Ik 7m JteT 
 
Mr. MacLehose would be particularly 
 obliged to SUBSCRIBERS if Books, and especially 
 Novels, in two or more volumes were returned 
 in Unbroken Sets. 
 
 Odd volumes are of no use, and their return 
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 m m 
 


 IN THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
IN THE SWEET SPRING-TIME 
 
 A LOVE STORY. 
 
 BY 
 
 KATHARINE S. MACQUOLD 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 "PATTY," "DIANE," 
 
 &c, &c. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. 1. 
 
 LONDON: 
 HURST AND BLACKETT, PUBLISHERS, 
 
 13, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET. 
 
 1880. 
 
 All riuhts resertul 
 
LONDON : 
 
 PRINTED BY DUNCAN MACDONALD, BLENHEIM HOUSE, 
 
 BLENHEIM STREET, OXFORD STREET. 
 
TO 
 
 THOMAS CAHILL, ESQ., M.D. 
 
 THIS BOOK 
 
 TS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR. 
 
 v.) • 
 
 SpCa 7 c 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 in 2009 with funding from 
 Duke University Libraries 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/insweetspringtim01macq 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 OF 
 
 THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 PROLOGUE. 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I. Three Friends 3 
 
 II. TWO GO OUT INTO THE WORLD ... 28 
 
 BOOK I.— SPRING. 
 
 I. Lady Mary Penruddock . . . .41 
 
 II. Early Spring 52 
 
 III. Mr. Oliver Burridge 65 
 
 IV. Martha's Home 85 
 
 V. A little Supper 99 
 
 VI. A Difference of Opinion . . .115 
 
 VII. At the Garden-party 130 
 
 VIII. Jealousy 164 
 
 IX. On the Brink 176 
 
 X. Maurice and Martha 193 
 
 XL A First Visit 207 
 
 XII. A Confidence 226 
 
 XIII. Prevention is not always better than Cure 243 
 
 XIV. Martha and Gyneth meet .... 254 
 XV. An Interview 270 
 
 XVI. A Row up the River 283 
 
PROLOGUE. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
IN THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THREE FRIENDS. 
 
 TT was growing dusk ; the day seemed tired 
 -*- of the dry heat that had been burning into 
 it since the sun had got above the tall tree-tops, 
 and when he sank into the bank of clouds on 
 the range of hills to the west, light faded more 
 quickly than usual, and a sudden stillness made 
 the evening appear later than it was. 
 
 From these high hill-tops a broad stretch of 
 land came gradually downwards ; first it was 
 waste interspersed with fir-woods and oak 
 copses, yellow with coming age ; nearer to the 
 road were meadows divided into squares by 
 hawthorn-hedges, a dull olive now, but 
 
 b2 
 
4 IN THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 variegated in places with the paler green of 
 honeysuckles; nearer still was an immense 
 stretch of corn-land, making a golden border to 
 this yellow road. The corn was very golden 
 where the shocks still stood leaning one against 
 another as if they too were faint and weary 
 with the long day's heat; the largest half of 
 the field whence the corn had been already 
 carried was paler and tawnier in colour. 
 
 Through this stubble a few women, their 
 heads covered by sun-bonnets, moved in a bent, 
 slow fashion ; every now and then one stooped, 
 and then stuffed the ears she had gathered up 
 into the bundle in front of her apron. These 
 gleaners were the only occupants of the field 
 which, ten minutes ago, had been full of reapers ; 
 but these had emptied their beer-cans, had 
 piled the last shock on the top of the over-filled 
 waggons, and were only just out of sight in the 
 road that bordered the great corn-field. 
 
 " I tell you what it is, Martha — those gleaners 
 arn't got any wits, else they'd follow the carts, 
 and gather the droppings, and what the hedges 
 snatch, as the loads go along." 
 
THREE FRIENDS. D 
 
 The speaker was a square-shouldered, bright- 
 faced boy about ten years old ; he stuffed both 
 hands to the bottoms of the pockets of his 
 corduroys, shut his firm lips tightly, and frowned 
 with disapproval in the faces of his two com- 
 panions. One of these was a lad about five 
 years older than the speaker ; he smiled at the 
 little fellow's indignation ; but the third, a girl, 
 looked grave. 
 
 " Yes, it is a pity," she said, in a sort of 
 hushed voice — hushed, but not sweet ; it had 
 perhaps a tone of suppressed harshness ; " but, 
 Oliver, why not go and tell the women about it ; 
 •'twould be kind in you ; they'll be thankful, I'm 
 sure." 
 
 The girl was very tall; she did not look more 
 than thirteen, though she was a year older,, 
 her thin arms had hung straight by her side, 
 but now she clasped her long hands appeal- 
 in gly as she looked down in the little boy's 
 face. 
 
 Oliver shook his square head, and his sho alders 
 too. 
 
 " You're as soft as they are, Matty ; they're 
 
6 IN THE SWEET SPRIXG-TIME. 
 
 too dazed to take advice Hallo ! — hark !" 
 
 He stopped, and stood listening, his face full 
 of singular intelligence. Till now all had been 
 peaceful — the women's figures stood out picture- 
 like against the cool green sky. There had not 
 even been the lowing of the cows or the tinkle 
 of a sheep-bell to break the stillness. The 
 whirr of a beetle now and then as it struck 
 against the hedge, thereby rousing the honey- 
 suckle blossoms to a fuller gush of sweetness^ 
 and Oliver's loud, firm voice — these sounds 
 that moved the warm air had been all ; but now 
 a noise — a hum first, and then a harsh grating 
 — filled the air. The sudden noise had made 
 Oliver turn round and face the road, his hand- 
 some young face full of eagerness. Nearer and 
 nearer came the grinding sound ; something 
 surely was pounding, cutting its way through 
 the stones on the road ; lumbering, too, as if the 
 work was hard, and yet it was a very different 
 sound from that made by the slow-moving corn- 
 waggons ; nor was this something going at such 
 a snail-like pace. 
 
 Louder and louder grew the noise, and Oliver's 
 face grew more full of aweful expectation, and 
 
THREE FRIENDS. 7 
 
 then a strange sight presented itself to the won- 
 dering eyes of the children. On the other side of 
 the road the meadows went on sloping down- 
 wards to the bottom of the valley, and then 
 rose up with wooded sides to a vision of pale 
 blue outlines said to be the Sussex downs. Into 
 this quiet solitude with no large grouping of 
 houses to indicate human presence, into this 
 great space of nature there came lumbering along 
 the road something that looked like a monstrous 
 beetle, red and blue, with a brazen head, crunch- 
 ing, grinding, and seeming to cry out with 
 some inward agony, as it puffed forth a faint 
 blue cloud of steam. 
 
 Two of the lookers-on backed into the hedge. 
 The strange awe in Oliver's face had spread 
 through him ; he neither spoke nor moved, but 
 stood rooted to the spot, his eyes devouring the 
 engine. 
 
 As the thing lumbered by, disturbing all the 
 stillness, a blot on the peaceful beauty of the 
 landscape, the boy drew a deep breath. " Where 
 are you going to?" he shouted to the driver. 
 The grimy, smoke-stained man did not even 
 turn his head. 
 
8 IN THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 " Gilding," he said, and on the engine went 
 lumbering and grindiDg, and off scampered 
 Oliver in its wake. 
 
 The elder lad roused out of his silence. 
 
 " What is he at?" he said. "It is folly to 
 go after a steam-engine." 
 
 The girl looked at him with a puzzled face ; 
 but in a minute the puzzled look vanished, and 
 she smiled. 
 
 "Don't you trouble about Oliver, Maurice, 
 he's always right. You see how mother trusts 
 him, and he never comes to harm. Oh ! yes, 
 he'll be all right." 
 
 Maurice had a long, thoughtful face, with 
 sweet brown eyes ; he raised his dark eyebrows 
 and shook his head at Martha. 
 
 "Your mother knows best, of course, but 1 
 should say a fellow only ten years old ought 
 not to go wherever he chooses. He's gone 
 quite the opposite road to home. We had 
 better follow him a bit." 
 
 Martha smiled gratefully. 
 
 " It is very kind of you," she spoke shyly, 
 one shoulder higher than the other, without 
 
THREE FRIENDS. 9 
 
 looking at her companion, "but Oliver is all 
 right ; he guesses the engine men will stop at 
 the public down at the bottom of the hill — that's 
 Tringer's, where those gleaners are going." 
 She nodded towards the line of women now 
 filing slowly into the road; some of them 
 with bundles carried in front, others with one 
 bundle poised on the head, and held there by a 
 strong brown arm, while the other hand clasped 
 a second bundle tied in the apron. All looked 
 brown, and wearied with hard work in the 
 heat of the day that was only just done. 
 
 " All right, we'll go to Tringer's," Maurice 
 said, and the girl followed him along the stony 
 road — only a few paces, and then she quickened 
 her steps, and walked beside him. 
 
 She was tall, with the lank, unformed growth 
 of a girl who promised to be above the common 
 height ; fair skinned, but for some freckles, with 
 large and singularly green eyes, her face was 
 too narrow and thin, but still it was interesting, 
 there was so much restrained expression in the 
 eyes and delicate mouth, with its thin lips ; she 
 had a rosy colour, too, or she would have looked 
 
10 IN THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 white, for her hair was a rich deep red, golden 
 at the edges, and lying in thick straight masses 
 across her forehead. Her sun-bonnet partly 
 hid her features, but she had evidently walked 
 faster, so as to be able to watch her companion's 
 refined, melancholy face. The melancholy was 
 plainly more a trick of expression than a habit 
 of mind, for when, in a few minutes, he began 
 to smile, he looked so bright, so mischievous 
 even, that it was impossible to associate sadness 
 with Maurice Penruddock. 
 
 " Martha," — the smile broadened into a merry 
 laugh, — " how you do spoil Oliver ! I believe you 
 think he's a sort of oracle." 
 
 Martha blushed, and frowned, and twisted 
 her fingers together nervously. 
 
 " I don't know what ' oracle ' may be, but I 
 shan't spoil him, Oliver's too good to be spoilt. 
 Mother says he's so clever that he's sure to be 
 all right ; he's got a wonderful clear head ; he's 
 such a sensible little chap." 
 
 Maurice laughed again. 
 
 " I ought to know it by this time ; you've 
 said the same thing to me every Saturday since 
 
THREE FRIENDS. 11 
 
 I've known you, and that's why I say you'll 
 spoil Oliver. You are besotted about him, 
 Martha, and you'll never open your eyes." 
 
 He did not turn his head to look at her, but 
 she looked at him from under her sun-bonnet, 
 not with any vexation, but with a kind of con- 
 viction, as if she felt the truth of his words, 
 and yet could not accept them. They walked 
 on silently for some minutes. 
 
 " You ought to know," at last Martha said ; 
 " you are cleverer than I am, and, of course, 
 you've had more teaching— and besides, you 
 are different altogether." 
 
 A flush came on the boy's face. 
 
 " I wish you would not talk nonsense, Mar- 
 tha," he said, quickly. " You are clever enough 
 yourself; if you had said I must know better 
 because I'm a man and you're a girl, there 
 would have been some sense in that." 
 
 The girl drew herself up ; her cheeks were 
 scarlet. Maurice looked round, struck by her 
 silence, and saw the flaming face. 
 
 "What an odd girl you are!" he said. 
 "What has vexed you now? — you must know 
 
12 IN THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 I could not ever mean to vex you, Martha." 
 
 He was vexed himself, and he spoke abrupt- 
 ly. The girl's heart swelled with pain ; she 
 pinched her fingers till she hurt them. 
 
 " It isn't you I mean/' she said. " I'm 
 thinking of that fine parson's wife — I hate 
 her !" 
 
 Maurice turned round impulsively, but there 
 was a look of weariness in his face. 
 
 " I say, Martha, don't you think we'd better 
 enjoy our holiday? — what's the use of sulking 
 over old grievances ?" 
 
 He smiled as he ended, and the smile took 
 the sting out of his words. 
 
 " I've done," she said, " and I don't mind, 
 except for mother ; it's hard on her to be scorn- 
 ed, and it isn't an old grievance either." 
 
 Maurice did not answer ; he looked annoyed, 
 and he began to whistle. He knew that Mrs. 
 Parrat, the wife of the clergyman, who was 
 preparing him for Eton, had expressed herself 
 strongly about his friends, Martha and Oliver, 
 and their mother, but this had happened two 
 years ago. Though he was then only thirteen, 
 
THREE FRIENDS. 13 
 
 Maurice Penruddock bad been separated from bis 
 parents so early tbat be bad learned to tbink 
 and act for bimself. His father and mother 
 were still in India, but he wrote at once to his 
 guardian, Mr. John Venables. 
 
 u There are some kind people here," he said, 
 "who live close to Deeping, a blind woman and 
 her two children — very simple people, but quiet 
 and well-mannered — and they would like to 
 have me on half-holidays ; Oliver and Martha 
 are younger than I am, and I am sure I can learn 
 no harm from them, and I find the country very 
 dull on half-holidays." 
 
 Mr. Venables had lately placed his ward in 
 the country for health's sake, after keeping him 
 for some years at school in London. He was 
 an old bachelor, very fond of amusement, and 
 he thought Maurice ought not to be dull on 
 half-holidays. Major and Mrs. Penruddock were 
 in India ; it would take too long to write and 
 consult them, so- he took the easier course — he 
 wrote to Maurice, and gave him leave to visit 
 his new friends, telling him to show the letter 
 to Mr. Parrat. All this had happened two 
 
14 IN THE SWEET SPRIXG-TIME. 
 
 years ago, and the lad was surprised that Mar- 
 tha should refer to such an old story. 
 
 " Mrs. Parrat means all right," he said, as 
 they walked on ; " she can't help being silly." 
 
 Martha pulled at her bonnet-strings as if she 
 meant to pull them off; she drew her head 
 up. 
 
 " Mrs. Parrat met mother and me yesterday, 
 and she took no notice," she said, harshly. 
 
 " Oh !" Maurice gave a kind of groan. " She 
 did not know you, most likely, and she's only a 
 silly woman. I should not have thought you 
 would have cared for the notice of a silly per- 
 son, Martha. Why, where on earth has Oliver 
 gone to ?" 
 
 The road, which had sunk between high 
 yellow banks, topped with withered gorse and 
 brown brake, opened suddenly on a triangular 
 bit of common on the left, stretching upwards 
 to a crown of dark fir-trees. The high banks 
 ended here, and the road parted into two, 
 one way going straight forward, arched over 
 by trees already painted with autumn tints ; 
 a narrower path on the left fringed the com- 
 
THREE FRIENDS. 15 
 
 mon, and took its way np the slope, and beside a 
 small group of cottages ; the sign of the "White 
 Horse " before one of these houses, and a black 
 board over the door of another with white 
 letters, told that Timothy Cruttenden was a 
 licensed dealer, and showed where the in- 
 habitants bought food and drink. 
 
 "Do you think he'd go inside?" Maurice 
 asked, as they climbed the hill towards the 
 " White Horse." 
 
 " No_, that he wouldn't — he's given mother 
 his word on it — he's never seen the inside of a 
 public since he was six." Martha spoke with 
 quite unnecessary emphasis. 
 
 While they lingered, the landlord came out 
 with a long pipe in his hand. 
 
 " Good evening," Maurice said, and Martha 
 noted, admiringly, that he bowed, and that 
 the publican acknowledged the salute ; " has a 
 young boy been here just now, Mr. Tringer. 
 You know Oliver Burridge." 
 
 Maurice spoke rather haughtily — he felt an- 
 noyed — it seemed to him that Oliver ought not 
 to give so much trouble. 
 
16 IN THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 "Yes, sir," the man said, respectfully, "he 
 was here not long ago neither, but he's gone 
 along on the engine to Gilding," and he pointed 
 with his pipe; "he got the soft side of the 
 driver to let him get on." 
 
 "To Gilding! How on earth is he to get 
 back to-night?" Maurice frowned. 
 
 " Bless you, sir, the little chap'll come all right 
 —he told me to say as he's all right if anyone 
 asked — he's bent on seeing the engine at work — 
 it's a com cutter, or something o' that— I know 
 the driver well. Joe's a chum of mine, and he 
 said he'd bring the young 'un back all right — 
 he's an inquiring young blade — " 
 
 Martha pinched her lips together and stood 
 twisting her fingers. 
 
 " Don't you be afeard now, he'll do all right," 
 Mr. Tringer nodded his head, and took a huge 
 pull at his pipe. " I could not but laugh. The 
 little chap was so bent on riding with the engine 
 — he's desperate sharp on machines, he is." 
 
 Maurice frowned again. 
 
 " Good evening," he said, and then he walked 
 away ; not down to the road, but up to the fir- 
 
THREE FRIENDS. 17 
 
 wood. "It's a great deal too bad," he said, 
 when they reached the entrance of the wood. 
 " Oliver wants a good flogging. I don't believe 
 there's any discipline at that Grammar School." 
 
 Martha first turned red, then she pressed her 
 lips together and looked at him wistfully. 
 
 " I only mind that you should be put out," 
 she said, in her hushed tone. " Oliver's all 
 right. No harm'll come to him." 
 
 "Well, I say he's all wrong. What will 
 your mother say !" Maurice said, impatiently, as 
 he strode along over the brown carpet of fir- 
 needles. "You'll be tired, Martha/' he said, 
 looking over his shoulder. " I beg your pardon 
 for going on so fast. We can rest here a few 
 minutes, and yet be back in time." 
 
 She seated herself without a word, her hands 
 in her lap, her head bent forward so that her 
 face was hidden by her sun-bonnet. She was 
 happy again, for she felt that Maurice was sorry 
 he had spoken crossly, and that he was satisfied 
 to stay here with her all alone. 
 
 "Martha," he said, suddenly, in a changed 
 voice, " shall you miss me when I go away ?" 
 
 VOL. I. C 
 
18 IN THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 She raised her head and gazed at him, grow- 
 ing pale. There was vivid alarm in the stare 
 of her eyes. 
 
 "Go away! where?" she said, in her harshest 
 voice. 
 
 Maurice looked away, and hit the ground 
 beside him with a stick he had pulled from the 
 hedge below. 
 
 " Well, you knew I couldn't stay here always ; 
 and, after all," he spoke coolly, "you won't miss 
 me as I shall miss you — you and Oliver have 
 got one another." 
 
 She made a hasty movement and raised her 
 hand ; then she suddenly checked herself. 
 
 " One person can never make up for another," 
 she said, so sadly that the harshness left her 
 voice. " You and Oliver are different." 
 
 Maurice gave a rueful smile. 
 
 " Well, then," he said, discontentedly, " you 
 always say he's perfect, so of course I'm just 
 the opposite, if I'm different. It isn't fair, 
 Martha ; you are more my friend than anybody 
 is," — such a loving stress on the words, — " and 
 you care nothing for me compared with Oliver " 
 
THREE FRIENDS. 19 
 
 He got up and went and stood against the 
 red bole of one of the trees. Overhead was the 
 purple-green canopy of pines, and behind, hang- 
 ing like a weird transparent veil, in their intri- 
 cate crossings and re-crossings, were thin 
 branches brown and dead. 
 
 Martha was struggling with herself ; she did 
 not speak or look round. She longed to tell 
 Maurice how much she cared for him— how dull 
 her life would be without him ; but her sorrow 
 was dumb, and she was vexed ; she thought also 
 that Maurice cared too little for Oliver. 
 
 Maurice stood waiting; he had battled with 
 his own reserve to make this appeal, and Martha 
 cared nothing for it ; she was, perhaps, thinking 
 him a muff, and laughing under the shade of 
 her bonnet. All at once he moved on through 
 the wood. Martha got up to follow, and then 
 she stood still. 
 
 "If he is really sorry about going away, he'll 
 come back to me now," she said. 
 
 But Maurice went on and on, till she feared 
 to lose sight of him. Martha began to repent. 
 He might be going away very soon, — perhaps 
 
 c2 
 
20 IN THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 this was his last Saturday at Deeping. Had he 
 meant those words for good-bye ? 
 
 " I can't run after him," she said, sorrowfully. 
 " I can't change my mind like a baby ; besides, 
 I know I can't speak — I feel choked like." 
 
 She set her face and pressed her lips hard, 
 and without her will her fingers kept on twist- 
 ing nervously together. 
 
 Maurice looked round at a turn of the path, 
 and he saw Martha standing where he had left 
 her, her head drooped forward. She seemed to 
 feel his gaze, for she raised her head and looked 
 at him, and then, irresistibly drawn, she went a 
 few steps forward. At this Maurice came back, 
 and they met about half way. In the journey 
 to meet him, the choked feeling had loosened, 
 and Martha could speak. 
 
 "Are you in earnest — are you really going- 
 away soon ?" she said, in a low voice. 
 
 The boy thought her eyes looked very sweet : 
 the dry intenseness had fled, and they were full 
 of soft dark green light. 
 
 "Yes — I was always going; you knew that 
 well enough. What is the use of such a foolish 
 
THREE FRIENDS. 21 
 
 question 1" he said, angrily. He was angry 
 with Fate, — with all that took him away from 
 the dear pleasant rambles and worshipping 
 companionship ; he had not known how close 
 he and Martha had grown to one another till 
 the call came to divide their friendship. 
 
 "But, you are only fifteen — you can't have 
 done schooling yet," she said, doubtfully. 
 
 Maurice laughed. 
 
 "I'm only just going to begin real school/' 
 he said. " I'm going to Eton. It isn't school 
 I dislike, but I don't want to go from here." He 
 wanted to say, " leave you all ;" that he meant 
 this was out of the reach of Martha's thoughts. 
 
 " You will come back here sometimes, won't 
 you 1" she said, wistfully. 
 
 " I hope so ;" but the words raised a dim 
 foreshadowing. Maurice felt, without realising, 
 how changed life would be for him when he had 
 really been to school. 
 
 " I," — he cleared his throat, — " I wanted to 
 tell you sooner, but I knew you would be cut 
 up. A letter came from my guardian a few 
 days ago ; he says I am to travel about with 
 
22 IN THE SWEET SPRIXG-TIME. 
 
 him a few months before I settle down regularly, 
 and I am to go to London on Monday." 
 
 He brought the words out with an effort. He 
 looked at her, and their eyes told each other 
 what their tongues could never have accom- 
 plished: they both so shrank from the chance of 
 tears. Martha's eyes were sombre with despair, 
 but his were so sad that her pride at least was 
 soothed. 
 
 " Monday," she said at last ; " so soon !" — 
 then, after a pause, in a heart- wrung voice, — " I 
 wonder what the weeks will be like when 
 there are no Saturdays like these at the end 
 of them." 
 
 Maurice could not say anything to comfort her ; 
 he felt very sad, but he felt guilty, too, that his 
 longing for school was going to be appeased. 
 
 " Let's say good-bye here," he said ; " what- 
 ever happens, I'll not forget you, Martha." 
 
 She stood like a statue ; he had meant to kiss 
 her cheek, but he hesitated ; he shrank from 
 offering what she might not like; so he held 
 out his hand instead. 
 
 Suddenly she roused, held his hand with 
 
THREE FRIENDS. 28 
 
 both hers, and then a deep passionate sob burst 
 from her, and she hid her face on his hand. 
 
 Maurice patted her shoulder gently. " Dear 
 old Martha, you'll not forget me; give me a 
 kiss," he whispered, u and say you won't forget 
 me." 
 
 She raised her head and he kissed her, but 
 she did not give him back his kiss : she was too 
 much ashamed of her sob. 
 
 "You'll soon forget us, I know," she said, 
 keeping her eyes on the ground. " You'll find 
 plenty of friends more like yourself." She 
 loosed his hand. " You're the only friend I ever 
 had, and I'll never take another," she said, bit- 
 terly, and she turned her head and shoulders 
 away. 
 
 Maurice did not understand her mood, — his 
 heart was very full, — it seemed to him that, if 
 Martha would only be sad and gentle, the part- 
 ing might be less wretched ; these strange 
 moods of hers had often tormented him. 
 
 "Don't be angry with me, dear," he said, ten- 
 derly ; " you may be sure I'm sorry enough to 
 leave you and Oliver." 
 
24 IN THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 He spoke as if he were an elder brother, in a 
 manly, protecting tone. All Martha's hardness 
 fled. She hid her face in her hands, and again 
 her voice was choked with a sob. 
 
 " No, no, not really sorry, or you couldn't say 
 it so easily ; you'd feel like a bit of hard stone." 
 
 She gave him one long sad look, and then, 
 suddenly beginning to run, she went away fast 
 through the wood. 
 
 Maurice started off in pursuit; but, at the 
 sound of his following footsteps, Martha turned 
 and waved him back with such an imploring 
 gesture that he stopped. 
 
 " I'll get leave to go and say good-bye to- 
 morrow. I'm half an hour late as it is ; poor little 
 thing, she is cut up." 
 
 When Martha reached home, she was over- 
 wrought by her parting from Maurice, and so 
 ashamed of the betrayal of her own feelings, 
 that she was very silent, — she forgot all about 
 Oliver. 
 
 His habits were eccentric, and the blind 
 mother took no heed of his absence till bed- 
 
THREE FRIENDS. 25 
 
 time ; then Martha roused up and told her the 
 story of his journey to Gilding. 
 
 Mrs. Burridge's lips trembled as she listened 
 to Martha's assurance that the child was all 
 right. 
 
 u All right," she said, " I hope so, but he's 
 over-venturesome, Mattie, he wants a man to 
 guide him ; if Maurice now would talk to him a 
 bit more it might be a good thing ; I'll ask 
 him." 
 
 " Maurice is going away," the girl said, 
 sullenly, and after that she hardly spoke again 
 till bed-time. 
 
 Next morning, as she guided her mother to 
 chapel, she was unusually quiet, and, even 
 when they came slowly back through the warm 
 sunshine, she answered no word to her mother's 
 talk on the road, nor did she tell the blind 
 woman, as she often did, about the wild flowers 
 or butterflies that brightened the walk, for the 
 cottage was some way out of Deeping. Dinner- 
 time came, but Oliver did not come back, and, 
 when she had settled her mother in the easy- 
 chair, Martha went and sat in the little strip of 
 
26 IN THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 garden beside the cottage. She had not been 
 there long when she heard the click of the gate- 
 latch, and there were Maurice and Oliver. 
 
 Martha turned crimson ; she felt compelled to 
 sit still, but her brother ran forward, and hid 
 her face in his hearty hug. 
 
 "Come along/' he said, eagerly; "come and 
 say good-bye to Maurice ; he's going to London 
 to-morrow ; he has not long to stop, and he 
 wants mother."" 
 
 "I'll find mother, and tell her." 
 
 Martha was glad to run away indoors. 
 
 The blind woman was looking towards the 
 door ; she had heard Oliver's voice. 
 
 61 Mother," Martha said, " come and say good- 
 bye to Maurice ; most like we'll never see him 
 again." 
 
 Maurice was at the door, and he heard her. 
 
 "You must not believe Martha, Mrs. Bur- 
 ridge." He spoke so kindly to the widow, so 
 gently, as he took her hand. " I shall not see 
 you again this year, I daresay, because I am to 
 travel about with my guardian, and then to 
 have some ' coaching' in London, before I go to 
 
THREE FRIENDS. 27 
 
 Eton in January ; but you may be sure that 
 some day I shall come back like a bad half- 
 crown. I suppose Oliver will be such a great 
 man one of these days that we shall all be proud 
 of him." 
 
 He shook the blind woman's hand, and then 
 held out his hand to Oliver. Last of all he said 
 good-bye to Martha, but no one looking on 
 could have told how sorry the lad really 
 felt. Martha's stolid quiet helped him, and 
 he turned from the gate with a smile on his 
 face, Oliver walking beside him to the very 
 door of the vicarage. 
 
 "Martha," said Mrs. Burridge, " you need not 
 fear — we shall see the dear lad again ; he isn't 
 one to forget friends." 
 
 There was no answer. Martha had stolen 
 away, and she was lying face downwards on 
 the floor of the room above, trying to choke 
 back the agony which was tearing at her heart. 
 
 " Gone !" — that was all she said, and it came 
 more as a smothered groan than a spoken word. 
 
28 
 
 CHAPTER IT. 
 
 TWO GO OUT INTO THE WORLD. 
 
 "VTEARS have gone by, and Maurice has never 
 ■*- come back to Deeping. He wrote at first 
 at tolerably regular intervals, but when he went 
 to Eton his letters became rarer and briefer, and 
 after a while he ceased to write. Martha's heart 
 ached sorely as months went by and no answer 
 -came to her last letter. " I don't wonder," she 
 said, u it was so dull and stupid," and then, 
 with a heavy sigh, she gave up the hope of 
 hearing from him. 
 
 In one way his silence was a relief; his let- 
 ters had been very precious to her, and she 
 had been very proud of receiving them ; but 
 it had been a great effort to answer them,- — 
 to write as she thought anyone so grand as 
 Maurice now was ought to be written to. 
 
TWO GO OUT INTO THE WORLD. 29 1 
 
 " He was always different from ns," she said ; 
 " he was always a gentleman ; and, now that he 
 lives among his equals, he must shrink from us, 
 and wonder how he could ever find sympathy 
 with such quiet, ignorant people. It is not 
 pride in him, Oliver is so wrong to call it 
 pride ; I know better ; like will cling to like ; 
 and I for one could never blame anyone for 
 caring for refinements. I always knew that our 
 friendship could not last." 
 
 But though she tried to soften it to herself, 
 Martha missed Maurice more than Oliver did. 
 The lad loved his sports far better than, his 
 lessons, and the difference in their age had pre- 
 vented Maurice from caring to play with him ; 
 nor had Maurice shown much sympathy with 
 Oliver's darling amusement of making what the 
 elder boy had called cardboard toys. Through 
 the long dark winter evenings Oliver had cared 
 little for books. He would sit silently apart at a 
 little table by himself, — the other table shook so, 
 he said, — and there, with thoughtful eyes and 
 eagerly-parted lips, he would spend hour after 
 hour making, by the light of one candle, mimic 
 
30 IN THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 machines copied from drawings in some en- 
 gineering journal. He sometimes showed his 
 work to Martha, but he never sought her advice, 
 and, when she blamed or suggested, he smiled 
 and shrugged his shoulders, as if to say that 
 the subject was beyond her comprehension. 
 
 While Maurice had been at Deeping, this 
 favourite occupation had somewhat lost its fasci- 
 nation, for each Saturday Maurice had brought 
 some fresh interest into the little family circle, — 
 sometimes a newspaper, which he lent them, and 
 news besides of what was happening in London 
 and throughout the country, and also about any 
 change in European politics, for both Martha 
 and Oliver, young as they were, took a deep 
 interest in such subjects, and Martha was keen 
 on any question likely to affect the working 
 classes. 
 
 Except a few old men, the elders of the 
 chapel, the Burridges had made no acquaint- 
 ances at Deeping. Oliver had plenty of school 
 acquaintances, but was too pugnacious to be 
 popular. The mother's blindness prevented her 
 from seeking friends, and she said she was too 
 old to strike fresh roots, — she had left all the 
 
TWO GO OUT INTO THE WORLD. 31 
 
 friends she cared for in the far North when her 
 husband died. Martha's extreme shyness and 
 silence being set down to pride, she was, 
 much to her relief, left to herself. But though 
 this tall silent girl seemed, to outsiders, proud 
 and apathetic, she was full of thoughts. At 
 present her absorbing idea was to help as much 
 as she could the poor around her. Her blind 
 mother took up much of her time, but she could 
 leave all household matters to a servant who 
 had lived with them from childhood, and could 
 get some hours in the week to teach sewing 
 and reading in the cottages near her home. 
 
 She idolized Oliver as much as ever, but the 
 lad began to find his home-life dull, and pined 
 to see more of what was going on in the world. 
 Martha had grown even more silent since 
 Maurice went ; and, though the boy loved his 
 mother and sister, the monotony chafed him. 
 
 Just at this time one of his schoolfellows lent 
 him a book, — the lives of celebrated engineers, 
 — and this so fired the boy's imagination that 
 he could think of nothing else. But Oliver 
 was fifteen now, and he had been brought up 
 in too stern a school of self-denial to dream of 
 
32 IN THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 acting on impulse. Instead of going to his 
 mother with his eager hopes, on the next half 
 holiday he asked if he could see the head- 
 master of the Grammar School. 
 
 The master was going out for an afternoon's 
 fishing, but he had long had his eye on Oliver, 
 and, spite of the complaints of his form-master 
 for want of application, he believed him to be 
 one of the brightest boys in the school, if he 
 could only be brought to give his mind to study. 
 "Just a fellow to distinguish himself at the 
 University, if he would but work hard enough 
 to get a scholarship," he had said to an under- 
 master, only a few days before. So now he 
 deferred his fishing, and looked with kindly 
 eyes at the bright-eyed, intelligent face, so full 
 of impulsive eagerness. 
 
 " What is it 1 can help you in, Burridge?" he 
 said ; " have you made up your mind to try for 
 one of the scholarships ? I hope so." 
 
 Oliver smiled proudly ; he thought the short- 
 lived fame of winning a scholarship, and, after 
 it, the privilege of spending his mother's slender 
 income at the University, very pitiful aims com- 
 
TWO GO OUT INTO THE WORLD. 33 
 
 pared with the dazzling future he had been 
 dreaming of. 
 
 "No, sir, thank you; but I've been reading 
 this/' — his blue eyes glowed as he pointed to 
 the book under his arm, and he put it into the 
 hand the head-master held out for it. " I want 
 you to tell me, if you please, if it costs money 
 to become an engineer, and if it is a business at 
 which one makes money quickly." 
 
 The master smiled ; he looked at the book, 
 and then at Oliver. He had heard about the 
 boy's card engines, which had formerly been 
 the wonder of the school, and, as he read the 
 name of the book, he guessed what was work- 
 ing in his scholar's mind. He told him plainly 
 how much it would cost to give him the train- 
 ing he required, and then he saw a cloud come 
 over the eager face. 
 
 " That's enough, sir, thank you," said Oliver, 
 stoutly, though the disappointment had almost 
 forced tears to his eyes ; " it's out of the ques- 
 tion for me," and he turned away. 
 
 Something in his manner touched the master. 
 
 "Do you mean, Burridge," he said, "that 
 
 vol. i. r> 
 
34 IN THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 you asked me this because you want to begin 
 to earn your own living ?" 
 
 Oliver's eyes grew bright at once. 
 
 " Yes, sir ; but T have no money to spend, and 
 I want to save my mother's. I waut so much 
 to earn money that, so long as I have to do 
 with machinery, I don't much care what I have 
 to do." 
 
 The master sighed. Here was a lad who 
 might have added to the laurels of Deeping 
 Grammar School, and who was eager to sink 
 all his Latin and Greek to earn a small salary 
 and live among machinery ; but he honoured 
 Oliver's motive, and he now understood his 
 self-denial. 
 
 "I will see what I can do for you," he said. 
 " Shake hands, Burridge ;" and Oliver went 
 home with a heavy heart. 
 
 He managed, however, to keep his disappoint- 
 ment to himself. 
 
 At the end of a month the head-master sent 
 for Oliver. 
 
 " I have found you a post," he said, " as junior 
 clerk in a large mill in Yorkshire, the property 
 
TWO GO OUT INTO THE WORLD. 35 
 
 of my own cousin. I do not know if you will 
 like it ; but do you care to try !" 
 
 Oliver looked up, speechless with happiness ; 
 then his tongue loosed. 
 
 " Thank you heartily, sir," he said. M I can 
 never forget it. Please may I go and tell 
 mother ?" 
 
 " And tell her," the master called after him, 
 " I will call on her to-morrow and tell her all 
 about it." 
 
 The blind mother sat silent while Oliver told 
 his story. 
 
 " Let me go, mother," the boy pleaded. " I 
 may never get such another opening." 
 
 She hesitated ; she had not realised her son's 
 growth. 
 
 " Stay with us some while longer, Oliver/' 
 she said, " you are too young yet to face the 
 world." 
 
 Ci Mother," the lad said, and he took her 
 withered hand gently, and, after kissing it, laid 
 it on his own head, " feel how tall I am ; I'm 
 not little Oliver now; I'm gone fifteen. I 
 should never do much more at Latin and Greek 
 
 d2 
 
36 IX THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 if I stayed ever so long at school, and I want 
 to earn some money for you and Martha — I 
 want to work, and I want to see what's going 
 on, and what's doing, and I shall never learn 
 anything in a hole like Deeping." 
 
 The mother sat and cried silently, but Martha 
 came to Oliver's assistance. 
 
 "Let him go, mother," she said; "it serves 
 me right for being such a dull companion for 
 him. Why should he waste his time here with 
 us? — he'll be a great man if you give him the 
 chance now. Maurice said so." 
 
 Mrs. Burridge yielded, and Oliver went away 
 and left Martha alone. 
 
