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Cº- ºrsº [III] |III i Šºć - aft i Tiſſilſ: Yºº ！!！！！ º!!! º lºſſ º 5 ºf IIIHIII } İ f } į | || | | | Túſū [HTITIII |||}|| ºa º ºx! Tüſülüſülüſülüſü. liff ! iſſiſſiſi ģ}&{{|- -}S№&#ģ% º sº sº. º İ İ İſtiſſ ſ •■■■■■■■■■■■■■■ IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIſi|ffſ）)\!\!\！\!\， ·īïIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII ¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡ïffffff;" | | - Źź ¿5; ¿¿. 。 ºſº, & 2, 3. \\ 3% ca, A CHANGE OF AIR BY ANTHONY HOPE \* . AUTHOR OF “THE PRISONER OF zENDA,” “RUPERT OF HENTZAU,” ETC. NEW YORK THE MERSHON COMPANY PUBLISHERS ) ºl - 3-Q. 5 CON TENTS. CIMAP, - JPAGE. I. A Mission to the Heathen........ • . . . . . . . . . 5 II. The New Man at Little Hill........... • . . . . 11 III. Denborough Determines to Call............ 19 IV. A Quiet Sunday Afternoon............ . . . . . 29 V. The Necessary Scapegoat . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 89 VI. Littlehill goes into Society.............. . . . 49 VII. “To a Pretty Saint,” .................. . . . . 59 VIII. An Indiscreet Disciple..................... 68 IX. Dale's own Opinion. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . , 78 X. A Prejudiced Verdict................. . . . . . 88 XI. A Fable about Birds. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 98 XII. A Dedication—and a Desecration.......... ... 106 XIII. The Responsibilities of Genius............. 114 XIV. Mr. Delane likes the Idea................. . 123 XV". Hºw it Seened to tho Doctor. . . . . . . . . . . . . . 132 XVI. “No more Kings "... . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 140 XVII. Dale tries bis Hand at an Ode. . . . . . . . . . . . . . 151 XVIJI. Delilah Johnstone. . . . . . . . . . . . © º e º º 'º g . . . . . . . 158 XIX. A Well-paid Poem............ ............ . 165 XX. An Evening's End. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . , 172 iv. CONTENTS. CHA P. PAGE. XXI. “The Other Girl Did.”.................... 178 XXII. The Fitness of Things...................... 186 XXIII. A Morbid Scruple.......................... 195 XXIV. The Heroine of the Incident. ............... 202 XXV. The Scene of the Outrage. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 212 XXVI. Against her Better Judgment. ............. 222 XXVII. A Villain. Unmasked........... * * * * * e s e e s tº e 230 XXVIII. A Vision. • - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 237 A CHANGE OF AIR. *sºns -º-º-e CHAPTER I. A MISSION TO THE HEATHEN. WHEN the Great King, that mirror of a majesty whereof modern times have robbed the world, recoiled aghast from the threatened indignity of having to wait, he laid his finger with a true touch on a characteristic incident of the lot of common men, from which it was seemly that the state of God’s Vicegerents should be free. It was a small matter, no doubt, a thing of man- ners merely and etiquette; yet manners and eti- quette are first the shadowed expression of facts and then the survival of them, the reverence once paid to power, and now accorded, in a strange mixture of chivalry and calculation, to mere place whence power has fled. The day of vicegerents is gone, and the day of officers has come; and it is not unknown that officers should have to wait, or even, such is the insolence, no longer of office but of those who give it, should altogether go without. Yet, although everybody has now to wait, everybody has not to wait the same length of time. For example, a genius needs not wait 5 6 A CHANGE OF AIR. so long for what he wants as a fool—unless, as chances now and then, he be both a genius and a fool, when probably his waiting will be utterly without end. In a small flat in Chelsea, very high towards heaven, there sat one evening in the summer, two young men and a genius; and the younger of the young men, whose name was Arthur Angell, said discontentedly to the genius, “The brute only sent me ten and sixpence. What did you get for yours?” The genius blushed and murmured apologeti- cally, “That agent chap I’ve sold myself to got twenty pounds for it.” The second young man, who was not so young, being, in fact, well turned of thirty, and growing bald, took his pipe out of his mouth, and, point- ing the stem first at the genius, then at Arthur Angell, and lastly, like a knife, at his own breast, said, “Pounds—shillings—and pence. He sent me nothing at all.” A pause followed, and the genius began : “Look here, you fellows”—But