woman in me, T tell you, not a sixteenth-cen- 
 tury slave ! My constitution is as good as yours ; 
 
260 MY WONDERFUL WIFE. 
 
 my brain is several degrees better; I'm capable 
 of making a brilliant career for myself in any 
 profession I choose to follow, and you are and 
 always will be a mere useful nonentity! You 
 
 are " 
 
 "Stop! that is enough, Honoria," I said deci- 
 sively, rising from the table. " You need not go 
 out of your way to insult me — pray spare your- 
 self! Mere ' useful nonentity' as I am, I am man 
 enough to despise vulgar notoriety; and you, 
 though your conduct is unwomanly, are still woman 
 enough to court and eagerly accept that question- 
 able distinction. As you so elegantly express it, 
 I am a ' slow coach ;' my ideas of womanhood are 
 sadly old-fashioned indeed ! I do not wish to play 
 the ' male tyrant,' but I want Xafeel the part of the 
 true lover and loyal husband, and this is an honour 
 unhappily denied to me ! Our marriage has been 
 an error ; it only remains to us now to make the 
 best of our position. You wish to go your way, 
 and your way is distinctly not mine. As you will 
 not submit to me, and / have not so completely 
 ignored my manhood as to submit to you, why, 
 then it follows that we must separate ; let us hope 
 — let me hope, Honoria, that it may only be for a 
 short time. You may rely on my pursuing the 
 honourable fidelity I swore to you on our marriage 
 
 day, and I " I paused, then continued earnestly : 
 
 " I would not insult you by presuming to question 
 yours." Again I waited ; she was quite silent, but 
 she drew from her side-pocket her case of cigar- 
 ettes, and lighting one, puffed away at it in a medi- 
 tative fashion. " This is a fast age, Honoria," I 
 
MY WONDERFUL WIFE. 26 1 
 
 went on regretfully, " and it breeds an unconscion- 
 able number, of ' fast' women and men ; but I want 
 you to believe, if you can, that chivalry is not al- 
 together extinct — that there are a few gentlemen 
 left, of which class I hope I may humbly call my- 
 self one — a very poor-spirited, dull gentleman, no 
 doubt, but who still would rather lead a lonely and 
 uncheered life in the world than interfere with your 
 happiness, or spoil what you imagine to be the 
 brilliant promise of your independent career. You 
 have never deemed yourself under any sort of 
 authority to me — that would be too ' old-fashioned' 
 a notion for an advanced feminine intelligence like 
 yours" — here she puffed out the smoke from her 
 lips in little artistic rings — " so that there is no 
 need to say to you, ' Be at liberty !' You are at 
 liberty ; you always have been — no doubt you al- 
 ways will be. But there are various sorts of lib- 
 erty ; one is the non-restraint and licence riskily 
 enjoyed by young men about town, whose families 
 are utterly indifferent to their fate (and this is what 
 you seem to desire) ; another is that gentle latitude 
 controlled by the affectionate solicitude and pro- 
 tection of those who love you better than them- 
 selves ; another (and here we find the truest liberty 
 of woman) is the freedom a wife possesses to guide 
 and comfort and inspire to greatest ends her hus- 
 band's life and career. Through woman's love, 
 man performs his noblest labours. Believe it! 
 Through woman's love, I say, not through woman's 
 opposition ! But I must apologise to you for 
 talking sentimental rubbish again. It is under- 
 stood that we agree to separate for the present; 
 
262 MY WONDERFUL WIFE. 
 
 and I will call on my lawyer about the matter this 
 afternoon. Half of every penny I have or earn 
 shall be yours as is your just due; this house, 
 which I shall vacate as soon as possible, is also 
 at your service. And I hope, Honoria" — here I 
 cleared my throat from an uncomfortable huski- 
 ness — " I hope this arrangement, though it seems 
 necessary now, may not be of long continuance — 
 I shall be a proud and happy man when the day 
 dawns on which my wife and I can meet again and 
 live together in that absolute sympathy I so earn- 
 estly desire 1" 
 
 I ceased. She looked up through the cloud of 
 tobacco-smoke that encircled her head, and there 
 was just a little softness about her eyes which 
 made them prettier for the moment. Taking her 
 cigarette from her mouth, she flicked off the ash 
 into her breakfast plate. 
 
 "You're a capital fellow. Will," she said; 
 "regular first-class, only a leetle slow!" and she 
 extended one hand, which I took and pressed 
 earnestly in my own. " Look here, I tell you 
 what ! I'll get through my lecturing tour, and if 
 you want me back after that, why, I'll come — 
 honour bright 1" 
 
 I sighed ; released her hand gently and left her. 
 I dared not enquire so far into the future ; I hes- 
 itated to speculate as to whether I should indeed 
 want her back then ! However, our minds were 
 unanimously made. up on one point — namely, the 
 advisability of separation for the present; and 
 within the next few days the affair was quietly 
 arranged, much to the distress of old Mrs. Maggs, 
 
MY WONDERFUL WIFE. 263 
 
 who wept copiously when she heard of it, and 
 for some mysterious reason, known only to her- 
 self, persisted in calling my child a " poor orphan." 
 Georgie said little, but no doubt thought the more, 
 and was sweetly, silently sympathetic. My wife 
 started for some big manufacturing town in the 
 provinces, where she was to begin her lecturing 
 campaign ; our house was let for twelve months 
 (Honoria's management — she was a wonderful 
 business woman) ; the baby remained in the charge 
 of his grandmother, and I took a set of chambers 
 near Pall Mall and resumed a hum-drum bachelor 
 life. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 The cynical philosopher and the self-sufficient 
 epicurean may now perhaps feel disposed to con- 
 gratulate me on having easily and conveniently 
 got rid of my wife ; the modern Diogenes of the 
 literary clubs may growl " Lucky man !" and the 
 nineteenth-century Solomon of Hyde Park and 
 Piccadilly may murmur over these pages : " There 
 is nothing, under the circumstances, better for a 
 fellow to do than to eat, drink and be merry all 
 the days of his life, for whatever cometh not of 
 these is vanity !" But, truth to tell, I was not in 
 an enviable condition at all. The resumption of 
 a solitary existence in chambers was far from 
 agreeable to me ; for I had passed the age when 
 