 Very soon his letters threw a new and vivid 
 interest into the girl's life, and she found it a 
 pleasure to answer his letters. She often thought 
 that, if her answers to Maurice's letters had not 
 been so short and dull, he would not have 
 ceased to write. Now Oliver's letters became 
 longer as time went on ; by-and-by each letter 
 told of some fresh success gained by the 
 determined, ambitious boy; it was now a rise 
 in his salary, and then he had invented some im- 
 
TWO GO OUT INTO THE WORLD. 37 
 
 provement in a wheel ; next he had been asked to 
 stay with one of the partners. Oliver's star was 
 plainly in the ascendant; and he often sent money 
 and presents to both mother and sister. His pro- 
 gress seemed magical to these secluded ones, 
 and even to the few friends who came to hear 
 the wonderful letters read aloud. There was so 
 much life and power in them, and the young 
 writer had such belief in his own success. 
 
 "And that," said one of the elders to Mrs. 
 Bnrridge, as they walked home together one 
 Sunday after Meeting, " that is half the battle 
 of life." 
 
 Martha held her head higher than ever ; she 
 was so proud of Oliver. 
 
BOOK I. 
 
 SPKIKG. 
 
41 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 LADY MARY PEXRUDDOCK. 
 
 TX a house in a quiet street leading out of 
 A one of the sunny squares near Bayswater, 
 Lady Mary Penruddock lay stretched on a sofa, 
 propped by pillows. Her skin was yellow, and 
 she was evidently very thin, but she did not look 
 so much of an invalid as her attitude suggested. 
 There was a glow in her bright dark eyes, and 
 an animation in her face, which spoke of health 
 and energy. But when she rose from the sofa, 
 and walked to the window, her movements, 
 though singularly graceful, were slow and 
 languid, as much out orharmony with the fiery 
 impatience in her dark eyes, as the sleek repose 
 of a panther is with its sadden spring. 
 
 u Maurice is too provoking," she said ; then, 
 
42 IN THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 looking down at the white wrapper she wore, 
 " and he knows I never dress till he comes." 
 
 A sharp ring at the street door announced 
 her son's arrival, and then Lady Mary gathered 
 up her long skirt and moved towards the door. 
 
 Maurice Penrucldock came in, and looked sur- 
 prised. His face was not much changed, but 
 he had grown into a tall, very distinguished- 
 looking man, who, not precisely handsome, at 
 once attracted notice by his appearance. 
 
 " Not ready !" he said, with a sweet, bright 
 smile. Ci It is just three, and the carriage was 
 ordered then." 
 
 " Dear Maurice," she raised one long, supple, 
 yellow hand, so smooth-looking that it might 
 have passed for an ivory carving, " will you never 
 learn my habits ? I never sit ready-dressed. 
 Your dear father always knew that nothing 
 w 7 ould induce me to undertake such a trial both 
 to strength and temper. Besides, I never sit, 
 as you know, when I can possibly avoid doing 
 so, and how could I lie down in a silk gown ? 
 You are quite too foolish, dear." She patted 
 his arm as she passed, with so pleasant a smile 
 
LADY MARY PENRUDDOCK. 43- 
 
 that Maurice felt he must certainly be wrong 
 for not having come home half an hour before 
 the time she had herself fixed for him. 
 
 Quite half an hour passed before his mother 
 came down, very exquisitely dressed, he 
 thought, not with such absolute submission to 
 fashion, but with a harmony and fitness that 
 showed how thoroughly she knew the most 
 effective way of garbing her very remarkable 
 face and figure. Lady Mary had never been 
 beautiful, but her wonderful dark eves, her in- 
 tensely expressive face, and the gliding, almost 
 cat-like grace that accompanied every move- 
 ment and every attitude of her tall, lithe figure, 
 had always secured her admiration, and even 
 now, though she had a son nearly thirty years 
 old, she was so well preserved, so very interest- 
 ing in appearance, that many men would pass 
 by younger women to talk to this elegant, lan- 
 guid Lady Mary Penruddock. Maurice thought 
 his mother charming. She had not been long in 
 England, and he put down all her eccentricities, 
 as he called them, to her long absence in India. 
 
 They drove for some time in silence, enjoying- 
 
44 IN THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 at first the freshness of the air in the park, 
 and the long stretches of view between the vast 
 tree-trunks in Kensington Gardens ; but when 
 they took to the road again, the wind was ris- 
 ing, and the dust with it. Lady Mary looked 
 restless and discontented. 
 
 " Are you quite sure these people are well 
 off?" 
 
 iC Yes, I believe so. I was told they do every- 
 thing well," — Maurice smiled, — " and that they 
 have a charming house, and no children, only 
 the nieces I told you of." 
 
 She shook her head, and smiled compassion- 
 ately. 
 
 " Dear Maurice, do you believe in appear- 
 ances f You a barrister, too ! Of course people 
 who have girls to marry must keep up an ap- 
 pearance. Do you know if these girls have any 
 money of their own ?" she said, with an anxious 
 look. 
 
 " I have not a notion," he said ; " but as Mr. 
 and Mrs. Venables have no children, I suppose, 
 as these girls live with them, they will leave 
 them all they have." 
 
LADY MARY PENRUDDOCK. 45 
 
 •' You are so like your dear father, Maurice. 
 He always believed the best of everyone. 
 How do you know that these people don't live 
 on an annuity, and that they have nothing to 
 leave !" 
 
 Maurice laughed again. 
 
 " Your imagination travels fast," he said. " I 
 hear the Miss Ralstons are very nice, and I 
 hope to make their acquaintance. Please re- 
 member I have never seen them, nor have I 
 made any calculation about their money value 
 — my dear mother, you need not be anxious — 
 I am not a marrying man." 
 
 His mother wrinkled the bridge of her nose, 
 a way she had when her notions of good taste 
 were offended — she thought it would have been 
 so much better if her son had taken her hint 
 without seeming to understand it. 
 
 " Your dear father and I," she said, " were 
 very young and extremely imprudent when 
 w T e married — but then, of course, your dear 
 father was badly advised in investing his money 
 — I ought to be much better off. No, you cannot 
 marry unless you marry money, dear Maurice, 
 
46 IN THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 — but you are sure to do that — you can com- 
 mand it — I only wonder you have been allowed 
 to remain single so long." 
 
 " Mother ! Why do you underrate your sex 
 — do you really believe that the idea of marriage 
 is always in a girl's mind with respect to all 
 the men she talks to f ' 
 
 Lady Mary's nose wrinkled visibly. 
 
 "I was thinking of you, dear, not about girls. 
 It seems to me that you may marry whom you 
 choose, if the girl has no other attachment — I am 
 not afraid that you will do anything foolish or 
 romantic — I do not even tell you that you are 
 very handsome, but you have that sort of ap- 
 pearance that girls find irresistible — you ought 
 to be marked e dangerous' !" she said, with a 
 little laugh. 
 
 Maurice shook his head — his ideal of his 
 mother had been created and worshipped 
 during three years of separation, and her out- 
 ward refinement helped his strong affection to 
 continue this worship — but such talk as this 
 tried his faith, and made him sometimes wonder 
 whether women were not, after all, silly. Mean- 
 
LADY MARY PENRUDDOCK. 47 
 
 while, Lady Mary, who had originated the idea 
 of this visit, knit her delicate eyebrows and de- 
 cided that if she had known earlier of the exist- 
 ence of these two nieces she should not have 
 cared to renew her acquaintance with Mr. 
 Venables. 
 
 Next moment she was smiling to herself at 
 the remembrance of an ancient tenderness 
 which she was persuaded Mr. Venables had 
 felt for her. 
 
 " Dear me," she said, aloud, s; how long is it 
 since we went to India — about twenty-nine 
 years — do you know, Maurice, I can scarcely 
 realise that I was a full-grown woman then — 
 and yet I must have been ;" this was said softly, 
 with a little flush that vastly became her. 
 
 "I can quite picture you, mother, at that 
 age." Maurice gave her an admiring glance. 
 "I do not fancy you have changed very much." 
 
 She frowned again, but she smiled directly 
 after. 
 
 " I was not yellow in those days, dear boy," 
 she said. " Tell me, is Mrs. Venables pretty 
 still — I heard she was a beauty when she 
 married." 
 
48 IN THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 " I have not seen her. I met Mr. Venables at 
 dinner, in the winter, and he asked me to call 
 at The Elms. When he heard yon were coining 
 home he said, 'Ask Lady Mary to come with you,' 
 but, till we met again, yesterday, I had almost 
 forgotten the matter." 
 
 " He was a great friend of mine once," said 
 Lady Mary, softly, and she sighed. 
 
 At this Maurice looked grave again ; these 
 little sillinesses came as a cloud between him 
 and his mother, or rather, his idea of his mo- 
 ther. He was not yet familiarised enough with 
 her to laugh at her foibles, or to exert any 
 of the small tyrannies which sons who have 
 never been separated from their mothers exercise 
 as a part of the affection they bear them — 
 tyrannies which date so long back, and which 
 have grown so slowly, as to seem a part of 
 home-life, and which are only strange to eyes 
 outside that circle of sympathetic links which 
 shuts in and keeps from wandering into space 
 the atmosphere of family love — an atmosphere 
 which to be serene and free from clouds must 
 be the result of growth — a growth, it may be, 
 
LADY MARY PENRUDDOCK. 49 
 
 of opposite natures side by side, with the fusion 
 which love causes for ever at work. 
 
 Lady Mary's eyes fixed pensively on the car- 
 riage wrap which shielded her skirts from the 
 dust. 
 
 " He was very handsome before he married," 
 she said, " always dressed well, and sang in a 
 charming way." She looked at her sou express- 
 ively. " I used to play his accompaniments ; 
 your poor father liked to listen to him." And 
 then she dropped her eyes with another little 
 sigh, and Maurice found himself wondering 
 whether the sigh was for his father, or for the 
 singing of Mr. Venables. 
 
 11 He's a little round man now," he said, " full 
 of vivacity, with very good eyes ; he talks about 
 his wife as if she were a remarkable woman." 
 
 " Ah !" — she shrugged her shoulders slightly 
 — " a strong-minded woman, very likely ; he 
 used not to care for that sort of person, but 
 then in nine cases out of ten, as life will teach 
 you, dear, it is the woman who marries, and 
 the man who is married — very likely it w T ill 
 be so with you." 
 
 VOL. I. E 
 
50 IN THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 " Perhaps," he smiled ; c( however, I have do 
 intention of marrying — now I have got yon, 
 mother, I don't seem to need a wife." 
 
 His mother shook her head with a slow, 
 graceful movement, and she gave a little in- 
 credulous smile that just showed the very 
 pretty regular teeth that made her look so 
 much younger than she was, though something 
 about her lips seemed out of harmony with the 
 teeth, and gave a slightly artificial cast to the 
 face. 
 
 They had just reached a green shaded by 
 tall trees ; on two sides w T ere old-fashioned 
 red brick houses, each with its garden stretch- 
 ing out behind, and nearer the road was a 
 small pond, the resort of some grey ducks, 
 which; even at this distance from Hyde Park 
 Corner, appeared to be thorough Londoners ; 
 they looked as if a week in the country would 
 have brought some snow to their feathers. 
 
 But the carriage stopped, before it reached 
 the pond, at a gate which at length broke the 
 monotony of the long line of a fine old brick 
 wall overhung by trees which had bordered the 
 highway. 
 
LADY MARY PENRUDDOCK. 51 
 
 When the gate was opened, a small lodge 
 showed green with climbing plants, and be- 
 yond it a freshly-gravelled carriage drive, bor- 
 dered by tall pines. But an old man, with a 
 high-bridged, thin nose, who had opened the 
 gate, announced pompously that no one was at 
 home — not even the master. 
 
 "You see, sir," — he stepped forward in front 
 of the servant, and, coming forward to the car- 
 riage, addressed himself to Maurice — " missus 
 and master's gone to Brighton for a few days 
 to fetch Miss Louise home from school, and Miss 
 Ralston, she's away too." 
 
 Lady Mary's face was full of languid vexa- 
 tion. " Very tiresome, after coming so far !" 
 she murmured. 
 
 " Drive on to Putney Bridge," said Maurice ; 
 " let us have a blow on the heath ;" then, 
 laughing, "You see you are spared anxiety 
 on my account, mother, for the time." 
 
 " I'm sure they'll be very sorry," said the old 
 man, as he looked at the cards Maurice gave 
 him. 
 
 e 2 
 
52 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 EARLY SPRING. 
 
 TT was one of those days immortalized by old 
 -*- -ZKsop ; the wind and the sun were each 
 trying who should have the best of it, thereby 
 rendering the outdoor life of mortals extremely 
 uncomfortable, for the wind was as dry and as 
 cold as a bit of crystal, and the sun made the 
 weight of winter wrappings intolerable. The 
 larger forest trees, though their delicate tracery 
 of twigs and branches had thickened with 
 swelling buds, showed no trace of green ; they 
 evidently did not trust the sparkling sunshine, 
 but the more venturesome lilac-trees had put 
 forth plenty of bright green leaves, drooping 
 now, and brown at the edges, as though fire 
 had scorched them. 
 
EARLY SPRING. 53 
 
 As the sunshine spread over the broad river, 
 its glitter seemed cruel, for the keen wind 
 rippled the water into tiny wavelets, metallic 
 in the sharpness of their curves. There was 
 none of the soft stillness of genial sunshine — the 
 sweetness of spring-time had not come. Nature 
 seemed to flutter and shiver with dread of what 
 the keen wind might be bringing on its wings ; 
 even the grassed edges of the flower-beds 
 looked cold as the bitter wind swept over them. 
 Some golden daffodils and blue hyacinths on 
 the lawn bent their heads shyly towards the 
 rich brown earth, as if in regret for having 
 started up so early in the season ; for February had 
 been temptingly warm, and the denizens of the 
 gardens had been misled by its genial delusion, 
 save and except the aforesaid old forest trees, 
 the monarchs of the lawu. The lawn was large, 
 and the turf on it velvet-like, with a slope 
 down to the river, and planted here and there 
 with groups of fine evergreens, chiefly of the 
 pine tribe. Among the huge planes with their 
 pale stems and the massive elms, here and there 
 came a black-barked laburnum or a drooping 
 
54 IN THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 beech, and, glimmering like a fairy plant among 
 the rest, rosy almond blossoms seemed to float 
 on the air, so invisible were the dark stems. 
 
 At this time of year the old-fashioned red 
 brick dwelling-house, called The Elms, that 
 stood in these grounds, showed through the 
 leafless tracery which in summer hung a green 
 screen before it. Looking back at it across 
 the lawn, a winding yellow carriage-drive 
 showed itself, with grass on each side, and 
 stately Wellingtonias alternating with graceful 
 hemlock-trees with a brown carpeting below 
 them. The garden looked more formal here 
 and far less charming than it did from the 
 terrace beside the river. There, on the farther 
 side of the broad stretch of glittering water, an 
 old grey church tower seemed to guard the 
 scene ; it was, however, much warmer in the 
 drive — the tall fir-trees did not shiver and rattle 
 as if they had teeth that chattered with the cold^ 
 and, moreover, their solid blocks of greenery 
 fenced off the blasts of wind that grew keener 
 as the afternoon wore away ; as yet the orange- 
 tips on the firs showed no tender green needles 
 within. 
 
EARLY SPRING. 55 
 
 Two girls had been walking rapidly up and 
 down on the gravelled terrace near the river, 
 bo much taken up with one another's talk 
 that neither of them had thought of seeking 
 shelter, though their faces bore witness in dif- 
 ferent ways how sharp the cold air was to their 
 delicate skins. 
 
 The youngest was fair-faced and blue-eyed, 
 and taller than her sister by several inches : the 
 wind had made her a full-blown rose-colour. 
 She looked a bright, springlike maiden; the 
 wind, too, had blown clusters of her sunny hair 
 up against the fur edge of her cap. She looked 
 slender, spite of her fur wrappings, or she might 
 have stood to-day to a painter for one of the 
 maidens of the Valhalla ; except that the face 
 was too dainty and quiet, it was only just a 
 sweet daily-life face. Perhaps her warm, rose- 
 tinted skin made her sister's pale cheeks more 
 pallid. The wind could not play with Gyneth 
 Ealston's hair as it had played with her com- 
 panion's sunny waves, for her dark locks were 
 smoothly braided, though a few straggling bits 
 had yielded to the violence of the wind and 
 straggled into her eyes, and over her little pink 
 
56 IN THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 ears. There was nothing matter-of-fact in 
 this face; there was rather that strong con- 
 tradictory aspect more often seen in a man than 
 in a woman. The forehead and eyes were full of 
 thought and repose, while the rest of the face 
 at times looked made for sparkling and saucy 
 changes of expression. The mouth was larger 
 than her sister Louisa's, but Gyneth's was a good 
 mouth too, though its character varied consider- 
 ably, and the short upper lip was sometimes 
 very mocking. Her chief charm lay in her eyes ; 
 they were lustrous and dark, not of a uniform 
 tint, for different emotions seemed to call out 
 different hues in the green-grey ring round 
 the pupil, nor was their lustre uniform ; there 
 was no monotony of bead-like brilliancy, — a 
 sure token of hardness in a woman, — both the 
 brightness and the expression seemed to come 
 from within, and not to lie sparkling on the 
 surface ; moreover, the eyes were so fringed by 
 long dark lashes, that they were often veiled 
 when the heavy eyelids were cast down. They 
 were cast down now as she thought over her 
 sister's words. 
 
EARLY SPRING. 57 
 
 " Do you know, Louy," she said, thought- 
 fully, " I suppose it is because I never went to 
 school ; but you are eighteen and I am twenty- 
 four, yet you seem to me more — grown-up, I 
 suppose the word is, than I feel." 
 
 "You dear old innocent," — Louisa Ralston 
 slipped her hand under her sister's arm and 
 pinched it as much as the thick shawl 
 Gyneth wore would let her, — Ci don't you see 
 that for the last six years, ever since dear 
 mother died, you have been living with people 
 much older than you are — you have been the 
 youngest in the family, and so you have been 
 petted and made a baby of; whereas at school, 
 for some time past, I have been one of the 
 elders, and I can tell you most of the girls 
 used to come to me for advice." 
 
 Gyneth looked up at her blooming sister, and 
 a bright sweet smile shone out of her face. 
 
 " How delightful — you shall be eldest, Louy. 
 I am glad you are wise — I always like to have 
 everything planned and ordered for me : it 
 saves so much trouble, and does not take time 
 from other things." 
 
58 IN THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 Louisa opened her blue eyes in puzzled won- 
 der ; they were not large or expressive, but 
 they were pleasant, benevolent eyes, and suited 
 exactly with her rosy skin, and fair, wavy hair, 
 and capable serene face. 
 
 "You used not to mind trouble, Kitty, — at 
 lessons, I mean." 
 
 Gyneth laughed. 
 
 "You have only been at home, dear, a few 
 hours; you will soon find out my selfishness. 
 Of course I took trouble with my lessons ; they 
 rank with the ' other things ' — they brought me 
 knowledge and credit ; but one gets no credit 
 by devising one's own summer and winter 
 dress, or by planning visits and such things ; 
 and, if you will take charge of all these small 
 worries, I shall be delighted." 
 
 Louisa looked inquisitively at her sister. 
 
 " Shall I choose you a husband too ?" she 
 said, saucily. 
 
 Gyneth looked up in sudden surprise, but 
 Louisa was not even smiling. 
 
 " You said something about this just now, 
 Louy, and that was why I said you made me 
 
EARLY SPRING. 59 
 
 feel so young. Aunt Venables and I look at 
 marriage differently from you : we think it 
 should be the outcome of real love, and that 
 it takes its own time for coming — it should not 
 be aimed at as the whole purpose of a young 
 woman's life." 
 
 Louisa laughed heartily and clapped her 
 hands. 
 
 " Oh, that's capital; think as you please, but 
 you will not alter facts. Nonsense, Kitty," — 
 she looked into her eyes, — <; you don't expect 
 me to believe that you have never thought 
 about getting married." 
 
 Gyneth shook her head ; she looked mockingly 
 at the earnest young face. 
 
 " I did not promise any confidences/' she 
 said; " but I think a good deal about love, and 
 I have plenty of lovers— old Keuben and Rollo 
 and Fairy. Uncle does not love me so well, 
 because I am not quite tall enough, and because 
 I read too much." A mortified look had come 
 into her sister's rosy face, and her eyes threaten- 
 ed tears. " Don't be vexed, dear ; do you think, 
 though you are so much younger/' — Kitty 
 
•60 IN THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 patted the hand within her arm, — " that I 
 should not have told you if such an important 
 event as an engagement had come into my 
 life." 
 
 Louisa stopped short ; up went her eyebrows, 
 and her young forehead wrinkled itself with 
 lines. 
 
 " You perplexing girl ! Just now you seemed 
 to despise such things ; you said that marriage 
 need not be the aim of a girl's life." 
 
 " Yes, and I do say so. I shall have to expound 
 some of my theories to you, I see, but it is much 
 too cold to stand still ; meantime, let us go and 
 get the dogs and run races ; my nose feels as if 
 the wind had cut a bit off it." 
 
 " It is the only part of your face that has any 
 colour except your lips ; race me to the end 
 of the walk, you look frozen, Kitty darling." 
 
 Off they ran, their skirts flying in the wind, 
 their heads bent low to shield their faces. Gyneth 
 Ralston, or Kitty as she was called in her home 
 circle, had no chance against her sister's longer 
 legs ; they stopped at the end of the walk near- 
 est the house, breathless and panting, and now 
 
EARLY SPRING. 61 
 
 they had changed looks : Louisa was pale and 
 her sister was beautified by the rich bloom on 
 her cheeks. 
 
 "Now you are like yourself, Kitty." Louisa 
 looked approvingly at her sister. "When I 
 arrived and saw how white and blue you looked, 
 I began to think I had told stories at school, for 
 I was always telling the girls about my pretty 
 sister." 
 
 " You little goose," but Kitty smiled lovingly. 
 " I had been waiting at the gate for you, and 
 I suppose I got chilled by the time you came." 
 
 "Ah!" Louisa sighed, "that is one of the things 
 I envy in a man ; a man does not get chilled, 
 he does not need to muffle himself up at this time 
 of year, as we are obliged to do. Only just now 
 I was envying those men as they shot by in the 
 eight-oared cutter. Fancy you rowing in a jersey 
 to-day, Kitty ; it would simply kill you. I should 
 not care to have to work like a man, but I do 
 envy him his freedom and his strength." 
 
 Kitty looked amused. 
 
 "I don't fancy men think about getting wives 
 as you say girls think about husbands. I don't 
 
62 IN THE SWEET SPKING-TIME. 
 
 envy a man's strength. No, Louy, the part of 
 his life I envy is his education. No one is afraid 
 that a man will grow too clever ; he may study 
 and dream out ideas as much as he pleases till 
 they grow into original discoveries, and he only 
 gets praise." 
 
 "My dear Kitty, a man like that would be 
 simply a bore." Louisa's fair face was puckered 
 with trouble. " Don't say for a moment you could 
 love an inventor ; he would be simply horrid. 
 I know the kind of man : boring one with his 
 plans, or, if he hasn't been successful, full of 
 talk of what he might have become if the 
 world had but appreciated him. Our writing- 
 master at school was a genius according 
 to his own account, a man who had brought 
 himself down in the world by inventions, and 
 so had to teach writing and arithmetic. He 
 was so wrapt up in himself and his own ideas 
 that he had no manners at all. Oh, Kitty, don't 
 tell me you are in love with a genius." 
 
 Kitty had walked faster while her sister 
 poured out her exordium ; her head was slightly 
 raised and she looked very grave. 
 
EARLY SPRING. 63 
 
 " Dear Louy," she said, " I am not in love, as 
 you call it, with-anyone, but I must tell you that 
 I see already that you and I have different views 
 of love. I can't preach, and I don't want to say 
 that I am right and you are wrong, but love is 
 to me a very serious subject, not to be talked of 
 in a light or common-place way." 
 
 Louy screwed up her little mouth ; she began 
 to think that her chance guess had hit the truth, 
 for Kitty was rarely irritable. 
 
 "Have you many acquaintances about here. 
 Kitty?" — she spoke in a changed voice, though 
 the wily young puss did not move her eyes from 
 their close study of her sister's face. (i In three 
 years you ought to have got quite a nice circle 
 round you. Do you have garden parties, I 
 wonder? — you have never told me in your 
 letters anything about this, Kitty." 
 
 Kitty smiled. " No, dear, we have people to 
 dine, — I've often mentioned them in my letters, 
 — but I never thought of a garden-party. Oh, 
 Louy dear, the trouble would be enormous." 
 
 Louy held up her head with a smile of superior 
 wisdom. 
 
64 IN THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 " You poor dear Kitty ! and so, for fear of a 
 little trouble, you let these two old people mope 
 you to death. If I am to take charge here of all 
 the vanities of life, I must do as I choose about 
 parties, so we'll have a garden-party as soon as 
 the leaves are out. Won't it be jolly!" she said, 
 with a hop skip and a jump that suited her 
 happy face exactly. 
 
 "You shall do just as you like, dear,'* — 
 Kitty's eyes glowed with fond admiration of 
 her sister. " You are like summer sunshine. I 
 am sure uncle will do all you please " 
 
 A sudden " Oh !" from Louisa stopped her. 
 
65 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 MR. OLIVER BURRIDGE. 
 
 /"^YNETJEL followed the direction of Louisa's 
 " eyes and she saw a gentleman coming to- 
 wards them from the drive. 
 
 " Who is it !" her sister asked. 
 
 "Some one I was just going to speak of — Mr. 
 Oliver Burridge. How do you do f" — she held 
 out her hand, and, as the new-comer came up, 
 she introduced him to her sister. 
 
 He looked at Louisa keenly, almost sternly ; 
 perhaps he could not help this, for his natural 
 expression was stern and determined. His 
 features were regular and sharply cut, aod 
 he had a square, well-shaped head. He was 
 certainly handsome, the chief characteristic of 
 
 VOL. I. F 
 
66 IN THE SWEET SPRIXG-TD1E. 
 
 his face being truth and manliness, and the 
 determined expression of his well-cut mouth 
 harmonized with the strength of his square 
 shoulders and the rest of his figure. His 
 brown red skin, his tawny beard, and deep 
 bright blue eyes seemed to overflow with 
 health and energy. 
 
 " Good day," — he spoke very abruptly, and his 
 bow was stiff and abrupt. His whole manner 
 suggested that he thought some one very much 
 in the wrong, there was such a want of geni- 
 ality about it. 
 
 Kitty looked shyly at her sister, but Louisa 
 was smiling at Mr. Burridge. 
 
 " Your uncle is out. I suppose," he said, in a 
 softened voice. He turned round to Kitty so 
 as to get his face out of Louisa's view. 
 
 " I hardly know; what do you think, Louy T 
 
 Louisa's youthful wisdom had put her, as she 
 imagined, at once in possession of a secret. She 
 smiled with protecting significance. "I will go 
 and see, Kitty dear," she said ; and she went. 
 
 Perhaps there is nothing more irritating than 
 to feel misunderstood and managed all at once 
 
MR. OLIVER BURRIDGE. 67 
 
 by an affectionate relative, and Kitty's delicate 
 eyebrows drew together and made a line be- 
 tween them. She looked up and found Mr. 
 Barridge staring at her with a very earnest 
 expression. 
 
 " Shall we walk up and down a little," he 
 said. " I really don't care to see your uncle ; if 
 I think of anything special I should like him to 
 know, I will tell it to you. So that's your sister, 
 is it ! She's not a bit like you." 
 
 "No, she is much younger, but she has all the 
 wisdom I want ; she is really wonderful for her 
 
 age/' 
 
 u Is she ; I don't care about very wise or 
 wonderful women. Well, don't spoil her. I 
 daresay she thinks enough of herself." 
 
 A flush rose on Kitty's face, and she walked 
 on faster towards the house. 
 
 " Shall we not take a turn on the river ter- 
 race ?" said Mr. Bur ridge. 
 
 " If you please, though the wind is rather 
 high there. I am sure you will like Louy when 
 you know her. I think her a very perfect 
 creature, and I don't care to hear her found 
 
 f2 
 
68 IN THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 fault with, 5 ' she said, with a gentle dignity that 
 suited her face exactly. 
 
 He gave her a long admiring gaze, but 
 she did not see it. "With her head thrown 
 a little back and her chin slightly raised she 
 walked on, looking straight before her; her 
 sister had vexed her and now she was offended 
 with Mr. Burridge. She admired this man's 
 talent so much that she had forced herself to 
 ignore the roughness he showed to others : for 
 to her he had hitherto been gentle and deferen- 
 tial. 
 
 " Aunt is right," she thought, Ci she always 
 is right ; she said that as he got to know us 
 better, and as restraint wore off, he would be- 
 come familiar ; he is odious to-day." 
 
 They had reached the river walk, and still 
 neither of them had spoken. Oliver Burridge 
 was too deeply interested in gazing his fill at 
 the charming face beside him to seek for in- 
 terruption, but now a cloud spread over it and 
 Kitty began to frown again. 
 
 "Is anything the matter?" he said; "you are 
 very silent to-day, and you look put out." 
 
MR. OLIVER BURRIDGE. 69 
 
 " I — I have been talking a good deal before 
 you came, with my sister." She looked wist- 
 fully towards the house as if she wanted to be 
 still talking with Louisa. 
 
 Oliver flushed crimson. 
 
 " I am sorry I came," he said. " I see I am 
 in the way. Are all our talks to be at an end, 
 Miss Ralston, because your sister has come 
 home ? I feel jealous of her already." 
 
 Kitty thought he was joking, but when she 
 looked up she saw that he was really annoyed. 
 
 "Are you not unreasonable?" she said. It 
 was a part of her nature that she could not bear 
 to give pain, and she forgot Oliver's rudeness 
 in the thought of having wounded him. " You 
 are so clever, you must know better than I 
 do, that any new idea so fills the mind that for 
 the time it refuses space for any other thought 
 — you know how much I have enjoyed talking 
 to you ;" she looked up, with a sudden reproach 
 that somehow filled him with delight. "You 
 must remember Louy is my only sister, and the 
 very sight of her rouses up a crowd of past 
 memories, to say nothing of the looking forward 
 
70 IN THE SWEET SPKING-TDIE. 
 
 in the life we have to-day begun together ; re- 
 member, I have never yet had a friend so near 
 my own age, and there is all the new joy of a 
 first feeling." 
 
 " Ah !" a kind of smothered groan burst from 
 him. " I have never had a friend at all," he said, 
 bitterly. 
 
 " You have a sister ?" — she looked at him in- 
 quiringly. His manner was strangely altered: 
 he seemed at once to be sad and irritable. 
 
 " Oh, yes, I have a sister, and such a woman as 
 there are few like, if any ; but she is of little use 
 as a friend. She is too much of an echo — or — " 
 he said, with a forced laugh, iC too much like the 
 pool in which Narcissus used to look. I doubt 
 if she has any thoughts of her own — poor 
 Martha !" 
 
 Kitty felt jarred. "I should like to see 
 her," she said ; " you have taken a cottage for 
 her, near here, have you not?" 
 
 " Yes, while I am kept dawdling about busi- 
 ness in London. You are very kind ; but I am 
 afraid you will never meet. Martha is so shy, 
 and — well, it must be said — awkward, that she 
 
MR. OLIVER BURRIDGE. 71 
 
 shrinks from strangers ; and yet I feel sure you 
 ■would like her." 
 
 " I am sure of it. But are you sure you quite 
 understand her % Men sometimes make mis- 
 takes about women. Suppose my sister and I 
 call on Miss Burridge — she must be lonely by 
 herself all day. If she does not like us, she 
 need not return our visit." 
 
 Kitty spoke simply, but Mr. Burridge flushed 
 with mortification. 
 
 "You're very good, I'm sure," he said, in a 
 harsh, suppressed voice. His voice had a trick 
 of seeming under control, as if, unless its owner 
 held the rein tightly, it could say very rude 
 things indeed. " But Martha is not quite such, 
 a Yahoo as that ; if you call on her she will 
 return your visit, Miss Baiston." 
 
 Kitty felt snubbed ; she longed to ask how 
 she had given offence, and yet the angry light 
 in her companion's eyes warned her against 
 such frankness ; besides, had not her aunt al- 
 ways cautioned her against becoming intimate 
 with Mr. Burridge. Only — and here Kitty 
 went off into a dreaming fit, which completely 
 
72 IN THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 quieted her temporary annoyance — perhaps her 
 aunt did not quite appreciate his talent — it was 
 so wonderful; and Kitty gave a little sigh, 
 " Genius is always difficult to understand/' she 
 thought. 
 
 She roused to find Oliver speaking to her, and 
 this thought of his genius showed in her eyes as 
 she looked up. There was an admiring rever- 
 ence in them w T hich touched Mr. Burridge. 
 
 " I am something like Martha." He laughed 
 uneasily, for the admission pained him. " I am 
 awkward, too — I don't mean in the way she is 
 awkward, poor girl," — he drew himself up with 
 a shy self-consciousness that looked like vanity 
 • — " but I say things awkwardly, I suppose 
 partly because my mind is otherwise occupied." 
 Kitty looked interested ; she thought he was 
 getting into the vein of talk she liked to listen to. 
 " You mean," she said,, with an earnest air of 
 attention that made her seem yet more attract- 
 ive to Oliver, " that your best thoughts are 
 always with your work ; but tell me, when 
 you have carried out all your ideas, what will 
 you do f" 
 
MR. OLIVER BURRIDGE. 73 
 
 He raised his hand as if to stop her words. 
 
 " What a woman's question that is !" And 
 then, seeing her shy blush — " No, indeed, you 
 have not vexed me, only you made me think 
 how a woman flies all round a subject while a 
 man feels that he has only mastered one side 
 of it. To begin with, I have never satisfied 
 myself yet in the working out of an idea. This 
 one may do better than the others — I cannot 
 tell. I hope it will, for its profit will be large 
 in the way of saving labour." 
 
 11 Well, then, what have you to fear? I feel 
 sure you will succeed." 
 
 She spoke eagerly. A flush spread over 
 Oliver's face ; he looked down into the sweet 
 earnest eyes of the girl, and he seemed as if he 
 was going to speak ; he turned away his head 
 and sighed. He walked on faster for a few 
 moments, then he said, 
 
 " I wish I could think so, Miss Ralston. No, 
 that's not it; I do think so, and if all depended 
 on me, I would succeed." He spoke so power- 
 fully that Kitty felt there could be no doubt 
 of his victory. "But other plans have failed 
 
74 IX THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 before mine, and not from their own fault 
 either ; there are so many things to be con- 
 sidered — the incompetency of workmen, the 
 dislike to innovations among manufacturing 
 hands. Why," he went on. warmly, "with this 
 improvement in the machinery there would not 
 be many northern firms who could compete with 
 ours — we must carry all before us." 
 
 " It will be a glorious triumph for you/' she 
 said, softly. " How much more glorious to 
 have made this invention than to reap the 
 profit it will bring !" 
 
 He gave a short laugh. 
 
 " Well, T don't know that— the profit will be 
 very pleasant and useful." 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Burridge," she said, earnestly, " I 
 am sure of it ; if it had only been done for 
 money, you could not have felt the same 
 enthusiasm in doing it." 
 
 " I'm not at all sure of that." He laughed 
 at her enthusiasm. 
 
 She shook her head at him. 
 
 " It seems to me," she said, " that to anyone 
 capable of creating an idea, and of working it 
 
MR. OLIVER BURRIDGE. 75 
 
 out, the very faculty, or rather its exercise, 
 must bring happiness. It must be the sort of 
 happiness a mother feels as she watches the 
 growth of a little child — it must absorb and 
 concentrate in itself all other interests of life." 
 
 " It did once, true enough," he said, abruptly. 
 " While 1 was thinking it out, I could not get my 
 thoughts away from it — I used to dream of it. 
 I was living alone then, so I could shut myself 
 up with any special thought or puzzle I wanted 
 to master ; sometimes I went on for days before 
 daylight came on the matter, and then it all 
 seemed so simple that I felt what a blockhead I 
 was not to have seen it before." 
 
 While he spoke, he became transformed ; all 
 the hard self-restraint had left him ; he was so 
 carried away by his subject that perforce he 
 carried his listener with him. 
 
 " I should like to see your plan," she said ; 
 "but then I am so hopelessly ignorant of 
 machinery that I should never be able to see 
 its superiority over any other." 
 
 " I daresay not, but I could explain it." He 
 looked pleased. "Look here, Miss Ralston, I 
 
76 IN THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 can let you see the working drawings. I don't 
 care to talk about this matter, but I am to show 
 the drawings to your uncle one day ; he takes 
 an interest in my plan, and he is very kind in 
 giving me advice about the best way of man- 
 aging the legal part of the business." 
 
 " Yes, he told me, and he said he was certain 
 of your success. How soon shall you know the 
 result ?" 
 
 She asked with so much evident interest that 
 again Oliver Burridge flushed, and pressed his 
 lips tightly, as if to keep in words that tried to 
 get spoken. 
 
 " That's the part of it that is hard to bear," 
 he said ; " the confounded uncertainty — I beg 
 your pardon, Miss Ralston, but the delay irri- 
 tates me, and keeps my whole life at a stand- 
 still ; that is to say, I can't know what I want 
 to know above all things," he said, with em- 
 phasis, and a softening in his voice, which had, 
 when he began to speak, gone back to its old 
 harshness. 
 