Philip Hume went on: “Ten and sixpence is a good sum of money, a comfortable sum of money, and, my dear Arthur, I should say the full value of your poem. As to Dale's poem, who knows the value of Dale's poem 2 By what rod shall you meas- ure—” He broke off with a laugh at Dale's gest- ure of protest. “I’m making the deuce of a lot of money,” said Dale in an awestruck tone. “It’s rolling in. I don’t know what to do with it.” A CEIANGE OF AIR. 7 “Littlehill will swallow it,” said Philip. “You don’t mean that he sticks to that idea?” exclaimed Arthur. “You don’t, do you, Dale?” “I do,” answered Dale. “I’m not going per- manently. I’m not going to forsake our old ways or our old life. I’m not going to turn into a rich man.” “I hope not, by Jovel” cried Arthur. “But I want to see the country—I’ve not seen it for years. And I want to see country people, and—and—” “It’ll end in our losing you,” prophesied Arthur gloomily. “Nonsense !” said Dale, flushing a little. “It’ll end in nothing of the sort. I’ve only taken the house for a year.” “A gentleman’s residence,” said Philip : “five sitting-rooms, twelve bedrooms, offices, stabling, and three acres of grounds.” Arthur groaned. “It sounds a villa all over,” he said. “Not at all,” said Dale sharply; “it’s a country house.” * f i. there any difference 2° asked Arthur scorn- ully. “All the difference,” said Philip, “as you would know if you moved in anything approaching re- pectable circles.” “I’m glad I don’t,” said Arthur. “What will respectable circles say to The Clarion, eh, Dale P” “Who cares what they say?” laughed Dale. “They seem to buy it.” Arthur looked at him with revengeful eye, and suddenly inquired, “What about Nellie P’’ 8 A CHANGE OF AIR. “That's just the delightful part of it,” answered Dale eagerly. “Nellie's been seedy ever so long, you know. She was ordered perfect rest and country air. But it didn’t run to it.” “It never ran to anything here,” said Philip in a tone of dispassionate acquiescence in facts, “till you became famous.” “Now I can help !” pursued Dale. “She and Mrs. Hodge are coming to pay me a long visit. Of course, Phil's going to be there permanently. You’ll come too, Arthur P” At first Arthur Angell said he would not go near a villa, he could not breathe in a villa, or sleep quiet O’ nights in a villa; but presently he relented. “I can’t stand it for long, though,” he said. “Still, I’m glad you’re going to have Nellie there. She’d have missed you awfully. When do you go?” “Actually, to-morrow. I’m not used to it yet.” h Arthur shook his head again, as he put on his at. “Well, good-night,” said he. “I hope it’s all right.” Dale waited till the door was closed behind his guest, and then laughed good-humoredly. “I like old Arth “,” he said. “He’s So keen and in earnest about it. But it’s all bosh. What difference can it make whether I live in London or the country? And it's only for a little while.” “He begins to include you in the well-to-do classes, and suspects you accordingly,” replied Philip. There was a knock at the door, and a pretty girl came in, wº A CHANGE OF AIR. 9 “Oh, I ran up,” she said, “to ask whether this hat would do for Denshire. I don’t want to dis- grace you, Dale; ” and she held up a hat she car- ried in her hand. “It would do for Paradise,” said Dale. “Besides, there isn’t going to be any difference at all in Denshire. We are going to be and do and dress just as we are and do and dress here. Aren’t we, Phil?” “That is the scheme,” said Philip. “We shall care for no one's opinion,” pursued Dale, warming to his subject. “We shall be absolutely independent. We shall show them that their way of living is not the only way of liv- ing. We—” “In fact, Nellie,” interrupted Philip, “we shall open their eyes considerably. So we flatter our- selves.” “It’s not that at all,” protested Dale. “You can’t help it, Dale,” said Nellie, smiling brightly at him. “Of course they will open their eyes at the great Mr. Bannister. We all open our eyes at him, don’t we, Mr. Hume 2 Well, then, the hat will do?