264 MY WONDERFUL WIFE. 
 
 going to the theatre seemed the chief glory of 
 life, and I had not yet arrived at that matured 
 paunchiness when to dine well and drink good 
 wine till the nose becomes rosy and lustrous, is 
 the acme of every sensible man's ambition. So 
 that I was very lonely, and very conscious of my 
 loneliness. The gaunt, pious and respectable 
 female who attended to my rooms was not exactly 
 the sort of person one would choose to provide a 
 drooping spirit with mental cheer ; the hall porter at 
 my club — an exceedingly friendly fellow — seemed 
 sorry for me now and then, but refrained from 
 inviting me to weep out my woes upon his brass- 
 buttoned breast. True, I visited my mother-in- 
 law's house frequently — saw the fair little Georgie 
 and her betrothed earl, and looked on mournfully 
 at their demurely graceful love-making; and I 
 danced my infant son on my knee to Banbury 
 Cross and back again with much satisfaction, find- 
 ing that every time I did it his soft chuckles be- 
 came more and more confidential, and that though 
 at present his language was unintelligible, he 
 evidently meant it kindly. Still I had the feeling 
 upon me of being a desolate and deserted man, 
 and though I absorbed myself as much as possible 
 in books and made the best of my position, I 
 could not deem myself happy. Life, which I had 
 fancied rounded into completion when I married, 
 seemed now broken off in some strange and un- 
 couth way — it was like one of those odd-looking 
 roses that through blight or disease bloom half- 
 petalled, and never get shaped into the perfect 
 flower. 
 
MY WONDERFUL WIFE. 265 
 
 Honoria had been a long time absent in the 
 provinces ; fully five months had passed since our 
 parting, and the February of the new year was 
 now just at an end. I had never heard from her 
 all that time, neither had she written to any member 
 of her own family. Her allowance had been paid 
 to her regularly through her bankers, and so far as I 
 knew she was well and flourishing. Now and again 
 I heard far-off rumours of Mrs. Tribkin's abihty as 
 a lecturer, but I rather avoided all those newspapers 
 in which her doings were likely to be mentioned. 
 I shrank from the pennyworths of scandal, called 
 by coMxtesy journals, lest I should find her name 
 figuring ridiculously in a set of vulgarly worded 
 paragraphs such as are sometimes strung together 
 for the sake of gratuitously insulting our good and 
 noble Queen in her old age (I wonder what British 
 officers are about, by-the-by, that they let this sort 
 of thing go on without a single soldierly and man- 
 ful protest ?), and thus it happened that to me it was 
 almost as if my wife were dead, or at any rate gone 
 on some exceedingly far journey from which it 
 seemed highly probable she would never return. 
 So that I received, a positive shock of surprise one 
 afternoon when, on arriving at my club, I found a 
 letter addressed to me in the big bold handwriting 
 which was like nobody's in the world, so thor- 
 oughly characteristic was it of Honoria, and of 
 Honoria alone. I opened it with a sort of eager 
 trepidation. Was she regretting the step she had 
 taken, and was this to propose a friendly meeting 
 with a view to partnership in joy and sorrow once 
 more ? A thick card dropped out of the envelope; 
 M 23 
 
266 MY WONDERFUL WIFE. 
 
 — I picked it up without looking at it ; my eyes 
 were fixed on the letter itself — my wife's letter to 
 me — which ran as follows : 
 
 " Dear Willie : 
 
 " I've done the provinces, and am coming to 
 London to give a lecture in Prince's Hall, Picca- 
 dilly. As you've never heard me hold forth, I 
 enclose a Ticket — Five Shilling Fauteuil — so I 
 hope you'll be comfortable ! It's a good seat, 
 where you'll have a straight view of me any way. 
 How are you ? First-class, I hope. I never was 
 better in my life. Am leaving for the States in 
 the middle of March, they're ' booming' me there 
 now. I'm beating all the 'Whistling Ladies' 
 hollow ! Would you like to dine with me at the 
 Grosvenor before I start ? If so, come behind the 
 platform after the lecture and let me know. 
 " Yours ever, 
 
 " HoNORiA Hatwell-Tribkin." 
 
 Dine with her at the Grosvenor ! She seemed 
 to entirely forget that I was her husband — her sep- 
 arated, deserted husband ! It was the letter of a 
 man to a man, yet she was my wife — ^parted from 
 me — but still my wife. Dine with her at the 
 Grosvenor ! Never — never ! I put the letter back 
 in its envelope with trembling fingers, and then 
 looked at the ticket — the " Five Shilling Fauteuil." 
 Good heavens 1 I thought I should have tumbled 
 in a swooning heap on the carpet, so great was 
 my astonishment and dismay! This is what I 
 read: 
 
MY WONDERFUL WIFE. 267 
 
 PRINCE'S HALL. PICCADILLY. 
 
 LECTURE 
 
 BY 
 
 MRS. HONORIA HATWELL-TRIBKIN, 
 
 SUBJECT : 
 
 "ON THE ADVISABILITY OF MEN'S APPAREL 
 FOR WOMEN." 
 
 HEADINGS : 
 
 1. The Inconvenience of Women's Dress Generally. 
 
 2. The Superior Comfort Enjoyed by Men. 
 
 3. Cheapness, Quality, and Durability of Men's Clothing. 
 
 4. The Advantages of Social Uniformity. 
 
 N.B, — The Lecturer will give from time to time Practical Illustrations 
 of her theory. 
 
 TO COMMENCE AT 8 P.M. PRECISELY. 
 
 FAUTEUIL, 5S. ADMIT ONE. 
 
 Men's apparel for women ! Social uniformity ! 
 Practical illustrations of the theory ! Ye gods ! 
 I gasped for breath, and staggered to an arm-chair, 
 wherein I sank exhausted by the excess of my 
 wonder ! The idea of the " practical illustrations" 
 was what worried me. I tried to imagine their 
 nature, but failed in the effort. I could not con- 
 ceive any " practical illustrations" on such a subject 
 possible — in public ! Would she have an assorted 
 pile of men's garments on a table beside her, and 
 taking them up one by one, point out their various 
 attractions ? Would she discourse eloquently on 
 the simplicity of the shirt; the rapid sliding-on 
 of the trousers ; the easy charm of the waistcoat, 
 and the graceful gaiety of the " monkey-jacket" ? 
 Would she attempt to describe the proper setting 
 of a stiff collar, for instance ? No ! let her not 
 dare such a task as this ! Let her not presume to 
 