 Kitty was just going to say, "You mean 
 about your idea ;" she looked up, and the 
 
MR. OLIVER BURRIBGE. 77 
 
 expression in Oliver's face checked her. She 
 did not read it rightly even then ; she thought 
 his words referred to some private business, of 
 which she was ignorant, and that he wished to 
 check her questions, and yet she felt puzzled — 
 it was one of the points of interest to her in 
 Mr. Bnrridge that be often puzzled her. Ever 
 since his first visit to The Elms, two months 
 ago, she had always felt puzzled after he went 
 away ; and now, as he held out his hand, and 
 suddenly said good-bye, having given no pre- 
 vious warning that he meant to leave her, she 
 was as puzzled as ever. 
 
 " Will you not come indoors ?" she said. 
 
 He held her hand a moment, and looked 
 down earnestly into her eyes ; there seemed to 
 be a question in his, and she coloured slightly. 
 He let go her hand. 
 
 " No, thank you ; I will see your uncle to- 
 morrow or next day. I have no more time now." 
 
 He raised his hat and left her, hurrying his : 
 departure because in the distance he saw Louisa 
 coming back. 
 
 Louisa came up to her sister with a sort of 
 
78 IN THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 dancing step, and Kitty started out of her puzzle. 
 
 "Oh!" said the soft, purring voice, "I'm so 
 sorry I disturbed you, darling — ahem !" — Louisa 
 gave a discreet little cough. 
 
 " You did not disturb me — I was only think- 
 ing about Mr. Burridge," Kitty said, very 
 simply, and looked at her sister, but at the 
 mischievous significance in those blue eyes she 
 flushed, sorely against her will. 
 
 Louisa laughed pleasantly, and put her hand 
 into her sister's arm. 
 
 "Come indoors at once., you dear old impos- 
 tor," the merry girl said, " and tell me all about 
 it. What is he ? — who is he ? — is he rich or 
 poor? Of course he is delightful, but he is not 
 quite tall enough. You know I adore giants ; 
 he is certainly handsome, if he would look a 
 little less stern. I thought he would find me 
 de trop, so I went. You have had a jolly talk. 
 Why are you frowning, Kitty ? There's no use 
 in denying it any longer ; come indoors like a 
 good child and be kissed. I'd kiss you now, if 
 that gardener's boy was out of the way. Oh, I 
 am so pleased !" and she skipped about. 
 
MR. OLIVER BURRIDGE. 79 
 
 Kitty was growing angry in her efforts to 
 check her sister's nonsense. 
 
 " Lony, do be quiet P she said at last. " I 
 cannot tell you how I hate joking, and you are 
 so much mistaken. Mr. Burridge is a great 
 friend of Uncle Charles's. I like him because he 
 is so very interesting in his talk, and he always 
 leaves me something to think about when he 
 goes away." 
 
 " Of course he does — heaps of nice things/' 
 Louisa said, triumphantly. 
 
 "My dear child, that is all," said Gyneth, 
 and she looked so fearlessly into her sister's 
 eyes that the young lady felt herself at fault. 
 
 The rule at school, in such a case as she had 
 imagined, had always been for the teased girl 
 to look blushing and foolish ; but, though there 
 was certainly an accession of colour on her sis- 
 ter's usually clear pale face, it seemed to be 
 brought there by anger rather than by any 
 confusion. 
 
 Louisa did not say any more till they had 
 both reached a room leading out of the inner 
 hall on the right, as they came in by the glass 
 
80 IN THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 door at the back of the house. Ever since the 
 two orphaned sisters had come to live with 
 their aunt and her husband, Mr. and Mrs. Ven- 
 ables, this room, built out beyond the house 
 itself, and reaching almost to the conservatory, 
 had been given up to their sole use. All their 
 special treasures were here ; the pictures their 
 mother had painted when she was young, feeble 
 as works of art, but very highly prized by her 
 children ; her special work-table, and their 
 father's writing-table, and sundry other bits of 
 old furniture, made the room look quaint and 
 original. On two sides the walls were covered 
 with bookshelves ; the third was occupied by a 
 fireplace, in which a fire of beech-logs w r as 
 blazing, a grand pianoforte, and a harp ; and 
 on the fourth side, a sofa and spinning-wheel, 
 an embroidery frame, some easels, and among- 
 all this a table, with a row of shelves above it, 
 both table and shelves covered with old china, 
 which had belonged to the mother whose loss 
 had been so keenly felt by her children. About 
 the room were a few comfortable chairs, some 
 small old-fashioned tables, a smaller sofa, and a 
 
MR. OLIVER BURRIDGE. 81 
 
 portfolio-rest, and in one corner was a little 
 cupboard, the half-open door of which showed 
 that it held paint-brushes, tubes of colour, and 
 other requisites for art, neatly arranged. 
 
 As soon as the sisters were fairly in the 
 room, Louisa put both arms round Kitty aud 
 kissed her. 
 
 " Don't be vexed with me, darling Kitty," 
 she said, in a petting voice that irritated 
 Kitty. '"That is all,' is it?— well, and 
 enough too. I am younger than you, but I 
 know all about the sort of thing, and I think 
 your symptoms are quite unmistakable. * He 
 is very interesting, and he always leaves you 
 something to think about.' It's all right, dear." 
 The distress in her sister's face touched the 
 young wise-acre. " Kitty dear, I'll not say 
 another word of teasing if you will tell me 
 the history of this gentleman, and how you 
 became acquainted with him." 
 
 Kitty walked away to the window, and 
 stood looking out for a minute or two, quieting 
 herself. She was vexed, and she was disgusted 
 by what seemed to her a low tone in her sister. 
 
 VOL. I. G 
 
82 IN THE SWEET SPRING- TIME. 
 
 She had never been to school, and she feared 
 school had spoiled Louisa ; it was sad that this 
 very young girl should see a possible admirer 
 in every man who spoke to her sister. Pres- 
 ently a smile came on the disturbed face ; 
 Kitty left the window, and flung herself into 
 a long low chair in front of the cheerful fire. 
 Louisa came and sat on the floor beside 
 her. 
 
 "I will tell you/' Kitty said, "but I want 
 to say something else first. We must always 
 be good friends, Louy, but, to keep so, we 
 must understand one another's characters. I 
 don't think I am difficult to live with, but the 
 one thing I crave for in life is freedom. I detest 
 petty restraints — I don't mean those natural 
 restraints which belong to the state of life one 
 is born to. I am not an emancipated woman 
 yet, at any rate, so you need not look alarmed, 
 Louy; but I must do as I choose without 
 being criticized or forced into a special groove. 
 I like Mr. Burridge extremely, and yet I am 
 not at all what you call ' in love ' with him. It 
 will spoil all the freedom of our friendship if 
 
MR. OLIVER BURRIDGE. 83 
 
 you mean to tease me whenever he comes. Do 
 you understand me, dear f" 
 
 Louisa was not at all convinced ; she did not 
 answer this protest ; she only said, 
 
 " Do tell me something about him !" 
 
 Kitty felt disappointed ; she had made an 
 effort to say so much, and it seemed as if she 
 was not understood. 
 
 "Mr. Oliver Burridge," she said, gravely, 
 " has been for some years in a great Yorkshire 
 manufacturing house ; he is a genius — at least, 
 uncle says he is — and he has lately made some 
 improvements in machinery which uncle says 
 will make the firm with which Mr. Burridge is 
 connected immensely rich." 
 
 " Won't they make him rich too, Kitty V the 
 young girl said, her blue eyes wide open and 
 full of interest. 
 
 " That must follow," her sister answered ; 
 u he is already very necessary to the firm, and 
 he will very soon be a partner — that is, if the 
 plan succeeds." 
 
 " I see," — the young girl looked thoughtful. 
 " Yes, he must be rich any way. I see," she 
 
 G2 
 
84 IN THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 said, though tfully, "for, of course, he can sell 
 his plan to another house, if his own does not 
 take it." 
 
 " I scarcely think he would do that," said 
 Kitty ; " but I suppose I have been so inter- 
 ested in his success that I have not much con- 
 sidered the money side of it. What a practical 
 little head you have got, Louy !" 
 
 " I am only reasonable," the girl said. " It 
 is plain to me that money is the most power- 
 ful agent either for happiness or the reverse ; 
 school, at any rate, has taught me that, and, if 
 a man has plenty of money, he has one very 
 good quality for a husband." 
 
 " Let us talk of something else, child," said 
 Kitty ; " we shall not agree about money, I see ; 
 but Mr. Burridge has plenty of good qualities 
 besides his chance of being rich." 
 
 " He does not come of a good family, I sup- 
 pose? No," — Louy shook her fair head — "he 
 does not look well-connected, and his manner 
 is too abrupt." 
 
85 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 MARTHA'S HOME. 
 
 TT had been a warm, bright day; though it 
 ■*■ was early May the wind was not in the 
 east, and the sky had a genial look ; soft, 
 fleecy clouds seemed to bleach to a yet more 
 dazzling white as they lay basking in the mid- 
 day sunshine. 
 
 Piccadilly was thronged with vehicles, and 
 near Burlington House the pavement was so 
 crowded that it was difficult for timid people 
 to get along. The Royal Academy Exhibition 
 was only just open, and a continued stream of 
 visitors had been pouring in since the morning. 
 The day was getting on towards five o'clock, 
 and people were coming out of the Exhibition 
 
8& IN THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 through the plank-covered entrance -way, and 
 there were some with pleased, excited faces, 
 others looking profoundly tired and bored, all 
 very dusty, and catalogue in hand. Those still 
 going in had often to wait : the comers out, being 
 the most numerous, filled up the half-finished 
 entrance-way ; but Mr. Oliver Burridge had no 
 mind to wait anyone else's pleasure, and, squar- 
 ing his powerful shoulders, he forced his way 
 through the crowd of chattering girls and men, 
 and soon reached the turnstile. He was forced 
 to wait here till some one in front of him had 
 got through, a gentleman, who turned towards 
 the first room so that Oliver saw his profile. 
 
 Mr. Burridge gave a sudden exclamation, 
 and then checked himself, reddening at his 
 own want of control. The gentleman went on 
 into the first room, and Mr. Burridge looked 
 annoyed. 
 
 "I am sure it is Penruddock, but I'll not 
 force myself on him," he said. " Why should 
 he care to recognize me 1 He's a great swell 
 now, no doubt, and he knows nothing about 
 me." 
 
87 
 
 Oliver raised his head and smiled at the con- 
 trast his future offered to his past, but the inci- 
 dent had clouded his afternoon ; the bright look 
 of expectation faded from his strong, resolute 
 face, and the sternness came back to it. He 
 was annoyed ; he wanted to see the first room 
 before any other, because a friend's portrait 
 hung there, but he did not choose Mr. Penrud- 
 dock to think that he tried to renew old ac- 
 quaintance by following him, so he went mood- 
 ily through the sculpture, and then turned to 
 his left into the large room. The crowd here 
 was not so closely packed, and the costumes of 
 some of the ladies could be seen more easily ; 
 these were, in fact, more remarkable than many 
 of the pictures, being intended to astonish the 
 beholders rather than to be either graceful or 
 becoming to the wearers. 
 
 Oliver Burridge did not trouble himself to 
 look at any of them ; he went up to one of the 
 pictures, and studied it closely, but started 
 away with evident annoyance when two gush- 
 ing young damsels began to declaim in artistic 
 terms on the demerits of the picture in ques- 
 
88 IN THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 tion. The long pale nose of one of these female 
 critics seemed to be finding its way through 
 a quantity of straight fair hair, which fell over 
 her face ; the other, with a very ordinary round 
 countenance, only remarkable for freckles, dis- 
 tinguished herself from the common herd by a 
 squeezed-out-of-shape bonnet of faded green, 
 decked with daffodils, and a pale green-blue 
 circular cloak, reaching to her heels. 
 
 Oliver moved on and halted before another 
 picture, but the fair critics followed him, and 
 again disturbed the thoughts suggested by the 
 picture — a bold, breezy sea-scape, full of fine 
 tone and colour. The technical jargon in which 
 the girls talked seemed to be as much addressed 
 to Oliver as to one another, and again he started 
 away, and hurried on to the next room. There 
 was a block here in the doorway. A tall, broad 
 countryman,with his wife on his arm.was stand- 
 ing still, both agape, instead of moving forward 
 with the crowd, and all at once Oliver found 
 himself face to face with the gentleman he had 
 guessed to be Penruddock. 
 
 Now that they stood close together, Maurice 
 
Martha's home. 89 
 
 was taller than Mr. Burridge, but he was slighter, 
 though his shoulders were not narrow ; his 
 face was paler and more irregular, not less 
 earnest, but less inflexible than Oliver's was. 
 There was a charming sweetness in his long 
 dark eyes as he now smiled frankly. 
 
 "How d'ye do? I'm so glad to see you, 
 Burridge," he said. u I have often wondered 
 what had become of you. I don't think we've 
 met these five years. Are you settled in town?" 
 
 He backed into the room behind him, and 
 Oliver followed. 
 
 " I've been in the north ever since," Oliver 
 said ; and they stood chatting about the pic- 
 tures and of outside, indifferent topics, while 
 each was drawn more and more warmly to his 
 companion. They were two remarkable-lookiug 
 men, even in so great a crowd. 
 
 "Then your sister will be at Fulham for 
 some time, at least," said Mr. Penruddock. " I 
 should like to see her. She used to be so kind 
 to me — and so you all were." 
 
 Oliver smiled. His companion had found the 
 way to disarm his sensitiveness. It was sooth- 
 
90 IX THE SWEET SPRIXG-TDIE. 
 
 ing to look back and to feel that he and his 
 sister, and their old blind mother, had given 
 something to Maurice Penruddock's life which 
 it could not have had without them ; for, child 
 as he was, Oliver had gathered how dull the 
 country parsonage would have been to Maurice, 
 with its absent, dreamy rector, and its fussy, dull 
 mistress, if he had not had the outlet afforded 
 by his acquaintance with Oliver and his sister. 
 
 " You knew we lost my mother. I told you 
 that years ago, when I saw you at Oxford." 
 
 Penruddock nodded. 
 
 " Would you like to see Martha 1 I'm sure 
 she'd like to see you. Poor Martha, she's just 
 the same — makes no new friends, but sticks to 
 the old ones like wax!" 
 
 "That's a very good character, isn't it?" said 
 Penruddock, smiling. 
 
 Oliver remembered that smile, and chafed 
 under it. He knew that its gracious sweetness 
 — a sweetness fall of self-respect — had often 
 checked his own rebellious spirit, without im- 
 pressing his conviction. 
 
 " I don't know that," he said, bluntly. " It 
 
MARTHA'S HOME. 91 
 
 may be right to cling to old friends, but it must 
 be wrong not to make new ones ; and Martha 
 lives like a hermit when she's at home." 
 
 "Ah! London will alter that! But if you 
 will give me the exact address, I shall have 
 much pleasure in calling." 
 
 "Our cottage is not an easy place to find," 
 said Oliver. " Tell me where to find you, or 
 I'll call for you to-morrow at your club at 
 seven, and take you down. We still keep up 
 our primitive habits — early dinner, and supper 
 at half-past eight. Will you come?" 
 
 " Yes, thank you. I shall be delighted. That 
 is my club address. I shall expect you to- 
 morrow at seven." 
 
 They shook hands and parted. Oliver felt 
 greatly pleased ; he knew it would be a pleasure 
 to Martha to see her old friend; and also he 
 was glad that Maurice Penruddock should see 
 with his own eyes that things had prospered 
 with- the Burridges — for, if Oliver had chosen to 
 live up to his means, he could have lived iu 
 better style than he did ; but if he was ambitious, 
 he was also prudent, and his present project might 
 
92 IX THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 fail, and then he would want money for another 
 idea, which lay ready to spring to life in his busy 
 brain ; and as Martha disliked society, and refused 
 to spend money on dress, why should he change 
 his simple mode of life ? So, when he came to 
 London to watch over the growth of his plan, 
 — he preferred to have the machinery made at 
 a distance from the town where it was to work 
 such wonders, — he sought oat a quaint, old- 
 fashioned house in the quiet suburb of Fulham, 
 and installed Martha there with two canaries 
 and the maid who had lived with them from 
 childhood. 
 
 The feeling of gladness grew within Oliver, 
 that feeling which the sight of a long-forgotten 
 face stirs up, till, even in a more worldly heart 
 than that of Oliver Burridge, it will grow to 
 such dimensions that it shuts out all but itself; 
 he strolled about the rooms without looking at 
 the pictures. All at once he thought of Martha. 
 
 u I must get home to tell her. She will be so 
 pleased — poor girl, it will quite cheer her up," 
 and in a few minutes he was on the top of an 
 omnibus, on his way to Fulham. 
 
MARTHA'S HOME. 93 
 
 He got down sooner than he needed, and took 
 a short cut through market gardens; after the 
 bustle and clatter and struggle in Piccadilly, it 
 was refreshing to be among the freshly opened 
 leaves, and all the joyous promise of spring 
 — for plum and apple-trees, cabbages, and 
 whole fields of cucumbers and vegetable- 
 marrows, in their season, maintained, and still 
 maintain possession, in this quiet district, of a 
 large stretch of land between the high-road 
 and the river, and for the present, at least, 
 bid defiance to the inroads of bricks and mortar. 
 Oliver went on between clouds of white and 
 pink softly-tinted blossoms, lying close on their 
 black gouty stems., which seemed to have 
 as little likeness to the blossoms as the coarse, 
 crumpled leaves had. The ground beneath was 
 carpeted with parsley, a golden green wherever 
 the sun found its way in among the thick 
 masses of blossom. Then he turned into the cab- 
 bage and lettuce-fields beside the river, screened 
 out of sight by fruit-trees — while, on the right, 
 beyond the fields, were forest-trees in all their 
 spring glory, and exquisite limes, which seemed 
 
94 IX THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 to unfold into richer loveliness from hour to 
 hour, beside crimson beeches and the burning 
 bronze of the tardy oaks. After a while he left 
 the fields, and walked along the road, bordered 
 by ancient walls, and sometimes fences, over- 
 topped by stately elms and planes. At last he 
 came in sight of a grand old Italian pine-tree, 
 covered with cones and full of birds' nests ; this 
 w 7 as shut in by green paliDgs, over which show- 
 ed yellow corchorus blossoms, almost matching 
 in colour the gate set between two holly- 
 bushes. 
 
 Oliver Burridge opened the gate, and then 
 looked up at the open window. This was in the 
 middle of the house, and had a hood-shaped 
 verandah over it, and a wooden balcony in 
 ft'ont ; hanging on this balcony was a grey 
 parrot in a cage ; under the verandah two small- 
 er cages with a canary inside, hung on each side 
 of the window; beyond were trellis and a smaller 
 window, and above three very small old fashion- 
 ed windows with white sills. The wall of the 
 house was coloured, like the green-white of a 
 duck's egg, but the lower part was hidden by 
 
MARTHA'S HOME. 95 
 
 a porch and a range of trellis completely cover- 
 ed by climbing roses — these were as yet flower- 
 less ; on the left was a low range of building, 
 covered with a vine bursting into leaf. 
 
 From the tree-branches across the road the 
 birds were singing their evening hymn, but as 
 Oliver stood looking at the vacant chair in the 
 balcony a canary opened its little beak and 
 poured forth a torrent of song that drowned 
 all other sounds ; then came a lull, and the 
 other birds sang louder and louder, but the 
 canary broke in upon them again with a flood 
 of melody that must have made the poor things 
 feel they were wasting breath. 
 
 Oliver clapped his hands. 
 
 " Be quiet, you little chatterer !" He cared 
 little for music, and the bird's shrill notes broke 
 the spell which the harmony of the lovely spring 
 hues had laid on his senses as he came through 
 the market-gardens. 
 
 "Martha," he called out, " why, where are you?" 
 
 The glass door under the porch opens, and 
 there is a tall pale woman, framed in the rose- 
 sprays, smiling a welcome. She wears a dark 
 
96 IN THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 stuff-gown, which clings closely to her and 
 shows how fine her figure is, and how round 
 and white is her throat. 
 
 Martha's eyes are as green as ever, and have 
 the same look of perplexed restraint, but the 
 eyelids are whiter and heavier, so that the eyes 
 themselves do not look so large. Her hair is 
 smoother and less red in hue, but when she speaks 
 there is no change from the Martha of so many 
 years ago. 
 
 " I did not expect you so soon," she says, 
 with a sweet look and an uneasy flush, as if 
 she ought to have divined by instinct the 
 change of time. 
 
 '•Well, never mind, here I am," — he kissed 
 her. "I've some news for you — guess whom 
 I've seen to-day, Martha ?" 
 
 He looked at her steadily. Something in his 
 look stirred old memories and she grew flushed 
 to her hair, and then angry with herself for 
 this ; she frowned. 
 
 " Don't look cross, you old goose/' he said, 
 laughing. u It is some one you like — some one 
 you were very fond of once." 
 
.MARTHA'S HOME. 97 
 
 She bad guessed at first — instinct had told her 
 — but she wished Oliver would not stand look- 
 ing into her eyes with that mischievous ques- 
 tioning expression that made her feel as if he 
 and she were boy and girl again. 
 
 4f I know whom you mean." — She could smile 
 now. — " It was Mr. Penruddock." But she spoke 
 uneasily, and looked into the rose-bush. 
 
 " Yes ; I knew you'd be sure to guess. He 
 asked after you, and he wants to see you. I 
 shall bring him home to-morrow." 
 
 Her eyes brightened, and she smiled with 
 happiness. Then her face clouded. 
 
 " Not to dinner, Oliver — please don't. Jane 
 does for us, but she could not cook for Mr. Pen- 
 ruddock. I — it would not do, I think." 
 
 She looked so troubled that Oliver laughed. 
 
 " I see you're just like other women, Martha, 
 though you don't go in for fashion and society. 
 Dress and dinner are the only things a woman 
 thinks of when she hears of a visitor. But you 
 needn't worry. Penruddock's coming to supper. 
 It will be jolly to be all three together again, 
 won't it !" 
 
 VOL. I. H 
 
98 IN THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 " That it will !" 
 
 Martha looked radiant, even beautiful, and a 
 lovely flush deepened on her cheeks ; she fol- 
 lowed her brother indoors, and then, all at 
 once, as the past came back, she hung her 
 head with shame, and hoped that Maurice was 
 either quite unchanged, or that he had for- 
 gotten her silliness when he left Deeping. 
 
99 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 A LITTLE SUPPER. 
 
 ITARTHA stood looking at the supper-table. 
 - L -"- L She had looked at it three times already, 
 but she felt so stirred out of her usual calm by 
 this most unusual advent of a visitor that it 
 was difficult to concentrate thought ; and though 
 with her outside eyes she had already seen the 
 fowl and ham, and rhubarb tart, and custards, 
 and salad occupying five places on the table, 
 she had come away each time with a confused 
 idea and a hazy doubt as to how the rest of 
 the supper was laid, and a tormenting fear as 
 to what Mr. Penruddock would think. 
 
 Maurice Penruddock ! How strange it would 
 be to see him after so many years, Martha thought. 
 
 h2 
 
100 IN THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 To be all together again. Oliver had seen him. 
 more than once — he would not feel so uncom- 
 fortable. 
 
 "But then Oliver is never shy; he says he 
 always feels the equal of everyone. I could 
 never feel equal to Mr. Penruddock. His 
 mother is Lady Mary, and he is a barrister ; and, 
 besides, though he used to be our friend, and we 
 called him by his name, he always had some- 
 thing about him quite different from ourselves." 
 
 And then Martha's heart swelled, aud a bright 
 flush came into her face as she remembered that 
 parting in the wood. 
 
 Martha had put on her best gown, a myrtle- 
 green silk, which suited well with her hair, a 
 soft tulle niching set off her round white throat, 
 and excitement had given her ever so faint a 
 tinge of rosy colour ; but, although she would 
 have been called "a well-grown woman," and was 
 indeed very remarkable-looking, she was so un- 
 conscious of any power to attract that she had not 
 even the vanity needful to the perfect success of 
 beauty. She had dressed herself with extra care, 
 to do honour to Mr. Penruddock, and also because 
 
A LITTLE SUPPER. 101 
 
 Oliver had said, more than once, "Be sure you 
 are nicely dressed." Certainly she had not the 
 idea of beautifying herself. It would have been 
 impossible to Martha Burridge to think of her- 
 self as the possessor of any charm or attraction 
 — her vanity lay in the opposite course, a con- 
 sciousness of her short-comings ; these were, in 
 her opinion, a want of grace, far more apparent, 
 however, in her lank girlhood than now in her 
 fuller development, and her ignorance of the 
 ways of society ; to think of herself as likely to 
 attract favourable notice, would have seemed to 
 Martha sheer folly. 
 
 " There," she said, when she had completed 
 her survey of the table, and settled several of 
 the things again, "I'll not fidget any more. 
 I've done the best I can, and Oliver knows me 
 too well to expect much ; as to that, if Maurice — 
 Mr. Penruddock, I mean/' — she laughed, and 
 grew red at her own mistake — "if he remem- 
 bers us at all, he knows well what a foolish, 
 half-ready creature I always was." 
 
 She could not settle to her satisfaction 
 whether she wished Maurice to forget her or to 
 
102 IN THE SWEET SPRING- TIME. 
 
 remember her. She sat down in the balcony 
 between the two canaries ; they took her coming 
 there as a signal, and immediately poured out a 
 flood of song; the parrot put his head on one side, 
 and shut his eyes, but he took no other notice 
 of her arrival. Martha's restlessness had left 
 her. She paid no heed to the full-throated 
 greeting of the little yellow birds ; her face 
 was full of delightful memories, the eager look- 
 ing forward had vanished. She was a little 
 conscious, a little ashamed of the silent worship 
 she had paid all these years to the remem- 
 brance of her childish love. 
 
 "It was always more on my side than on 
 his,*' she thought, "and even — " she stopped 
 here. 
 
 All these years, colourless to her, had passed 
 by without bringing her any strong personal 
 interest unconnected with her mother and Oliver, 
 but how full they had doubtless been to Mr. 
 Penruddock ! 
 
 " No ! he remembers nothing about me, and 
 he has found more than one girl to love him be- 
 fore this — perhaps he is married." 
 
A LITTLE SUPPER. 103 
 
 Martha would have laughed to hear that she 
 was in love with Maurice, and yet, at the 
 thought of his having a wife, a chill fell over 
 her feelings, and all brightness seemed to be 
 taken from the meeting to which she had so 
 looked forward. 
 
 It is commonly said that a sudden change of 
 feeling is only the result of impulse, and that, 
 as this subsides, the normal state of mind re- 
 turns, except where there has been some un- 
 expected revelation of treachery on the part of 
 a friend or kindness from an enemy. But to 
 Martha Burridge it seemed afterwards, as days 
 and weeks went by, that the woman who sat, on 
 that spring evening, in the low wooden balcony 
 between those little yellow singers, was quite 
 some one else, a cold nonentity, with scarcely a 
 wish or an outlook beyond the daily round of 
 common duties, compared with the living self 
 that belonged henceforth to her. 
 
 All at once there were voices and footsteps, 
 and the sleepy parrot opened both eyes. 
 
 " How d'ye do, Oliver," it screamed, " all 
 right, my boy, — eh ?" 
 
104 IN THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 Before Martha could see the two figures she 
 heard Maurice's voice. 
 
 " What, you have the old parrot still ; poor 
 old Jacko !" 
 
 He was not changed, then, — this remembrance 
 of the parrot was just like his old self. Involun- 
 tarily she smiled at Jacko, and said, " An old 
 friend is coming, Jacko ;" then she went down- 
 stairs, feeling far more at her ease than she had 
 expected. 
 
 The glass entrance door opened into a pretty 
 little hall, and here she found Oliver and his 
 visitor. 
 
 Mr. Penruddock had changed far more in 
 looks than in voice, and Martha felt as if she 
 shook hands with a stranger; but the change 
 was a relief — it blotted out the past. 
 
 " I should not have recognized you," she said, 
 shyly. 
 
 Maurice shook her hand warmly, and held it 
 for a minute as he looked at her. 
 
 " You are changed too, but I should have 
 known you anywhere — you look younger than 
 Oliver does." 
 
A LITTLE SUPPER. 105 
 
 " I am some years older — but then he has so 
 much to think of, and that ages him — he thinks 
 for both of us." 
 
 " Come," — Oliver had grown impatient of this 
 dialogue. "Aren't we going upstairs, Martha, 
 or do you mean Penruddock to spend his even- 
 ing on the door-mat." 
 
 Penruddock winced at the somewhat rough 
 tone, but Martha seemed used to it. She turned 
 and led the way upstairs to the room with the 
 balcony. It was very simply furnished, and as 
 the walls were darkly papered there was little 
 light except close to the window. Oliver went 
 there and out into the balcony, where he began 
 to teaze Jacko. 
 
 "You are very little changed, I'm sure," 
 Maurice said. " I wonder if the Oliver worship 
 is as strong as ever." 
 
 Martha looked up pleadingly, and Mr. Pen- 
 ruddock thought that her eyes had certainly 
 changed for the better — they were soft as well 
 as bright now, but there was still the perplexed 
 restraint in them — they seemed to be hiding a 
 deeper expression. 
 
106 IN THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 " How nice and quiet you are here," Maurice 
 said, " and what splendid trees there are in this 
 part of the world ! I did not know there was 
 such an old world, unfrequented place so near 
 London." 
 
 Oliver heard the last words as he stepped 
 back out of the balcony, wrapping his handker- 
 chief round his finger — he had teazed the parrot 
 till it had bitten him. 
 
 " We are quiet here just now, but on Satur- 
 days, at this time of year, we have plenty of 
 fashion and gaiety near us ; there are, however, 
 some delightful old houses with quaint, old- 
 fashioned gardens." 
 
 " Have you any pleasant neighbours ?" Mau- 
 rice looked at Martha, but Oliver answered — 
 
 " Martha is unsociable," he said, " or she might 
 know some very nice people here, — their place, 
 The Elms, is very pleasant, one of the few 
 where the garden goes down to the river-bank, 
 — people named Venables. He was in your 
 profession, but he gave up practice some years 
 ago — do you know him?" 
 
 " I know him slightly. My guardian was a 
 
A LITTLE SUPPER. 107 
 
 cousin of this Venables, and my mother is, I 
 believe, a very old friend. They have no children 
 of their own, I think." 
 
 Oliver looked out of window. " They have no 
 children, but they have adopted two nieces, the 
 daughters of Mrs. Venables' sister. Mrs. Venables 
 and her sister both had money, but this poor 
 Mrs. Ralston lost most of hers in some bank 
 failure. I always fancy old Venables was to 
 blame in not looking after her affairs, for her 
 husband died long ago ; so I suppose he considers 
 he must make it up to the girls." 
 
 " And why don't you visit these ladies V — 
 Maurice looked at Martha in his old smiling, 
 teasing fashion. 
 
 " They would not care to know me," she said, 
 hesitating and twisting her fingers. "They are 
 fashionable young ladies. I don't see what 
 they could find in me." 
 
 Maurice shook his head. 
 
 " You're too ' 'unable,' I see. You have forgot- 
 ten all my lessons," he said, mischievously. " I 
 imagine, if they are frivolous girls, you have 
 far more to offer them than they can give in 
 
108 IN THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 return. Don't you remember I used to say 
 that you ought to have companions of your 
 own age?" 
 
 Oliver had come close up to him, and now he 
 burst in impetuously. 
 
 " You are making a great mistake," he said, 
 " they are not at all frivolous girls — at least, 
 Miss Ralston is not. I don't know her sister 
 so well; besides, she's only eighteen." 
 
 Martha gave Penruddock a significant look, 
 but he did not notice it ; he was annoyed with 
 Oliver's manner, and he walked to the window. 
 
 "Isn't supper ready?" said Oliver; then, as 
 Martha nodded,, he said, " Shan't we go down 
 then V and he opened the door. 
 
 Maurice offered his arm to Martha, and this 
 disconcerted her. She felt sure that he had 
 become ceremonious, and that he would expect 
 a much more elegant meal than she had pre- 
 pared. She did not hear a word of his talk as 
 they went down together. However, Oliver had 
 preceded them, and was lighting the candles on 
 the mantelshelf, while a lamp suspended from 
 the ceiling made the table look bright and 
 
A LITTLE SUPPER. 109 
 
 pleasant; and presently, when she saw how 
 hungry they both were, Martha grew tranquil- 
 lisecl about her preparations. 
 
 Oliver became thoroughly genial as his hunger 
 was appeased, — he had a wild-beast tendency to 
 be cross when he wanted a meal. 
 
 " You ought to know Mr. Venables/' he said 
 to Penruddock, " he is a shrewd, kind man, and 
 his wife is delightful, — at least, I should think 
 so, if I did not suspect her of being satirical.'" 
 
 "And the nieces," — Maurice looked mischiev- 
 ously out of his long, sweet, dark eyes, — " are 
 they satirical too V 
 
 " 1 don't think so;" and then Oliver paused 
 as if the suggestion had created a doubt. " No, 
 I am sure the eldest is not, — that is to say, she 
 would not make fun of you behind your back ; 
 she is too frank and direct. I don't know about 
 Miss Louy, as they call her; she is far more 
 conventional than her sister is, I don't half 
 understand her ; they seem to spoil her." 
 
 " I should like to know them well enough," 
 Maurice said. "My mother has been a great 
 invalid since she came from India, and when we 
 
110 IN THE SWEET SPRIXG-TIME. 
 
 called they were from home ;" then he turned to 
 Martha. u I suppose I must not ask you to call 
 on my mother V 
 
 Martha blushed. 
 
 "No, thank you. I don't think your mother 
 would care to see me, and I am sure I should be 
 shy and stupid." She glanced at Oliver; he 
 was frowning. " You don't think me very rude 
 to refuse/' she said, timidly. 
 
 Maurice smiled. 
 
 " I don't think you lose much by your refusal. 
 My mother goes out so little, and is such an 
 invalid, that, except to the few who know and 
 love her, she is not much of a companion, and 
 it is a long way from here to Bayswater. But, 
 Oliver, you will come some evening, won't you, 
 and dine with my mother." 
 
 " Thank you, I shall be very glad ; but Martha 
 is a silly girl to shut herself up, and lose every 
 chance of making friends ; she'll be sorry for it 
 some day." 
 
 If he could have looked into her heart just 
 then, Oliver would have seen that Martha was 
 sorry already — not that she had refused to 
 
A LITTLE SUPPER. Ill 
 
 call on Lady Mary Penruddock, but deeply 
 sorry that the circumstances of her life had not 
 fitted her to do all that Maurice wished her to 
 do. She shook her head, but she smiled as she 
 answered — 
 
 " I know myself better than you do, Oliver. 
 I do best in the shade." 
 
 Her lips quivered. Maurice saw this, and he 
 felt a kind of resentment against Oliver — it 
 seemed to him that her brother did not under- 
 stand Martha. 
 
 "The sweetest flowers blossom best in the 
 shade," — he smiled so kindly that it took all 
 semblance of flattery from his words. " I see 
 we must leave you alone, and let you judge for 
 yourself; now-a-days self-assertion is so common 
 that your reticence shines out like some bright 
 particular star." 
 
 " Do you smoke ? " said Oliver, abruptly. 
 In his heart he was calling Penruddock "a 
 fool for cockering up Martha in her absurd 
 notions." 
 
 " Yes, but I fancy I must say good night ; the 
 drawback to this leafy retreat is, I expect, that 
 
112 IN THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 there is a difficulty of getting 1 a conveyance to 
 town/' 
 
 "You won't get a cab, but, if you don't mind 
 an omnibus, you can get one a little way off,'* 
 said Oliver. " I'll put you in the road, and we 
 can have a smoke as we go along." 
 
 Martha stood at the open door under the 
 porch, looking out into the darkness long after 
 her brother had closed the garden-gate behind 
 him. She was glad to be alone, and yet she 
 had felt a kind of anguish, when Mr. Penruddock 
 got up to go away, that the evening was over. 
 How stupidly she had acted ; he perhaps would 
 never come again ; he could see Oliver in Lon- 
 don, and she had refused the chance he offered 
 of making his mother's acquaintance. 
 
 " He did not press it ; of course he saw how 
 
 unfit J am to call on her, and yet " 
 
 And yet Martha had realised during this 
 evening, she could not tell how, that the distance 
 between herself and Maurice had lessened. Atone 
 time of her life she had thought of being a gover- 
 ness, and, without breathing her intention to 
 Oliver, she had studied hard and taken advantage 
 
A LITTLE SUPPER. 113 
 
 of every means of education that came in her way; 
 even now, when she felt herself too necessary 
 to Oliver to think of carrying out her plan, she 
 gave all her spare moments to study ; insensibly 
 her horizon had risen and her tastes had become 
 more refined. With all her worship she some- 
 times shrank from Oliver's roughness and his 
 abrupt contradictions, — it had been a kind of 
 heaven to sit and listen to Maurice's pleasant 
 soft voice and to his gentle raillery. She stood 
 trying to go over it all, one hand clasped in the 
 other. 
 