—as a week-day hat, I mean.” “A week-day hat ?” repeated Philip. “Dear old phrase ! It recalls one’s happy church-going youth. Have you also provided a Sunday hat ?” “Of course, Mr. Hume.” “And, Dale, have you a Sunday coat?” Dale laughed. “It’s a pretty excuse for pretty things, Phil,” he said. “Let Nellie have her Sunday hat. doubt if they’ll let me into the church.” * Philip stretched out his hand and took up 13 A CTHANGE OF AIR. glass of whisky and water which stood near him. # “I drink to the success of the expedition,” said he. “To the success of our mission l’’ cried Dale gayly, raising his glass. “We will spread the light !” “Here's to Dale Bannister, apostle in partibus /* and Philip drank the toast. - A CHANGE OF AIR. 14 CHAPTER II. THE NEW MAN AT LITTLEBRA, L. MARKET DENBOROUGH is not a large town. Perhaps it is none the worse for that, and, if it be, there is compensation to be found in its picturesqueness, its antiquity, and its dignity; for there has been a town where it stands from time immemorial, it makes a great figure in County histories and local guide-books, it is an ancient corporation, an assize town and quarter- Sessions borough. It does not grow, for country towns, dependent solely on the support of the rural districts surrounding, are not given to growing much nowadays. Moreover, the De- lanes do not readily allow new houses to be built, and if a man lives in Market Denborough, he must be a roofless vagrant or a tenant of Mr. Delane. It is not the place to make a fortune; but, on the other hand, unusual recklessness is necessary to the losing of one there. If the triumphs of life are on a small scale, the struggle for existence is not very fierce, and a wise man might do worse than barter the uncertain chances and precarious joys of a larger stage, to play a modest, easy, quiet part on the little boards of Market Denborough. It must not, however, be supposed that the \ #2 A CHANGE OF AIR. lion and the lamb have quite sunk their differ- ences, and lain down together at Market Den- borough. There, as elsewhere, the millennium tarries, and there are not wanting fierce feuds, personal, municipal, nay, even, within the wide limits of Mr. Delane's tolerance, political. If it were not so, the Mayor would not have been happy, for the Mayor loved a fight; and Alder- man Johnstone, who was a Radical, would have felt his days wasted; and the two gentlemen would not have been, as they continually were, at loggerheads concerning paving-contracts and kindred subjects. There was no want of interests in life, if a man were ready to take his own part and keep a sharp eye on the doings of his neigh- bor. Besides, the really great events of exist- ence happened at Market Denborough much as they do in London: people were born, and married, and died; and while that rotation is unchecked, who can be seriously at a loss for matter of thought or topic of conversation? As Mr. James Roberts, member of the Royal College of Surgeons, a thin young man, with restless eyes and tight-shut lips, walked down High Street one hot, sunny afternoon, it never entered his head that there was not enough to think about in Market Denborough. Wife and child, rent, rates, and taxes, patients and pre- scriptions, the relation between those old enemies, incomings and outgoings, here was food enough for any man’s meditations. Enough 2 Ay, enough and to spare of such distasteful, insipid, narrow, soul-destroying stuff. Mr., or, to give him the brevet rank all the town gave him, Dr. Roberts hated these sordid, imperious interests that gath- A CHANGE OF AIR. 13 ered round him and hemmed him in, shutting out all else—all dreams of ambition, all dear long-har- bored schemes, all burning enthusiasms, even all chance of seeking deeper knowledge and more com- manding skill. Sadly and impatiently the Doctor shook his head, trying to put his visions on One side, and nail his mind down to its work. His first task was to turn £300 a year into £600. It was hard it should be so, and he chafed against neces- sity, forgetting, as perhaps he pardonably might, that the need was the price he paid for wife and child. Yes, it was hard; but so it was. If only more people would be—no, but if only more people who were ill would call in Dr. Roberts | Then he could keep two horses, and not have to “pad the hoof,” as he phrased it to himself, about swelter- ing streets or dusty lanes all the long afternoon, because his one pony was tired out with carrying him in the morning to Dirkham, a village five miles off, where he was medical officer at a salary of forty pounds by the year. That was forty, and Ethel had a hundred, and the profits from his paying patients (even if you allowed for the medicine consumed by those who did not pay) were about a hundred and fifty. But then the bills—Oh, well, he must go on. The second horse must wait, and that other dream of his, having an assistant, that must Wait too. If he had an assistant, he would have some leisure for