268 MY WONDERFUL WIFE. 
 
 touch on that supremest point of sublime mascu- 
 line agony ! My own collar became suddenly ill- 
 fitting as I thought of it, and hitched up against my 
 ear. Full of that wild rage which convulses a man 
 when his linen worries him, I flew to the looking- 
 glass and busied myself for some minutes setting 
 it straight, my countenance darkening into an apo- 
 plectic red as I strained at the starchy button-hole 
 
 and refractory button. D n it ! There ! it was 
 
 all right now ; and heaving a sigh of relief, I sat 
 down again and fell into a melancholy reverie. I 
 would not go and dine at the Grosvenor with that 
 wonderful wife of mine (everybody said she was 
 wonderful, and I don't deny it) ; no, I would not ! 
 But should I go and hear her lecture ? This was 
 the question that now tormented me. Perhaps it 
 would be wise on my part; perhaps my very 
 presence would arouse in her mind some touch 
 of remorse, some tinge of regret, for days that 
 once had been ; ah ! days that once had been ! 
 That sounded like poetry, and I knew where I 
 had heard it. A sweet maid of about fifty had 
 sung it at Mrs. Maggs's the other evening in a 
 voice that sounded rather like a penny whistle 
 which had got a drop of water into it by mistake. 
 I hummed it under my breath sentimentally — 
 
 " We wandered by the little rill 
 That sparkled o'er the green. 
 And oh ! we lov'd the mem'ry still 
 
 Of days that once, o-once ha-ad been 1" 
 
 Ah ! rills might " sparkle" over any amount of 
 "green," but Honoria would never wander by 
 
MY WONDERFUL WIFE. 269 
 
 them more ; never — never ! She never had wan- 
 dered, and she never would wander ; the wandering 
 business was reserved for me ! Here I recognised 
 that my thoughts were becoming confused, and 
 rising, I thrust my wife's letter and the five-shilling 
 ticket into my pocket, determining to think no 
 more about it. 
 
 As a matter of fact, however, I did think more 
 about it. I thought about it so much that at last 
 I could not get it out of my head. The " subject" 
 of that threatened dissertation " On the Advisa- 
 bility of Men's Apparel for Women" wrote itself 
 on the air before me. I found myself looking into 
 tailors' shops with a morbid curiosity, and wonder- 
 ing how such and such a check or striped pattern 
 would suit pretty little Georgie, who in the June 
 of that year was to be made Countess of Rich- 
 moor ; and then I took to fancying how I, a speci- 
 men of despised and wretched man, should figure 
 in one of those lustrous silk brocades and dainty 
 gossamer stuffs that filled the drapers' plate-glass 
 windows ; for if women liked men's apparel so 
 much as to wear it, why then, if only for the sake 
 of trade, apart from the question of contrast, men 
 would have to go into trains and tight bodices. 
 Everything was going to be turned topsy-turvy, 
 I dismally decided ; this planet had surely got an 
 awkward tilt from some mischievous demon of 
 misrule, and we were all going mad or eccentric in 
 consequence. My brain was in a whirl anyway, 
 and that wretched " Bobbie" with the moustaches 
 seemed to know it. I met him one day by chance ; 
 he was still " on the river," though it was winter- 
 23* 
 
2/0 MY WONDERFUL WIFE. 
 
 time ; he was painting and decorating the interior 
 of his " little house-boat" with Wonderall's Enamel 
 or something of that kind. He looked more like 
 a " penny novelette" hero than ever, and of course 
 he was fully aware of Honoria's lecturing powers. 
 
 " Oh, I should go and hear her if I were you," 
 he said, with a languid lifting of his eyelids, which 
 was a trick of his, practised in order to display the 
 length of his dark lashes and the feminine softness 
 of his big brown eyes. " She's awfully clever, 
 you know ; regular A One! Her 'subject' too 
 will ' draw' immensely. If I were not on the river 
 just now I'd go too, I really would ! It's sure to 
 be capital fun !" 
 
 Thoughtless young brute ! " Capital fun !" for 
 met Did he actually think so? I suppose he 
 did ; he was a perfect idiot on all " subjects" save 
 boating — a mere fish ! Scrape his gills and cook 
 him for dinner ! That meaningless absurdity of a 
 phrase came ringing back on my ears with all the 
 delirious pertinacity of its first suggestion, and I 
 parted from him abruptly in no very friendly mood. 
 He told me I looked " seedy" as he went on his 
 way, and I fancied I saw a smile of amused com- 
 passion under those long moustaches of his — a 
 smile for which I loftily despised him. I 
 
 Finally, after much painful hesitation, I resolved 
 to be present at my wife's lecture, and having oncej 
 made up my mind, felt a little more at ease. I 
 tried to get into that cynical don't-carish mood 
 that some fellows are able to adopt very quickly 
 when their wives prove disappointing, but I am 
 (unfortunately) rather a soft-hearted booby, and it 
 
MY WONDERFUL WIFE. 27 1 
 
 will take a good while to turn me into a downright 
 hard-as-nails business curmudgeon. I've made 
 several efforts in that direction ; efforts which my 
 podgy and dimpled son invariably causes to come 
 to naught with one blow of his chubby fist, and 
 one chuckle of his remarkably abstruse language. 
 However, let that pass ; I know there are a good 
 many men like me, so I'm not alone in my folly ! 
 
 The evening — the fated, fatal evening — came at 
 last, and by half-past seven I was so much excited 
 that I found it would be impossible to walk calmly 
 to Prince's Hall without attracting attention by my 
 erratic behaviour. I felt that I should grin con- 
 vulsively, gesticulate and talk to myself on the 
 way, in exactly the same fashion that old Bowser 
 of the Stock Exchange does when he's annoyed, 
 much to the surprise and amusement of staring 
 street passengers. So to avoid unpleasantness I 
 took a hansom. I must not omit to mention that 
 I had told Mrs. Maggs and all her household about 
 it. Mrs. Maggs had wept, Georgie had sighed, 
 and the other members of the family had ex- 
 changed comical glances one with the other, but 
 none of them would accompany me to hear Ho- 
 noria's eloquence. Her " subject" seemed to them 
 rather more alarming than attractive. I told Rich- 
 moor and he shrugged his shoulders, looked ami- 
 able as was his wont, and pressed my hand with 
 particular warmth and sympathy, but he made no 
 remark, nor did he volunteer to support me in the 
 trial I had resolved to undergo. For it was a 
 trial — it is a. trial to any true man to see his wife 
 made vulgarly notorious. I can pity from my soul 
 