 " How charming he is ! Will he ever come 
 again ! — if he does not I shall wish he hadn't 
 come to-night, it has brought back so much 
 past time; — and yet, for the sake of old friend- 
 ship, he will surely come again." 
 
 She blushed with pleasure in the darkness 
 as she repeated to herself all he had said, and 
 it was sweet to remember that he had held 
 her hand in his at their first meeting. But 
 Martha's calm pride could not be cast off entirely. 
 She frowned with scorn at her folly. 
 
 " It is because we never have a visitor that 
 
 VOL. I. I 
 
114 IN THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 I feel upset like a silly school-girl," she said. 
 " I ought to be helping Jane instead of wasting 
 time in the dark. What would Oliver think?" 
 
 Oliver was coming home along the road in a 
 vexed and, what was unusual with him, a self- 
 discontented mood, — and the worst of it was the 
 utter disproportion between the amount of his 
 annoyance and the subject of it. He was angry 
 with himself for having spoken of Miss Ralston 
 and her sister to Maurice Penruddock. What 
 need was there to speak of the Venables family 
 at all ? 
 
 "Pm a fool to be the means of bringing a 
 taking fellow like Maurice into their house. It 
 would have been quite easy to say we have 
 pleasant neighbours, and let it stop there." 
 
 So he went in and up stairs to bed without 
 even bidding Martha good night. 
 
115 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 A DIFFERENCE OF OPINION. 
 
 T)Y half-past eight Oliver had walked as far 
 *~* as Putney Bridge and back, and had 
 finished breakfast. It was a sparkling morning ; 
 the leaves seemed to quiver with delight at their 
 own extreme loveliness, and newly-hatched 
 butterflies were careering through the air, and 
 the birds were singing, though Martha's canaries 
 drowned the outside music. On the opposite side 
 of the road was a field ; the grass was already 
 long here, and purple with graceful feathered 
 spikes, and as the morning breeze swept over 
 it these tints kept on changing as they chaDge 
 on the incoming sea-waves. Among the purple 
 grass blossoms was a golden wealth of butter- 
 
 i2 
 
116 IX THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 cups, and here and there deep crimson clover 
 and silver-starred Marguerites, and these seemed 
 to roll over and over as the wind swept by, 
 tasting the fresh morning sweetness of their 
 petals before it was tainted by the white dust 
 which rose up in a cloud as the wind reached 
 the road. 
 
 Oliver half turned on the doorstep. 
 
 " Martha/' — she was standing in the hall to 
 see him off, but he did not look at her, — " be 
 sure the garden is watered — it was forgotten 
 yesterday, and there will be no rain." 
 
 Martha felt guilty. Oliver was easy to 
 please, but he was stern to harshness at any 
 neglect of what seemed to him a positive duty ; 
 he was very stern towards himself, but it seemed 
 to him unpardonable that Martha, who had no 
 outside cares or distractions, nothing to take 
 her thoughts from the duties of this green nest 
 of theirs, should be neglectful. 
 
 " Women are so careless, so inaccurate, even 
 the best of them," he said to himself, as he went 
 along, bag in hand, towards The Elms. 
 
 He had promised to show Mr. Venables the- 
 
A DIFFERENCE OF OPINION. 117 
 
 last improvement in his idea. As he went along, 
 the air was so filled with lovely sights and 
 fragrance that his ruffled mood yielded to it. 
 He felt ashamed of his own fears and scruples 
 the night before, and, strong in generosity as he 
 was strong in all besides, he resolved to speak 
 of Penruddock to Mr. Venables. 
 
 When he reached The Elms he was shown 
 into the study, a little room on the right of the 
 entrance, so full of books and papers that, there 
 was scarcely room to turn in it. Oliver had 
 only just seated himself, when the man came 
 back and asked him if he would come into the 
 dining-room. 
 
 A glow of pleasure came to Mr. Burridge. 
 He hoped to find all the family at breakfast ; he 
 was disappointed to find Mr. Venables risen from 
 table and walking up and down the large room. 
 Miss Ralston and her sister were not visible, 
 but Mrs. Venables was still sitting behind the 
 silver tea-urn— a delicate-looking lady with 
 bright dark eyes and grey hair ; she presented 
 such a combination of dainty freshness and 
 brightness that even Oliver's practical eyes 
 
118 IN THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 glanced with pleasure over her dress from 
 the filmy lace cap tied under her chin by broad 
 lace lappets, to the black and white check 
 gown of a soft silky texture, and to the little 
 plump, well-shaped hands peeping beyond the 
 frilled sleeves — all seemed like some exquisite 
 bit of china, though the perfect order of her 
 dress did not match with the varying, and at 
 times humorous, expressions that flitted across 
 her delicate face. 
 
 She smiled quietly at the abruptness with 
 which Oliver turned away after he had said 
 good morning. He went up to a writing- 
 table in the bow-window behind Mrs. Vena- 
 bleSj and began to take the papers out of his 
 bag. 
 
 " 1 thought you would like to see what I've 
 done. I have altered this, you see," he said, in 
 a shy, constrained voice, to Mr. Venables, who 
 w T as looking over the papers, "and D takes 
 the place of E, thus getting rid of E altogether. 
 You see, it simplifies the whole thing very much, 
 increases the working power, and reduces ex- 
 pense in carrying out." 
 
A DIFFERENCE OF OPINION. 119 
 
 "Yes, I see — I understand perfectly. It's 
 excellent." Mr. Venables's square, intelligent 
 face grew red with excitement, his grey hair 
 and whiskers looked stiffer than ever. He was 
 rather a short man, with very square shoulders 
 and a short neck. 
 
 " My dear," — he took the drawing to the 
 breakfast-table, and showed it to his wife — "it's 
 really most interesting ; if you'll make a little 
 room among your tea-cups, I'll lay it down and 
 explain it." 
 
 "You'll be careful, won't you?" said Oliver, 
 abruptly. "I have as yet no copy of that 
 drawing." 
 
 " Yes, yes, to be sure." 
 
 Oliver had always been reserved and silent — 
 it had been an effort to speak of his plans even 
 to Mr. Venables, but he had wanted advice 
 about patenting his plan, and had therefore felt 
 obliged to satisfy his friend's curiosity ; he had 
 not meant to submit his drawing to anyone 
 besides Kitty, and he thought Mr. Venables was 
 indiscreet. 
 
 Mr.Yenables was too excited to notice, but his 
 
120 IN THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 wife observed Mr. Burridge's manner, and a little 
 wondering frown puckered her still fair forehead, 
 while her husband went on explaining what to 
 her was the perfectly incomprehensible and un- 
 interesting diagram on the table ; but as it inter- 
 ested her husband, and it brought him to her 
 side to explain its merits, Mrs.Venables gave 
 it her best attention, and even congratulated 
 Mr. Burridge on his certain success. 
 
 "Thank you," he said. "How are Miss 
 Ralston and her sister?" 
 
 " Quite well, thank you," Mrs. Venables an- 
 swered. 
 
 " You only missed them by five minutes." 
 Her husband's tone was much more genial. 
 " They'll be so sorry. Kitty would have liked 
 to see the drawing, I'm sure." 
 
 " Do you think she would ?" Oliver said, 
 eagerly. " I can't leave it now, but I'll bring 
 it some evening. By the way, I was talking of 
 you all last night," he went on, i4 to an old 
 friend of mine, who saj-s he ought to know 
 you — his name's Penruddock; his father was 
 Colonel Penruddock." 
 
A DIFFERENCE OF OPINION. 121 
 
 Mr. Venables' bright eyes grew brighter and 
 rounder. 
 
 "I know, I know," — he spoke quickly — "I 
 know the man, he w r as a ward of my Cousin 
 Jack's ; I knew him when he w r as a boy, and 
 I've met him once or twice since. He seems 
 pleasant. What is he doing?" 
 
 "He's the best fellow you can fancy; he's 
 at the Bar, not making very much, I suppose, 
 but he's not far over thirty yet." 
 
 " Does he live in chambers? — his father died 
 in India, I remember." 
 
 Mr. Venables' eyes always seemed to sparkle 
 with impatience w T hile he waited for an answer, 
 — he spoke so promptly himself. 
 
 " He lives with his mother, Lady Mary Pen- 
 ruddock, somewhere in Bayswater ; he's a swell, 
 you know," said Oliver, awkwardly. 
 
 M Have you known him long V* said Mrs. 
 Venables. She did not mean to be impertinent, 
 but Oliver was red and vexed in a moment. 
 
 " I see," he said, bluntly — Mrs. Venables said 
 to herself, "boorishly" — "you wonder how I 
 come to have any swell acquaintances; but 
 
122 IN THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 when Penrnddock was a young fellow, he was 
 at school near my home, and somehow we got 
 to be friends." 
 
 Mrs. Venables had listened attentively; she 
 began to feel interested; this was different 
 from the drawing of a machine. 
 
 " And has the friendship gone on ever since 
 you were boys V she said. 
 
 "Yes, on and off." Oliver felt gratified ; Mrs. 
 Venables seldom talked to him. " I happened 
 to go to Oxford on business when I was a 
 youngster, and there, curiously enough, I met 
 Penruddock at the railway-station, and we 
 knew one another again; since then, I have 
 seen him in London once or twice, but I have 
 seen little of him since we were boys till last 
 night, then he came down and spent the even- 
 ing with us." 
 
 " Have you really taken that cottage for 
 your sister?" 
 
 Oliver nodded, and Mr. Venables went on, 
 quickly, 
 
 "My dear, you ought to call on Miss Bur- 
 ridge ; — it is Fir Cottage, isn't it?" 
 
A DIFFERENCE OF OPINION. 123 
 
 Oliver did not give Mrs. Venables time to 
 speak. 
 
 " You are very kind," he said, " but my sister 
 is peculiar — so painfully shy that I believe, if 
 you did call, she would never get courage to 
 return your visit; and yet she would suffer 
 badly enough from the consciousness of her 
 owd rudeness." 
 
 Mr. Venables laughed. 
 
 "You should cure her of that," he said. 
 "You wouldn't believe it, I daresay, but my 
 wife was shy when I married her, — weren't you, 
 dear? You must make your sister feel her own 
 consequence as your sister ; tell her she should 
 swagger a little — it comes as easy to a woman 
 after a bit as ordering the dinner does." 
 
 " I don't call that a good simile, Charles." 
 Mrs. Venables looked very sweet when she 
 smiled at her husband. " I find ordering the 
 dinner just as difficult now as I did at first. Is 
 your sister younger than you are?" she said to 
 Oliver. 
 
 " Several years older ; but my mother was 
 blind, and we never had any society when we 
 
124 IN THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 were young, and I fancy shyness sticks to folks 
 unless it's shaken off in early life." 
 
 " Well, it has not stuck to you, at any rate," 
 Mr. Venables laughed. " You must try and 
 bring your sister to see us. Azile," he said 
 to his wife, " had you not better send Miss 
 Burridge an invitation for your garden-party?" 
 
 Oliver looked puzzled. 
 
 " I have not sent any cards yet ; but I shall 
 be very glad if you will bring your sister/' Mrs. 
 Yenables said to Oliver. " Do you think I may 
 invite her V' 
 
 " Oh, please don't !" he said, impatiently ; 
 then, recovering himself, " The truth is, I know 
 she would refuse, and I get cross with Martha 
 when she refuses to go out ; and she is too good 
 a creature to get cross with. But I must be 
 off." 
 
 " You had far better cure your sister of her 
 shyness," — Mr. Venables went to the hall door 
 with his guest,— "and here's an opportunity 
 to begin. Bring her to the garden-party ; she 
 will be all right once she's here. I believe it 
 will be pleasant." 
 
A DIFFERENCE OF OPINION. 125 
 
 "Charles," Mrs. V enables said, when her 
 husband went back to her, " how could you tell 
 Mr. Burridge he had lost his shyness ? Why, 
 he's the shyest man I know ; all that awkward 
 abruptness in him is only shyness ; he is full of 
 the prejudices of a man who has been brought 
 up in a corner." 
 
 Mr. Yenables smiled and patted his wife's 
 soft little hand as it rested on the back of the 
 chair in which she had been sitting. 
 
 " Well, my dear, nevertheless, he won't stop 
 in a corner ; but what creatures women are f 
 — even when they are not common-place, they 
 can't penetrate beyond the outside husk of 
 things — manner is everything. Still, my dear, 
 it does puzzle me that you should not appreci- 
 ate young Burridge." 
 
 His wife laughed. 
 
 " Your friend is proud and shy. I can't 
 help being a woman, of course ; but I think 
 I can see that he is very clever -and ingeni- 
 ous. You are inclined to overrate him, perhaps 
 self-asserting men with a great constructive 
 faculty are apt to get overrated, because all 
 
126 IX THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 they can do shows itself, and speaks for their 
 talent:' 
 
 "Nonsense, my dear; you understand al- 
 most everything, but you don't understand 
 Oliver Burridge ; you are too fastidious ; you 
 let the man's manner come between you and 
 his real merit, and yet I should have thought 
 you too large-minded for that." 
 
 16 Should you ! " — her sweet dark eyes 
 looked up mischievously at her husband. 
 " Do you really think, dear, I should have 
 married you if you had been abrupt and self- 
 asserting?" 
 
 " Of course you would," — he pinched her 
 cheek — " but now that's just the point in ques- 
 tion. I don't suppose any fastidious girl would 
 marry a man with a faulty manner, if she heard 
 his defects commented on ; you and Kitty are 
 both absurd in this way." 
 
 A bright flush rose on the wife's delicate 
 face. 
 
 " Oh, Charles, you surely don't mean that 
 you think Mr. Burridge good enough for our 
 Kitty 1 I have never yet seen anyone who 
 
A DIFFERENCE OF OPINION. 127 
 
 could make her happy — certainly Mr. Burridge 
 could not." 
 
 Mrs. Venables drew up her slender figure, 
 and looked almost haughtily at the door, as if 
 she saw Oliver there. 
 
 Mr. Venables walked up to the window in 
 silence, and looked out a minute before he 
 came back. He and his wife had married for 
 love, and had loved one another all their lives, 
 and yet every now and then they looked at 
 people or things from totally opposite points. 
 Their differences of opinion never grew to dis- 
 agreement ; as Mrs. Venables said, love was 
 too precious, and life too short, to cloud by 
 dispute, but she had felt that, since Kitty 
 Ralston had come to live with them, she and 
 her husband differed much more frequently. 
 
 She had a secret consciousness that this dar- 
 ling niece, whose ideas and tastes were in such 
 perfect harmony with hers, was not appreciated 
 or even understood by Mr. Venables. She 
 never discussed Kitty with her husband, but it 
 had brought a cloud into her sunny life that 
 there was one point in it she shrank from talk- 
 ing over with him. 
 
128 IN THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 Mr. Venables thought Kitty a pretty girl, but 
 very unlikely, from her unpractical qualities, 
 to do well for herself in life; he had noticed 
 Oliver's admiration, and it seemed' to him 
 sheer insanity to reject such a match as Mr. 
 Burridge might be for her. He left his vexa- 
 tion at the window, and came back to his wife 
 with a smile. 
 
 tf You are so taken up with Kitty that you 
 can't see her as she really is. I believe, looking 
 at her without any prejudice, that she is a very 
 good girl, and that she thinks very highly of 
 Burridge." 
 
 " Yes," Mrs. Venables broke in, impetuously, 
 "but she does not love him.-" 
 
 "Leave her alone, and she'll love him quite 
 well enough to marry him. I am sure that 
 he is on the high road to success. He's just 
 the sort of man to get into Parliament before 
 he's fifty; he will do great good in his time, 
 depend upon it." 
 
 Mrs. Venables shrugged her shoulders. 
 
 " Ah ! dear," — she put her hand on her 
 husband's arm and kissed him, — "girls don't 
 
A DIFFERENCE OF OPINION. 129 
 
 think of those sort of things — at least, not 
 such girls as Kitty,— and you know it as well 
 as I do." 
 
 VOL. I. K 
 
130 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 AT THE GARDEN-PARTY 
 
 TT was a lovely spring day. Gyneth Ralston 
 -*- wandered aimlessly about the lawn at The 
 Elms with a little flush on her face, that, if it 
 did not increase her beauty, made it supremely 
 bright. Everything looked so gay and charming, 
 everyone — even the cross old butler — seemed so 
 full of happy anticipation, that she began to 
 look on Louisa as a beneficent fairy, gilding all 
 she touched, and turning the somewhat mo- 
 notonous life at The Elms into an excitement 
 that was full of gentle pleasure. 
 
 Louisa had been indefatigable, and though her 
 sister's taste had originated the beauty of the 
 arrangements, still it was Louisa who had seen 
 that everything was carried out. Louisa had 
 
AT THE GARDEN PARTY. 131 
 
 written all the cards of invitation, had ordered 
 the musicians, and the tent, and had made 
 sundry very practical suggestions respecting 
 refreshments, but she did not enjoy her own 
 work as intensely as Kitty did. 
 
 The elder sister went dreamily from one point 
 in the garden to another. She thought the river 
 had never looked more lovely than it did to-day : 
 one while golden with glitter, and then a bluish 
 grey, as a quickly-moving cloud swept over the 
 sun, and flung a sudden soft olive on the bright 
 green grass. The rhododendrons that skirted 
 the lawn between the house and the river were 
 past their acme of beauty, and had begun to 
 fall, strewing the ground with their tent-like 
 blossoms, but the azaleas, coral and orange and 
 gold and primrose — a whole gamut of glori- 
 ous and fragrant colour — were in their prime, 
 though the roses had begun to bloom outside 
 the house, and over a series of iron arches near 
 the river. On the left, behind these arches was 
 a deep-tangled brake, green with spreading 
 ferns and white-flowered parsnip, a large acacia 
 overshadowing one corner, and mingling its 
 
 k2 
 
132 IN THE SWEET SPUING- TIME. 
 
 boughs with those of a sycamore, while a pen- 
 ant tapestry of white briony spread itself so 
 as to intensify the darkness behind, and also 
 the whiteness of a white foxglove, sitting like 
 a queen among the ferns. To please Gyneth, 
 when she came to The Elms, a tiny path had 
 been cut through this tangle — a sort of green 
 darkness quite shadowed by the thick leafy 
 growth above — till it came out on an old time- 
 stained flight of steps leading down to the 
 river. 
 
 She was going into this favourite retreat 
 when she heard a cry of " Kitty — where is 
 Kitty?" 
 
 She turned back, and met Louisa, glowing 
 with excitement ; while a new dress — very pale 
 blue, with strings of deeper blue beads clasping 
 her round white throat — made her eyes a yet 
 more intense blue under the shade of her white 
 straw hat. 
 
 " Really — really, Kitty," she said, breathlessly, 
 her forehead puckered with perplexity, " you are- 
 too provoking to go mooning about undressed. 
 Don't you know the people are asked for half- 
 
AT THE GARDEN PARTY. 133 
 
 past four, and it's almost four now, and some 
 people always come to the minute; and I want 
 you to look specially nice. You are too pro- 
 voking." 
 
 i( I did not think it was so late,*' said Kitty, 
 quietly; "but did you ever see anything so 
 lovely !" She pointed to the foxglove in its 
 tangled home. 
 
 u Yes, very pretty— but rather too wild for a 
 garden. But oh, do go, dear Kitty; I know 
 some one will come before you are ready.-" 
 
 Kitty disappeared, but Louisa's fidget was 
 not appeased ; she went back to the house and 
 looked in at the drawing-room bow-window. 
 
 She gave a sigh of relief when she saw that 
 Mr. and Mrs. Venables were both ready to re- 
 ceive their visitors, but even then her spirit of 
 organizing would not rest. 
 
 " Aunt,"— she put her head in at the open 
 window— " don't you think you had better be 
 in the garden, and leave uncle here ? Every- 
 one may not care to go through the house, you 
 know." 
 
 Her aunt laughed. 
 
134 IX THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 "I suppose we must all obey you to-day," 
 she said, " but it is much cooler indoors/' 
 
 Louisa flitted in and out till even her uncle 
 said he wished "the blue-butterfly would settle." 
 But at last her example proved contagious, 
 and he too began to fidget restlessly in and 
 out, and finally to worry about Kitty's absence. 
 
 She came down just before the first party of 
 guests arrived. She looked very lovely in a 
 black hat with a tuft of black feathers, and a 
 white gown with a simple skirt, scarcely trail- 
 ing as she walked, and only trimmed with a 
 single frill. 
 
 "You look like a magpie," her uncle said, 
 but he smiled as he said it ; he was thinking 
 how well her black feathers suited her fair, 
 colourless skin, and her deep eyes with their 
 long black fringes. 
 
 People came at first straggliogly, and the 
 first comers seamed to be oppressed by a con- 
 sciousness that they were too early. Louisa 
 surpassed herself in her efforts at entertainment, 
 but these early comers were of a dowdy, ordi- 
 nary, absorbent kind, and received all efforts 
 
AT THE GARDEN PARTY. 135 
 
 made in their behalf without any attempt to 
 return them — they did not even speak to one 
 another, but sat, looking bored, on the chairs 
 under the shade of the trees. It was a great 
 relief to Louisa to hear the rapid roll of car- 
 riages increase and continue without any period 
 of lull till the gardens were filled with a large 
 gathering of fashionable people with bright 
 faces and in gay dresses. 
 
 Kitty had placed herself in front of the re- 
 freshment tent, and there was quite a buzz of 
 talk here, while people drank tea or coffee, 
 ate strawberries and ices, and criticised one 
 another's toilettes. 
 
 The band began to play at the end of the 
 terrace beside the river, where there was an old 
 stone seat, backed by a wall covered with roses. 
 Very soon this terrace was covered with groups 
 moving slowly up and down as they enjoyed 
 the music, and the lovely view r looking towards 
 the old grey-towered church. 
 
 " Why don't you go to the terrace, Kitty f " 
 Louisa said, as she came into the tent 
 with a tall, fresh-faced clergyman, his wife, 
 
136 IN THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 and daughters. The clergyman had the suave 
 dignity of an archbishop ; he smiled blandly, 
 and cleared his throat at the beginning of each 
 sentence, seemingly to ensure some listeners 
 to his talk. The wife was tall, fair, and colour- 
 less, and her talk consisted in assurances that 
 (i flowers were lovely, especially at this time of 
 year," and that " the weather was delicious ;" 
 while the two daughters seemed to be rather 
 cynical, small editions of their father — as fully 
 aware of their own superiority to the rest of the 
 world as he was, but without the easy assurance 
 which enabled him to be affable and genial both 
 in looks and manner. 
 
 " I am very glad to see you so well," he said 
 to Louisa, " very glad — yes," and then he threw 
 back his head, and looked at both the sisters, 
 as if he were arranging his next sentence. 
 
 " We must not both stay here," said Louisa. 
 
 " I want to stay," Kitty said, pleadingly, and 
 Louisa, to her surprise, left her in peace. 
 
 There was only one person coming to-day to 
 whom Miss Ralston cared specially to talk, and 
 that person was Oliver Burridge. He was the 
 
AT THE GARDEN PARTY. 137 
 
 one special friend whose conversation interested 
 her, and why should she not stay and welcome 
 him here? If she went and mingled with that 
 gay, ever-moving throng beside the river, he 
 might be a long time in discovering her, and 
 meantime she could do her duty by talking to 
 the new arrivals as they came in to get tea. 
 So she went on chatting to Mr. Crampton, the 
 clergyman. Just then Louisa passed again. 
 
 "I cannot think why you stay here" — she 
 looked a little vexed — " there are so many nice 
 people on the terrace you have not even 
 spoken to." She looked at Kitty as she spoke. 
 
 " I will come presently." Kitty avoided her 
 sister's eyes. " I shall not stay here much 
 longeiv" As she spoke she looked back towards 
 the path leading from the drive, the path 
 bordered by Wellingtonias. • 
 
 "Are you waiting for Mr. Burridge ?" said 
 Louisa. " He will find you fast enough ; you 
 need not wait for him." 
 
 She w r as gone again, but she had not left her 
 sister as she found her. 
 
 Something in Louisa's tone had brought 
 
138 IN THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 bright colour to Kitty's fair face, and with 
 this colour a sense of annoyance. She had 
 waited for Oliver simply because he was her 
 friend, she had no self-consciousness in doing* 
 it till Louisa had given this reading to her 
 action. Kitty writhed under the imputation 
 that Mr. Burridge could be more to her than a 
 friend ; she felt for a moment disposed to quit 
 her post and go on the terrace ; but no, this 
 would be a tacit acknowledgment that Louisa 
 was right. She turned, and went on talking to 
 Mr. Crampton, who, having finished his coffee, 
 w r as making havoc among the cakes and straw- 
 berries on the tea-table. 
 
 He was certainly a fine-looking man, with 
 good features and expressive blue eyes, but his 
 breadth was extreme, and Kitty found herself 
 wondering whether he had to pay extra for the 
 enormous quantity of black silk in his waist- 
 coat. He lived not very far from London, but 
 he had evidently taken root in his parish, and 
 considered it the most interesting of topics 
 both to himself and his hearers. 
 
 " I suppose you are getting nearer London V 
 
AT THE GARDEN PARTY. 139 
 
 Kitty said, " or perhaps I should say London 
 is spreading out to reach you. I sometimes 
 wonder how long we shall have to drive before 
 we can get into the country." 
 
 " Well,well, my dear young lady," — he seemed 
 to expand as he looked down on her — " growth 
 is the natural order of things, is it not ? You 
 have grown surprisingly, and as to my parish 
 — when I came there about twenty years ago, 
 we were surrounded with green fields — yes, 
 green fields — with a population of about two 
 thousand, and now there are twenty-four 
 thousand souls. I've had to divide my parish 
 four times since I came to it — yes !" then he 
 stood still, and beamed as complacently as if 
 he had been the means of producing the extra 
 number of human beings around him. 
 
 " Dear me !" this was all Kitty could find to 
 say in answer. 
 
 " Yes," he continued, after a lengthened pause, 
 4t we are an important and influential body, and 
 likely to increase — likely to increase," then he 
 smiled again very affably, and ate another 
 strawberry ice. 
 
140 IN THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 Her uncle's hearty laugh made Kitty look 
 round. He was coming up to her with two 
 gentlemen, one was Oliver Burridge, and the 
 other — where had she seen this other? — and yet 
 the name, Mr. Penruddock, as her uncle pre- 
 sented him to her, was quite unknown. " A 
 great friend of Burridge's," her uncle said, and 
 then Mr. Venables went od, and left the three 
 standing together. 
 
 To Oliver's eyes Gyneth Ralston had never 
 looked so lovely as she did to-day, in her 
 simple white gown, standing under the shadow 
 of the tent, her dark, liquid eyes looking up at 
 him from beneath the fringed edge which the 
 feathers made to her hat. He forgot his re- 
 luctance that Penruddock should see her, and 
 he looked triumphantly at his friend. He saw 
 at a glance the delighted surprise in Maurice's 
 face. 
 
 " I'll come back,*' he said to Miss Ralston. 
 " I have orders to find your sister and Mrs. 
 Gordon, who is an old friend of Penruddock's, 
 so he must come with me." 
 
 He went off, but Penruddock lingered. 
 
AT THE GARDEN PARTY. 141 
 
 " My mother was much disappointed to miss 
 seeing you when we called," he said. 
 
 Kitty smiled ; till now she had felt indifferent 
 about this Lady Mary, of whom her uncle often 
 talked, but now it seemed to her a pity that 
 they had been from home. 
 
 " We were very sorry to be out," she said, 
 sweetly ; " we hope to call very soon." 
 
 " Thank you. What charming grounds you 
 have ! I had no idea roses would bloom so well 
 so near London." He smiled as he spoke, and 
 the girl smiled in answer. 
 
 "Are you coming?" said Oliver's impa- 
 tient voice, and Maurice bowed and followed 
 him. 
 
 It seemed to Kitty that she was in dreamland. 
 She had been waiting half an hour for Oliver 
 Burridge, and now he had come and gone, and 
 she did not feel anxious that he should come 
 back — she could see him any time — but she 
 hoped his friend would return. What was there 
 in his face, in his voice even, which was in such 
 perfect harmony, there was nothing about him 
 to jar and suggest little regrets? She stood 
 
142 IN THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 waiting, and Oliver came back alone. His 
 eyes glowed as he looked at her. 
 
 "How well you look!" he said. tf How ad- 
 mirably you have dressed yourself! You should 
 always wear black feathers." 
 
 She generally deferred to Oliver's taste, but 
 to-day she found him too outspoken. 
 
 " Uncle says I look like a magpie. You see 
 everyone does not think alike." 
 
 " Everyone !" Mr. Bumdge spoke scoffingly ; 
 he had a supreme contempt for the taste of any- 
 one but Oliver Burridge. " I did not say every- 
 one would like it. It would be common-place 
 if it suited an ordinary taste. I meant that it 
 was in good taste, and that I liked it." 
 
 Kitty, being a woman, often let feeling over- 
 rule judgment, when the subject iu question 
 involved sparing or hurting the feelings of 
 others. She knew how Oliver hated contradic- 
 tion, and until to-day she would have let his 
 words pass unchallenged ; now, perhaps by 
 contrast with Mr. Penruddock's easy gentleness, 
 she found Mr. Burridge obtrusive. 
 
 " Or, to put it another way," — she looked up 
 
AT THE GARDEN PARTY. 143 
 
 Bauciiy, her red lips in a mutinous curve, and 
 her dark eyes full of laughing defiance — " it is 
 after the taste of Mr. Oliver Burridge, and 
 therefore it is good taste !" 
 
 " Well;' — he thought her so lovely that just 
 then she might have said what she pleased, 
 without protest — " have it so if you like ; but 
 I think we usually agree in taste, don't we V s 
 
 He spoke so quietly that Kitty was touched. 
 
 " Yes/' she said,, already sorry that she had 
 teased him — "yes, but you have decided taste 
 — mine is only forming." Then she looked 
 round, as if she were seeking some one. "I 
 ought not to keep you here. I am sure there 
 are friends of yours here — at least, there are 
 people who will be glad to see you." 
 
 " But if I prefer to stay here V 
 
 Kitty's usually tell-tale face did not show the 
 pleasure he expected; she looked indifferent; 
 but Oliver was not going to give up the chance 
 of winning her for any seeming unwillingness 
 on her side. 
 
 " Girls are so deceiving," he said to himself — 
 "at least, they often don't know what they 
 
144 IN THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 really wish/' Then aloud be went on — "Let 
 ns walk up and down, it is cooler outside the 
 tent ; the air blows freshly from the water." 
 
 They walked up and down in silence ; 
 usually Kitty had plenty to talk about, but to- 
 day she kept straying after her own thoughts, 
 and these thoughts took one direction — they 
 went towards the terrace in search of Mr. Pen- 
 ruddock. A murmur of talk, too, was all 
 around them, and merry silvery laughter from 
 time to time seemed to rebuke their silence. 
 Kitty thought that it was scarcely a time for 
 lengthened talk with anyone, and she wished 
 Mr. Burridge would leave her free to roam 
 about in butterfly fashion. 
 
 Oliver did not want her to talk ; he liked to 
 walk beside her, studying the graceful pose of 
 her head and the pliancy of her figure. At last 
 his eyes got fixed on the long dark lashes that 
 curved up from her transparent skin. It seemed 
 to him that he was a fool to wait and see some 
 one more daring step in and rob him of such a 
 prize ; it was evident that the family at The 
 Elms was going in for "society" as it had not 
 
AT THE GARDEN PARTY. 145 
 
 hitherto done, and " when that begins," he 
 thought, " one can't tell where a girl may go, 
 or whom she may see, or what may happen." 
 
 How cautious and tepid he had been not to 
 have taken fuller advantage of these weeks of 
 unrestrained intercourse before her sister came 
 home ! 
 
 " I ought to have made her very fond of me 
 by this time ;" he sighed, and Kitty looked up 
 quickly. 
 
 " I am a dull companion to-day/' she said — 
 " a crowd like this dazzles and stupefies me ; 
 but I like to look at its plumage. Are not those 
 grass-green gowns lovely? Altogether, the 
 scene is charming; but I don't enjoy it as 
 Louisa does ; it excites her, and carries her 
 into the spirit of its own flutter and gaiety. 
 Do you not think that to be close to gaiety and 
 not to feel gay makes one extra dull f" 
 
 " The fault must be in your companion," said 
 Oliver, stiffly. " I know I'm not suited to this 
 kind of thing, but then a man must be a trifler 
 who enjoys it very much." 
 
 " But don't you wish you could enjoy it 
 
 VOL. I. L 
 
146 IN THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 thoroughly?" Kitty raised such earnest eyes 
 to his that he laughed. "I wish I could. I 
 feel to-day that it is I who am out of tune and 
 wrong, and that Louisa is doing her duty." 
 
 " No," — Oliver spoke warmly. " I believe that 
 your sister is not doing it for duty's sake ; she 
 is enjoying herself fully ; she strikes me as 
 being one of those people whom society claims 
 for its own. I don't feel this in my own case, 
 and I should be sorry to be different." 
 
 She was silent ; she was not quite sure 
 that she understood his real meaning. He 
 could not mean that he did not wish to im- 
 prove ! No one could wish that, she thought. 
 He meant, probablv, that he was already so 
 gifted that it would be downright greediness 
 to wish for more. Kitty had the faculty, com- 
 mon to an imaginative mind, of endowing her 
 friends with almost heroic virtues. 
 
 It seemed to Oliver as if he felt less intimate 
 with her to-day than usual. It might be the 
 fear of a chance interruption — he could not tell, 
 but he resolved not to tempt his fate until his 
 talk with Gyneth Ralston should have made 
 
AT THE GARDEN PAKTY. 147 
 
 him sure that she was prepared to hear of his 
 love. It was so sweet to feel her full trust iu 
 his friendship, and, after all, he would rather 
 take a quieter time than this for his con- 
 fession. 
 
 Mr. Venahles met them as they turned, and 
 he gave Kitty a smile of hearty approval. 
 One of his guests— a wealthy Yorkshireman — 
 had just been singing the praises of Oliver, and 
 prophesying for him a brilliant future. 
 
 -'I want you, Burridge— I have some people 
 here who want to make your acquaintance." 
 He went off, and Oliver followed reluctantly. 
 
 He did not wish to leave Kitty till he was 
 sure that the full harmony of their friendship 
 was restored. But as he went on, and Mr. 
 Venables mentioned the names of the friends 
 to whom he was taking him, Oliver's unwilling- 
 ness yielded : not because they were rich and 
 men of influence, but because his practical 
 faculty told him that in one of them lay just 
 the special help he wanted, and he never 
 doubted his own power of evoking this help 
 when he was once put in contact with its 
 
 l2 
 
148 IN THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 possessor; there was also pleasure in feeling 
 that his name was becoming known. 
 
 Kitty felt a relief at his absence which sur- 
 prised her, but she told herself that she was too 
 excited to-day to care for sensible talk. She 
 went on towards the terrace, but an " Ah, my 
 dear Miss Ralston," stopped her. 
 
 Coming across the grass, with a kind of scat- 
 tered movement, arms and legs all going at 
 once — suggestive partly of a spider, partly of 
 a crab — was a tall, bright-eyed man, of about 
 fifty, his dark face intense with intelligence. It 
 was neither the intensity of genius nor of sup- 
 pressed feeling, but of one who had gathered 
 knowledge of all kinds by ready-witted keen- 
 ness of appetite rather than by deep study, and 
 who was literally always burning to pour out 
 his information on all subjects. 
 
 He gave Kitty a devouring glance of ad- 
 miration. 
 
 " You have surpassed yourself to-day, my 
 dear child/' he said, in a tone which suggested 
 that she was the only woman present for whom 
 he had eyes or thoughts. " I can't find fit words 
 for you." 
 
AT THE GARDEN PARTY. 149 
 
 Kitty shook her head at him and laughed. 
 
 " I think you are never at a loss for some- 
 thing to say — you know everything and every- 
 body, don't you ?" 
 
 He glanced at her quickly — his sensitiveness 
 made him always fear ridicule ; but he saw that 
 Kitty spoke sincerely. 
 
 " Well, perhaps I do — but, I say, some one 
 says your uncle has taken up a prodigy, a man 
 who is about to invent something. What is he? 
 Who is he? I want to know all about him." 
 
 He spoke so rapidly that it was difficult to 
 answer him ; and, just as Kitty collected her 
 ideas, he went on again. 
 
 " I say, my dear child, don't you take a 
 fancy to this inventor — he won't suit you : too 
 practical, and a sort of man who will have 
 rough notions, and won't enter into your tastes. 
 Ah, taste is a divine thing in a woman. I wish 
 my wife had some, but she hasn't a fraction." 
 His eyes stared, and his face looked tragically 
 earnest. 
 
 " I thought your wife was perfection," said 
 Kitty, laughing. 
 