research, for reading, for studying the political and social questions where his real and engrossing interest lay. He could then take his part in the mighty work of rousing— Here his meditations were interrupted. He had reached, in his progress down the street, a 14 A CHANGE OF AIR. large plate-glass-window shop, the shop of a chemist, and of no less a man than Mr. James Hedger, Mayor of Market Denborough. The member of the lower branch of their common art was a richer man than he who belonged to the higher, and when Mr. Hedger was playfully charged with giving the young Doctor his med- icines cheap, he never denied the accusation. Anyhow, the two were good friends, and the Mayor, who was surveying his dominions from his doorstep, broke in on Dr. Roberts’ train of thought with a cheerful greeting. “Have you heard the news?” he asked. “No; I’ve no time for the news. I always look to you for it, Mr. Mayor.” “It mostly comes round to me, being a centre, like,” said the Mayor. “It’s natural.” “Well, what is it this time ’’’ asked the Doctor, calling up a show of interest. He did not care much for Denborough news. “Littlehill’s let,” replied the Mayor. Littlehill, the subject of Philip Hume's half- ironical description, was a good house, standing on rising ground about half a mile outside the town. It belonged, of course, to Mr. Delane, and had stood empty for more than a year. A tenant at Littlehill meant an increase of custom for the tradespeople, and perchance for the doctors. Hence the importance of the Mayor’s piece of news, “Indeed 2 * said Roberts. “Who’s taken it 2 ° “Not much good—a young man, a bachelor,” said the Mayor, shaking his head. “Bachelors do not require, or anyhow do not take, many A CHANGE OF AIR. 15 chemists' drugs. “Still, I hear he's well-off, and p’r'aps he’ll have people to stop with him.” “What’s his name P” “Some name like Bannister. He’s from London.” “What's he coming here for.” acked Roberts, who, if he had been a well-to-do-oachelor, would not have settled at Market Denborough. , “Why shouldn’t he?” retorted the Mayor, who º never lived, or thought of living, anywhere €1S6. “Well, I shouldn’t have thought he’d have found much to do. He wouldn’t come in the summer for the hunting.” “Hunting? Not hel He's a literary gentle- man—writes poetry and what not.” “Poetry? Why, it’s not Dale Bannister, is it * * “Ay, that's the name.” “Dale Bannister coming to Littlehill! That is an honor for the town l’’ “An honor ? What do you mean, sir?” “Why, he’s a famous man, Mr. Mayor. Ali London’s talking of him.” “I never heard his name in my life before,” said the Mayor. “Oh, he’s a genius. His poems are all the rage. You'll have to read them now.” . “He’s having a lot done up there,” remarked the Mayor. ‘Johnstone's got the job. Mr. Bannister don’t know as much about Johnstone as some of us.” “How should he 7" said Roberts, smiling. “Johnstone's buildin’’im a room. It’ll tumble down.” 16 A CHANGE OF AIR. “Oh, come, Mr. Mayor, you’re prejudiced.” “No man can say that of me, sir. But I knows—I know Johnstone, Doctor. That’s where it is “Well, I hope Johnstone’s room won’t fall on him. We can’t spare Dale Bannister. Good- day, Mr. Mayor.” “Where are you goin’?” “To Tom Steadman’s.” “Is he bad again?” inquired the Mayor, with interest. - “Yes. He broke out last week, with the usual result.” - “Broke out? Yes! He had two gallons of beer and a bottle o' gin off the ‘Blue Lion’ in one day, the landlord told me.” “They ought to go to prison for serving him.” “Well, well, a man drinks or he don’t,” said the Mayor tolerantly; “and if he does, he’ll get it some’ow. Good-day, sir.” The Doctor completed his rounds, including the soothing of Tom Steadman’s distempered imagination, and made his way home in quite a flutter of excitement. Hidden away in his study, underneath heavy medical works and voluminous medical journals, where the eye of patients could not reach, nor the devastations of them that tidy disturb, lay the two or three little volumes which held Dale Bannister’s poems. The Doctor would not have admitted that the poems were purposely concealed, but he certainly did not display them ostentatiously, and he undoubtedly told his wife, with much decision, that he was sure they would not prove to her taste. Yet he himself almost worshipped them; all the untamed revolt, the A CHANGE OF AIR. 17 recklessness of thought, the scorn of respecta- bility, the scant regard to what the world called propriety, which he had nourished in his own heart in his