2/2 MY WONDERFUL WIFE. 
 
 the set-aside husbands of " professional" beauties 
 and " society" actresses ; I can sympathise with 
 them — I do sympathise with them ! And I would 
 advise young fellows who have not yet made up 
 their minds where to choose a wife, to avoid taking 
 one from any public exhibit. Don't marry a 
 "beauty" out of a prize-show; don't take a Dul- 
 cinea of the bottle and tap ; don't select a smoking, 
 betting, " crack-shot" and sportswoman, as I, in 
 blind ignorance, did ; don't give any preference to 
 a female anatomist and surgeon, who knows the 
 names of every bone and muscle in your body ; 
 in fact, don't take any " celebrity" at all, unless her 
 celebrity be worn with that grand unconscious 
 simplicity which marks a sweet woman's nature as 
 well as a great genius's career. But I mustn't stop 
 to moralize — the married clergymen who run away 
 with young girls will do that much better than I 
 can. My business is to relate the sufferings I un- 
 derwent at that never-to-be-forgotten discourse " On 
 the Advisability of Men's Apparel for Women." 
 As I said, I took a hansom, and was driven up to 
 the door of Prince's Hall in a stylish, plunging 
 manner, that did considerable credit to the guiding 
 Jehu of the course, and found a large number of 
 people filing in, men and women. Among the 
 latter I noticed several of the " fine" bouncing type 
 of girl, such as Honoria had been when I first 
 made her acquaintance. There was a good deal 
 of sniggering and laughing, I thought uncomfort- 
 ably, especially on the part of some carelessly at- 
 tired gentlemen with rather rough hair, whom I 
 afterwards discovered to be reporters for the dif- 
 
MY WONDERFUL WIFE. 273 
 
 ferent newspapers. Was — was the Daily Telegraph 
 represented ? I really don't know, but I should 
 say it was. I cannot imagine any corner of the 
 earth, air or ocean where that sublimely sonorous 
 organ of the Press is not represented ! 
 
 I could not find my fauteuil, and a shabbj^ 
 gentleman in a threadbare dress suit, with a much- 
 worn pair of lavender kid gloves, came to my 
 assistance, took my ticket, and beckoned me in a 
 ghostly manner to follow him, I obeyed, with a 
 deep sense of confusion upon me. Did he guess 
 I was the lecturer's despised husband, I wondered ? 
 and was that the reason why he smiled so spa- 
 ciously, displaying a set of extremely yellow teeth, 
 as I stumbled with a muttered " Thanks !" into 
 the middle of the very front row of fauteuils, right 
 opposite the platform? It was very warm, I 
 thought ; excessively so for March ! and furtively 
 wiping my heated brow, I looked about me. The 
 hall was filling fast, and the suppressed sniggering 
 and laughter continued. Two of the gentlemen 
 with the disorderly hair before mentioned were 
 ushered respectively into the seats on each side of 
 me. They were stout and I was thin, so that I 
 -seemed to be thrown in casually between them, 
 like the small piece of meat in a station sandwich. 
 They were old acquaintances evidently, and con- 
 versed now and then with each other behind my 
 back; one scattering odours of recent ale from 
 his beard, the other dispensing a warm onion breath 
 down my neck. But I was always a timid man 
 and a patient one. I did not like to move from 
 the seat Honoria had specially chosen for me, and 
 
274 MY WONDERFUL WIFE. 
 
 I never Wcis successful in the art of casting indig- 
 nant glances out of the corner of my eye, so I sat 
 very quiet, fumbling nervously with the printed 
 " Synopsis of Lecture," which was a mere repeti- 
 tion of what had already been announced on the 
 ticket of admission, and waiting, in really dreadful 
 suspense, for my wife's appearance. 
 
 The hall was now pretty full, a good many 
 stragglers occupying the balcony as well ; they 
 were admitted, I afterwards heard, for the modest 
 sum of threepence. Eight o'clock struck, and 
 punctual to the minute there stepped briskly on 
 the platform a young fellow who was greeted with 
 quite a burst of tumultuous shouting and applause. 
 I gazed at him doubtingly. I supposed he had 
 come to say that Mrs. Tribkin was not quite ready, 
 but that she would appear immediately ; when he 
 suddenly smiled and gave me a friendly nod of 
 recognition. Good heavens ! " the young fellow" 
 was Honoria herself! I turned faint and giddy 
 with surprise — Honoria ? Yes ! it was Honoria, 
 dressed precisely like a man, in an ordinary lounge 
 suit of rough tweed, the only difference being 
 that the coat was rather more ample in its skirts 
 and was made to come slightly below the knee. 
 I stared and stared and stared, till I thought my 
 eyes would have dropped out of my head on the 
 floor ! Shirt-front, high collar, necktie, waistcoat, 
 trousers, everything complete, there she was all 
 ready; ready and willing to — to make a fool of her- 
 self ! Yes, it was nothing more or less than this ; 
 and I realised it with smarting indignation and 
 shame! Had I not occupied such a prominent 
 
MY WONDERFUI, WIFE. 2/5 
 
 seat I should then and there have left the hall; 
 indeed I was almost on the point of doing so, 
 when her voice struck through the air with that 
 resonant vibration it always possessed, — the sub- 
 dued murmur and giggling of the audience ceased, 
 and there was an expectant silence. 
 
 " Ladies and gentlemen," said the lecturer, "you 
 are very welcome !" Here she raised her hat and 
 smiled benignly. (I forgot to mention that she 
 wore a regular " deerstalker" when she first came 
 on, for the sole reason, as it now appeared, of 
 "practically illustrating" the careless mode of a 
 man's salutation.) " You see how I greet you, 
 easily and without affectation ! I do not curtsey 
 to you like a milkmaid receiving an unexpected 
 shilling, nor do I perform a back-sweeping smirk- 
 ing reverence like a fashionable prima donna who 
 desires her audience to mentally calculate the cost 
 of her gown before testing the value of her voice. 
 I raise my hat to you ; I put it down altogether 
 — a simple action which signifies that I am at 
 home with you for the present, so perfectly at 
 home that I have no intention of taking an ab- 
 rupt leave !" Another smile, and the " deer- 
 stalker" was placed on a chair beside her, and a 
 violent clapping of hands, mingled with some 
 faint "bravoes," rewarded these first sentences. 
 She ruffled up her short hair, and bringing the 
 lecturing desk more into position turned over the 
 pages of a manuscript thereon with a considering 
 air, thus giving the audience time to study her 
 through their opera-glasses, and the reporters to 
 take notes. 
 