150 IX THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 " So she is — so she is," — the tragedy look 
 vanished, and he smiled — " dear, darling woman 
 — so practical ; manages the children in quite a 
 first-class way ; it's really admirable. I can't 
 think how she does it — servants and every- 
 thing, she does it all. She is always well, and is 
 never tired — while I can never once manage to 
 rise to the level of my work." 
 
 " But you look very well," the girl said, 
 mischievously. 
 
 "Do I? Then put not your trust in looks,, 
 my dear child." He put his hand impressively 
 on Kitty's arm. "I've no rest — I never sleep; 
 I was up at four o'clock this morning listening 
 to the birds — so sweet and heavenly," — he 
 looked in an instant rapt with delight, — " and 
 watching the leaves unfold on the lime-trees. 
 It — was — something — quite — too — heavenly " 
 — he emphasised each word separately — M to 
 see the delicate wrinkled things emerging from 
 their brown husks — and the odour !" — he threw 
 up both hands — " it made me sigh with ecstasy. 
 Ah ! my dear, what would your Mr. Burridge 
 care for such a sight as that? There is no 
 poetry in a practical man." 
 
AT THE GARDEN PARTY. 151 
 
 Kitty held up her head a little proudly. 
 
 " First, Mr. Burridge is not my property, and 
 next, as you don't know him, how can you tell 
 what his tastes are, Doctor f" 
 
 Dr. Drewitt threw his head back, and laughed 
 till the colour rose on Kitty's face. 
 
 "I like that, I do," he said; "the ignorance 
 of you young things is so fresh and delightful, 
 it's like a plunge in the sea or one's tub in the 
 morning — quite sets you up after a lot of jaded 
 common-places with humdrum people, whose 
 bloom has got all rubbed off them in gaining 
 experience. Bless you, just as if I can't tell you 
 what a man is like from a little bit here and a 
 little bit there ! And any man who gets his head 
 above the level is safe to be talked of. I can 
 tell you just as easily as a naturalist can build 
 you up a whole animal from a joint of its little 
 toe-bone." 
 
 " You are much too sweeping," she said ; 
 "your argument may apply to an ordinary 
 common-place man, but Mr. Burridge is neither 
 — he is quite original, and he does not care 
 at all what people think. But have you made 
 
152 IN THE SWEET SPRIXG-TDIE. 
 
 Louisa's acquaintance ? — she must be very 
 much altered since you saw her." 
 
 " Of course she is — she's charming, but she's 
 not you." 
 
 His glance of admiration made Kitty laugh. 
 
 " You cannot have seen much of her. Look ! 
 she's coming now." 
 
 " She's a very fine young woman," said Dr. 
 Drewitt, " and she and my wife will be fast 
 friends, I can see it — she has an orderly, prac- 
 tical look about her ; they'll be sympathetic ; I 
 feel that I ought to brush my hat and set my 
 tie straight when I see her coming." 
 
 Louisa was walking towards them with Mr. 
 Penruddock, talking with much animation. Dr. 
 Drewitt's hat had got so far to the back of his 
 head that Kitty thought if her sister's presence 
 obliged him to set it right, it might not be 
 amiss. 
 
 " What do you think of her companion !" she 
 said. 
 
 At this Dr. Drewitt's keen eyes quickly scanned 
 her face, but he could glean no tidings from it. 
 
 " There's nothing extraordinary there ; of 
 
AT THE GARDEN PARTY. 153 
 
 course, the point of interest to you is that he 
 is falling in love with Louisa." 
 
 "Falling in love!" — Miss Ralston's lip curled 
 a little— "I was not thinking of anything so 
 absurd; besides, love at first sight has gone 
 out of fashion. It seems to me, a great many 
 people marry without troubling their heads 
 about love at all— at least, about what I 
 should call love." 
 
 Dr. Drewitt's dark, keen eyes again scanned 
 her fair face. 
 
 " You have thought about it then — well, so 
 have I," he said. "To me love is the great 
 mystery of life. Where does it spring from % 
 No one knows. It may be the growth of 
 months, or it may germinate in an instant. 
 But never mind how it begins ; there's magic in 
 it; it can blind to every possible defect, and 
 even when the eyes open to see the defects, 
 yet the love will often live on beside this con- 
 sciousness. Nothing kills real love but death." 
 
 He had gone, on, carried away by his excite- 
 ment, though Louisa and Mr. Penruddock had 
 come up and had stopped beside Kitty. 
 
154 IX THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 Penruddock listened gravely, Louisa with an 
 unbelieving smile. 
 
 " You are as sentimental as ever, Dr. Drewitt," 
 she said ; " you should not talk sentiment to 
 Kitty ; she has too much already." 
 
 Dr. Drewitt shook his head at her. 
 
 " You have stayed too long at school, my 
 dear," he said, eagerly ; iC come and walk up and 
 down a minute with me, and I'll prove to you, 
 if you want to have a green old age, you must 
 cherish youthful illusions ; though, mind you," 
 — again his eyes began to stare, and his fore- 
 head to wrinkle — " love is no illusion, but a 
 very intense reality. I could prove to you," — 
 he raised his forefinger emphatically — " I could 
 prove to you, my dear girl," — he walked on, 
 and Louisa was obliged to follow — "I could 
 prove to you that the lives of half the men and 
 women you know have been altered and influ- 
 enced by love either for bad or good ; till the 
 world gets hold of us, it's the strongest power 
 we have, and the strongest influence that can 
 be brought to bear on us." He looked round 
 suddenly, and saw that she was laughing. 
 
AT THE GARDEN PARTY. 155 
 
 " You only laugh because you are so extremely 
 ignorant," he said, eagerly. " I don't like to 
 imagine that such a fair young creature has not 
 got a heart, but that would be the only alter- 
 native." 
 
 "I must prove I have one by leaving you," 
 she said. " I have a right to be offended now," 
 and away she went. 
 
 Dr. Drewitt ran after her, but meeting a keen 
 politician he stopped, and was soon deep in 
 an argument on the Eastern Question, in which 
 he displayed such an amount of study and 
 knowledge that Louisa, had she heard, might 
 have wondered so ripe a scholar should be so 
 ready with what she called " nonsense." 
 
 Maurice Penruddock had been saying to Kitty, 
 
 " Do you agree with Dr. Drewitt's theory, 
 Miss Ralston?" 
 
 She looked puzzled for a moment. 
 
 " You mean this last idea 1 — he has so many. 
 I suppose it is the easiest way of explaining 
 the sacrifices one sees and hears of — the way, 
 for instance, in which women cling to quite 
 unworthv husbands." 
 
156 IN THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 " I think Dr. Drewitt means that it tells both 
 ways. I see you think women more capable of 
 loving than men are. Is that quite fair?" 
 
 " I never thought about it. Have you seen 
 my aunt !" She looked troubled ; she was afraid 
 Mr. Burridge's friend was a flirt, and Kitty de- 
 tested flirting ; she was sure Oliver would not 
 talk such silly stuff as this. " Have you been 
 introduced to my aunt?" she said. 
 
 Maurice had taken the opportunity of study- 
 ing her face, and, as Kitty looked at him, she 
 met his eyes, full of unconscious admiration. 
 
 " No, I have only the pleasure of knowing 
 your uncle," he said ; the change in her manner 
 puzzled him. "Is Mrs.Venables in the garden?" 
 
 " I see her just corning out through the gar- 
 den door; we can meet her, if you like/' she 
 said. She felt annoyed with her companion, 
 and yet she could not have told why ; except 
 that it seemed to her that she had been sud- 
 denly disappointed in her expectation. 
 
 They soon found Mrs. Venables, and Kitty 
 was surprised at the pleasure her aunt showed 
 in greeting Mr. Penrucldock. 
 
AT THE GARDEN PARTY. 157 
 
 " You do not seem a new acquaintance," she- 
 said, with the charming smile that made her 
 look almost young, and which made her lis- 
 teners love Mrs. Venables so quickly. " I used 
 to hear of you years ago, and you came to see- 
 us ouce, but you were so young that I daresay 
 you don't remember." 
 
 " I think I remember you," said Maurice, 
 " but I have not a very good memory for the 
 time before I went to Deeping." 
 
 " It was at Deeping that you got acquainted 
 with Mr. Burridge, I think ?" 
 
 " Yes ; he and his family were very kind to 
 me." 
 
 Kitty had been listening attentively. 
 
 "You know Mr. Burridge's sister, then?" she 
 said. " She is very shy, I believe." 
 
 Maurice looked at her. It seemed to him 
 that this sweet gentle girl would not frighten 
 Martha, as her more dashing, fashionable sister 
 would. 
 
 " She is shy," he said ; and then he went on 
 warmly — " She is a very remarkable woman, 
 quite unlike anyone else I know. So gifted, 
 
158 IN THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 and yet so utterly unconscious of her own 
 powers." 
 
 u Is she handsome !" 
 
 Kitty could not have said what prompted the 
 question — it came without her will. 
 
 " She has a very striking face," — looking at 
 Miss Ralston, he was making a mental com- 
 parison. "A face that artists would care to 
 paint, I think, it is so very un-ordinary." Then 
 he said, simply — " I do not admire mere pretti- 
 ness." 
 
 Kitty felt jarred. She was thinking of her 
 sister. It was quite unnecessary, she thought, 
 for Mr. Penruddock to give his opinion so de- 
 cidedly. 
 
 "It seems impossible to make Miss Burridge's 
 acquaintance," she said. Maurice thought she 
 spoke sarcastically. 
 
 " I am sorry she shuts herself up ; but she 
 is not easy to understand, and unless she were 
 fully appreciated, perhaps she is best left to 
 herself." 
 
 A bright-eyed girl, hardly pretty, but intelli- 
 gent-looking, had been walking with Mrs. 
 Yenables. 
 
AT THE GARDEN PARTY. 159 
 
 "It is so wrong," she said, " to shut oneself 
 op, — one loses such opportunities." 
 
 Mrs.Venables smiled. 
 
 " It seems a pity," she said. 
 
 The bright-eyed girl shook her head so re- 
 provingly at Mrs.Venables that Kitty smiled 
 with amusement. 
 
 "I call it wrong, decidedly wrong. If one 
 reads and cultivates one's mind, one is bound 
 to go about as much as possible and try to 
 help others into light. If a woman lives shut 
 up, she is sure to go on in the old groove of 
 inferiority and subjection and being taken care 
 of, and all the rusted superstitions from which 
 the next generation will be free." 
 
 "I am so old-fashioned," said Mrs. Venables, 
 smiling, "that I am inclined to think the old 
 ways safest. Englishwomen have always had 
 a high character of their own, and I do not see 
 why they need adopt the customs of other 
 nations. Depend upon it, a little guidance is 
 good for us all." 
 
 The bright-eyed girl looked scornful. 
 
 "But then whom is one to take as guide V 
 
160 IX THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 She evidently considered herself an orator. <w Xo 
 one can judge so well as one can for oneself. — 
 no one else understands one's special needs." 
 
 Mrs.Venables smiled. 
 
 " I suppose," she said, " guidance need not 
 go on for ever ; but girls usually have parents, 
 and some young girls have a husband. I think 
 a wise husband can do much towards forming 
 his wife's judgment." 
 
 The bright-eyed girl shrugged her shoulders. 
 In her heart she called Mrs. Venables antedilu- 
 vian and extremely ignorant. 
 
 " Suppose a wife holds quite different opinions 
 from her husband? People may care for one 
 another, and live happily and so on, and yet 
 they may see the topics of the day from en- 
 tirely different sides. The husband is probably 
 satisfied with his own fund of knowledge, and 
 can talk out of his experience : while his wife 
 may be a woman of lofty aims, who can see 
 that she can only qualify herself, and keep a 
 place in society, by reading enlightened pub- 
 lications. Her husband objects to this reading 
 — calls it free-thinking, and all sorts of hard 
 
AT THE GARDEN PARTY. 1(31 
 
 names. Well, then, what follows? It is per- 
 fectly impossible that she can submit, and be 
 guided by a man who wilfully makes himself 
 her inferior," — she looked triumphantly at Mrs. 
 Venables, but the amused smile in those sweet 
 dark eyes puzzled her, — " perfectly impossible." 
 
 " The only question is/' said Mrs. Venables, 
 gently, " who is the inferior ? — the educated 
 man, who depends on his store of naturally- 
 acquired information, and whose conversation 
 is a part of himself, or the wife, who stores her- 
 self, at high pressure, every month with the 
 opinions of others, without having studied the 
 subjects under discussion sufficiently to make 
 her knowledge even partially her own ?" 
 
 Kitty had been talking to Mr. Penruddock, 
 but she turned round at this. 
 
 " I would as soon wear borrowed jewellery 
 as quote book opinions," she said, laughing. 
 
 The bright-eyed girl smiled, but she looked 
 grave next moment. 
 
 " You are behind your age, my dear," she 
 said; "your aunt, of course, belongs to another 
 generation ; but you really should shake off all 
 
 VOL. I. M 
 
162 IN THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 these absurd notions. A woman is just as free 
 as a man is, if she only has the sense to assert 
 herself." 
 
 " Ah, but will she be as powerful to charm ? 
 and how about the interest with which men 
 regard her," said Penruddock. laughing. 
 
 u T see, you are one of our enemies," said the 
 bright-eyed girl, " and here is another, in the 
 shape of my father, to carry me off." 
 
 She said good-bye and went away, and then 
 Kitty returned to the subject of Miss Burridge. 
 
 " I shall call her the Invisible Princess !" she 
 said. 
 
 And now, by twos and threes, people began 
 to say good-bye, and to take their departure. 
 
 The day was drawing on — the light on 
 the river was much more lovely, as all colour 
 faded from the sky except the tender green 
 above a bank of heavy clouds. People were 
 going fast away, much to Louisa's regret. 
 
 " It has been delightful. I could have gone 
 on for hours," she said, as the last carriage 
 drove off. " Couldn't you, Kitty f ' 
 
 "No, indeed'; I am more than satisfied." 
 
AT THE GARDEN PARTY. 1B3 
 
 Kitty looked very pale and weary. "I am 
 
 tired to death, aud I'm not sure that I like 
 a garden-party at home. One has to do so 
 much duty, talk to so many people, and there 
 is no dancing to make up for it. It is different 
 for you— you are fonder of talking than I am. 
 I really feel quite middle-aged and dull amid 
 such gaiety !" 
 
 m2 
 
164 
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 JEALOUSY. 
 
 "HOR the next three days Oliver talked to Martha 
 -*- continually of the garden-party. Spite of 
 her deep reverence for her brother, she began to 
 wonder that such a trivial subject should take 
 so large a place in his thoughts. For to Martha, 
 who had always kept outside it, the world and 
 society represented folly and glitter, quite un- 
 worthy the attention of a gifted man. At the 
 same time she longed for a peep into this folly 
 and glitter. She knew she should find no real 
 companions there, nothing to compensate for 
 the solace she found in her books and studies, 
 for her books had become real friends. She 
 had for her own sex that sort of cynical pity 
 
JEALOUSY. 165 
 
 which often besets a woman always accus- 
 tomed to the society of men. Her prejudices 
 were strong with the double power given by 
 a self-contained nature and a secluded youth ; 
 and when, on the third morning, at breakfast- 
 time, Oliver again returned to the subject of 
 The Elms and the Miss Ralstons, Martha looked 
 unsympathetic. 
 
 Her silence seemed to strike Oliver. He was 
 in a mood that craved for sympathy, for his love 
 had been growing with that sort of exotic 
 growth which seems increased by previous 
 delay, and he longed to pour out this love to 
 his sister, but at this hint of her indifference, he 
 at once stopped. 
 
 " It was a great pity you did not go to the 
 garden-party/' he said. 
 
 " I was not asked," Martha answered, simply. 
 She was not sure whether she was glad or sorry 
 about this. She should dearly have liked to see 
 the brilliant scene her brother described. But 
 when she thought of the agony of facing such a 
 crowd of strangers a mist rose before her sight. 
 She felt that she must have turned and fled. As 
 
166 IX THE SWEET SPMXG-TDIE. 
 
 she answered Oliver a slight flush rose on her 
 cheek, and he looked at her attentively. 
 
 "I won't have you shut yourself up in this 
 way/' he said; u it's absurd. You would have 
 been one of the best-looking women there, next 
 to the Miss Ealstons ; in fact, you are far more 
 remarkable-looking than the youngest is." 
 
 Martha smiled, and grew red under his praise. 
 
 "That is a high compliment; but, Oliver/' 
 — she looked at him rather anxiously — "are 
 you in love with the eldest sister V The blood 
 flew to Oliver's face in a kind of red disturb- 
 ance. He gulped down a cup of tea, thus 
 giving himself at once a screen and a respite ; 
 then he set down his empty cup and frowned ; 
 Martha remained silent, and he looked at her 
 impatiently. 
 
 " I never saw anyone like Miss Ralston," he 
 said, in his most pugnacious tone. " I wish you 
 knew her, Martha." 
 
 " Perhaps it's best not," his sister said, " I 
 might know her, and not like her." She smiled,, 
 for she felt inclined to teaze Oliver. 
 
 Oliver pushed his plate away. 
 
JEALOUSY. 167 
 
 " That's impossible — I know exactly what 
 pleases you, and you couldn't help liking Miss 
 Ralston — no one could." 
 
 "What is her name?" Martha looked cool, 
 and spoke coldly. 
 
 Oliver got redder still. 
 
 " Gyneth ; but she is always called Kitty." 
 He got up, and went to the sideboard,, ap- 
 parently to cut a slice of ham. "You're not 
 generally foolish." His voice sounded hard, 
 and as if he were putting restraint on him- 
 self ; he sliced into the ham as if he were carv- 
 ing for a regiment. " There's nothing so foolish 
 as to try to do what you are trying to do now." 
 
 Martha started ; she had only been half in 
 earnest; now her eyes turned towards him 
 with a sudden burning gaze — that strange 
 scorching light which betrays the presence of 
 jealousy. 
 
 " What am I doing, Oliver, that is foolish f" 
 she said, harshly. " I don't understand you/' 
 
 Oliver turned round from the ham — conceal- 
 ment was irksome to him. 
 
 " Well then,' 3 he said, " we had better under- 
 
1(58 IN THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 stand one another. I love Miss Ralston, and 
 I hope to win her." 
 
 He looked at his sister half shyly, half defi- 
 antly ; but Martha sat silent. Her anguish was 
 keen — almost as keen as a mother's is when 
 she first learns that a darling son loves some 
 other woman ; the anguish passes as reason and 
 resignation stamp it down into its due propor- 
 tion, but it has been felt, and the scar its pres- 
 ence leaves will last as long as life does. 
 
 Oliver had been Martha's all. She had 
 even checked the interest she felt in Maurice 
 Penruddock, because it seemed to rob her idol 
 of that which was his by right, and now a 
 stranger, a girl he had only seen a few times, 
 had won his love away from her. Her head 
 seemed to spin, but the pain at her heart was 
 worse. She suffered acutely, and yet she must 
 speak. Oliver's gaze compelled her to answer 
 him. 
 
 " You must, of course, marry some day," she 
 said, slowly; "but, Oliver, with such a future as 
 I believe yours will be — are you wise to marry 
 young ?" 
 
JEALOUSY. 169 
 
 " Many !" Oliver scoffed ; he thought Martha 
 a fool in that moment ; " who says I'm going to 
 marry ! I said I love Miss Kalston, and I hope 
 to win her, and then you jump immediately to 
 marriage. Oh ! I do like the way women go on, 
 and then they are surprised because men don't 
 rank them as equals, and don't take them into 
 confidence." 
 
 - ; Well, but I am only practical — a young- 
 lady like this Miss Kalston will have plenty of 
 admirers, I should think." 
 
 " Of course," — Oliver spoke impetuously — 
 " and that's just where you could be so useful, 
 if you only chose to help me, and weren't so 
 perverse — can't you see?" he went on, quickly, 
 so as to stop her faint protest. " If you were 
 acquainted with her you could talk about me to 
 
 her " He stopped and looked at Martha's 
 
 cold, white face. 
 
 She looked at him, the dumb struggle within 
 showing in her eyes still full of the same intense 
 green light. 
 
 " Do you mean that I could praise you to 
 her ?" she said. a Why, Oliver, I should feel as 
 
170 IN THE -SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 if I were lowering you in anyone's eyes if I 
 were to begin to puff you up. Surely you don't 
 need that ? It seems to me that a man who 
 wants to be praised and bragged about is like 
 one of the great spaces I see covered with 
 placards, between this and London — glad to 
 hide its ugly, unstable character under a mass 
 of trumpeting." 
 
 Oliver stood angry and discomfited. In 
 principles he and Martha were too much alike 
 to disagree, and perhaps this likeness made any 
 divergence in small matters harder to bear ; his 
 sister's indulgence and idolatry had made him 
 feel that he must always be her oracle. 
 
 "You are strangely perverse this morning," 
 he said ; " what I suppose I mean is that a man 
 generally has some kind of belongings. Now 
 I have only you, and it does seem so tiresome 
 that you will shut yourself up and behave more 
 as if you were a Sister of Mercy than a lady." 
 
 "Am I what the world calls a lady?" said 
 Martha, some scorn curling her lips. " I do 
 not know how to dress, or move, or even 
 speak as fashionable ladies do ; I should only 
 
JEALOUSY. 171 
 
 make you feel ashamed if you saw me with 
 Miss Ralston," she said, bitterly. " I can talk 
 of nothing but books, and those are chiefly old 
 books; I cannot talk about dress and dances and 
 the opera; I know nothing of the topics of the 
 day:' 
 
 Oliver gazed at her in wonder. She had got 
 up from her chair, as if her passionate sense of 
 inferiority could get better vent standing — for 
 the tussle it was having with her pride — the 
 pride that made her despise this unknown girl, 
 even while she coveted what she felt sure was 
 her easy grace and fashion. Oliver could not 
 remember that his sister had ever so spoken 
 to him. What did it mean ? — was Martha 
 actually jealous that he should care for anyone 
 but herself V The idea was soothing both to 
 his vanity and his affection. 
 
 He looked pityingly at his sister. 
 
 " You are morbid sometimes," he said. " To 
 begin with, Miss Ralston is not fashionable, 
 though she knows plenty of fashionable people." 
 
 "Why do you love her?" 
 
 He laughed at her abruptness. 
 
172 IX THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 " You are too clever to ask such a silly ques- 
 tion ; the best answer I can give is to say, wait 
 till you see her ; and then I think you will find 
 reason enough." 
 
 66 You are not going to marry for the sake of 
 a pretty face !" 
 
 Oliver was annoyed, but he smiled at what 
 seemed to him childish perversity. 
 
 " I don't think so, but perhaps you will. I 
 can't promise to agree with you, though. Will 
 you call with me some day at The Elms, or shall 
 I tell these ladies they may call on you ?" 
 
 Absolute terror shone out of Martha's eyes, 
 but she tried to hide it from Oliver. 
 
 " I want to know," she said, in an altered 
 voice, " if Miss Ralston cares for you." 
 
 Oliver walked away to the window, and an- 
 swered over his shoulder, 
 
 " I hope so ; but I have not known her long, 
 and I should not care for a girl who showed 
 her feelings at once. I am sure there is no one 
 she likes better." 
 
 " Very well ; then wait, dear, before you in- 
 troduce me to her ; once you are sure of her 
 
JEALOUSY. 173 
 
 love, the sight of me can do no harm, for a 
 woman who loves is blind. We shall be here 
 some little time longer, and I am happy as I 
 am, Oliver." 
 
 Her eyes were so full of love for him that it 
 was a pity he did not turn round. 
 
 " I don't think that is quite what you used to 
 teach me," he said, in a vexed tone. " When I 
 was a little chap, you always said * Be what 
 you seem to be ' was the great motto for life, 
 and I would like Miss Kalston to see me here 
 quite as I am before I speak to her." 
 
 " I was half joking. If she is a girl who 
 would turn from you because of our simple 
 way of life, she won't make you happy, Oliver ; 
 you are not the sort of man she wants." 
 
 Involuntarily another man rose up beside 
 Oliver — gentle, refined, courteous — lacking, very 
 likely, Oliver's power for rising in the world,, 
 and Oliver's brilliant augury of success, but a 
 man whose love must infallibly make a woman 
 happy. Maurice Penruddock would be a dan- 
 gerous rival to Oliver, Martha thought. 
 
 " You know nothing about it." Her brother's- 
 
174 IN THE SWEET SPRIXG-TIME. 
 
 impetuous words roused her from her vision. 
 " Miss Ralston has a very original mind ; what 
 she dislikes most is anything stereotyped or 
 ordinary. I don't mean to say that she is odd 
 or eccentric, but she detests to do a thing for 
 no better reason than because everyone does it, 
 and because it is a fashion." 
 
 "That sounds nice." Martha longed to be 
 at peace with Oliver, but her honesty would 
 not let her come round without a reason. 
 
 Her brother came up to her. 
 
 " I never saw two people so likely to suit 
 as you and she ; she is so lively that she will 
 do all the talking, and she will admire your 
 reading, I know." 
 
 " Is she a great talker, then I" 
 
 Oliver frowned. 
 
 " You are tiresome this morning, Martha. Miss 
 Ralston's fitfulness is half her charm. Sometimes 
 she is as dreamy and silent as you are, and 
 then, if anything excites interest or sympathy, 
 her eyes light up, and she is as gay and spark- 
 ling as possible." 
 
 " Ah !" Martha sighed, " I don't say it to vex 
 
JEALOUSY. 175 
 
 you, but I am sure she'll not care for me ; at 
 any rate, don't be in a hurry to ask her to call, 
 and let me know before you do." 
 
 Oliver looked disappointed, but he knew that 
 direct opposition would do no good. 
 
 " I shall be home late to-night, and I'm off to 
 the North to-morrow by an early train. I shall 
 be away three or four days. Good-bye." 
 
 He bent down and kissed her suddenly, and 
 went off to London, leaving Martha standing 
 in the porch, full of struggling thoughts. 
 
176 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 ON THE BRINK. 
 
 SOME special fate had been at work to hinder 
 the satisfying of Lady Mary Penrud- 
 dock's curiosity ; though curiosity is too strong 
 a word for the languid interest she felt in the 
 amount of Mrs. Venables' attractions. Her wish 
 to revive her ancient acquaintance with the 
 husband was vivid, and it had been a disap- 
 pointment to her to be out when both husband 
 and wife returned her visit. 
 
 But to-day the fates were propitious. Mrs. 
 Venables was not at home when Lady Mary 
 reached The Elms, but she was shown into the 
 drawing-room, and found Mr. Venables and his 
 niece Louisa. Lady Mary's smile never even 
 
ON THE BRINK. 177 
 
 wavered, though her self-esteem suffered 
 acutely. 
 
 " Can I have changed as much as he has ?" she 
 thought. "Can that little, round, self-satisfied 
 man be really Charles Venables?" 
 
 Meantime, the little, round man presented 
 his niece, and Louisa's fancy was at once 
 captivated by the languid grace and charming 
 dark eyes of her uncle's friend. 
 
 " You were about as old as Louisa the last 
 time we met," said Mr. Venables. It seemed 
 to Louisa that her uncle spoke a little nervously, 
 and also more earnestly than the subject required. 
 Looking up, she saw Lady Mary's dark eyes 
 fixed on him, and a flush on his face. He went 
 on rapidly — " I could not fancy it so long ago." 
 
 " I think I could," the answer came, with a 
 little sigh. 
 
 " We were very sorry you could not come on 
 Thursday," he said. " Toothache, was it not ? 
 You are better, I hope, now. Charming fellow 
 that son of yours." 
 
 Lady Mary smiled ; then she turned to Louisa. 
 
 " You have a sister, I think ?" 
 
 VOL. 1. N 
 
178 IN THE SWEET SPRIXG-TIME. 
 
 " Yes, and here she comes," Louisa said, as 
 Gyneth passed by the window on her way to the 
 garden-door. 
 
 Lady Mary had looked at Louisa approvingly, 
 yet without any pangs of motherly apprehen- 
 sion ; but the glimpse she got of Gyneth revealed 
 so uncommon a face that a secret anxiety took 
 possession of her, and this was not soothed when 
 Miss Ralston came into the drawing-room. 
 
 A slight shyness of manner made her appear 
 younger than Louisa, but this did not take 
 away from the distinction of her looks. 
 
 " I never saw anyone like her ; but she is not 
 really pretty," Lady Mary thought, and yet she 
 felt that this elder Miss Ralston was far more 
 attractive than her sister was, and she hardened 
 herself against Gyneth. 
 
 " Aunt will be very sorry to miss you," 
 Gyneth said ; " she so much wishes to see so 
 old a friend of uncle's." 
 
 Lady Mary's smile stiffened. This sentence 
 did not please her; it seemed to her that it 
 would have been more natural if Mrs. Venables 
 had shrunk from this meeting. 
 
ON THE BRINK. 179 
 
 " Yes, we are very old friends," she spoke, 
 indolently. 
 
 " Your son is very like you," Gyneth said. 
 
 Lady Mary's eyebrows grew arched, but Mr. 
 Venables broke in, hurriedly. 
 
 " You are paying him a high compliment, 
 Gyneth," and then he smiled at the visitor. 
 
 It seemed to his mother quite unnecessary 
 that Maurice should be discussed, especially by 
 so young a woman as Miss Ralston ; she was, 
 besides, ruffled by the sensation of desillasion. 
 If she could see only the eyes of her old ad- 
 mirer, and listen to his words, this visit would 
 be so much pleasanter. His voice jarred her ; 
 it had grown louder and coarser than she re- 
 membered it ; and when she looked at him, and 
 also when she knew instinctively how others 
 must now regard him, a vague fear of seeming 
 ridiculous came to check the tide of pleasant re- 
 collections awakened by the idea of meeting him. 
 
 Fancy had played its usual tricks with me- 
 mory. Years ago Mr. Venables, then just called 
 to the Bar, had really been captivated by the 
 lovely, gracious young wife who made his even- 
 
 N 2 
 
180 IN THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 ings so pleasant when he called in to see his old 
 school- friend ; and Colonel Penruddock, who did 
 not know one note of music from another, used 
 to go to sleep, and leave the young people to 
 make acquaintance over the pianoforte. Lady 
 Mary had been flattered to find herself thus wor- 
 shipped by so clever a man ; but she cared for 
 her husband, and her heart had not in any way 
 responded to the love which she, however, saw 
 was hers. She went to India, and soon al- 
 most forgot Charles Venables, who suffered 
 more at parting from his smiling yet unre- 
 sponsive goddess than ever he cared to tell — 
 suffered, it may be, more than he ever again 
 did for love. It may be_, too, that this first 
 idolatry — although he had since chosen a wife 
 full of deep feelings — had given him a fancy for 
 girls without much warmth below the surface, 
 and perhaps unconsciously on this account he 
 much preferred Louisa to Gyneth Ealston. And 
 yet, now that they met again, he saw the 
 havoc time and climate had worked on his 
 former idol. A keen feeling of shame possessed 
 him; he felt he had indeed been cherishing an 
 
ON THE BRINK. 181 
 
 ideal which had no longer a real existence, while 
 she, who had been encouraging fancy to falsify 
 the past, was inclined to weep over the changed 
 feelings, which had really never been hers to 
 alter. But Mr. Venables strove to put as much 
 warmth as possible into his manner, encouraged 
 thereto by the long sweet glances bestowed on 
 him from under Lady Mary's dark eyelids. 
 
 "Do you remember our singing days?" she 
 said, softly, and she gave a little sigh, for this, 
 too, must have passed away like all the rest — 
 passed away with the glossy nut-brown curls 
 and with the earnest devoted manner she so 
 well remembered. 
 
 Charles Venables had always seemed to have 
 a special manner for her ; to others he had been 
 self-possessed and rather careless, but towards 
 her there had been an almost nervous w T ish to 
 please, a something for which she could not find 
 a name, but which had effectually distinguished 
 him from all others. How very frank and easy 
 he had grown, she thought, while she listened 
 to his answer. 
 
 " Perfectly ; and I have sung a good deal since 
 
182 IN THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 then," he said ; " now I listen to younger voices. 
 Gyneth can't you sing us a song V 9 
 
 Gyneth glanced at Lady Mary, who at once 
 echoed the wish, and then, going to the piano,, 
 she sang one of Schubert's tender, exquisite 
 plaints. Lady Mary listened, her senses were 
 ravished by the melody and the pure cultivated 
 voice and the skill with which it was controlled 
 and exercised, but mental disquiet made her 
 shrug her shoulders in mute disapproval. The 
 girl, with her deep expressive eyes, looked in- 
 spired while she poured out these full, liquid 
 notes which seemed to thrill her listeners. 
 
 No, it would never do for Maurice to visit at 
 The Elms. Miss Ealston was not a pretty girl. 
 Lady Mary had already decided that she could 
 not compare with her sister Louisa, even though 
 Louisa had but la beaute da diable. Still, if 
 Louisa only had a fortune, she was infinitely 
 the best wife for Maurice; but at this point 
 Lady Mary roused to assure herself, with some 
 indignation, that Maurice could not possibly 
 want a wife at present. 
 
 While the song was ending, it seemed to her 
 
ON THE BRINK. 183 
 
 quick ears that she heard a ring, and then the 
 arrival of a visitor ; but no one came in till the 
 last note had died into silence. Then the door 
 was softly opened, and some one came in with 
 hushed tread, unannounced, evidently some one 
 certain of his welcome. 
 
 "Ah ! how d'ye do, Burridge?" Mr. Venables 
 said, heartily, and then he presented the visitor 
 to Lady Mary Penrucldock. 
 
 " I have the pleasure of knowing your son 
 very well indeed," and Oliver held out his hand. 
 
 This familiarity discomfited the lady, who had 
 been favourably impressed by his appearance, 
 and she gave him two of her long fingers without 
 looking at him again. But, being a keen observer, 
 her eyes followed the manner of the two girls, 
 and she was sensible that, while Oliver's ac- 
 quaintance with Louisa was of the most con- 
 ventional kind, he had far warmer feelings for 
 her sister. 
 
 Lady Mary had begun the life of a beauty early, 
 and had carried it on till she was utterly wearied 
 of society, weary of everything that did not ex- 
 cite her. In Oliver Burridge's glowing smiles and 
 
184 IX THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 ardent eyes — for she looked at him again while 
 he spoke to Gyneth — she thought she saw a germ 
 of interest, of special interest, for this girl ; and, 
 if Maurice's friend loved Miss Ralston, Maurice 
 would certainly be proof against her charm. 
 Yes, she remembered it all now. Maurice had 
 spoken to her often about Oliver Burridge, and 
 had asked her to have him to dine with them. 
 
 " Not a man I could like, I think," she said, 
 thoughtfully. " Does that girl like him, I won- 
 der ? She listens, and her eyes droop under his. 
 No wonder, when he stares in that decided way; 
 he is too decided, quite too decided — in a degree 
 rude ; a sort of man who will never pause in his 
 life to let any moss grow over his angularities ; 
 he will always be harsh and awkward. I fancy 
 he is much too clever to behave well." 
 
 She suppressed a little yawn, and seemed to 
 listen to Mr. Venables, who had begun to tell 
 her his plans for an autumn holiday ; but all the 
 while she was following the conversation be- 
 tween Mr. Burridge and Miss Ralston, for Louisa 
 was too intent on studying Lady Mary to care 
 to talk to Oliver to-day. 
 
ON THE BRINK. 185 
 
 " Yes, I should much like to see a manufac- 
 tory," Gyneth was saying. 
 
 a Can you not come North when you leave 
 town ? I can get you over any mill you care 
 to see in our part of the world," he said, 
 eagerly. 
 
 Miss Ralston smiled. 
 
 " I should like it, but I know we shall not go 
 North ; we shall go abroad first, and then to the 
 sea, and a southern air suits my aunt best." 
 
 Oliver looked ruffled. 
 
 " Three people are to be sacrificed to one, 
 eh?" he said, in the abrupt, masterful tone that 
 always alienated Gyneth. But Oliver was too 
 self-absorbed to remark the chill that had 
 come in her attention. " I think it is part of 
 the education of an Englishwoman to see 
 English machinery at work. Nothing attests 
 the stubborn perseverance of the nation better 
 than some of the life which can only be seen in 
 a manufacturing town." 
 
 Gyneth had grown interested again, and she 
 looked at him while she spoke. 
 
 "Do you know, I have often longed for such 
 
186 IN THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 a life — I don't mean " — she laughed at his 
 sudden look of inquiry — " that I long to be a 
 mill-hand ; but I think these poor, over-worked 
 women, and men too, must want so much sym- 
 pathy and help in so many things that they 
 have no time to think of for themselves." 
 
 Oliver smiled at the enthusiasm that shone in 
 her eyes, but he shook his head. 
 
 " I don't know about help," he said,, " they 
 are mighty independent, and, for the most part, 
 would not accept a penny from anyone like you, 
 although they will often help one another." 
 
 Gyneth had flushed a little while he spoke. 
 
 " Oh, I did not mean money help ; there are 
 so many ways in which one woman can help 
 another without giving money — one could teach 
 them to sew, and to cook, and to nurse the sick, 
 and bring up their children, for it seems to me 
 their life must be such a scramble." 
 