youth, finding no expression for them, and from which the binding chains of fate seemed now forever to restrain his spirit, were in those three slim volumes. First came The Clarion and other Poems, a very small book, published by a very small firm,-published for the author, though the Doctor did not know this, and circulated at the expense of the same; then Sluggards, from a larger firm, the source of some few guineas to Dale Bannister, of hundreds more if he had not sold his copyright; and lastly, The Hypocrite's Heaven, quite a lengthy production, blazoning the name of the leading house of all the trade, and bearing in its train a wealth of gold, and praise, and fame for the author: yes, and of rebuke, remonstrance, blame, and hands uplifted in horror at so much vice united to so much genius. Praise and rebuke alike brought new bricks to build the pyramid of glory; and on the top of it, an object of abhorrence and of worship, stood the young poet, prodigally scattering Songs, which, as one critic of position said of them, should never have been written, but, being written, could never die. Certainly the coming of such a man to settle there was an event for Market Denborough; it was a glorious chance for the poet's silent, secret disciple. He would see the man; he might speak with him ; if fortune willed, his name might yet be known, for no merit of his, but as that of Dale Bannister's friend. Women have very often, and the best of women ~& 18 A CHANGE OF AIR. imost often, a provoking sedateness of mind. Mrs. Roberts had never read the poems. True, but she had of course read about them, and about their author, and about their certain immortality; yet she was distinctly more interested in the tid- ings of Tom Steadman, a wretched dipsomaniac, than in the unparalleled news about Dale Bannis- ter. In her heart she thought the Doctor a cleverer, as she had no doubt he was a better, man than the poet, and the nearest approach she made to grasping the real significance of the situation was when she remarked, “It will be nice for him to find one man, at all events, who can appreciate him.” The Doctor smiled; he was pleased—who would not be 2—that his wife should think first of the pleasure Dale Bannister would find in his society. It was absurd, but it was charming of her, and as she sat on the edge of his chair, he put his arm round her waist and said, “I beat him in one thing, anyhow.” “What's that, Jim 2 ” “My wife. He has no wife like mine.” “Has he a wife at all?” asked Mrs. Roberts, with increased interest. A wife was another matter. “I believe not, but if he had—” “Don’t be silly. Did you leave Tom quiet” “Hang Tom he deserves it. And give me my tea.” Then came the baby, and with it, an end, for the time, of Dale Bannister. A CHANGE OF AIB, 19 CHAPTER HII. DENBoRoUGH DETERMINEs To CALL. “I will, awake the world,” Dale Bannister had once declared in the insolence of youth and talent and the privacy of a gathering of friends. The boast was perhaps as little absurd in his mouth as it could ever be; yet it was very absurd, for the world sleeps hard, and habit has taught it to slumber peacefully through the batterings of im- patient genius at its door. At the most, it turns uneasily on its side, and, with a curse at the meddlesome fellow, snores again. So Dale Ban- nister did not awake the world. But, within a month of his coming to Tittlehill, he performed an exploit which was, though on a smaller scale, hardly less remarkable. He electrified Market Denborough, and the shock penetrated far out into the surrounding districts of Denshire, even Denshire, which, remote from villas and season- tickets, had almost preserved pristine simplicity. Men spoke with low-voiced awe and appreciative twinkling of the eye of the “doings ’’ at Little- hill; their wives thought that they might be better employed; and their children hung about the gates to watch the young man and his guests come out. There was disappointment when no one came to church from Littlehill; yet there 20 A CEIANGE OF AIR. would have been disappointment if any one had : it would have jarred with the fast-growing popu- lar conception of the household. To the strict- ness of Denborough morality, by which no sin was leniently judged save drunkenness, Littlehill seemed a den of jovial wickedness, and its inhab- itants to reck nothing of censure, human or divine. As might be expected by all who knew him, the Mayor had no hand in this hasty and uncharitable judgment. London was no strange land to him ; he went up four times a year to buy his stock; London ways were not Denshire ways, he ad- ... mitted, but, for all that, they were not to be con- demned offhand nor interpreted in the worst light without some pause for better knowledge. “It takes all sorts to make a world,” said he, as he drank his afternoon draught at the “Delane Arms,” where the civic aristocracy was wont to gather. gº A. “He’s free enough and to spare with 'is money,” said Alderman Johnstone, with satisfaction. “You ought to know, Johnstone,” remarked the Mayor significantly. “Well, I didn’t see no 'arm in him,” said Mr. Maggs, the horse-dealer, a rubicund man of pleas- ant aspect; “and he's a rare 'un to deal with.” Interest centred on Mr. Maggs. Apparently he had spoken with Dale Bannister. “He’s half crazy, o' course,” continued that gentleman, “but as pleasant-spoken, 'earty a young gent as I’ve seen.” “Is he crazy?” asked the girl behind the bar. “Well, what do you say? He came down a day or two ago, 'e and 'is friend Mr. 'Ume—” “Hume,” said the Mayor, with emphasis. The A CHANGE OF AIR. 21 Mayor, while occasionally following the worse, saw the better way. “Yes, ’Ume. Mr. Bannister wanted a 'orse. ‘What's your figger, sir?” says I. He took no notice, but began looking at me with 'is eyes wide open, for all the world -as if I’d never spoke. Then he says, “I want a 'orse, broad-backed and fallen in the vale o' years.” Them was 'is very Words.” “You don’t say?” said the girl. “I never knowed what he meant, no more than that pint-pot; but Mr. 'Ume laughed and says, ‘Don’t be a fool, Dale,” and told me that Mr. Bannister couldn’t ride no more than a tailor, so he said, and wanted a steady, quiet 'orse. He got one from me—four-and-twenty year old, war- ranted not to gallop. I see 'im on her to-day— and it’s lucky she is quiet.” “ Can’t he ride 2 ” “No more than "-a fresh simile failed Mr. Maggs, and he concluded again—“that pint- pot. But Mr. 'Ume can. 'E's a nice set on a - ’Orse.” The Mayor had been meditating. He was a little jealous of Mr. Maggs’ superior intimacy with the distinguished stranger, or perhaps it was merely that he was suddenly struck with a sense of remissness in his official duties. “I think,” he announced, “of callin' on him and welcomin’ him to the town.” There was a chorus of approbation, broken only by a sneer from Alderman Johnstone. “Ay, and take 'im a bottle of that cod-liver oil of yours at two-and-three. 'E can afford it.” 22 A CHANGE OF AIR. “Not after payin' your bill, Johnstone,” retorted the Mayor, with a triumphant smile. A neat rep- artee maketh glad the heart of the utterer. The establishment at Littlehill and the proper course to be pursued in regard to it were also the subject of consideration in circles more genteel even than that which gathered at the “Delane Arms.” At Dirkham Grange itself the topic was discussed, and Mr. Delane was torn with doubts whether his duty as landlord called upon him to make Dale Bannister's acquaintance, or his duty as custodian-general of the laws and proprieties of life in his corner of the world forbade any sanc- tion being given to a household of which such reports were on the wing. People looked to the Squire, as he was commonly called, for guidance in Social matters, and he was aware of the re- sponsibility under which he lay. If he called at Littlehill, half the county would be likely enough to follow his example. And perhaps it might not be good for half the county to know Dale Bannis- ter. “I must consider the matter,” he said at break- fast. f “Well, one does hear strange things,” remarked Mrs. Delane. “And aren't his poems very odd, George?” The Squire had not accorded to the works referred to a very close study, but he answered, off-hand. “, “Yes, I hear so—not at all sound in tone. But then, my dear, poets have a standard of their OWn.” la “Of course, there was Byron,” said Mrs. De- Yle. A CHANGE OF AIR. 23 “And perhaps we mustn't be too hard on him,” pursued the Squire. “He’s a very young man, and no doubt has considerable ability.” “I daresay he has never met anybody.” “I’m sure, papa,” interposed Miss Janet Delane, £6 that it would have a good effect on him to meet us.” Mr. Delane smiled at his daughter. “Would you like to know him, Jan?” he asked. “Of course I should ! He wouldn’t be dull, at all events, like most of the men about here. Tora Smith said the Colonel meant to call.” “Colonel Smith is hardly in your father's posi- tion, my dear.” “Oh, since old Smith had his row with the War