276 MY WONDERFUL WIFE. 
 
 " Fine woman, isn't she ?" whispered the ale- 
 odorous man behind me to his press comrade. 
 
 " Can't tell," replied this other imperturbably. 
 " Wants her own clothes on to show her off. She 
 may have a shape, or she may not; that coat 
 defies detection." 
 
 They laughed silently, and went to work scrib- 
 bling in their note-books; while I wondered 
 drearily how long I should be able to endure my 
 horrible martyrdom. I pictured myself as sud- 
 denly rising in my fauteuU with hands uplifted in 
 frantic protest at the whole performance ; or per- 
 haps, and this seemed more probable in my over- 
 wrought condition, I should laugh — laugh so 
 loudly and so long, that I should be taken for a 
 lunatic, and led out of the hall by the gentleman 
 with the yellow teeth and lavender kids, who 
 would straightway confide me to the care of a 
 policeman. If I could only get away from those 
 two reporters ! But I could not ; I was the sand- 
 wich of Fate — the meat between the bread — and 
 bit by bit Misery was devouring me ! 
 
 And in another minute Honoria began, and I 
 listened like one who hears awful nothings in a 
 bad dream. Against the "inconvenience of 
 women's dress generally" she poured the most 
 violent denunciations; of heavy skirts, that clog 
 the movements of the nether limbs {she said 
 "legs" openly, but I have too much respect for 
 the scruples of my dead grandmother to trans- 
 gress so far), of numerous and unnecessary petti- 
 coats ; of corsets, of " busks" (what are " busks" ?), 
 of " bustles," of " pads," of " cushions," of " steels," 
 
MY WONDERFUL WIFE. T.'JJ 
 
 * 
 
 of low necks and short sleeves (here let me put in 
 a word and say frankly that I like these ; — I think 
 a pretty neck, when not indecently exposed, and a 
 pretty pair of rounded white arms, are most fasci- 
 nating studies to the eye of miserable man, who 
 has few pleasures. Heaven knows, and who will 
 have fewer still if the women are all going to be 
 strong-minded) ; of long hair pinned up in heavy 
 brain-stupefying coils with diamond pins that drag, 
 and tortoise-shell pins that break ; of bodices that 
 button in all manner of odd places where fastening 
 them becomes a difficulty — at the side, at the back, 
 under the arm, and on the shoulder; of court 
 trains, their length, their weight, their costliness, 
 and their absurdity (they give splendour to the 
 Queen's Drawing-room, though, and are a boon 
 and an encouragement to the silk trade) ; of jewels 
 and other useless adornments ; of bouquets made 
 at great expense and carried with infinite trouble; 
 of fans, and the affectation the use of them im- 
 plies ; ay, down to the long glove with its innu- 
 merable tiny buttons, which take some people 
 nearly half an hour to fasten (I remembered Rich- 
 moor was never so happy as when he was gingerly 
 at work putting all Georgie's little glove-buttons 
 through their respective holes; he was such a 
 time about it, and he could talk such a lot of non- 
 sense while thus employed) — of all these mystic 
 things, and more than these, Honoria discoursed 
 volubly and dictatorially, showering scorn on the 
 vanity, frivolity, and total want of intelligence 
 displayed by the feminine mind that could con- 
 tinue to countenance such follies in the way of 
 
 24 
 
278 MY WONDERFUL WIFE. 
 
 clothing. " Simplicity," she said, or rather shouted, 
 thumping her manuscript as she spoke — '" sim- 
 plicity and comfort are the two main principles to 
 be observed in the garmenting of human beings. 
 From the earliest ages of history down to our 
 own time the race has shown a barbaric tendency 
 towards a superabundance of adornment, which 
 is most pernicious, and fatal to true intellectual 
 progress. From the traditional fig-leaf, man came, 
 according to the Bible, to the wearing of coats 
 of skins; then followed in sequence the absurd 
 trinkets such as beads, belts and head-ornaments, 
 which to this day render the appearance of a mere 
 savage ridiculous ! It is against these useless 
 parts of costume that women should open their 
 campaign, and so make a wider advance upon that 
 glorious land of freedom of which they have only 
 just crossed the border!" 
 
 Here she drew herself up with an air of defiance, 
 and directed a glance of supreme contempt at me ! 
 Yes, I'm positive it was meant chiefly for me, 
 though it swept over and encompassed with its 
 withering light the two reporters, who bent over 
 their note-books and went into noiseless spasms 
 of mirth. 
 
 " When I come to consider," she resumed in 
 tragic tones, " the second division of my lecture, 
 namely, the superior comfort enjoyed by men, my 
 whole soul rises up in arms against the odious con- 
 trast !" (Voice from the balcony, " Hear, hear ! Go 
 it, young feller !") " Why, in Heaven's name — why, 
 I ask, should men enjoy superior comfort ? They 
 boast of their physical strength ! How long, I 
 
MY WONDERFUL WIFE. 2/9 
 
 should like to know, would their physical strength 
 endure if they were weighted down with the heavy 
 skirts worn by women ? Could they walk twenty- 
 five miles a day in women's boots ? Could they 
 play cricket or football in women's corsets ? No ! 
 Thus it is plainly evident that they enjoy superior 
 physical strength only because they are properly 
 clothed ; they have the free use of their limbs ; 
 they are not hampered in any movement; they 
 can go out in all weathers and not suffer in conse- 
 quence. There is no reason either in law or 
 nature why they should possess this advantage. 
 Women, by adopting their style, of dress, will 
 secure to a great extent much of their muscular 
 and powerful physique — a condition of things 
 which is greatly to be desired. It is acknowledged 
 by all impartial and advanced thinkers that men 
 and women are, viewed as human beings merely, 
 absolute equals ; therefore it is necessary to equalize 
 everything that seems to set a false dividing dis- 
 tinction between them, and the question of cloth- 
 ing is one of the most important to be considered. 
 Now I will ask you, ladies and gentlemen, to look 
 at me',' and she advanced unblushingly to the edge 
 of the platform. " Is there anything incongruous 
 in my appearance ?" (" Rather so," cried the 
 irrepressible person in the balcony ; but, whoever 
 he was, his voice was promptly stifled.) "I am 
 perfectly comfortable; I walk with ease" — here 
 she strode up and down manfully, while I leaned 
 back in my fauteuil and shut my eyes. " Here" — 
 I opened them again — " here are the various con- 
 venient pockets which hold so many things with- 
 