 Oliver looked at her admiringly. 
 
 " Yes, I daresay you might do some of the 
 things you mention — in Leeds, for instance, 
 some of these plans have been found to work 
 well ; but when you come North I want you to 
 
ON THE BRINK. 187 
 
 see the actual work that is done there, and by 
 the people." 
 
 Lady Mary had silently noted the two faces, 
 and as she drove home she said to herself, 
 
 " Maurice's friend is desperately in love with 
 that taking Miss Ralston, but I am not quite 
 sure that she returns it. He is too serious 
 about everything, and I fancy he is very literal." 
 
 As soon as Lady Mary had departed, Oliver 
 felt more at ease ; something in her grand e dame 
 way of shaking hands had disturbed him, and 
 made him captious. In the free atmosphere he 
 shook off his vexation. 
 
 "Mr. Venables," he said, when the master of 
 the house came back, " when will you bring 
 Miss Ralston up North to see the manu- 
 factories ?" 
 
 Mr. Yenables was too full of his fair visitor's 
 charming farewell, as he placed her in her car- 
 riage, for such a question. 
 
 "My good fellow/' he laughed, "we are 
 going to a more congenial atmosphere than one 
 of your smoky, tall-chimneyed towns ; we are- 
 talking of Italy this autumn." 
 
188 IN THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 "Just like an Englishman, always proud of 
 what he knows least about. Yes, you'll go 
 abroad, and be fit to knock a Frenchman down 
 for disputing the superiority of English manu- 
 facture, and yet you, I know, were never inside 
 a mill in your life — haven't, in fact, the ghost 
 of a notion how the stuff you wear on your 
 back is made/' 
 
 Mr. Venables laughed heartily. 
 
 " Well, it is not right, I grant you, and we 
 •will go some day, Gyneth, Louisa, and I. I 
 don't think my wife will care about it." 
 
 "Nor I, uncle," said Louisa. "I am quite 
 sure I should not understand, and should be 
 deafened and sickened besides. You and Gyneth 
 shall have it all to yourselves." 
 
 " And, meantime," — it seemed to Gyneth as if 
 they had all been hard on Oliver, and she so 
 admired his talent that she felt eager to make 
 atonement, — "you know you did promise to 
 show me the drawings, and explain the idea 
 to me, if," she said, softly, raising her eyes 
 with a sweet entreaty in them, " it is not ask- 
 ing too much." 
 
OX THE BRINK. 189 
 
 Oliver felt wrapped in a sudden glamour ; if 
 he and Gyneth had been alone, something of his 
 impetuous love must have got into words ; but 
 Mr. Venables and Louisa were far too observant 
 for him to risk the chance of attracting their 
 notice, and he tried to speak coldly. 
 
 " I shall be proud to show them to you ; I 
 would have done so sooner, but first they 
 were not ready, and lately they have not been 
 in my possession. I have got a sketch with me 
 that I brought back from town to-day," and 
 then he looked at her. 
 
 w I will say good-bye," said Louisa ; " I am 
 too feather-headed, you know, Mr. Burridge, to 
 understand plans, I leave things of that sort 
 to uncle and Gyneth." 
 
 Oliver seldom took any notice of Louisa. 
 " You have seen this sketch," he said, in his 
 abrupt way, to Mr. Yenables ; and then turned 
 his back on him while he spread out a paper 
 before Gyneth. 
 
 As she glanced at it, her head seemed to 
 spin with the confusion of so many crossing- 
 lines ; but, when Oliver began to explain every- 
 
190 IX THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 thing in a simple, clear fashion, she found the 
 subject so interesting that she could have 
 listened for an hour. Mr. Burridge seemed 
 transformed while he explained the drawing to 
 her ; he was so modest in receiving praise, so 
 kind in explaining over and over again till she 
 had quite mastered the difficulties, and felt as 
 if she should really understand the process of it 
 even at work. 
 
 " How did the idea first suggest itself?" She 
 looked full of interest, and Oliver thought her 
 lovely. " Did you think of it all at once, or did 
 it come by degrees'?" 
 
 " Not all at once ;" it was so delicious that her 
 sweet eyes were fixed on his, as it were drink- 
 ing in his answer, her expression of interest 
 was so earnest that his thoughts wandered even 
 from his beloved project, and he hesitated, and 
 got confused, having really lost the clue to 
 what he was talking about ; and no wonder ; 
 she had bent over the sketch with him till their 
 heads had nearly touched and her sweet lips 
 had seemed within reach of his own. "No, it — 
 it — I mean it came first as a whole, but not 
 
ON THE BRINK. 191 
 
 vividly, it — it " — a slight smile on Gynetlrs lips 
 recalled his recollection — " at first it was in- 
 distinct, then, as I thought it out, I saw bit 
 by bit clearer." 
 
 " And at last you saw it perfect as a whole?" 
 
 " Oh, no," he smiled ; " the whole that I saw 
 was for many months very inferior and defective, 
 to the whole I have been explaining to you — 
 but how very kind, how very patient you have 
 
 been. I can't thank you enough, I " all at 
 
 once he remembered Mr. Yenables. His face 
 had grown flushed, and his hand trembled as 
 he rolled up his sketch. " I am afraid I have 
 taken up a greal deal of your time," — he gave 
 an uneasy laugh. u Good-bye. and thank you 
 very much for your patience, and for the interest 
 you have taken," — he held her hand, and looked 
 earnestly at her. 
 
 Gyneth felt troubled, and a flush tinged her 
 cheeks. 
 
 " I must thank you," she said, warmly, " you 
 have been so very kind in explaining it all ; I 
 have enjoyed it extremely." 
 
 She gave him a long, grateful look. She 
 
192 IN THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 was not only grateful to him for having shown 
 her the drawings ; he had re-established himself 
 in her good opinion, and thus had soothed her 
 self-love. Once or twice lately, especially at 
 the garden-party, he had seemed so rude and 
 abrupt that she wondered how she could ever 
 have taken the pleasure in his society which 
 she had found in it before Louisa's return. 
 
193 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 MAURICE AND MARTHA. 
 
 TWEN when we are calm and self-contained, 
 •*-* outward movement, at least, is apt to be 
 impressed by joy or sorrow, and to this influ- 
 ence Oliver was no exception. His step was so 
 light and rapid as he traversed the short way 
 between The Elms and his own cottage that he 
 felt like a schoolboy. Much happier, though — 
 school-life, even in retrospect, was never gild- 
 ed to Oliver. He had been bullied because he 
 bragged, cuffed because he would not submit 
 to tyranny, and had never been popular even 
 with the small boys, whom he fought for and 
 befriended, because of his rough, ungracious 
 ways. 
 
 VOL. I. O 
 
194 IN THE SWEET SPRIXG-TIME. 
 
 " 1 can't humbug/' he used to say, when re- 
 monstrated with. "I lick fellows who bully- 
 Stephen and Giles, not because I like the little 
 chaps, but because I hate tyranny." And so he 
 had gone on all his life, till he had got senti- 
 ment so confounded w T ith real feeling that he 
 often mistook one for the other. Perhaps this 
 was one of the many charms that drew him to 
 Gyneth Ralston. She was so real that he could 
 never suspect her of affecting feeling, and yet 
 so natural that she could not altogether hide 
 the existence of much deeper feelings than she 
 showed outwardly. 
 
 " She is different from anybody else I ever 
 saw," he said, as he hurried along ; " she and 
 Martha must make acquaintance, and then, di- 
 rectly I see my way, I will sound Mr. Venables." 
 
 He sighed. In his heart he preferred Mrs. 
 Yenables to her husband, but he knew she w r as 
 not his friend, she seemed always so wholly in- 
 different to him. 
 
 "After all," he thought, " this gives me more 
 hope. Kitty is so fond of her aunt that she 
 must have a decided liking for me, or shew T ould 
 
MAURICE AND MARTHA. 195 
 
 not have listened as she did just now. I shall 
 win her before long ; I must manage it better 
 with Martha than I did last time." 
 
 Then he went on with sparkling eyes, 
 whistling the air of Schubert which Gyneth had 
 sung, looking straight ahead, and yet seeing 
 nothing but a vision of those sweet dark eyes 
 raised to his. 
 
 But as he came near the cottage he saw some 
 one ringing the bell. It was Maurice Penrud- 
 dock, and at sight of his friend Maurice's face 
 glowed with pleasure. 
 
 "What has become of you, old fellow?" he 
 said, affectionately. "1 have been expecting 
 you to look me up, so you see I have come to 
 see after you instead." 
 
 "That's capital. I've been away," said 
 Oliver, while he produced his key and unlocked 
 the little yellow gate — " in fact, I'm only now 
 come home from the North." 
 
 The canaries were singing a chorus of wel- 
 come without accompaniment, for their uncaged 
 rivals had sunk into the comparative silence 
 that ends the spring-time. The old grey parrot 
 
 o2 
 
196 IN THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 opened his sleepy eyes, put bis head on one 
 side, and said, " Oliver ! Oliver ! what's o'clock?" 
 and Martha, roused by the sound, went forward 
 to meet them in the porch. Maurice had been 
 twice to the cottage since his first visit, and she 
 was getting to feel more at ease with him. 
 
 Oliver had not time to kiss her before her 
 arms were round his neck; she had not forgot- 
 ten their parting two days ago. 
 
 " I knew you had come home," she said. 
 " Peter brought your bag an hour ago." 
 
 " Yes," — Oliver hesitated a moment — " I saw 
 Peter as I got down from the omnibus, so I 
 gave him my bag ; I wanted to call at The 
 Elms." 
 
 " Ah !" said Martha. She thought she had 
 quite conquered her jealousy of Miss Ralston, 
 and yet she felt deeply wounded that her 
 brother should go to The Elms before he came 
 home. 
 
 " I met your mother there." Oliver turned 
 to Maurice. " I have papers in this bag which 
 I must see to at once, so 111 get you to talk 
 to Martha till I've done." He nodded, and 
 
MAURICE AND MARTHA. 197 
 
 went off to his study, the long, low room, built 
 out on the left of the house. 
 
 " Shall we stay here V 9 Maurice seated him- 
 self on one of the benches inside the porch, now 
 white and pink with roses and early clematis. 
 
 "If you like." She seated herself, and let 
 her long, white hands fall in her lap. They 
 were beautiful hands, Maurice thought, as he 
 looked at them — not small, but of perfect form 
 and colour, and well-proportioned to her height, 
 and, as he glanced up from her hands to her 
 face, it struck him that Martha was very hand- 
 some. Though she was so colourless, there 
 was plenty of colour in those deep green eyes 
 of hers, and plenty of colour in the rich red 
 masses of hair, much too thick to lie flat on her 
 forehead, although she tried to smooth it into 
 braids ; there was colour, too, in the firmly- 
 closed red lips. Perhaps it was the nobility of 
 the face that made it so striking ; it was firm 
 and fearless, and yet with not a trace of bold- 
 ness to mar its purity of expression. 
 
 " Have you made acquaintance with the Miss 
 Kalstons yet V } Maurice asked. 
 
198 IN THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 " Always these Miss Ralstons !" Martha 
 thought. She gave him an imploring look. 
 
 " Why should I ? I suppose you will say be- 
 cause Oliver wishes it. That ought certainly 
 to be reason enough ; but even then — suppose 
 when I see her I don't like Miss Ralston — it 
 will be very uncomfortable, for he likes her so 
 much." 
 
 " Does he like her so much V 7 
 
 But Martha remembered how the avowal of 
 his love had burst from Oliver, and she was on 
 her guard. 
 
 " Oh, yes, he likes her, and you like her too, 
 do you not 1" 
 
 She spoke carelessly ; a sudden thought had 
 come to her with regard to her companion, and 
 the light in her eyes grew intense as she lis- 
 tened for his reply. 
 
 " I think everyone must like her." He met 
 her eyes so frankly that Martha felt soothed ; 
 " but I own she puzzles me ; she is as difficult 
 to understand as you must be to a stranger." 
 
 A burning blush flushed into her cheeks ; it 
 was such a new, delightful sensation that 
 
MAURICE AND MARTHA. 199 
 
 Maurice should think her worth considering, 
 and yet she shrank from being discussed at all. 
 
 "1!" she half smiled; "there is nothing 
 worth understanding in me." 
 
 Maurice shook his head. 
 
 " If you were not yourself, I should say you 
 are asking for praise ; but I believe you are 
 wrong to undervalue yourself as you do. I 
 wish you would let yourself be visited." 
 
 " Why," she said, smiling, " what use could I 
 be in society — what good could I do 1 I should 
 just sit in a corner and say nothing." 
 
 " You can talk better than most people can, 
 and— do not be offended — you would be more 
 ornamental to a room than most people are." 
 
 Martha looked aggrieved. 
 
 " Now I know you are laughing at me," she 
 said, gravely. " Why do you not praise my 
 dress as well as my looks'?" 
 
 She turned her head away. She had forced 
 herself to speak frankly to Maurice, and it 
 seemed to her that he was ridiculing her real 
 feelings as if they were mere fancies. 
 
 " Martha," — the tone took her back to Deep- 
 
200 IN THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 ing, when she bad always believed in and 
 always trusted Maurice. Involuntarily her 
 eyes sought his, and she saw he was not mock- 
 ing her. " If I say what I think," he said, " I 
 think your straight, plain, close-fitting gown 
 suits you admirably, and that it would be very 
 much admired as a novelty ; but I do not care 
 for eccentricity in a woman, and I think, if you 
 go into society, it would be wiser and humbler 
 to dress like other people. But there is nothing 
 so easy ; put yourself under Miss Louisa 
 Kalston's guidance, and in a week's time 
 you will find yourself dressed like any other 
 lady." 
 
 " Still my question is not answered. What 
 use can I be? I am far too shy and self- 
 conscious ever to talk easily in society, so I 
 shall only take up the room of some one really 
 useful or ornamental/' she said, with a smile. 
 
 "I don't agree with you," — he was thinking 
 how handsome she would look with her beautiful 
 hair arranged so as to show its colour, instead 
 of being squeezed into a tightly-twisted knot — 
 " besides, that is more than you can tell till you 
 
MAURICE AND MARTHA. 201 
 
 have tried. It may be good for you too ; this 
 change would help your spirits, and not one of 
 us knows what we really are till we have been 
 tested by contact with others." 
 
 "Well, do I not see you and Oliver? you 
 both try my temper sometimes." 
 
 She laughed ; she felt very happy to be talking 
 quietly to Maurice without fear of interruption. 
 
 " Ah ! but that's not it. Why do artists ex- 
 hibit pictures ? — it is not merely to sell them, it 
 is to expose them to the wholesome ordeal of 
 general criticism. The criticism may be faulty, 
 but it is far more wholesome discipline than the 
 false light thrown on a man's work by the judg- 
 ment of his own circle." 
 
 " Do you really think me so very vain 1" said 
 Martha, earnestly. 
 
 "On the contrary. Society will teach you 
 your own value ; you are just the person who 
 ought not to be shut up ; you might do a great 
 deal of good." 
 
 Martha shook her head ; but her heart swelled 
 with pleasure at his praise. There was a little 
 silence, which the canaries filled w-ith song, 
 
202 IX THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 though they had hardly stopped singing ever 
 since Maurice's arrival. 
 
 "But" — Martha looked shyly at her com- 
 panion, — " suppose I do call on Miss Ralston, or 
 she calls on me — if we are both so difficult to 
 understand, our acquaintance will not progress." 
 
 Maurice laughed. 
 
 " Oh ! I never said that you will not under- 
 stand one another ; it is one of the mysteries of 
 life to me to see how women can read one 
 another. I see it in my mother; while I am 
 content to take the reading of a character that 
 is offered to me as the true one, she dives 
 below the surface and discovers quite another 
 version." 
 
 " I should be afraid of your mother." 
 
 " I don't think you would. She is so delicate 
 and fragile that I believe all your kindly feel- 
 ings would be drawn out by her mere presence ; 
 and she is very sweet and loveable to people 
 when she likes them." 
 
 "Ah! yes, when she likes them," — Martha 
 smiled, and shook her head. " No, no, let well 
 alone. I am sure that the day your mother 
 
MAURICE AND MARTHA. 203 
 
 sees me will be a sad one for me, at any rate." 
 Then, alarmed at her unwonted frankness, 
 she bit her lips, and twisted her ringers to- 
 gether, just as she had done when she was a 
 girl at Deeping. 
 
 Maurice thought that her shy reserve made a 
 quaint setting to her remarkable face and figure ; 
 but her words impressed him more than Martha 
 had meant them to impress ; it would have seem- 
 ed mockery to her to hear that any value could 
 be attached to her opinion. Her mother even, 
 who had owed so much to Martha's care and devo- 
 tion, would never accept her daughter's advice 
 until it had been submitted to Oliver, and her 
 mother's helplessness had so engrossed Martha's 
 time that she had had no space for friendships. 
 She had a few acquaintances ; but she was 
 adored by the poor who had lived near her at 
 Deeping. There had been deep lamentation 
 among them when she came away. She had 
 soothed the old, and taught the young to sew 
 and read ; and she had cheered the hard-work- 
 ing wives and mothers with sensible and hope- 
 ful words. Since she came to Fulham, though 
 
204: IN THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 she bad made some friends among" the garden- 
 workers who lived in the cottages near the 
 river, yet Oliver had been her world, till this 
 renewal of friendship with Maurice had taught 
 her that there was some one else to think of. 
 
 Her words had set Maurice thinking about 
 his mother, and he knew that Martha was 
 right. Lady Mary, with all her perception, 
 would not recognize the grandeur of this wo- 
 man's humility; she would shrink from what she 
 would call want of savoir /aire. 
 
 " It is possible," he said, gravely, kf that you 
 would not care to know my mother ; and she is 
 so often ill that she keeps much at home ; but the 
 Miss Ralstons are different. I shall perhaps 
 call at The Elms as I go home. Shall I say you 
 will be glad to see these ladies I" 
 
 Martha gave a terrified glance round her, as 
 if she longed to escape ; and then she smiled at 
 herself. 
 
 " Oh ! no, not to-day ; by-and-by, I shall get 
 a little courage ; besides, Oliver wishes to take 
 me himself to The Elms/' 
 
 " Then Oliver is wrong ; you will be much 
 
MAURICE AXD MARTHA. 205 
 
 more at your ease, and far more likely to do 
 yourself justice, if these ladies call on you here 
 than if you call on them ; but I'm going to find 
 Oliver." 
 
 He left her, and strolled across to Oliver's 
 den. 
 
 " Come, old fellow, will you never have done ? 
 Am I not to get a word out of you V 3 
 
 Oliver did not even look up, but kept his eyes 
 fixed on the plan he was working out. 
 
 " No," he said, slowly. " No, I think not to- 
 day ;" then, rousing himself, he looked up in 
 Maurice's amused face. "Don't think me un- 
 sociable," he said ; " but I dare not give myself 
 any more holiday to-day. I'll look you up at 
 the Temple in a day or two, or will you come 
 down some evening next week?" 
 
 " I think you had better come over to Bays- 
 water. Come over and dine with us next 
 Wednesday." 
 
 "Cannot it stand over? I don't feel sure of 
 a day before me till this is worked out ; and 
 you had much better come here ; it pleases 
 Martha," and then he stopped. 
 
206 IN THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 " Well, 111 say good-bye ;" but Maurice felt 
 slightly disappointed, and he also felt that he 
 cared far more for his old companion than 
 Oliver cared for him. 
 
 "He is getting spoiled," he thought, when 
 he had taken leave of Martha ; " his world has 
 grown so large and so fully peopled that he has 
 no time left for a special friendship." It never 
 occurred to Maurice that Love, that dire 
 disturber of friendship, was claiming every mo- 
 ment of Oliver's time that could be spared from 
 his work. 
 
207 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 A FIRST VISIT. 
 
 rpHE lodge gate at The Elms was open, and 
 ■*■ the lodge-keeper, Reuben Tew, stood at it, 
 enjoying the sunshine, with his thumbs thrust 
 into the armholes of his red waistcoat. 
 
 Though he was past seventy he was very 
 erect ; his chin was in the air, while his large, 
 high-bridged nose seemed, as he stood now at the 
 gate, with his hands under the tails of his coat, 
 to be overlooking the road and the trees on the 
 bit of waste grass opposite with some amount 
 of contempt. There was certainly something 
 ineffable in the curl of the corners of his lips, 
 and yet contempt was not the normal expres- 
 sion of Reuben Tew's face. He had never been 
 
208 IN THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 handsome, but his face must always have 
 arrested attention. His skin was very dark ; his 
 mouth was enormous, but his yellow-green eyes 
 were full of intelligence, and so was his well- 
 developed forehead. Perhaps the usual aspect 
 of the man was that of genial satisfaction, for 
 now, as he turned round to look towards the 
 lodge, he beamed through his tortoiseshell- 
 rimmed spectacles as if he saw something 
 pleasant in the empty doorway. There was 
 nothing there, however, but a cat, of carrotty 
 appearance, with bright green eyes. 
 
 " Aha, little puss !" said Reuben, " purring, I 
 expect ; eh, that's right." 
 
 Nothing in the words themselves, and yet 
 spoken w r ith such suave condescension that they 
 established Mr. Tew as the monarch of all 
 around him, and made one feel that the little 
 cat was indeed honoured by his notice. 
 
 All at once he turned to the road again. A 
 gentleman was standing at the gate; his ap- 
 proach had not been heard by Reuben, for the 
 only warning time had given him was deafness ; 
 he could not hear a sound until it was close 
 
A FIRST VISIT. 209 
 
 beside him, and even then, in the case of words, 
 the sound must be loud. 
 
 He drew himself up till he looked almost as 
 tall as Mr. Penruddock, and then he remem- 
 bered him as a visitor at The Elms. 
 
 " Good morning, sir," — he bowed graciously. 
 " You will find the ladies in, sir, if they be 
 what you w r as inquiring for. A remarkable 
 fine afternoon, sir.' , 
 
 Maurice smiled and nodded, and took his way 
 up the drive. 
 
 Reuben Tew did not look after him ; he 
 nodded his head, closed his lips firmly together, 
 and then called out, in a loud, shrill voice — 
 « Molly !" 
 
 There came to him out of the lodge a tall 
 woman with a flat, pale face. She had dark 
 hair, but slightly touched with grey; pale lips, 
 and eyes like those of an amiable cow, dark, 
 and dull, and projecting. Indeed, Mrs. Tew 
 may be said to have presented a generally 
 cow-like appearance. Her face was placid, her 
 movements were slow; there w r as, too, in her 
 whole aspect a milk-white cleanliness and a 
 
 VOL. I. P 
 
210 IN THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 homely air of motherhood that carried out the 
 likeness, and inclined one favourably towards 
 her. 
 
 As soon as Mr. Tew saw that his summons 
 was obeyed, he turned again to his survey of 
 the road, while his wife moved slowly up to 
 his side. 
 
 "Did you call, Reuben V she said, in a faint 
 voice, which always reached her husband's ears, 
 spite of his deafness. 
 
 " Did you notice" — he spoke without looking 
 at her — " the young man that passed up to the 
 house f " 
 
 "No, Reuben — I was darning your stock- 
 ings," — Molly spoke rather faster, and in a tone 
 of apology. " You see, I have only wits for one 
 thing at a time." 
 
 " Quite so," he smiled ; he was never hard on 
 Molly, poor thing. " She does the best she 
 can," he had a habit of saying when he spoke 
 of his wife. " Well, Molly," he went on, with a 
 pleasant smile, while his chest expanded with a 
 conscious benignity, " that there gentleman was 
 Mr. Penruddock, the sou, or maybe the younger 
 
A FIRST VISIT. 211 
 
 brother, of the lady which was here in her car- 
 riage a while ago. Now listen, Molly ; when 
 this sort of thing occurs in a family like our 
 people's, d'ye know what it means?" 
 
 Molly's under-jaw fell, and her mouth re- 
 mained open, showing that she had not lost her 
 teeth, but that they were very crooked. 
 
 " Lor', now, Reuben/' she said, " do it mean 
 anything? I should never ha' known it was 
 anything but visits." 
 
 Reuben smiled yet more, his lips parted in 
 the centre, and the upper one curled so that it 
 might have reached his nose had it been shorter. 
 
 " Quite so— you wouldn't/' he said ; " now I'll 
 tell you." He threw open his chest and cleared 
 his throat. k ' There are two young ladies here 
 of a marriageable age, and with expectations, 
 for, the master having no children, there is no 
 one else to take the property. Well, then, my 
 opinion is that the mother came to open the 
 matter, and that there gentleman has come to 
 forrard it." 
 
 Xo answer coming, Mr. Tew turned to look 
 at his silent help-mate, who stood pinching her 
 
 p 2 
 
212 IX THE SWEET SPRING- TIME. 
 
 black silk apron between her thumb and finger 
 in wonder at her husband's shrewdness. 
 
 " Well, to be sure.'" And then she added, 
 timidly — " And I was that stoopid I was thinking- 
 Mr. Burridge was courting our Miss Gyneth." 
 
 Reuben was very supercilious now, and yet 
 he kept a smile. 
 
 "Now look you here, Molly ; when you was 
 young, was I the only young man as you ever 
 spoke to or looked at? TVirnmen is wimmen - T 
 there's some they likes to look at, and some they 
 likes to look at them, and for my part I don't see 
 how they are to prevent this. Mr. Burridge is 
 one, we'll say, and this Mister Penruddock's 
 another, and maybe there'll be six or seven 
 more between her and Miss Louisa; but the 
 ones as has mothers to back 'em up is the ones 
 which wins in the long run, though maybe the- 
 young women prefers those which has the 
 smoothest tongues without the mothers. That 
 Mr. Burridge is too rough and ready a chap for 
 our young ladies" — his chin rose as he spoke ; 
 — "this one now gone in has more the manner 
 to suit our Miss Gyneth." 
 
A FIRST VISIT. 213 
 
 "Is he good-looking'?" Molly asked, with a 
 faint show of interest in her big, prominent 
 eyes. 
 
 Reuben's thumbs were in his armholes, but 
 his fingers spread themselves out in protest. 
 
 " Lor' bless me, why do you ask % Is a man 
 any the better for being handsome ? If he has 
 looks, he has to pay for 'em one way or another ; 
 either he wants money, or brains, or luck. A 
 handsome man, as you call it, Molly, is most 
 times a fool and a tyrant too, safe to be a bad 
 husband, because he'll think he's thrown away 
 on just one woman* Mr. Burridge isn't a fool, 
 though he's, I suppose, good-looking ; but he's 
 dooced masterful. T'other chap is, just accord- 
 ing to taste, a sort of sad face, like a picture ; he's 
 quiet altogether — quite another breed from what 
 Mr. Burridge is." 
 
 •'Will he be better for our Miss Gyneth, 
 then V 9 — Molly's eyes had really brightened, 
 and her pale lips had relaxed into a look of 
 keen enjoyment. 
 
 "Bless my soul !— bless me/'— the old man 
 put both hands behind him again — " how fast 
 
214 IN THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 you do get on ! I wonder life isn't too long' 
 the way you settle everything off. I had not 
 so much as got to Miss Gyneth ; we was speak- 
 ing about gentlemen who came to see our 
 young ladies. Is he good-looking, you says. 
 Now Fd another reason to offer you again' 
 looks. Perhaps you call Timothy Parkins 
 handsome?" — he turned round and gave her a 
 keen, amused look. Molly nodded, but her 
 eyes had faded back to their usual dulness ; for 
 Timothy Parkins had succeeded Reuben as 
 head-gardener at The Elms, and was a very 
 sore subject for conversation. " Yes ; and so I 
 suppose he is — a handsome ass," — he jerked his 
 head at each syllable. "He comes to a garden 
 in its prime and can't keep it up to the mark. 
 Now, how did I find that garden ?" — he brought 
 his wrinkled hands from under his coat-tails 
 and plunged the thumbs vigorously into his 
 waistcoat arm-holes ; the action seemed to give 
 breadth both to his chest and to his smile. " I 
 found that there garden — a rubbish heap ; the 
 lawns was paddocks, and the beds was — well, 
 fit for potatoes. What did I do f I didn't lean 
 
A FIRST VISIT. 215 
 
 on my spade, and grin, and pull at my whiskers, 
 or any o' the confounded antics of Mr. Parkins. 
 Bless you, no. I says, says I to master, * Look you 
 here, sir, we wants drainage, and we wants dung; 
 and, above all, we wants labour. Look at the 
 place ! I'd like to know where Tomkins and his 
 new fangled flower-beds ; ud have been without 
 my bottom-draining. It's always the way ; it's 
 just the same with a building — people comes and 
 praises this and praises t'other when it's done, 
 but ne'er a word for the scaffold-poles. But, 
 Lor' bless ye,"— he folded his arms across the 
 ample space of red waistcoat — " the scaffold 
 poles don't care — not they." 
 
 He turned away from the road at this, as if 
 he had thought it had been sufficiently ex- 
 plained, and followed Molly slowly and with 
 dignity into the lodge. 
 
 Meantime Maurice Penruddock had found 
 Gyneth alone in the drawing-room. Mrs. Vena- 
 bles had returned, but was upstairs ; and Maurice 
 rejoiced at the chance of seeing a little more of 
 Miss Ralston. He observed that she did not 
 mention his mother's visit, and he talked at first 
 
216 IX THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 about the garden-party. The conversation 
 grew pleasant ; they both agreed on so many- 
 points ; and the atmosphere of sympathy drew 
 Gyneth into her brightest mood. 
 
 "It seems curious that you should know my 
 friend, Oliver Burridge," Maurice said, after a 
 pause. 
 
 He was looking at her earnestly, thinking of 
 the contrast her face offered to Martha's, and 
 wondering which of the two was the most re- 
 markable ; but Gyneth met his searching glance, 
 and coloured. She could not have told why. 
 Probably the name of his friend brought back 
 the half pleasant, half confused feeling with 
 which she had parted from Oliver so short a 
 time ago. 
 
 " Yes," she said smiling. " How gifted he 
 is; you knew him when he was a boy, I think. 
 Oh ! yes, I remember you said you knew his 
 sister too. Does it not seem strange we do not 
 know Miss Burridge V* 
 
 " Would you care to know her V 
 
 "That depends," — Gyneth smiled; "but if 
 she is like her brother I feel sure of liking her." 
 
A FIRST VISIT. 217 
 
 " I think," — Maurice spoke slowly — " I feel 
 almost sure you and she would be friends ; 
 you seem so very unlike, and unlikeness is one" 
 requisite for sympathy, is it not !" 
 
 kf Sometimes ;" but Gyneth's voice was doubt- 
 ful ; she was thinking of Lady Mary Pen- 
 ruddock. 
 
 M I believe/' Maurice said, " that you could 
 be very useful to Mar— Miss Burridge ; she 
 has no friends here, and the longer she keeps 
 out of society the harder she will find it to 
 break through her shyness." 
 
 At this point Mrs. Venables came in. 
 
 Gynetb was surprised at the pleasure her aunt's 
 face expressed at the sight of Mr. Penruddock. 
 As she listened to their talk she w r ondered still 
 more ; this was only their second meeting, and 
 yet it seemed to her that Mr. Penruddock was 
 far more at his ease with her aunt than Mr. 
 Burridge was ; but then Mrs. Venables was 
 never quite just to Oliver Burridge. 
 
 " It may be that," the girl thought, as she 
 listened. " What a strange thing sympathy 
 is in developing people's qualities !" She sat 
 
218 IX THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 thinking, and then all at once it came to her 
 that this was the secret of the restraint she had 
 felt earlier in the afternoon. iC Lady Mary does 
 not like me," she said. 
 
 " I am so sorry to have missed your mother," 
 Mrs. Venables was saying, looking so pretty 
 and pleasant that Maurice thought he had never 
 seen so charming an old lady ; " I used to hear 
 of her as a beauty in my younger days." 
 
 Maurice smiled ; he took a fond pride in his 
 mother's looks. 
 
 " Yes, I believe she was greatly admired. As 
 you came in we w T ere speaking of my friend 
 Burridge's sister. I wish Miss Ralston could get 
 to know her, for I fear she is very lonely, though 
 I don't suppose she would admit she was 
 dull." 
 
 " We will call, if we may," Mrs. Venables said. 
 
 " That would be the natural course of things ; 
 but she is so shy that I don't feel sure she will 
 admit visitors ; she is proud, too, and has an 
 idea that any kindness shown her is from 
 pity." 
 
 "That is being humble, is it not?" said 
 
A FIRST VISIT. 219 
 
 Gyneth. " Shall I write and ask as a favour 
 if I may call?" 
 
 Maurice shook his head. 
 
 " It must happen naturally ; I think, perhaps, 
 you may meet her with her brother." 
 
 " Coming out of church," said Mrs. Yenables, 
 smiling. " I scarcely think so busy a man as 
 Mr. Burriclge takes week-day walks with his 
 sister." 
 
 " No — but you will not see them at church 
 either ; they are Dissenters." 
 
 Mrs. Yenables did not answer, but she said 
 to herself that this accounted for Mr. Burridge's 
 self-willed notions. Mr. Penruddock's evident 
 friendship for these people puzzled her. 
 
 He went on speakiDg to Gyneth. 
 
 " You can do so much for her ; she is a great 
 lover of books, and has a very limited supply of 
 them ; then she really has a good voice, but she 
 has had no instruction in singing, and wants 
 both practice and self-confidence. She has read 
 and thought so much that her conversation is 
 very interesting when she gets at her ease." 
 
 " You make me quite wish to know this 
 
220 IN T THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 young lady.'' Mrs. Venables spoke with a 
 slight infusion of malice. 
 
 "Perhaps I speak partially," he said; "but 
 you must pardon my wish to give her pleasure. 
 I am only trying to induce Miss Kalston to 
 bring sunshine into a very solitary life, and the 
 Burridges may stay some months here. Of 
 course I may be wrong in my estimate of her 
 qualities ; you may not care about Miss Bur- 
 ridge." 
 
 " I will tell you the next time I see you," said 
 Gyneth, laughing ; " you have so excited my 
 curiosity that the acquaintance will have to be 
 made without delay." 
 
 " And now I must ask you," — Mrs. Venables 
 smiled very sweetly at Maurice — " to persuade 
 your mother to come to dine with us quietly 
 one day. My husband and she are such old 
 friends that they must want a long chat, and 
 you will come too, will you not ? — any evening- 
 next week will suit us." 
 
 Maurice expressed his thanks, though, if he 
 had not been her son, he might have thought 
 his mother would scarcely be flattered by 
 
A FIRST VISIT. 221 
 
 Mrs. Venables's security about her husband's 
 friendship. But he did not go away ; he felt 
 strangely unwilling to go, and he scarcely knew 
 why. He liked to watch Gyneth Ralston ; 
 her face varied so constantly in expression 
 every thought seemed reflected on it like the 
 changing light and shade on a landscape under 
 the April sky ; then the face itself was so re- 
 fined and delicate, with a lurking mischief in 
 the eyes and in the corners of the flexible lips, 
 as if she could be very merry when she chose. 
 But it was not only her face that charmed him ; 
 her movements were so gentle and full of grace ; 
 he noted, too, with a kind of lazy pleasure, as he 
 leaned back in his easy-chair, how deftly and 
 expressively she used her hands — the hands 
 themselves, too, were small, not so white and 
 beautiful as Martha's hands, but full of delicious 
 curves and dimples; and once, when she ex- 
 tended her hand to reach a book her aunt asked 
 for, he noted the exquisite rose-coloured palm 
 and the charming line of the little finger to the 
 round, blue-veined wrist. 
 
 Mrs. Venables went on chatting pleasantly^ 
 
222 IX THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 and Maurice answered ; but his thoughts were 
 with Gyneth. He was very fastidious about wo- 
 men — rarely completely pleased with any young 
 woman ; but every moment his pleasure grew 
 more intense as he sat watching this girl. He 
 felt, as he listened to her saucy speeches to her 
 aunt, that his first impression had hit the mark, 
 though it had only received a fragmentary idea 
 of her ; she was not merely the gentle, grace- 
 ful girl she had appeared to be when he first 
 arrived to-day. There was fun, and sometimes 
 a pathetic entreaty, in those liquid dark eyes, 
 which he found himself wishing most intensely 
 to look into. 
 
 The conversation had turned to a recent 
 railway accident ; a disaster in which many 
 lives had been sacrificed. As Gyneth spoke, the 
 dark pathos in her eyes grew piteous. 
 
 "Perhaps I am hard," she said, "but I cannot 
 quite sympathise with the universal fuss and 
 demonstration that such an event calls out ; 
 it seems to me that life has greater miseries 
 than this sudden death to many of those poor 
 people." 
 
A FIRST VISIT. 223 
 
 Mrs. Venables looked surprised ; and then she 
 smiled at Maurice. 
 
 " I do not see," she said, " why we need 
 sympathise less with other misery because our 
 feelings are stirred up about such a widespread 
 calamity as this is." 
 
 iC I was wondering," — Maurice looked at 
 Gyneth with a half teazing, half admiring look 
 — c< how Miss Ralston has already become so 
 well acquainted with the miseries of life." 
 