Office about that pension, he'll call on any- body who's for upsetting everything. It's enough for him that a man’s a Radical.” “Tora means to go too,” said Janet. “Poor child! It's a pity she hasn’t a mother,” said Mrs. Delane. “I think I shall go. We can drop him if he turns out badly.” “Very well, my dear, as you think best.” “I’ll walk over on Sunday. I don’t suppose he objects to Sunday calls.” “Not on the ground that he wants to go to church, at all events,” remarked Mrs. Delane. “Perhaps he goes to chapel, mamma.” “Oh no, my dear, he doesn’t do that.” Mrs. Telane was determined to be just. “Well, he was the son of a Dissenting minister, mamma. The Critic said so.” Y “I wonder what his father thinks of him,” said the Squire, with a slight chuckle, not knowing 24 A CHANGE OF AIR. that death had spared Dale's father all chance of trouble on his son’s score. “Mrs. Roberts told me,” said Janet, “that her husband had been to see him, and liked him awfully.” “I think Roberts had better have waited,” the Squire remarked, with a little frown. “In his position he ought to be very careful what he does.” * { “Oh, it will be all right if you call, papa.” “It would have been better if he had let me go first.” Mr. Delane spoke with some severity. Apart from his position of overlord of Denborough, which, indeed, he could not but feel was pre- carious in these innovating days, he thought he had special claims to be consulted by the Doctor. He had taken him up ; his influence had gained him his appointment at Dirkham and secured him the majority of his more wealthy clientèle ; his goodwill had opened to the young unknown man the doors of the Grange, and to his wife the privilege of considerable intimacy with the Grange ladies. It was certainly a little hasty in the Doctor not to wait for a lead from the Grange, before he flung himself into Dale Bannister’s arms. All these considerations were urged by Janet in her father’s defence when his title to approve, dis- approve, or in any way concern himself with Dr. Roberts’ choice of friends and associates was vigorously questioned by Tora Smith. Colonel Smith—he had been Colonel Barrington-Smith, but he did not see now what a man wanted with two names—was, since his difference with the author- ities, a very strong Radical; on principle he A CHANGE OF AIR. 25 approved of anything of which his friends and neighbors were likely on principle to disapprove. Among other such things, he approved of Dale Bannister’s views and works, and of the Doctor’s indifference to Mr. Delane's opinion. And, just as Janet was more of a Tory than her father, a Tory—she had been unhappily baptized in the absurd names of Victoria Regina in the loyal days before the grievance, but nothing was allowed to survive of them which could possibly be dropped —was more Radical than her father, and she rid- iculºd the Squire's pretensions with an extrava- gance which Sir Harry Fulmer, who was calling at the Smiths’ when Janet came in, thought none the less charm; g for being very unreasonable. Sir Harry, however, suppressed his opinion on both these points, as to its being charming, because matters had not yet reached the stage when he could declare it, and as to its being un- reasonable, because he was by hereditary right the head of the Liberal party in the district, and tried honestly to live up to the position by a con- stant sacrifice of his dearest prejudices on the altar of progress. “I suppose,” he said in reply to an appeal from Tora, “that a man has a right to please himselfin such things.” “After all papa has done for him ' Besides, Sir Harry, you know a Doctor ought to be par- ticularly careful.” “What is there so dreadful about Mr. Ban- mister ?” asked Tora. “He looks very nice.” “Have you seen him, Tora?” asked Janet eagerly. “Yes; we met him riding on such a queer old 26 A CHANGE OF AIR. horse. He looked as if he was going to tumble off every minute; he can’t ride º bit. But he's awfully handsome.” “What’s he like 2 ° “Oh, tall, not very broad, witn beautiful eyes and a lot of waving auburn hair; he doesn’t wear it clipped like a tooth-brush. And he's got a long moustache, and a straight nose, and a charming smile. Hasn’t he, Sir Harry 2” “I didn’t notice particularly. He’s not a bad- looking chap. Looks a bit soft, though.” “Soft P why he's a tremendous genius, papa says.” i “I didn’t mean that: I mean flabby and out of training, you know.” “Oh, he isn’t always shooting or hunting, of course,” said Tora contemptously. “I don’t