280 MY WONDERFUL WIFE. 
 
 out confusion." (I realised that this was a " prac- 
 tical illustration," and observed her with melancholy 
 attention.) " And I would remind you, ladies and 
 gentlemen, that wcjmen, as a rule, are only provided 
 with one pocket." (" Oh, oh, Honoria," shouted 
 a man in some far corner, " what of their husbands' 
 pockets ?") He — she — my wife — ^paid no attention 
 to this interruption, and went on composedly. 
 " Only one pocket, which scarcely suffices to con- 
 tain the purse, handkerchief and card-case. Now, 
 in this," here she felt in the left-hand slit of her 
 jacket, " I have my cigarettes, for I smoke, of 
 course ; in this," another illustrative gesture, " my 
 cards and handkerchief; in this my keys ; in this 
 my purse, and so on. There is a place for every- 
 thing, and everything is in its place ! The waist- 
 coat I wear is soft snd yielding to the figure ; it 
 is warm without being oppressive, and no woman 
 who has not yet worn them can properly estimate 
 the comfort of trousers /" 
 
 Here the decorous gravity of the audience en- 
 tirely gave way, and the whole place rang with 
 laughter. The gentleman in the balcony became 
 wildly obstreperous and exclaimed spasmodically, 
 " Hooray ! True for you, my boy. Go it, go it !" 
 till he was smothered once more into silence. The 
 laughter lasted some seconds, and the reporter on 
 my left hand, the man with the beery beard, wiping 
 away the moisture of merriment from his eyes, 
 bent towards me in the openness of his heart and 
 whispered confidentially, " What a game, isn't 
 it?" 
 
 I looked at him with a sad and frozen stare — I 
 
MY WONDERFUL WIFE. 28 1 
 
 was too wretched to be indignant — and managed 
 to force a smile and stiff nod of assent. He seemed 
 rather taken aback by my expression, for the mirth 
 passed off his face, leaving only a whimsical sur- 
 prise. He mused within himself for a while, and 
 again the ale-scented beard approached my ear. 
 
 " Know her, perhaps, do you ?" 
 
 " I — I knew her once !" I replied sombrely. 
 
 He glanced at me more curiously than before. 
 
 " I wonder where her husband is ?" was his next 
 remark. 
 
 " Can't imagine," I said with curt and desperate 
 sternness. 
 
 He relapsed into meditative silence, and began 
 drawing a little caricature of Honoria on a blank 
 page of his note-book. She meanwhile re- 
 sumed : 
 
 " I am very glad, ladies and gentlemen, that I 
 have provoked you to laughter — very glad, as this 
 behaviour on your part convinces me more than 
 ever of the value of my theory ! All great ideas 
 have been first laughed at ever since the world be- 
 gan. The notion of steam as a motive power was 
 laughed at ; the Atlantic cable-wire was laughed 
 at ; and naturally the proposition of men's cloth- 
 ing for women must, like all other reforming prop- 
 ositions, be at the outset laughed to scorn also. 
 But nevertheless it will take root — it is taking 
 root — ^and it will win its way in spite of all oppo- 
 sition. Certain objections have been raised to my 
 views on behalf of trade ; the question as to what 
 would become of a large portion of trade if women 
 dressed like men has often been represented to me 
 24* 
 
282 MY WONDERFUL WIFE. 
 
 as a very serious obstruction. But / say that the 
 freedom, health, and comfort of women are more 
 to be considered than any trade ! Let trade take 
 care of its own concerns as best it may! Injured 
 in one branch it will balance itself in another, and 
 we are not bound to take it at all into our calcula- 
 tions. The liberty — the perfect liberty — of Woman 
 is what we have to strive for ; and part of this 
 grand object will be attained when we have se- 
 cured for her the untrammelled physical condition 
 boasted of and enjoyed by her would-be oppressor, 
 Man !" 
 
 " Say, would you nurse the babies in jacket and 
 trousers ?" asked some one at the back of the hall, 
 in a high nasal tone which was distinctly Trans- 
 atlantic. A ripple of laughter again ran through 
 the audience, and Honoria looked about her de- 
 fiantly. 
 
 " It is not my province to reply to the queries 
 of mere vulgar impertinence," she snapped out ; — 
 (cries of " Oh, Oh !") " There seems to be some 
 inebriated individual present. Let us hope he may 
 be persuaded to retire !" 
 
 Then ensued a vast deal of officious scrambling 
 on the part of the gentleman with the yellow teeth, 
 and a general confused murmur, which ended in 
 the " inebriated individual" openly standing up and 
 showing himself to be a tall, rather fine-looking 
 fellow, with that sort of ease and good-humour 
 about him which often characterizes the Western 
 American settler. 
 
 " I'm not ' inebriated,' my gel," he observed 
 cheerfully; "but I'll leave this hall at once with a 
 
MY WONDERFUL WIFE. 283 
 
 good deal more pleasure than I came into it. Why, 
 it riles me all the wrong way to hear you going on 
 like this about equality in clothes and such-like 
 nonsense ! Go home, my gel, go home, and get 
 into a pretty gown and fallals ; take two or three 
 hours to fix yourself before your looking-glass if 
 you like, and when you've rigged yourself up as 
 sweet and pretty as you can be, see if you don't 
 make more way with the ruling of man than you 
 ever will prancing on a platform ! That's all / 
 want to say. I'm off home, and apologise for in- 
 terrupting the performance ! Good-night !" 
 
 And amid the smiles and encouraging glances 
 of the whole audience, the long-limbed " inebriate'" 
 departed amiably; and as he went I saw him 
 " tip" the gentleman with the yellow teeth, who 
 became crook-backed with servility in consequence. 
 With his departure, Honoria took up the thread 
 of her discourse, but she was now very angry and 
 evidently very impatient. Her Transatlantic visitor 
 had put her into an extremely bad humour. She 
 made short work of the " Cheapness, quality, and 
 durability of men's clothing," but when she reached 
 the " Advantages of Social Uniformity" she became 
 positively tempestuous. Regardless of coherence 
 or sequence, she raged against the " contemptibility 
 of the system of marriage as now practised ;" of 
 the " drudgery" and " degradation" inflicted on 
 women who thus fulfilled their " miserable" (but 
 still natural) destiny ; of the " crushing" methods 
 employed deliberately by the male sex to break 
 the spirit and render insupportable the position 
 of the feminine; and touching on the subject of 
 
284 MY WONDERFUL WIFE. 
 
 " love" she seemed to grow inflamed inwardly and 
 outwardly with scorn. 
 