 She thought he was laughing at her ; her 
 cheeks glowed, and her eyes grew bright with 
 indignation. 
 
 "One cannot live with one's eyes shut; and 
 I believe there is much more sorrow than one 
 can even imagine. Among the poor how terri- 
 bly a woman suffers who has a bad husband. I 
 have seen many sad cases." 
 
 " Yes," Maurice said, gravely, " I agree with 
 you ; but I do not only pity women. Men who 
 — who — marry thoughtlessly are often just as 
 much to be pitied." 
 
 " You will not get Gyneth to agree to that," 
 said Mrs. Venables, " she is full of arguments 
 
224 IN THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 against marriage, because she says women suffer 
 so much more than men do in it." 
 
 " Yes," Gyneth said, earnestly. " It must be so. 
 Most men have so much more in their lives to 
 occupy thought. It is twice as important to a 
 woman to have a good husband as it is to a man 
 to have a good wife." 
 
 Maurice looked at Mrs. Venables and laughed. 
 
 n You will not agree to this/' he said. 
 
 She laughed. " It is certainly a one-sided 
 view, though perhaps there is more chance that 
 a good wife reclaims a bad husband than vice 
 versa ; and if she fails, no doubt she is less ex- 
 posed to outward temptation than a man is ; 
 but " 
 
 She hesitated ; the conversation had strayed, 
 and she looked at Mr. Penruddock. 
 
 " I agree with you," he said. " Perhaps it 
 ought not to be so ; but I believe a man generally 
 goes to the dogs who has a bad wife. I some- 
 times think — dangerous as it might be in some 
 cases— it would be a good thing if some young 
 wives knew how very great their power for 
 good or evil is over the minds of their husbands ; 
 
A FIRST VISIT. 225 
 
 but I am inflicting a visitation on you this 
 afternoon." 
 
 Very reluctantly he said good-bye to the 
 two ladies, and took his way back to London. 
 
 iC Why have I wasted so many weeks in 
 getting to know these people ? I might have 
 known them months ago," he said. " I never 
 met anyone like them before." 
 
 In the glow of pleasant feeling he thought 
 Mrs. Venables quite worthy of her niece ; his 
 disappointment in Oliver was forgotten ; Martha, 
 too, who usually held a fixed place in his 
 thoughts was obscured by the vivid impression 
 of this visit. He was so unwilling to disturb 
 his pleasant dreaming that he walked the whole 
 way home to Bayswater. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
226 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 A COXFIDEXCE. 
 
 TTTHEN Oliver had finished his work, he came 
 " " in to tea. Not to the little upstairs 
 sitting-room— Martha kept that for Maurice's 
 visits — but into the dining-room, which was 
 very bare, and empty of any attempt at decora- 
 tion. To-day its bare, stone-coloured walls and 
 the ugly carpet seemed to show themselves in 
 a new light to Oliver. 
 
 " Dear me," he said, " I wish we could make 
 this place more habitable. I don't mean new 
 furniture, but a few flowers, or something 
 bright and pleasant." 
 
 Then he looked with some discontent at 
 Martha. Unobservant as she was by nature, 
 she was always keenly sensitive to her brother's 
 
A CONFIDENCE. 227 
 
 moods, and she knew be was dissatisfied with 
 ber now. 
 
 " I will get some flowers, dear, if you like." 
 Oliver shrugged his shoulders. Love has the 
 faculty of making a man very hard in judgment 
 towards other women, and especially towards 
 the women of his own family. 
 
 As Oliver looked at Martha, she seemed to 
 him stiff and ungraceful, and he grew impatient 
 of the earnest gaze fixed on him. 
 
 " I wish, Martha, you could see the rooms at 
 The Elms ; I don't know what it is, but there's 
 a something about them that makes one feel at 
 home at once." 
 
 Martha's lips drew together, while he spoke, 
 till they almost made a scarlet line in her pale 
 face, but her eyes grew dark and luminous. 
 
 " Very likely " — her voice sounded hard ; — 
 " but, to make things different here, first there 
 must be some expense, and then much more 
 taste than I have." 
 
 " No, I don't mean expensive things — I mean 
 bits of needlework that women can make for 
 themselves ; and flowers are cheap enough. I 
 
 Q2 
 
228 IN THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 can tell you one thing that struck me — there 
 are sheaves of dried grass rising up here and 
 there out of china vases, and there are other 
 things about on the tables. If you'll look out 
 some of mother's teacups and saucers that you 
 keep locked up out of sight, I don't mind 
 having a few shelves put up " 
 
 Oliver stopped in a sudden, shame-faced way, 
 but he laughed at the cloud of rebuke in his 
 sister's eyes. 
 
 "I thought you despised mere prettinesses. 
 Why, Oliver" — her indignation found vent in 
 the tone of her voice, — " you always say that 
 nothing is noble or true, or to be aimed at, that 
 has not a use in it, and what use can there be 
 in wasting time over grass and china 1 — pictures 
 and books are different, they raise the mind, but 
 knick-knacks are quite folly.*' 
 
 She looked almost angry as she ended. Oliver 
 felt irritated and foolish, for his sister had given 
 even a mild rendering of his often-uttered preju- 
 dices against useless labour and ornament. 
 And yet — he looked round the bare, meagre 
 room and shuddered, and felt disgusted when 
 
A CONFIDENCE. 229 
 
 he thought of the drawing-room, or even of the 
 breakfast-room, at The Elms. 
 
 It was quite true. This room held everything 
 necessary for the mere daily requirements of 
 life. The table and chairs and sideboard 
 were good and solid ; the carpet and curtains 
 were ugly, but good of their kind, and they 
 were neither old nor shabby-looking. And 
 yet 
 
 " Well," he said, sulkily, " I suppose one lives 
 and learns ; there is a certain use in even mere 
 prettiness when it soothes one's temper. This 
 room puts me out; there is not one suggestive 
 corner for the eye to rest on — nothing soothing 
 or pleasant.*' Then, after a minute's pause, he 
 nodded to Martha. " I am going out till sup- 
 per-time/' he said. " I wish you had kept Pen- 
 ruddock; I could have talked to him then." He 
 nodded again, and turned to the door. As he 
 was going out he looked at her. " I tell you 
 what, Martha," he said, kindly ; " if you would 
 only visit about a little you would soon see 
 what other people do, and pick up a few ideas." 
 
 Martha did not move for some minutes from 
 
230 IN THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 the place where he left her standing. Her 
 whole nature was stirred, and in the upheaval 
 and the conflict of opposite feelings she lost any 
 consciousness of outward surrounding. 
 
 Outside the grey parrot called loudly, while 
 Oliver crossed the garden — " Good boy, Oliver ; 
 come again soon, Oliver ; smoke a pipe." 
 
 Oliver laughed, and, turning round just below 
 the window, shook his fist at saucy Jacko ; but 
 Martha did not hear or see. She stood very 
 pale and erect, her taper fingers gleaming white 
 against the dark green of her gown, her pale 
 face, with its rich red-gold crown of ruffled hair, 
 in full relief against the light wall behind 
 her. The afternoon sunshine, which had 
 made the room look still more unlovely to 
 Oliver, while it lit up every vacant corner out 
 of the dusky mystery in which interest might 
 be supposed to exist, had made Martha's hair to 
 glow gloriously, and revealed wealth of colour 
 not only where the sun turned it to a fiery gold, 
 but where in the shadows purples and even 
 carmine seemed to lurk ; and the blending of 
 all these in the richest of browns — a brown 
 that made one think of a beech- wood in late 
 
A CONFIDENCE. 231 
 
 October, when autumn has laid a jewelled grasp 
 on the lessening leaves, or of the rich-toned 
 umber hues of a pheasant's breast. 
 
 At last she came out of this pale, statue-like 
 attitude of reverie, and passed one hand slowly- 
 over her eyes. 
 
 "Am I jealous?" she thought. "Yes, I 
 think I am ; I am angry with Oliver for wish- 
 ing me to be like Miss Ralston— and yet no, 
 I wrong myself; well, even Oliver always 
 says I do that." She stopped, clasped her 
 hands over her head, and gave a slight laugh. 
 " No," she went on ; " it is quite natural that I 
 should feel vexed to see Oliver come down from 
 the very ideas which have made me look up to 
 him, and yet he is not really changed — no" — 
 she began to walk up and down the room, and 
 her cheek flushed warmly — "it is only that 
 he is infatuated out of himself and his proper 
 reason for the time ; it is no fancy of mine ; 
 have I not the authority of history and poets 
 too ? Spenser and Tasso have both shown how 
 Love can blind a man and enfeeble his judgment 
 — no, I must be patient with Oliver ; when the 
 love-fit is over, he will be just and kind again." 
 
232 IN THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 But still her love for her brother conquered 
 her wounded pride. She went to the porch and 
 gathered some of the creamy clusters that had 
 scented the afternoon air so sweetly, while she 
 and Maurice sat together ; and when the supper- 
 cloth was laid, she placed this nosegay in a 
 neat vase in the middle of the table. She stood 
 looking at it, and again she laughed slightingly 
 at herself. 
 
 " Oliver may take the will for the deed," she 
 said — " perhaps he will ; but a stiff little nose- 
 gay like that is not what he means, I know." 
 
 A sort of writhe seemed to twist through face 
 and figure. 
 
 " It is pitiful/' she held up her head, looking, 
 though she did not know it, very grand and 
 noble ; " I scarcely know which is worst — not 
 to be able to do such petty little things, or to 
 crave and long, as I do, for power to be more 
 like other women." 
 
 She stretched out her white hands in a pas- 
 sionate pleading, and there was a sob in her 
 voice ; her thoughts had strayed from Oliver ; it 
 was to Maurice that her entreaty addressed 
 
A CONFIDENCE. 233 
 
 itself. He had said, when he left her, that he was 
 going to The Elms ; would he too go and gaze 
 on Gyneth Ralston, and become so fascinated 
 by her and her charming ways that he would 
 find the cottage too dull and homely to visit? 
 
 ' ; If Oliver does, how can I wonder V 9 Martha 
 thought. 
 
 Not so long ago, when her brother went 
 away for a few days — and these short absences 
 often happened — he was always in a hurry to 
 come back to Martha and tell her all his little 
 adventures ; he would dwell on them even to 
 make amusement for her, and now he had been 
 away from her three days, and he had gone to 
 see Gyneth Ralston on his way home, and had 
 regretted the chance of spending the evening 
 alone with Martha. She writhed again as the 
 jealous pang struck through her with its cruel 
 strength ; for an instant she asked herself if she 
 could yield up Maurice, so that Oliver might be 
 spared to her. Would it be possible for Maurice 
 to supplant Oliver with this girl ? 
 
 She hid her face in both hands. It had 
 grown dusk, and the lamp was not yet lighted, 
 
234 IN THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 or the contrast between Martha's white fingers 
 and her glowing cheeks would have been very 
 visible. No — she could not yield either brother 
 or friend. 
 
 " They are all I have — all I have ever had 
 since mother died ; w r hy am I to have nothing 
 at all in this world, and this girl has all she 
 wishes for? She shall not have either of 
 them !" 
 
 She roused herself resolutely, and watched 
 the maid place the supper ; she felt glad that 
 she had expected Oliver to-night, for she was 
 confident that he w r ould be pleased with what 
 she had provided. Hitherto, at any rate, he 
 had never found fault with her housekeeping ; 
 still she cast doubtful, dissatisfied looks on the 
 table. 
 
 " Go in the garden and get some more pars- 
 ley, Jane — butter wants parsley as well as the 
 chicken and tongue," she said ; her voice had a 
 nervous, fidgety sound that did not belong to 
 it, and the maid looked surprised as she went 
 to gather some parsley — she wondered to her- 
 self was that Mr. Penruddock coming after Miss 
 
A CONFIDENCE. 235 
 
 Martha again ; and then decided, after the creed 
 of a woman whose life had been given up to 
 others, that it was not possible Miss Martha could 
 do such a thing as leave her brother to fend for 
 himself, for the sake of any man living. 
 
 " Time enough," Jane argued, as she stooped 
 to gather the curled leaves from the plot in 
 the garden behind the house ; " plenty of 
 time for Miss Martha to think of a husband 
 when Mr. Oliver's settled, and don't no longer 
 want her." 
 
 When she came in, Miss Martha had lost her 
 fidgety manner; she took the parsley from 
 Jane's hand, where it had assisted at a vivid 
 contrast of crimson and emerald, and began to 
 deck with some of the prettiest bits the pale 
 primrose roll of butter ; and while she did this 
 another thought came to Martha. 
 
 "Jane," she said, " suppose I get some 
 wooden moulds ; do you think if I do you can 
 make the butter into pats when Mr. Oliver is at 
 home?" 
 
 "Lor, yes, miss." But Jane wondered still 
 more what had come to Miss Martha, to set 
 
236 IX THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 her up with all these new-fangled notions. 
 
 Martha was still bending over the butter 
 when Oliver came in. The lamps had been lit, 
 and as the brilliant glow fell on the table, he 
 saw at once the little attempts at decoration. 
 Quite heedless of Jane's presence, he went up 
 to his sister, put his arm round her, and gave 
 her a hearty kiss. 
 
 "That's capital, Matt}-," he said; "you've 
 got the table quite gay. That's the best of 
 you, Martha — you're always in such earnest 
 about everything ; you only want a little 
 teaching." 
 
 She drew herself away ; but Oliver was too 
 ready for his supper to be sensitive just then. 
 
 " I had everything cold/' she said, " because 
 I was not sure about your coming home to- 
 day." 
 
 " Quite right," he said, with his mouth already 
 full ; " and besides, I don't care for hot suppers — 
 they are not wholesome later than eight o'clock, 
 and then one might as well dine as sup. I 
 have been thinking " — he looked at her to see 
 the effect of his words — " that perhaps in some 
 
A CONFIDENCE. 237 
 
 ways it is reasonable to do what others do. I 
 don't mean for the sake of fashion or nonsense, 
 but I believe it's wiser to dine late than early." 
 
 " Do you mean that you wish to dine at eight 
 o'clock?" she said, in a tone of astonishment. 
 
 The tone jarred him ; it was so new to find 
 Martha out of harmony and agreement with his 
 slightest wish, that he began to think he had been 
 living in blindness ; he wondered how he could 
 have so long endured this severe companionship. 
 
 " Why not ?" he said, abruptly — " it would 
 not give more trouble, and it would save my 
 time in the middle of the day." 
 
 He had meant to talk this over with her, but 
 her manner had settled what was only a float- 
 ing idea into a fixed purpose. 
 
 " Very well, just as you please/' said Martha, 
 coldly. 
 
 Oliver went on with his supper, but Martha 
 could not eat. She listened patiently while 
 Oliver talked on about his journey, and the 
 state of business in the north, but she an- 
 swered him briefly ; she was really wrapped 
 up in her own thoughts. Oliver w T as often 
 
238 IN THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 rough and hasty, but then he was soon ap- 
 peased. She had grown up to consider these 
 ebullitions as part of bis extremely masculine 
 temperament, which was not to be guaged by 
 her merely feminine experience. 
 
 But she now saw, as she forced herself to 
 review the past weeks, that this falling off both 
 in affection and confidence had not merely 
 arisen in these last days, when she had sud- 
 denly missed them in her brother. She knew 
 now, she thought, why life had seemed so dull 
 when she was alone, and why she looked for- 
 ward so longingly to seeing Maurice. Oliver's 
 love was gone from her, not iuto a mere pass- 
 ing fancy, but for ever ; he could not be so cool 
 and smiling if he had a spark of love left. 
 Why, anger would be preferable. 
 
 All at once she roused. Oliver drew his 
 chair close to hers, and put his arm round her, 
 just as he had always done when he had some- 
 thing particular to tell her. 
 
 At the fond, familiar touch her heart swelled 
 with a sudden throb of pain, and tears came to 
 cool the light that was again burning in her 
 
A CONFIDENCE. 239 
 
 eyes, so dark and sweet now, as she looked 
 into her brother's. He gave her a hearty kiss. 
 
 " Come, old woman/' he said, " you mustn't 
 be hard on me just now. Don't go fancying, 
 in your dear old morbid way, that I love you 
 less because " — his honest face grew crimson — 
 " I care for some one else too, quite in a differ- 
 ent way. I was cpite content with you, and I 
 shall never think anyone else like you ; but, you 
 see, I'm in love, Martha, and that's the long 
 and short of it." 
 
 Martha's hands had instinctively sought one 
 another, and they lay now twisting in her lap 
 in an intense dumb protest against this fact, 
 which she could not bend herself to receive 
 with sympathy. 
 
 Love was to Martha, who had studied Dante 
 and Shakespeare, and all the old-fashioned 
 waiters who believe in the undying strength of 
 true love, a real living power ; and if Oliver said 
 he was in love, of course he was so. Her old 
 faith in him was still too strong to be shaken, 
 though rebellion kept her silent. But her bro- 
 ther's earnest look was changing into a pained 
 
240 IX THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 expression, and with a great effort she smiled 
 at him. 
 
 " Are you, dear ?" she said, tenderly. 
 
 He was too excited to be critical, or he might 
 have said that Martha's tone was suited to a 
 child who comes and says he is hurt rather than 
 to a confession of love. 
 
 "Yes, and you know I always talk things 
 over with yon, and I don't want to keep this 
 from you, Martha." He kissed her again, as if 
 he felt that she suffered. " I want you to 
 know Miss Ralston/' he went on, " before I 
 speak to her. I think I must speak soon — I 
 feel sure I shall — but I should not like to en- 
 gage myself to some one you don't know, Mar- 
 tha. Shall I take you to see her, or shall she 
 call here '? I want so much to know what you 
 think of her." 
 
 Martha knew that really her opinion would 
 go for nothing with Oliver ; but in this supreme 
 moment of mental disorder, when her old land- 
 marks seemed to be slipping aw r ay, and she felt 
 change of every sort threatening her uniform 
 life, she was very grateful to her brother for 
 
A CONFIDENCE. 241 
 
 even this make-believe deference. " He thinks 
 he wants my opinion/' she said to herself. 
 
 " Well," Oliver said, impatiently. 
 
 Martha smiled. She began to feel that she 
 was self-willed. Why should she refuse to do 
 what Maurice so much wished? He, at least, 
 had no purpose to serve in asking her to see 
 Miss Ralston. 
 
 " I think she had better come here," she said, 
 shyly. Ci I shall be stupid enough, but I don't 
 seem to know what would happen to me if I 
 went to The Elms. I could not, indeed ;" she 
 looked with alarm in her eyes, and put her 
 hand beseechingly on Oliver's shoulder. 
 
 Oliver laughed. " Well," he said, " you are 
 the oddest girl that ever lived ; but I am sure, 
 after a bit, you two will get on well together." 
 
 Martha was glad to see him take his pipe out 
 of its case ; it gave her an excuse for being use- 
 ful, for she could not say, " I hope so." 
 
 AX that moment her most ardent wish was that 
 he might leave off caring for Gyneth Ralston. 
 And long after she had said good night to Oliver, 
 during the wakeful night that followed, she lay 
 
 VOL. I. K 
 
242 IN THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 wondering if she could bear to see Maurice sup- 
 plant Oliver in this girl's liking, so that she 
 might keep her brother to herself. 
 
 " No," she said to herself, " the same woman 
 cannot love Maurice and Oliver with that sort 
 of love. I fancy this Gyneth is more like 
 Maurice himself, and if so, then she wants a 
 stronger, rougher nature to cling to. And yet 
 there is no weakness in Maurice ; his extreme 
 gentleness hides his strength. Ah ! but this 
 girl does not know him as I do ; no mere 
 fashionable lady could ever appreciate him, he 
 is too proud to produce himself as Oliver 
 does." 
 
 Here she fell asleep, only to be tormented by 
 restless, distorted dreams. 
 
243 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 PREVENTION IS NOT ALWAYS BETTER THAN CURE. 
 
 pYNETH RALSTON had fairly regular 
 
 ^ features, and yet her great charm was in 
 the eloquence with which her face told her 
 feelings. She was impulsive, and yet she had 
 plenty of self-control ; her manner would 
 remain unchanged, while her eyes brightened 
 with interest, or grew liquid with sympathy ; 
 but on this day, which had brought so much 
 disquiet to Martha Burridge, Gyneth's feelings 
 had been stirred in a most strange and new 
 way. The fanning of Love's wings, even if he 
 only hovers near without in words revealing his 
 presence, has a marvellous effect on a woman's 
 beauty. While Oliver talked to her, and when 
 looking up she met his ardent eyes fixed on her 
 
 r2 
 
244 IN THE SWEET SPRIXG-TDIE. 
 
 face, Gyneth's colour had deepened, and the 
 glow had seemingly spread to her eyes, 
 darkening their velvet-like softness ; and even 
 after Mr. Burriclge's departure she did not at 
 once come out of this haze of new emotion — 
 she was still wrapped in a pleasant, dreamy 
 consciousness when Maurice Penruddock ar- 
 rived. 
 
 All the way home — he found the road far too 
 pleasant to give up walking — he pondered the 
 change he had found in this girl to-day. 
 Dreamily through the cabbage and lettuce 
 gardens, and then through hideous rows of 
 small, poor houses, varied with cheap shops and 
 flaring public-houses, wholly undistracted by 
 the crowds of noisy children rushing out of 
 school, not even turning his head to look at 
 the exotic ferns in the nursery as he passed by 
 its windows, he went on thinking — thinking, 
 making his way across two high roads and 
 through acres of stuccoed houses, of as mush- 
 room growth as many of their occupiers, till 
 he reached the quaint " old court suburb," 
 with its quiet, unpretentious charm, and found 
 
PREVENTION NOT BETTER THAN CURE. 245 
 
 himself at the entrance of the broad walk in 
 Kensington Gardens. 
 
 A lady driving by, smiled at him ; he turned 
 round, and saw that the carriage had stopped, 
 and that his mother was bending forward to 
 speak to him. 
 
 " If you are going home/' he said, "I'll come 
 with you." 
 
 " Yes, I am going home," — Lady Mary spoke 
 fretfully, while he seated himself beside her ; " I 
 am quite over-tired. I paid a long visit at The 
 Elms. I wanted to see Mrs. Venables, but she 
 never came in — I believe the poor woman keeps 
 out of my way,''' — she smiled through her 
 grumbles, — " and then I called on the Merthyr 
 Joneses, and I really wish I had not done so." 
 
 ;t Why not ?" — he could not help smiling at 
 her puckered face. " Was not Marian amusing ? 
 or did Editha treat you to an extempore 
 sermon V 
 
 '' Oh ! no, she never preaches. Marian was 
 not well, and she was much duller than usual ; 
 but Editha has such a saddened aspect, she 
 looks as if she were called on to bear the sins 
 
246 IN THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 of the whole world, and had them hanging round 
 her neck, and she makes one feel that she is 
 quite aware of one's own exceeding sinfulness, 
 but that her Christian spirit makes her endure 
 one. While I am with her I feel subdued, but 
 as soon as I get out of the house I am in active 
 rebellion." 
 
 Maurice laughed heartily. 
 
 " Poor Editha! I believe she is very good, 
 but she certainly does not hide her light. She 
 is always so afraid of contamination." 
 
 Lady Mary leaned back in silence. 
 
 Maurice wished to ask whom she had seen 
 at The Elms, and yet he shrank from hearing 
 his mother's opinion of Gyneth. 
 
 " You did not see Mrs. Venables, then !" he 
 said. 
 
 "No ; I saw Mr. Venables, grown so old that I 
 scarcely knew him, and two nieces, one a nice 
 girl enough, rather pretty, too, with blue eyes." 
 
 " Do you think her pretty f ' said Maurice, 
 " One so often sees that sort of fair face." 
 
 His mother noticed the constraint in his voice, 
 
 " I saw a friend of yours, too," she said. " A 
 
PREVENTION NOT BETTER THAN CURE. 247 
 
 Mr. Burridge. I cannot say I admire him, clear 
 Maurice." 
 
 Maurice flushed ; his mother usually said 
 "dear Maurice" when she differed from him. 
 
 " Do not let us discuss him, then ; he is a very 
 dear friend of mine. When I was a young 
 fellow at Deeping, you can't think how kind 
 Oliver and his mother and sister were to me ; 
 but I have often told you about them in my 
 letters." 
 
 " Yes," she said, looking extremely bored, 
 "I remember — of course I remember. You 
 have been wanting to ask this Mr. Burridge to 
 dine. He seems very intimate at The Elms, 
 especially with the elder Miss Ralston." 
 
 " Oh ! yes, he has known them some time, 
 and she would interest a man like Oliver. What 
 do you think of her !" he asked, abruptly. 
 
 He had decided not to ask this question, and 
 somehow it had made its way to his lips. 
 
 Lady Mary gave him a charming smile. 
 
 " She is nice-looking and has regular features," 
 she said, " and I have no doubt she has read a 
 good deal, and that sort of thing. I dare say 
 
248 IN THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 she would be more telling in her sister's ab- 
 sence. She is rather dull beside that bright, 
 merry girl ; Louisa has a certain style, too, 
 quite wanting in her sister." 
 
 Maurice felt singularly contradictory. 
 
 " That's curious/' he said. " I always think 
 the youngest much more common-place. Miss 
 Kalston is like her aunt, Mrs. Venables; she says 
 things that strike one as new and original." 
 
 Lady Mary's face was full of protest. She 
 smiled, but her eyes had a dark light in them 
 that did not look like satisfaction. 
 
 " Ah ! yes," — she nodded with her words — 
 " I know the kind of woman you mean. She 
 goes in for eccentric ways — new lights, and 
 so on. Fortunately Mrs. Venables has had no 
 children. You say her niece is like her; but 
 women of that sort are most undomestic, my 
 dear Maurice. They are quite unfitted to take 
 their place in society as wives and mothers." 
 
 There was a silence. Maurice was thinking 
 how much more companionable a wife Gyneth 
 would be than her sister, and his mother was 
 full of disquiet at this confirmation of her 
 
PREVENTION NOT BETTER THAN CURE. 249 
 
 misgivings about his taste. But her scheming 
 brain understood that open argument was the 
 most fatal weapon she could employ. 
 
 M I feel a little sorry for your friend, Mr. 
 Burridge. I think the youngest sister would 
 have been far more useful to him. She would 
 have softened him down, whereas the eccentric 
 one will only foster his abruptness, and call it 
 originality." 
 
 Maurice looked at her sharply. 
 
 " What do you mean !" he said. 
 
 She smiled. 
 
 " You are quite safe with me, Maurice. I am 
 not likely to tell Mr. Burridge's secrets, and I 
 have no doubt he has told you he is going to 
 propose to Miss Ralston." 
 
 " I am sure he has not told me so." 
 
 "Really. Well, he seems so frank and im- 
 pulsive that I fancied he would tell you every- 
 thing ; but perhaps you don't see much of him, 
 after all." 
 
 " Yes, I do." But he answered mechanically 
 — he was thinking. His mother's surmise might 
 be a true one. It was not likely that Oliver 
 
250 IN THE SWEET SPKIXG-TDIE. 
 
 would speak to him of. his love ; besides, they 
 had not seen one another alone for some time 
 past. 
 
 A dull cloud had come over his spirits. 
 Oliver's faults of manner, his overbearing self- 
 reliance, aud his occasional harsh fits of in- 
 justice — all these errors, which, if his mother 
 had commented on them, Maurice would at once 
 have felt called on to defend, now seemed to 
 gather round the image of his friend. 
 
 " What makes you suppose this I" 
 
 His mother had been watching Maurice, and 
 it seemed to her that she had done well to speak 
 so soon. 
 
 "My dear boy, I really can't tell you. Don't 
 you know that women are witches in all that 
 concerns the affections ? they are sure to guess 
 rightly." 
 
 His thoughts went back to Martha. Did she 
 know of Oliver's attachment ? 
 
 " I wonder if he has said anything about it 
 to his sister?" he said, in a low voice. 
 
 Lady Mary looked discomfited. 
 
 "A sister!" she said to herself; then she 
 
PREVENTION NOT BETTER THAN CURE. 251 
 
 hesitated ; instinctively she shrank from her 
 question. " I suppose he lives alone now." 
 
 Maurice smiled. It seemed to his unsus- 
 picious mind that here was a good opportunity 
 to interest his mother in Martha. 
 
 " Oh no ; he and his sister live together in a 
 cottage at Fulham. I have been calling on 
 them this afternoon." 
 
 "Really," she said, drily, "is Miss Burridge 
 as high-coloured and talkative as her brother is?" 
 
 Maurice turned his head away ; he was angry 
 at this slighting mention of his friend. 
 
 ''Miss Burridge is extremely handsome/' he 
 said decidedly — "very pale, but tall and dis- 
 tinguished-looking." 
 
 Anyone looking at his mother would have 
 seen her shrink into herself; her face grew still 
 yellower; she was vexed and frightened all at 
 once. She had been worrying herself in a most 
 unnecessary way about Gyneth Ralston, while 
 actually Maurice was visiting a girl he admired, 
 and he had never so much as spoken of her. 
 
 " Dear me," she said, pettishly, " I should like 
 to see her — I like handsome people. Can she 
 
252 IX THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 call on me, or shall I pay her a visit ? She 
 must be worth seeing if she answers to your 
 description, Maurice." 
 
 He felt the irony of this speech, and he 
 looked at his mother earnestly. 
 
 "It is kind of you," he said, simply, "to wish 
 to know my friends, but I am not sure that a 
 call from you would be a real kindness in the 
 case of Martha Burridge." — Lady Mary shud- 
 dered. — "Does he actually call her Martha?" 
 she thought. " She is so shy and so unused to 
 society that I believe the nervous fear of such 
 an event would make her ill." 
 
 His mother shrugged her shoulders; they had 
 just reached home. As she stepped out of the 
 carriage she said — 
 
 " If she is not a visitable person, I have no 
 wish to intrude on her." 
 
 There was something extremely disagreeable 
 in the way these words were said, and Maurice 
 washed most earnestly that he had held his 
 tongue respecting Martha's shyness. He 
 thought, as he followed his mother indoors, that 
 her graceful, languid self-possession was just 
 
PREVENTION NOT BETTER THAN CURE. 253 
 
 the quality that Martha lacked, and that she 
 must have infallibly gained by Lady Mary's 
 society. His only doubt was whether Martha 
 would ever feel sufficiently at her ease with her 
 to observe or learn. 
 
 " No/' he said to himself, " she will get on 
 best with Miss Ralston ; she is shy too, and this 
 sympathy will help them to understand one 
 another." 
 
 But his mother's suggestion about Oliver's 
 love was too disturbing to give room for other 
 thoughts. He was glad that he was not going 
 to dine at home ; he felt that he could not dis- 
 cuss this subject till he knew the truth about 
 Oliver. 
 
254 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 MARTHA AND GYNETH MEET. 
 
 /^YNETH had several friends in the small 
 ^ houses beside the cabbage grounds. She 
 had been to see a sick woman in one of these 
 cottages, and now, as she passed by the others, 
 a curly-headed boy and a little crippled girl 
 came out and looked at her with shy smiles. 
 Gyneth nodded, but she did not stay to talk. 
 Evening was drawing on, and she was out 
 much later than usual. Her uncle and aunt and 
 Louisa had gone to dine in town, and, as the 
 day had been very warm, Gyneth had waited 
 to take her walk till the air grew cool. 
 
 She had soon got through the cabbage 
 grounds, and then she remembered another 
 cottage nearer the river to which she had long 
 
MARTHA AND GYXETH MEET. 255 
 
 promised a visit. She turned down a road 
 which opened on the left. At the end were tall 
 trees which bordered the banks for some dis- 
 tance, but the end of the road itself was open ; 
 and here the river showed between the darkness 
 of the tree-lines a phantom-like grey, with a 
 rose-coloured reflection of the sunset. 
 
 Gyneth hurried down the road; she could see 
 the sunset from The Elms, but the opposite 
 bank at this point was wooded, and she felt 
 before she reached the opening how lovely the 
 view must be. 
 
 When she reached the river the sun had sunk 
 into a purple cloud, but the sky was fiery red, 
 in strange contrast with the long line of misty 
 greyness that marked the opposite bank looking 
 Londonwards. The river too was of a lumin- 
 ous grey, above which, in the far distance, 
 twinkled a line of star-like lights ; but up the 
 river the sunset reflected itself here and there 
 in angry flame-coloured patches on the grey 
 water— patches that served to bring into more 
 prominent view the line of a yellow out-rigger, 
 and to light up the gaily-painted green side of a 
 
256 IN THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 pleasure-boat coming back from an afternoon's 
 excursion. 
 
 While she stood looking, a pale-blue vapour 
 spread into the picture, making the weird, grey 
 trees opposite look still farther off; and then a 
 black steamer, its red line just over the water, 
 came into sight, and another coming up the 
 river nearly met it. The two blue clouds melted 
 into one another, and seemed to lie suspended 
 on the pale mist that rose from the water. Then 
 they too passed out of sight, so did the out- 
 rigger and the pleasure-boat — only a black, 
 lumbering barge, like some sleeping sea- 
 monster, moved slowly along, scarcely disturb- 
 ing the stillness of the scene. The low trees on 
 the opposite bank grew yet more weird and 
 shadowy ; they might have been phantoms, like 
 those near Pointe du Raz, waiting to be ferried 
 to the shores of the departed. 
 
 Gyneth sighed deeply ; she had nothing con- 
 sciously to sigh for ; her mother's loss was 
 always a present grief to her, but then Mrs. 
 Ralston had been a great sufferer, and her 
 daughter knew that death had been a boon. 
 
MARTHA AND GYXETH MEET. 257 
 
 Gyneth felt, too, how rare a blessing was her 
 aunt's warm and tender sympathy. No, her 
 sigh was not for past sorrow, it was rather 
 called up by a feeling of intense sympathy with 
 the dim, half-told mystery of the landscape ; for 
 Gyneth, like any other true worshipper of the 
 beautiful, loved all that appeared to the imagi- 
 nation beyond the mere outward vision, and 
 cared little for things which left nothing to dis- 
 cover. She thought it was this subdued reticence 
 that so attracted her in Mr. Penruddock. There 
 seemed so much to find out in anyone who had 
 either so little wish or so little power to reveal 
 himself. She sighed again at the contrast be- 
 tween him and Oliver Burridge, and Louisa's 
 talk on this subject, the evening after Oliver's 
 last visit, had vexed her. 
 
 " What are you going to do, Kitty f" the girl 
 had said. " That man will evidently propose to 
 you. Are you going to accept him f" 
 
 Gyneth did not answer ; she could not say, 
 as she had said in the spring, that Louisa 
 was "missy and fanciful" — she felt that 
 Oliver's manner had changed, and that his 
 
 VOL. I. S 
 
258 IN THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 evident preference for her made her shrink from 
 him ; and while she stood in hesitating silence 
 Louisa added, 
 
 " You don't know how you have changed lately 
 about poor Oliver Burridge ; when first I came 
 from school, he was everything that was gifted 
 and wonderful, and now I believe, in your secret 
 heart, you like that briefless barrister the best 
 of the two." 
 
 Gyneth turned very red. 
 
 " I thought we had agreed that this was not 
 a discussion we cared for. We are sure to 
 consider things differently so long as you think 
 as you do now. It is odious that one cannot 
 talk to a visitor without considering how much 
 he is w r orth, and what are his chances of getting 
 on in the world." 
 
 " It may be odious," Louisa could smile -with 
 superior wisdom, "but it is common sense. 
 What are girls in our position to do? We 
 have no claim on uncle ; and besides, he may 
 live for years, and you and I should make a 
 very pinched living on our own little income. I 
 consider it to be a duty, and certainly far more 
 
MARTHA AND GYNETH MEET. 259 
 
 unselfish, to establish myself as soon as possible 
 in a house of my own." Then she spoilt her 
 wisdom and added, " I thought you liked Oliver 
 Burridge." 
 
 " I do like him !" said Gyneth, vehemently, 
 " but you will make me hate him if you talk in 
 this way. I don't want to be married," she 
 tried to smile; " why should I take so desirable 
 a husband away from some one else?" 
 
 " Why V ' Louisa shrugged her shoulders. 
 " The reason is plain ; the man is very much 
 in love with you. Now don't turn off in a pet ; 
 you are very charming now, but you will get 
 older, and men don't care for a passee girl," said 
 this precocious monitor ; " and you have so 
 many tastes in common with Oliver Burridge 
 that I know you would love him dearly very 
 soon ; I quite look on him as a brother already." 
 
 Louisa checked herself; she saw by Gyneth's 
 frowning brows and flushed face that she was 
 not taking the wisest course of persuasion. 
 
 There was silence for a little ; then Gyneth 
 said, 
 
 "I do not want to be sillv or affected, 
 
 s2 
 
260 IN THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 Louy, and I tell you the truth in saying I have 
 no wish to be married. Now let us talk of 
 something else." 
 
 Louisa was vexed. She thought her sister 
 ought to trust her more fully. 
 