 "Love!" she exclaimed derisively. "We all 
 know what it is now-a-days — a silly and always con- 
 descending consent to ' spoon' on the part of the 
 man, and an equally silly but disgracefully ready 
 willingness to be ' spooned' on the part of the girl 
 who is not yet awake to the responsibilities of her 
 position ! Nothing more than this ! It is ridicu- 
 lous ! What can be more utterly absurd than to 
 see a free and independent woman allowing her 
 hand to be kissed — or her lips, for that matter — by 
 a so-called ' lover,' who is after all accepted merely 
 as a business-partner in life, and who pays her 
 these grotesque attentions only as a sort of im- 
 mense favour, out of his offensive benevolence for 
 her supposed weakly-clinging and helpless nature ? 
 Oh, it is time we should rebel against such com- 
 placent affabilities ! It is time, I say, that women 
 who are resolved to walk in the full light of liberty, 
 should cast off the trammels of old barbaric cus- 
 tom and prejudice, and adopt every right, every 
 privilege, which the other sex wish to debar them 
 from enjoying ! Let ultra-foolish feminine minds 
 cling, if they will do so, to the delusion that man's 
 love will protect and defend them ; that it is their 
 chief glory of life to be loved ; and that their chief 
 aim is to render themselves worthy of love ; these 
 are the wretched dupes of their own imagina- 
 tions, and their intellects will never expand ! True 
 progress is barred to them ; the door of wisdom is 
 slammed in their faces ! Those who wilfully choose 
 this chimera called Love, must sacrifice everything 
 
MY WONDERFUL WIFE. 28$ 
 
 else ; it is a binding, narrowing influence in which 
 one hfe depends almost entirely upon the other, 
 that other often proving too feeble and insufficient 
 to support even itself! Be free, women — be free! 
 Freedom never palls. Independence never satiates, 
 Progress never tires ! Be ashamed to allow men 
 one iota of that ' superiority' they wrongfully claim 
 to possess ! Dispute with them for every inch of 
 the ground in every profession that you are desir- 
 ous of entering ; and beware — ^beware of yielding 
 one single point of your hardly-gained indepen- 
 dence ! They will flatter you ; they will tell the 
 plainest of you that she is a Venus, to gain their 
 own private ends ; they will make big eyes at you, 
 and will sigh audibly when they find themselves 
 next to you at a concert or theatre ; but these tricks 
 are practised for a purpose — to inveigle and dupe 
 you into becoming their slaves J Resist them — re- 
 sist them with your utmost might ! You will find 
 the task easier when you have thrown aside all 
 useless frippery and adornment, and adopted their 
 garments, and with their garments their liberty ! 
 They will accept you then as equals, as comrades, 
 as friends" — (" No, they won't !" shouted the per- 
 son in the balcony) — " they will leave off their 
 foolish, unbecoming endearments" — (" By Jove, 
 that they certainly will !" cried the voice again) — 
 " and you will occupy that distinct equality of po- 
 sition which will entitle you, if intellectually gifted, 
 to rank with all the male geniuses of the century ! 
 Freedom ! — that should be woman's watch-word. 
 Freedom ! — entire and absolute ! Fight for it, 
 women ! Work for it — die for it, if need be — and 
 
286 MY WONDERFUL WIFE. 
 
 resist to the last gasp the treacherous enslavement 
 and drudgery called Love imposed upon you by 
 man !" 
 
 With this rhodomontade she concluded, rolled 
 up her manuscript, gave it a thump, and bowed. 
 Of course the audience applauded her to the echo, 
 so great was their good nature and sense of the 
 ridiculous ; and when she clapped on her " deer- 
 stalker" and marched off the platform, they sum- 
 moned her back again, just for the fun of seeing 
 her lift that hat of hers in airy response to their 
 demonstrations. The reporters on each side of 
 me rose. I rose also and groped for my over-coat 
 under the seat. 
 
 " She's great fun," said the man'with the beard 
 to his comrade, yawning capaciously; "she's 
 going to the States, isn't she ?" 
 
 " Yes," replied the other ; " she'll draw there, 
 and no mistake !" 
 
 " I wonder," said the first speaker again mus- 
 ingly — " I wonder where the poor devil of a hus- 
 band is ?" 
 
 " Far enough away, I should think," returned 
 his friend. " These sort of women never have any 
 husbands — they take ' business partners,' don't you 
 know — and whenever there's a difference of opin- 
 ion, they split !" 
 
 Getting their coats on they sauntered down the 
 hall, grinning — I following them with dazed, aching 
 eyes and a burning brow. I glanced back once, and 
 once only, at the now vacant platform. Ah ! you 
 may wait, Honoria — you may wait as long as you 
 please, expecting to see me come to you and make 
 
MY WONDERFUL WIFE. 28/ 
 
 an appointment to " dine at the Grosvenor," but you 
 will wait in vain ! The " degradation" of a hus- 
 band shall never afflict you more ; the " contempti- 
 bility" of the married state shall never again debar 
 you from the enjoyment of your masculine in- 
 dependence ! William Hatwell-Tribkin removes 
 himself from your path, and the only reminder 
 you will ever have of his existence is your allow- 
 ance, paid quarterly, through your bankers, with 
 unflinching regularity and exactitude 1 Thus I 
 mused, as I mingled with the crowd pouring itself 
 out of Prince's Hall, and heard the jeers and 
 sneers and " chaff" freely bestowed on the lady 
 lecturer by several members of her late audience. 
 
 " What a cure she looked 1" said one man, as he 
 elbowed himself past me. 
 
 " What a fool she made of herself!" remarked 
 another. " I wonder she isn't ashamed !" 
 
 " Ashamed ! My dear fellow, don't expect ladies 
 in trousers to be ashamed of anything ! Their 
 blushing days are past !" 
 
 Alter hearing this, I made haste to pass through 
 the throng and escape into the open air as speedily 
 as possible, for though Honoria might not be able 
 to blush, / blushed for her — blushed so painfully 
 that I felt my blood tingling to the very tips of 
 my ears. To be compelled to listen while my 
 wife's name was bandied about from one to the 
 other with careless jest and light impertinence was 
 exceedingly bitter to me; and I breathed a sigh 
 of relief when I found myself in the outer vesti- 
 bule. Here, close by the door, were two individ- 
 uals — young men — one apparently propping up 
 
288 MY WONDERFUL WIFE. 
 
 the other, who was almost in a dying condition 
 of laughter. Laughing so much, indeed, that it 
 appeared he could not stop himself, and again and 
 again his explosive guffaws broke out till he laid 
 his head feebly back against the wall with his 
 mouth still open, and shutting his eyes, pressed 
 one hand upon his side, and seemed about to slip 
 helplessly on the ground, a convulsed prey to 
 excess of risibility. His companion was laughing 
 too, but less violently. 
 
 " Come home, old fellow ! I say, do come 
 home," he implored ; " don't stand grinning there ! 
 You'll have a crowd round you — come on !" 
 
 " I can't !" gasped the hilarious one ; " I shall 
 drop down on the way ! Oh, by Jove ! Wasn't 
 it just rich I The comfort of trousers! Ha, ha, 
 ha, ha, ha ! And she wore them ! Ha, ha, ha ! 
 That was the best of it, she wore them ! Ha, ha, 
 ha, ha, ha !" 
 
 And off he went again into hysterical spasms. 
 I surveyed him with mild wonder and scorn ; it 
 was rather dark, and at first I could not distin- 
 guish his features very clearly, especially in their 
 contorted condition; but as I passed out into 
 Piccadilly and had the advantage of the brilliant 
 light over the doorway I saw and recognised him 
 — recognised him with more indignation than a 
 whole dictionary of powerful epithets could ex- 
 press ; it was that horrid " Bobbie !" Bobbie with 
 the moustaches ! Wretch ! Not " on the river" 
 this time — not in the river, where in that first 
 savage moment I would have willingly pitched 
 him ! He had actually come to grin at Honoria, 
 
MY WONDERFUL WIFE. 289 
 
 and gloat over my misery, and make game, in his 
 sublimely idiotic fashion, of the whole spectacle ! 
 It was a wonder I did not knock him down on 
 the spot; but he did not appear to see me, and 
 I marched haughtily past him and his noodle- 
 looking friend, out into Piccadilly, where I sol- 
 emnly swore, before all the coming and going om- 
 nibuses, that if ever I met the fellow again i would 
 cut him dead ! Not that he would mind that a 
 bit, but it would at any rate be some sHght satisfac- 
 tion to my deeply wounded feelings ! 
 
 And now there remains but little more to add to 
 this " plain unvarnished" domestic history. With 
 that night — that wretched night — ended all the 
 hope I had ever entertained of coming to a better 
 and happier understanding with Honoria. She 
 is still famed for her masculine prowess, and /, 
 in consequence, am still a lonely man. My boy 
 goes to school now — a bright little chap, who 
 up to the present has never seen his mother since 
 his unreflective infancy. He takes his holidays at 
 Richmoor House, in Kent, whither I accompany 
 him, and behold in little Georgie a womanly wife 
 who knows how to make her husband perfectly 
 happy. But all the same, my wife is notorious, 
 and the young Countess of Richmoor is not. 
 Georgie never gets into the papers at all, except 
 when she is mentioned in the list of ladies at 
 the Queen's Drawing-room; Honoria is always 
 figuring in them, in season and out of season. 
 She has lectured in America ; she has lectured in 
 Australia ; she has made the tour of all the world. 
 She has even shot tigers in India ; and during a 
 
 N / 2S 
 
290 MY WONDERFUL WIFE. 
 
 visit to Turkey took to the real original long 
 meerschaum pipe, concerning the delights of which 
 she wrote an elaborate essay in one of the " sport- 
 ing" papers. And here I may as well mention 
 that I myself am no longer a lover of tobacco in 
 any shape or form. My marriage with a female 
 smoker cured me of that vice — ^if it was a vice. 
 Anyhow, I am positively convinced that if Ho- 
 noria had not learned how to smoke from that 
 Brighton school riding-master (accursed be his 
 memory !) she would scarcely have adopted, one 
 by one, as she did, all the other " mannish" habits 
 which followed in the train of her first cigarette. 
 It is all very well to tell me that Spanish women, 
 and Russian women, and Turkish women smoke. 
 Let them do so if they like ; they are nothing to 
 us, nor we to them ; but for Heaven's sake let us 
 ward off that vulgarity from our sweet, fair English 
 women, who are the pride of our country, and the 
 prettiest and freshest to look at in the whole world ! 
 My wife is now an incorrigible smoker ; I believe 
 she is never seen without a cigar in her mouth ; 
 and I have unfortunately been powerless to prevent 
 it, but I think — nay, I almost venture to hope — 
 she is an exceptional sort of v/oman ! Old and 
 intimate friends when speaking of her to me, 
 always say, " That wonderful wife of yours !" and 
 I know she is wonderful ; I am sure she is ! I 
 admire her respectfully— /w»2 a distance ! I have 
 no moral offences to charge against her; she is 
 what the Americans call " square" in every partic- 
 ular. She is clever, she is brilliant, she is daring, 
 and though she is now getting rather coarse in. 
 
MY WONDERFUL WIFE. 29I 
 
 build, she is still handsome. She is " run after" 
 by a certain portion of society, and adulated by 
 a certain class of young men (she has not yet 
 got her way about men's clothes, and has to con- 
 form to the " barbaric" usages of society in that 
 respect ) ; the eyes of the curious public are fast- 
 ened upon her wherever she appears, and she 
 enjoys that doubtful celebrity which attaches to 
 people who are always pushing themselves to the 
 front without any tangible claim to remarkable 
 merit. But — it was / who married her ; to my 
 unhappy lot it fell to test her value as a wife — her 
 tenderness as a mother ! And, as the melancholy 
 result of that experience, I must honestly declare 
 that, wonderful as she is, and wonderful as she 
 always will be, I am still regretfully compelled to 
 acknowledge that, notwithstanding all her wonder- 
 fulness — and in spite of whatever the worshipful 
 Daily Telegraph may think of me — the deplorable 
 fact remains — namely, that I — her husband — am 
 unable to live with her ! 
 
 THE END. 
 
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Cornell University Library 
 PR 4504.C18 1895 
 
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 "3""l"9'24 013 466 911 
 
•>i|i'j^ 
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