 " Well," she said, with a toss of her fair head, 
 "I only hope this Mr. Penruddoek has nothing 
 to do with your indifference to poor Oliver — 
 poor fellow, he has done nothing to deserve 
 such caprice. I can tell you one thing," she 
 said, with rather an unkind smile. " Mr. Pen- 
 ruddock is not a many in g man — he is like our- 
 selves, Kitty — if he marries at all he must have 
 money. The chief advantage of knowing him 
 is that he has a charming mother. I adore 
 Lady Mary, and I mean to make a friend of 
 her." 
 
 She departed, leaving her sister very much 
 ruffled ; far more disturbed by Louisa's words, 
 she thought, than was needful, or even natural ; 
 for there was inward discontent, apart from the 
 vexation caused by her sister's advice. Now, 
 as she stood looking at the grey water and 
 thinking of Maurice and Oliver, all this talk 
 came back to her. 
 
MARTHA AND GYXETH MEET. 261 
 
 " We are not quite what sisters should be/' 
 she thought. " And I cannot see how confidence 
 can exist while Louy is so worldly and schem- 
 ing*. No circumstances can ever make it right 
 for girls to settle that they will marry for ex- 
 pediency." But she was too fond of her young 
 sister to dwell on this. 
 
 She asked herself if she really was growing 
 •capricious. Did she prefer a new friend to an 
 old one? 
 
 "And yet," she said, "Mr. Burridge is only 
 an old friend of uncle's. I have not known 
 him more than a year ; and it is only lately 
 that we have grown intimate." But here con- 
 science smote hard. Gyneth knew that Oliver 
 had tried to let her see him as he really was, 
 failings and merits too ; while she had only 
 seen Mr. Penruddock twice, and knew nothing 
 of him. "And 1 feel I could not like his mo- 
 ther," she said. 
 
 She felt impatient with herself. Why need 
 she think of Mr. Penruddock at all. She was 
 bound to think of Oliver. He had not come to 
 The Elms for several days, not since the after- 
 
262 IN THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 noon when his manner had been so earnest, 
 Gyneth had silenced her sister's teazing, but 
 she knew that Oliver's manner had changed to- 
 wards herself, and she dreaded the next meet- 
 ing with him. She liked him so very much, 
 and yet whenever she got to this point in her 
 meditations something checked her from pur- 
 suing the subject. 
 
 She turned to leave the river. The bright, 
 angry red of the sky and its reflection had 
 grown dusky, mixing every instant with the 
 stealing grey that had lost its luminous weird- 
 ness, and would soon be dull and colour- 
 less. 
 
 Gyneth started when she saw looming through 
 the dimness, not many yards off, the tall figure 
 of a woman. The figure was coming rapidly 
 towards the opening, and turned to go up the 
 road when Gyneth did. The two women 
 looked hard at one another, and Miss Ralston 
 fancied that the stranger shivered, and drew 
 her shawl round her. She thought she looked 
 white and ill. 
 
 For a little while they walked side by side 
 
MARTHA AND GYNETH MEET. 263 
 
 till they reached the corner of the road which 
 led east and west through the market-gardens. 
 It was much lighter here, and Gyneth looked 
 at her companion again. A curious idea had 
 taken possession of her — this woman so exact- 
 ly answered to Mr. Penruddock's portrait of 
 Oliver's sister; and, as she gave a long search- 
 ing look at the pale face, it seemed to Miss 
 Kalston that she saw a likeness to Oliver him- 
 self. Should she claim acquaintance? even if 
 she were mistaken she should be glad of a 
 companion in the fading light ; but while she 
 hesitated the opportunity fled. The tall, strange 
 lady, for Gyneth decided that she was distin- 
 guished-looking, hurried on, and as soon as she 
 was a few steps in advance began to run. 
 
 Gyneth smiled. It seemed to her that, if this 
 were Miss Burridge, it was the very course her 
 shyness would lead her to take. 
 
 When Gyneth reached home she was told 
 that Mr. Burridge had called in her absence. 
 
 " I was to give you his card, ma'am," the 
 butler said. u He wrote a message on it." 
 
 Gyneth stood under the hall lamp to read the 
 
264 IN THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 pencilled words. The light fell on the soft 
 rounding of her cheeks, glowing with her rapid 
 walk ; her feathered hat, as she leant forward, 
 shadowed her eyes. Oliver had written : 
 
 iC Will you call on my sister to-morrow % 
 She will be glad to see you, and I shall be 
 much obliged." 
 
 "Will she be glad?" Gyneth thought. "I 
 doubt it — and yet that tall, mysterious-looking 
 woman may be some one else ; there are several 
 isolated cottages between that part of the 
 river and Fulham." But as, during her soli- 
 tary evening, Miss Ralston could not reckon 
 up any one acquaintance as remarkable and in- 
 teresting in appearance as this stranger of the 
 lane, she began to hope that she might prove 
 to be Miss Bur ridge, and to look forward with 
 quite changed feelings to this intimacy. 
 
 " Living so near, if we know one another, we 
 might be intimate/' she said, " and I don't 
 know why I seemed to shrink from seeing her." 
 
 She did not own it to herself, but Mr. Pen- 
 ruddock's praise had invested Miss Burridge 
 with interest ; " he is not a man who would like 
 
MARTHA AND GYXETH MEET. 265 
 
 everybody," Gyneth argued. Next minute she 
 smiled at herself. How could she judge of 
 his tastes? She had seen him so little. 
 
 {i I shall understand him better when I have 
 seen this perfection of his." 
 
 When she went to bed, she was surprised at 
 her own eagerness to become acquainted with 
 Martha Burridge. 
 
 Next morning was rainy. Mr. Venables read 
 the paper even more diligently than usual. Mrs. 
 Venables was tired, and had little to say about 
 the past evening, but Louisa was garrulous with 
 pleasure. The dinner in town had been so well 
 done, everything so stylish, and the dresses 
 charming. 
 
 " Not only fashionable, Kitty, but evidently 
 so costly — such magnificent silk, and the trim- 
 mings ! — I can't fancy what they must not have 
 cost." 
 
 " But were the people nice I" Gyneth asked. 
 
 " Really I can't tell you. I sat next a man 
 who had been in the war in the East ; he had 
 very little to say for himself, but then one felt 
 he was very likely a hero, and looked up to him. 
 
266 IN THE SWEET SPRIXG-TDIE. 
 
 My other neighbour, fat and middle-aged, did 
 nothing but grumble." 
 
 " But the women !" Gyneth asked. 
 
 " Oh, the women ! Well, I confess I was too 
 much taken up in studying the make of their 
 dresses to look at what was in them, or to care 
 for talk in the drawing-room. I begin to wish 
 you would part with Douglas, and get a less 
 old-fashioned maid ; she is really so behiDd-hand 
 in her ways and ideas. My hair was done 
 higher than anyone's." 
 
 Gyneth smiled. " Douglas shall take lessons, 
 Louy, but I cannot part from her as long as she 
 is willing to stay ; she always seems like a bit 
 of our dear mother." 
 
 Louy stooped to kiss her sister. " You are 
 an affectionate old dear," she said, " but I wish 
 you would do your hair fashionably." 
 
 In some ways Louisa had come between Gy- 
 neth and her aunt — not in the way of affection 
 or confidence, but Gyneth and Mrs. Venables 
 had grown into a habit of taking long country 
 drives together ; and now Louisa asserted the 
 claims of society, and declared the necessity 
 
MARTHA AND GYNETH MEET. 267 
 
 for paying visits far more frequently. Her 
 uncle warmly approved of this change, and 
 Mrs. Yenables acquiesced in it, and saw the 
 justice of the girl's arguments, although she 
 secretly lamented the lost pleasures she had 
 enjoyed with her eldest niece. 
 
 To-day, therefore,, Gyneth did not say a word 
 about her intended visit, lest Louisa should 
 propose to go with her. She felt instinctively 
 that Miss Burridge would be more at ease with 
 her than with her more stylish sister. She 
 dressed herself as simply as possible, and, as 
 soon as Mrs. Venables and Louisa had driven 
 off, she started for the cottage. 
 
 She had begun to gather some lovely July 
 roses to take with her, and then she remem- 
 bered what Mr. Penrudclock had said about 
 Martha's pride. 
 
 " I will give them to Mrs. Tew/' she said. 
 
 Reuben was standing outside the lodge as 
 she approached. 
 
 " The missus ain't in," he said, in answer to 
 Miss Ralston's inquiry. " Yes, I'll give her the 
 roses, Miss Kitty, such as they are ; your kind- 
 
2QS IN THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 ness in bringing of 'em is what she'll think of 
 and value ; it ain't no matter to her that the 
 roses is no more the roses they was than Fm 
 the man I was when I had the priming of 'em. 
 Ah, they were roses, if you like. These are well 
 enough, when you consider Parkins's legs, and 
 his whiskers, and the time he spends on ; em ; 
 they're pretty much as good as might be ex- 
 pected. But if I may make so free, miss, why 
 don't you drive out every day like you used ?" 
 
 61 1 do sometimes, but I like walking too, 
 Keuben." 
 
 " Do you now !" He looked at her inquisi- 
 tively. " Don't you walk too much by yourself 
 in the cabbage gardens ; there's more nor 
 there should be of loafers and tramps about. I 
 don't hold with young ladies walking about 
 alone." fie said this with his chin in the air, 
 quite as much to himself as to Gyneth, and she 
 passed out into the road, leaving him standing 
 with the roses in his hand. 
 
 The rain had ceased ; bright drops glittered 
 on the leaves in a pale watery sunshine, but 
 the dust lay quiet, and Gyneth found this 
 
MARTHA AND GYNETH MEET. 269 
 
 shadeless walk far less trying than she had 
 expected. The birds were everywhere chirp- 
 ing a hope that rain was over for to-day, and 
 as Miss Ralston reached the yellow gate of 
 Holly Cottage, the song of the canaries poured 
 out in a gush of noisy welcome. 
 
 Jane opened the gate, and, when Gyneth 
 asked for Miss Burriclge, she looked over her 
 shoulder towards the porch. 
 
 Gyneth saw a tall lady rise from the rose- 
 sheltered seat and come forward towards her. 
 
270 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 AN INTERVIEW. 
 
 1ITARTHA had decided to receive Miss Kal- 
 - L "- L ston out of doors ; she was ashamed to 
 expose her want of taste arid of household 
 graces to this competent judge's criticism. 
 
 She came forward nervously and held out her 
 hand, and Gyneth recognized, as she expected, 
 the tall stranger beside the river, and yet she 
 could not smile at once. Martha's eyes were so 
 full of shrinking dread that a strange fear crept 
 over her companion. There was warning, al- 
 most menace, in the gaze of those deep green 
 eyes. 
 
 Next moment the spell loosened, and the two 
 women smiled at one another. 
 
AN INTERVIEW. 271 
 
 " I believe I met you last night," said Gyneth, 
 in her sweet low voice. "Yes. I was half 
 tempted to speak to you, and then I suppose 
 I was too shy." 
 
 " You cannot be shy." Gyneth shrank from 
 the constrained voice, but next moment Martha 
 spoke more gently. 
 
 " Will you sit here ?" she said. " Or do you 
 prefer to come in-doors ?" 
 
 " I like being here, thank you." Gyneth's 
 eyes were riveted on her companion. She 
 thought she had never seen anyone like this 
 before. This beautiful woman, with her crown 
 of rich brown-red hair, was a picture she could 
 not tire of gazing at. How splendid she was, 
 with her background of dark leafy green, her 
 round white throat, rising above the tiny line 
 of white collar that parted it from her green, 
 straight-falling gown. 
 
 Gyneth had been painting that morning sun- 
 flowers against a pale background, and the 
 thought came to her, as she gazed, how grand 
 Martha would look among the tall golden 
 blossoms. 
 
272 IN THE SWEET SPRING-TDIE. 
 
 But it was plain that Martha would not break 
 silence. She sat twiniDg her white fingers 
 together, and stealing long looks at her visitor. 
 
 " I hope your brother is well," Gyneth said. 
 
 " Yes, thank you." Martha spoke very stiffly, 
 for the question seemed sheer hypocrisy. She 
 thought Oliver went every day to The Elms. 
 Miss Ralston must see more of him than she 
 did. 
 
 " We know a friend of yours," Gyneth went 
 on. " Mr. Penruddock." 
 
 She said this nervously. Martha's constrained, 
 impassive manner was beginning to tell on her 
 visitor's composure, and Gyneth felt singularly 
 ill at ease. A slight flush rose on the pale, 
 immovable face. 
 
 "Yes, he is an old friend." Then, fastening 
 her eyes searchingly on the sweet eyes opposite 
 her, " Do you like him V she said. 
 
 "Yes, very much/' Gyneth answered, hur- 
 riedly ; but there was something in the tone of 
 Martha's question that roused her. She began 
 to feel that she did not like Miss Burridge. 
 
 "Do you like this part of London?" she 
 
AN INTERVIEW. 273 
 
 asked. " It is very far from town for your 
 brother, is it not?" 
 
 "Yes." Martha hesitated; then, looking 
 straight at her visitor, " He only took the cot- 
 tage at first for a few weeks, and then, when 
 he began to know your uncle, and all of you," 
 she added, with an effort, " he settled to keep 
 it on till the end of the year." 
 
 "I am glad you are going to stay. I hope 
 we shall see one another sometimes." Gyneth 
 had tried to speak as pleasantly as she could, 
 but no answering smile came on Martha's face. 
 She was striving to get courage to say what 
 was in her mind, and she pinched her fingers 
 painfully, while the flush on her cheek spread 
 and deepened. 
 
 " I don't know/' she answered. 
 
 Gyneth's courage rose. She began to feel 
 no longer afraid of this proud-looking woman. 
 She thought Miss Burridge carried reserve to 
 the verge of rudeness. 
 
 lt My aunt," she went on, " will be very glad 
 to see you, if you will kindly call at The Elms. 
 We are almost always in at five o'clock." 
 
 VOL. I. T 
 
274 IN THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 Martha looked at her silently for a moment 
 or two. 
 
 " No, thank you," she said, abruptly, u I'll not 
 come." 
 
 Gyneth began to think that Oliver's sister 
 was w T ise to shut herself up. She must be 
 crazy to be so rude ; but, before she could 
 speak, something in Gyneth's face, or in the 
 sympathetic atmosphere of her presence, ex- 
 pelled the dumb spirit that had chained Martha's 
 tongue. 
 
 " You think me very rude." She held up one 
 of her hands in protest, and Gyneth wondered 
 at its exquisite fairness, and at the blue veins 
 that showed so plainly through the delicate 
 skin. " I am ignorant of all that belongs to 
 polite society, but, if I refuse to go and see your 
 aunt, it is not from rudeness — it is because I 
 won't inflict myself upon her." 
 
 Gyneth scarcely knew how to answer, for she 
 felt that Mrs. Venables would shrink from this 
 singular woman. 
 
 "But you will come and see me," she said, 
 sweetly. Something was drawing her strongly 
 
AN INTERVIEW. 275 
 
 towards Martha. She felt more and more inte- 
 rested. 
 
 Martha shook her head. 
 
 " I don't care to look foolish/' she said, bluntly. 
 " Miss Ralston, you talked of feeling shy just 
 now. You have no idea what real shyness is." 
 
 " I know something of it/' the girl answered ; 
 " but I can tell you that the more visits you pay, 
 and the more strangers you see, the less shy 
 you become. You can hardly imagine how shy 
 I was some years ago." 
 
 Martha's eyes brightened ; she forgot to 
 think of herself in her eagerness to answer. 
 
 "That is very well for you — when you left off 
 being shy — there was something in you worth 
 knowing and caring for ; it is quite impossible 
 anyone could care to know me for myself." 
 
 Gyneth had grown excited, partly by con- 
 tradiction, partly by the belief in others, which 
 was part of her enthusiastic nature. 
 
 " I thought we were supposed to know no- 
 thing about ourselves," she said. " I do not 
 see, if you have always kept out of society, how 
 you can tell what impression you would make 
 
 T 2 
 
276 IN THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 there ; silent people are often the most popular."* 
 
 " I should not care to be popular," Martha 
 said, coldly — she had begun to think Miss 
 Ralston did not understand her, though she 
 had spoken so freely. " I know beforehand 
 the tax I should be on others. I should sit 
 in a corner, not saying a word, and making 
 people feel themselves obliged to be civil, while 
 I was only taking up the room of some one who 
 could have been pleasant." 
 
 She smiled and shrugged her shoulders in a 
 sort of shiver at the picture she had created. 
 
 Gyneth was puzzled. The true insight of 
 sympathy had already told her that in prac- 
 tice Martha Burridge was not a woman who 
 lived for herself and her own enjoyment of life, 
 and yet this way of talking sounded very 
 selfish. 
 
 "I cannot agree with you/' she said. "I 
 confess I like society, though perhaps I don't 
 care much for stiff parties ; but I should have 
 thought that, to anyone looking at life merely 
 from the duty side of it, it wouldn't seem right 
 to shut oneself out from the chance of benefiting 
 or helping a neighbour/' 
 
AN INTERVIEW. 277 
 
 " You are laughing at me, Miss Ralston. 
 Well, you are too kind for that, perhaps ; but 
 if you knew me better, you would not think I 
 could help anyone." 
 
 Gyneth smiled, and Martha began to feel the 
 loving, gentle influence of her presence — she 
 could not have explained it, but a feeling of 
 warmth, and of brightness too, seemed to be 
 creeping into her soul, shed down on her from 
 the liquid glances of those sweet dark eyes, 
 drawing her out of her reserve in a way she had 
 as yet hardly realised. 
 
 " I said once very nearly what you have been 
 saying," Miss Ralston said, " and I was told that 
 one did not go only into society to please one- 
 self, one went also either for good or for harm 
 to others ; that it was impossible to play a 
 colourless, neutral part in life, and that one 
 might have a power of giving pleasure quite 
 apart from any mere self-loving wish to 
 please." Then, laughing at her own serious- 
 ness, " I don't mean to say that I think one can 
 remember this, and act on it consciously — 
 pleasure and outward distraction carry one so 
 
278 IN THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 completely out of self-consciousness ; but I sup- 
 pose this idea may act as a principle, and help 
 one spite of oneself." 
 
 Martha shook her head incredulously. 
 
 " I remember," said Gyneth, " reading once 
 that, when one of the saints was preaching a 
 sermon, in the middle of it he felt tempted to 
 be vain of his own eloquence, and called out 
 suddenly, ' I did not begin this to please Satan, 
 neither shall he have the end of it ; let God have 
 all the glory.' I suppose that story carries out 
 my idea better than I can express it myself." 
 
 "I know little about saints/' said Martha, 
 abruptly ; "but I like you, and if you care to 
 come to see me again, I shall be glad to see 
 you. I had rather not go to The Elms. I dare 
 say it is selfish to refuse your kindness, but 
 it would mentally cost me too much." 
 
 Gyneth rose. " I suppose I must hope that 
 you will change your mind. Thank you for 
 saying I may come to see you. I shall like it 
 very much." 
 
 "Can you stay a little longer now?" said 
 Martha, with the shyness with which one 
 
AN INTERVIEW. 279 
 
 •woman, conscious of her own want of fascina- 
 tion, offers friendship to another more liberally 
 gifted. 
 
 Gyneth sat down again. "What a pleasant, 
 quiet nest you have here ! You must have 
 plenty of time for reading." 
 
 " Yes, I have. I read nearly all day ; but, 
 Miss Ealston," — the colour flew up to her fore- 
 head — " I want to know if you like Oliver?" 
 
 She fastened her eyes so keenly on Gyneth's 
 face that the girl found it impossible to answer 
 unconsciously. 
 
 "1 like him extremely," she said; "he is so 
 wonderfully clever. You must be very proud 
 of your brother," she added, smiling. 
 
 " There is no one like him," — Martha drew 
 up her head, and her eyes brightened. "He has 
 been like that ever since he was a young boy ; 
 whatever he planned was sure to be right, and 
 always did well ; and, Miss Ralston/' she said, 
 emphatically, " whatever he sets his mind on is 
 sure to happen. He is very determined ; and 
 he gets his own way with everyone, because he 
 is always right." 
 
280 IN THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 Gyneth kept sileiit. A cold chill had fallen 
 on her while she listened ; the dread that she 
 had once before felt of Oliver revived. If he 
 really loved her, would he make her many 
 him? She did not dislike him, and since she 
 had seen Martha she felt a yet deeper interest 
 in him ; but she recoiled from the idea of being 
 his wife. 
 
 " Do you often see Mr. Penruddock ?" — 
 Martha spoke hastily, wishing to turn the con- 
 versation from Oliver. 
 
 " We have not seen much of him ; we have 
 only known him lately ; he is a very old friend 
 of yours, I believe ?" She said this as a ques- 
 tion ; she wanted to make Martha speak of Mr. 
 Penruddock. 
 
 u He is the only friend I have ever had; he 
 comes often to see us," she said, almost boast- 
 fully, Gyneth thought. " He told me I should 
 like you, and he was right ; I was afraid you 
 were more fashionable." 
 
 " But " — Gyneth smiled mischievously — " is 
 it not hard that because a person is fashionable 
 you resolve to dislike her? — fashion seems such 
 
AX INTERVIEW. 281 
 
 a very outside quality — sometimes put on aud 
 taken off with one's clothes.' , 
 
 " I mean something more than that," Martha 
 said. She longed to ask whether Miss Ralston 
 knew Lady Mary Penruddock, and to hear her 
 opinion of Maurice's mother ; but she shrank 
 from asking; it seemed a sort of treason to 
 discuss anything relating to him with a mere 
 acquaintance. 
 
 " Well " — Gyneth got up to go away, — u I 
 suppose I ought to be grateful that Mr. Pen- 
 ruddock gave me a good character ; he talked 
 very much of you ; I could see he knew all about 
 
 you." 
 
 Martha flushed,, and then turned pale. 
 
 " Did he speak of me?" she said—" did he?" 
 There were other words on her tongue, but she 
 forced them back into silence. It was such a 
 deep joy to learn that Maurice cared to talk of 
 her, that all other thoughts were soothed into 
 sweet peace. She smiled genially at Gyneth 
 as she walked with her to the gate. She even 
 smiled when Miss Ralston asked to be remem- 
 bered to Oliver, and, coming back to the porch 
 
282 IN THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 alone, she sat down to quiet the unwonted ex- 
 citement caused by the visit, and to muse over 
 Gyneth's words. 
 
283 
 
 CHAPTER XYI. 
 
 A ROW UP THE RIVER. 
 
 "MAURICE PENRUDDOCK had only just 
 •**■*• reached his chambers, and was opening 
 his letters, when Oliver came hurrying in with- 
 out waiting to be announced, closely followed 
 by the discomfited clerk, aghast at such an 
 invasion. 
 
 Maurice's reception of his visitor seemed to 
 pacify the clerk, who retreated to the den where 
 he spent his day in killing -flies and reading the 
 paper. 
 
 " I beg your pardon, my dear fellow " — Oliver 
 was breathless with excitement, — " but I've got 
 news for you." 
 
 11 Good, I'm sure " — Maurice's face was full of 
 
284 IN THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 ready sympathy, and he grasped Oliver's hand 
 warmly ; — " what is it, old fellow 1" 
 
 "Well" — Oliver drew a deep breath, and 
 checked the excitement, which had increased 
 in his rapid journey to his friend's chambers, — 
 " I told you the machine would soon be tried 
 — at least, the small one which I have been 
 improving." 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Well, it had been settled that when it was 
 judged to be a favourable time for the trial 1 
 was to go down, so as to be present. Very well. 
 I took no more thought about it, and this morn- 
 ing I get this news ; I've left the letter with 
 Martha, who can't take her eyes off it. Old 
 Hawkes, our senior partner, you know, in his 
 anxiety to spare me disappointment — he has 
 never quite believed in me — actually made the 
 trial the night before last, and it is a complete 
 success — at least, the only hitches are those I 
 have provided against in my last improve- 
 ments. Now will you believe in me another 
 time ?" he said, triumphantly. 
 
 "I have always believed in you," Maurice 
 
A ROW UP THE RIVER. 285 
 
 said, heartily. " How do the workpeople take 
 it!" 
 
 " Only a few know — the men who were 
 wanted to work it ; there lies our difficulty ; but 
 they believe in me, most of them ; it will be all 
 right when I go down among 'em. By Jove ! I 
 was never so glad of anything in my life ; I 
 actually mean to take a holiday. Come along, 
 old fellow, out of this dark hole and get some 
 fresh air ; let's go on the river." 
 
 " Very well ; I'll come," Maurice said, quickly ; 
 he could not at once rise to the boisterous level 
 of his friend's spirits. 
 
 Oliver went on talking eagerly while he 
 waited. 
 
 "I must do something to get through the 
 day/' he said, impetuously. 
 
 Maurice wondered. He thought Oliver would 
 have borne his success with so much more dig- 
 nity ; he could not understand this tumultuous 
 excitement. 
 
 " You are going down yourself to see it 
 work f" he said. 
 
 11 1 should have started by now " — Oliver 
 
286 IN THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 spoke eagerly; — "but I must do something 
 first — I must see Mr. Venables, and he, I find, is 
 away, and only returns to-night." 
 
 Still Maurice wondered, and the two friends 
 walked silently along the embankment, as 
 Oliver meant to take a boat at Battersea 
 Bridge. 
 
 Presently he burst out again — 
 
 "I never was so glad. I know now that I 
 did not feel sure about it, though I thought I 
 did. Maurice, old fellow, what makes }^ou so 
 silent 1 I know you think I'm a fool to be car- 
 ried away by success. You're wrong, my boy, 
 it's not that at all ; something far better worth 
 having than even success." 
 
 The two men looked at one another, and 
 again Maurice shrank into himself; but he forced 
 a show of interest— he could not understand his 
 own coldness. 
 
 " Indeed !" he said. " What is that ?" 
 
 " I nearly told you on the day of the garden- 
 party — the day at The Elms, I mean. I forget 
 that is not the only garden-party in the world 
 for you, as it is for me. Well, it's this — I love 
 
A ROW UP THE RIVER. 287 
 
 Miss Ralston, and I can have no peace till I've 
 asked her uncle's leave to speak to her." 
 
 At every word Maurice's heart had hardened 
 against his friend, he longed to go away and 
 leave him to talk his love out by himself. 
 Oliver's selfishness and self-love had grown all 
 in one moment intolerable. 
 
 "Does she — Miss Ealston — know anything 
 of this ? " he said, coldly, and he looked hard 
 across the river at the green frosted spire of 
 Battersea Church. 
 
 ei If you mean have I said anything to her — 
 certainly not. 1 did not feel justified in speak- 
 ing till my success was sure, impetuous as you 
 may think me ; but she must know I love her, 
 and she is too high-minded to listen to me as she 
 does, unless she meant to give me hope. Well, 
 don't you think I'm a lucky fellow, now? Bless 
 my soul, what's the success of the machine to 
 this ? Nothing at all ; and yet one hinges on 
 the other." 
 
 " I don't see that," said Maurice. He could 
 not help contradicting, he was so much out of 
 temper with Oliver. " If a girl loves a man, 
 
288 IN THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 she loves him whether he's rich or poor, success- 
 ful or unsuccessful." 
 
 " Quite right ; but no poor man worth his salt 
 could ask such a girl as Gyneth Ralston to share 
 a small income. A delicate, refined creature 
 like that, every inch a lady, must have every 
 luxury in her home." 
 
 He waited, but Maurice kept silent. 
 
 " Won't you wish me success, old fellow V* 
 Oliver said. " What is it? Don't you want me 
 to marry?" 
 
 He turned such honest, affectionate eyes on 
 his friend that Maurice was touched, his heart 
 smote him for his want of sympathy. If Miss 
 Ralston chose to marry Oliver, she had a right 
 to please herself. 
 
 " I daresay I'm selfish," he said, giving Oliver 
 a smile which soothed him ; iC and I daresay 
 Martha is so too. You see, this will break up 
 our happy evenings at the cottage." 
 
 Oliver was satisfied. The assurance of affec- 
 tion was what he wanted just then. He had 
 so much to think of that he did not care for 
 many words, nor was he critical about the way 
 in which they were spoken. 
 
A ROW UP THE RIVER. 289 
 
 " You see I cannot be married till the whole 
 thing is fairly in working order ; and, of course, 
 although there's no doubt how it will end, there 
 may just at first be a fuss with the mill hands. 
 But, anyway, I don't see why a man need give 
 up his friends because he marries." 
 
 They had been going along Cheyne Walk, 
 with its old red houses, suggestive of departed 
 grandeur, of the wit and beauty, the vice and 
 fashion, of the old days of King Charles and 
 Queen Anne, and now Oliver hurried on, and 
 had soon settled on a boat to carry them to 
 Shepperton. 
 
 " Rather a long pull," he said, " but we can 
 come up by train, and it's just what I want to 
 quiet myself. You can steer. I don't want 
 help, Maurice." 
 
 But Maurice preferred to take an oar. He 
 had no wish to talk, neither did he care to sit 
 face to face for so many hours, while his friend 
 was in this talkative mood. 
 
 His brain was as irritable, and as much in 
 need of repose, as that of a dyspeptic patient 
 after a too liberal meal. He had the conscious- 
 
 VOL. I. U 
 
290 IN THE SWEET SPRIXG-TDIE. 
 
 ness of weight and disquiet, and also of the 
 necessity for searching his own feelings as to 
 the cause of these sensations, which, in a finely- 
 strung nature, insists on freedom from any out- 
 ward disturbance, or, when disturbed, will cause 
 an outbreak, wholly puzzling to an unsympa- 
 thetic outsider. In such a case the intense- 
 longing for a period of undisturbed mental di- 
 gestion may well make the sufferer envy the 
 placid cows ruminating in large leisure under 
 the shade of the trees. 
 
 They passed the pleasant sloping lawns this 
 side Putney Bridge, with charming houses, or 
 else the signs of them, in blue wreaths of smoke 
 among the trees ; and as they passed The Elms? 
 both the rowers' heads turned and gave a long 
 gaze at the terraced walk beside the river, but 
 neither of them spoke ; and even when they had 
 passed under the bridges at Putney, and beside 
 the old opal-grey towers that guard the river 
 at this point, one looking down from its sur- 
 rounding headstones at the other nestling 
 among lofty elm-trees, they scarcely noticed 
 the river banks. 
 
A ROW UP THE RIVER. 291 
 
 The river was very gay and busy at this 
 point ; outriggers and rowing boats, with gaily 
 painted sides, darted swiftly past them, like 
 dragon-flies or a kingfisher in search of prey. 
 Then there were steamers here to be watched 
 for and avoided, with freights of happy-looking 
 people, chiefly nurses and children, going to 
 spend an afternoon at Richmond or Kew. 
 
 Maurice's brows knit and his teeth grew set 
 in his efforts to concentrate attention on him- 
 self amid all these calls on his watchfulness. 
 He had no need to ask himself twice why 
 Oliver's news had so disturbed him ; he was 
 much too real a man to keep a veil over his 
 own feelings when he gave himself up to retro- 
 spect ; he was doing this now, and something 
 closer and sharper-sighted than mere dreaming, 
 which in itself would have been more consonant 
 with his gentle, simple nature than this more 
 earnest form of questioning. 
 
 He sighed heavily. He saw that all uncon- 
 sciously he had let the image of Gyneth Ral- 
 ston pass from the mere pleasant interest which 
 he had thought she inspired to a far deeper 
 
 u2 
 
292 IN THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 place in his heart. This must be so, he argued, 
 or why should he be so troubled by the news of 
 Oliver's love for her % 
 
 " I am not so vain," he said, " as to be angry 
 that she likes him, unless I want her myself." 
 
 The thing that puzzled him was that, al- 
 though he had been conscious of an increased 
 charm in Gyneth in his last visit, still his feel- 
 ing for her had been the same from their first 
 meeting — a feeling that she was unlike anyone 
 he had ever seen. She rose before him full of 
 charming grace and refinement. He forced 
 himself to consider her side by side with 
 Oliver 
 
 " Hulloa, what are you about there ?" from a 
 boat they had nearly fouled by Maurice's care- 
 lessness, interrupted his reverie. 
 
 He strained vigorously at his oar, and they 
 shot past the danger. 
 
 "I say, old fellow, you must keep a look out,"" 
 said Oliver, cheerfully ; " if I'd done it, now, 
 there'd have been some excuse, but a steady old 
 chap like you, who have never been in love in 
 your life — I'll tell Martha ! She will be amused.' r 
 
A ROW UP THE RIVER. 293 
 
 Maurice felt more and more alienated. He 
 shrank from the open way in which Oliver 
 spoke of his feelings ; it seemed a profanation 
 to couple Gyneth Ralston's name with his 
 friend's. 
 
 " He cannot make her happy/' he thought ; 
 and then a strong temptation came to Maurice. 
 He had not thought of marriage for some years 
 yet, but then he shrank from the ordinary idea 
 of marriage as a respectable institution, with 
 its comforts and responsibilities, its dulness and 
 security. It was quite another idea to covet 
 the possession of Gyneth as a life-long com- 
 panion, a sympathiser in his aspirations, a 
 sharer of thoughts hitherto unshared even by 
 Martha. 
 
 Here he checked himself. Why did he not 
 confide more entirely in Martha ? So far as 
 he could judge, her judgment was firmer and 
 far less timid in asserting itself than Gyneth 
 Ralston's was, and yet Maurice knew that it 
 was this half timid, half saucy manner that 
 heightened the charm of those sweet dark eyes. 
 He was puzzled at Oliver's choice ; he fancied 
 
294 IN THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 he would have preferred more decided beauty, 
 less dependent on expression. It was quite 
 possible that his friend had been mistaken in 
 his choice, and that Miss Ralston would fail to 
 make him happy. 
 
 But a warm tide of shame swept the temp- 
 tation from him. Setting aside Oliver's confi- 
 dence, Maurice was not in a position to offer such 
 a home to Gyneth as she might expect, and it 
 would have been mere selfishness to bind such a 
 girl to a long engagement ; but now the idea was 
 a treason against his generous-hearted friend. 
 Martha and Oliver had treated him like a bro- 
 ther, and he was bound to them very closely ; 
 if he were a true brother, then Oliver's happi- 
 ness should be as dear to him as his own. After 
 all, he knew very little of this girl ; it was pos- 
 sible that she loved Oliver, and that he was 
 her ideal, for he felt sure she would not marry 
 a man she could not love. 
 
 " Why should I dream that I should suit her 
 better V he said. " Surely I do not compare 
 myself with that fellow either for talent or 
 goodness. I suppose I am thinking of what 
 
A ROW UP THE RIVER. 295 
 
 my mother said, and yet who can tell? A 
 practical, energetic fellow like Oliver is perhaps 
 the very man who needs a dreamy, unworldly 
 nature beside him to soften and refine his down- 
 lightness." 
 
 And then, with the strong revulsion that 
 with Maurice always followed the slightest in- 
 justice, it seemed as if his eyes opened, and he 
 saw magnificent and glowing all the grand and 
 sterling qualities of his friend, and his own 
 insignificance beside him. 
 
 " He is so true," he said, " so manly, and so ' 
 thoroughly in earnest — earnest both in theory 
 and practice — his schemes are no mere flights 
 of fancy. He has real enthusiasm, and both the 
 fire and the energy to keep it burning, which 
 so many enthusiasts lack/' — and then he told 
 himself that Oliver would not have dreamed of 
 trying to rival him in his love ; he had always 
 been the same from a boy, steadfast and gener- 
 ous. Since Maurice's thoughts had been so full 
 of Gyneth, he had not been again to the cot- 
 tage, though he had called at The Elms, and a 
 sense of his inconsistency increased the warmth 
 
296 IN THE SWEET SPRING-TIME. 
 
 of this revulsion of feeling towards Oliver. He 
 remembered how pale and troubled Martha had 
 been, and he guessed now that she had longed 
 to tell him about Oliver's love. He was the 
 only friend of this shy girl, and he had not 
 even given her the chance of pouring out con- 
 fidences to him when she most needed sym- 
 pathy. He resolved to go to the cottage 
 this evening; and he also determined that he 
 would not see Gyneth Ralston again until she 
 was married to Oliver. 
 
 He smiled at this resolution. It seemed to 
 him that he was treating a mere fancy too seri- 
 ously; but it was safest not to investigate 
 any closer the place which this fair creature 
 had taken in his affections, and he shrank from 
 seeing her under these new convictions ; he 
 looked over his shoulder, and gave Oliver an 
 affectionate smile. 
 
 "You will tell me, as soon as you have 
 settled matters at The Elms, won't you?" he 
 said. 
 
 Oliver was delighted. In spite of his brusque 
 ways a certain self-consciousness made him sen- 
 
A ROW UP THE RIVER. 297 
 
 sitive, and he had felt the coldness of this long 
 silence. 
 
 " Of course I shall tell you. You and Mar- 
 tha will have to plan heaps of things, and you'll 
 have to be best man, you know." 
 
 He looked so happy, so full of faith in him- 
 self, that Maurice thought Martha was right. 
 Oliver's will was sure to have its own way. 
 
 END OF THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 LONDON: PRINTED BY DUNCAN MACDONALD, BLENHEIM HOUSE.