suppose,” remarked Janet, “that in his position of life—well, you know, Tora, he's of quite humble birth—he never has the chance.” “He’s none the worse for that,” said Sir Harry stoutly. - “The worse? I think he's the better. Papa is going to ask him here.” “You’re quite enthusiastic, Tora.” sº I love to meet new people. One sees the same faces year after year in Denshire.” Sir Harry felt that this remark was a little unkind. “I like old friends,” he said, “better than new ones.” ſº { Janet rose to go. | “We must wait and hear papa's report,” she said, as she took her leave. º Tora Smith escorted her to the door, kissed A CHANGE OF AIR. 27 her, and, returning, said, with a snap of her fingers, “I don’t care that for “papa's report.’ Jan is really too absurd.” “It’s nice to see her—” “Oh, delightful. I hate dutiful people !” “You think just as much of your father.” “We happen to agree in our opinions, but papa always tells me to use my own judgment. Are you going to see Mr. Bannister ?” “Yes, I think so. He won’t hurt me, and he may subscribe to the hunt.” “No ; he may even improve you.” “Do I want it so badly, Miss Smith ?” “Yes... You’re a weak-kneed man.” “Oh, I say I Look here, you must help me.” “Perhaps. I will, if Mr. Bannister is not too engrossing.” * “Now you’re trying to draw me.” “Was I? And yet y u looked pleased. Per- haps you think it a comp. ment.” “Isn’t it one 2 It shows you think it worth While to—” “It shows nothing of the kind,” said Tora decisively. Thus, for one reason or another, from one direction and another, there was converging on Littlehill a number of visitors. If your neighbor excites curiosity, it is a dull imagination that finds no plausible reason for satisfying it. Prob- ably there was more in common than at first sight appeared between Mr. Delane’s sense of duty, the Mayor's idea of official courtesy, Colonel Smith's contempt for narrowness of mind, Sir 28 A CHANGE OF AIR. Harry Fulmer’s care for the interests of the hunt, and Dr. Roberts’ frank and undisguised e-gerness to see and speak With Dale Bannistey face to face. A CHANGE UF Aitº. 29 CHAPTER IV. A QUIET SUNDAY AFTERNOON. To dissolve public report into its component parts is aever a light task. Analysis as a rule reveals three constituents, truth, embroidery, and mere falsehood, but the proportions vary infinitely. TXenborough, which went to bed, to a man, at ten o’clock, or so soon after as it reached home from the public-house, said that the people at Littlehill sat up very late: this was truth, at least relative truth, and that is all we can expect here. It said that they habitually danced and sang the night through: this was embroidery; they had once danced and sung the night through, when Dale had a party from London. It said that orgies—if the meaning of its nods, winks, and smiles may be summarized—went on at Littlehill : this was falsehood. Dale and his friends amused themselves, and it must be al- lowed that their enjoyment was not marred, but rather increased, by the knowledge that they did not command the respect of Denborough. They had no friends there. Why should they care for Denborough’s approval 2 Denborough's approval was naught, whereas Denborough's disapproval ministered to the pleasure most of us feel in giving gentle shocks to our neighbors’ sense of 30 A CHANGE OF AIR. propriety. No doubt an electric eel enjoys itself. But, after all, if the mere truth must be told, they were mild sinners at Littlehill, the leadin spirits, Dale and Arthur Angell, being j young men whose antinomianism found a harm- less issue in ink, and whose lawlessness was best expressed in metre. A cynic once married his daughter to a professed atheist, on the ground that the man could not afford to be other than an exemplary husband and father. Poets are not trammelled so tight as that, for, as Mrs. Delarie remarked, there was Byron, and perhaps one or two more ; yet, for the most part, she who mar- ries a poet has nothing worse than nerves to fear. But a little lawlessness will go a long way in the right place,—for example, lawn-tennis on Sunday in the suburbs,-and the Littlehill party extorted a gratifying meed of curiosity and frowns, which were not entirely undeserved by some of their doings, and were more than deserved by what was told of their doings. After luncheon on Sunday, Mr. Delane had a nap, as his commendable custom was. Then he took his hat and stick, and set out for Littlehill. The Grange park stretches to the outskirts of the town, and borders in part on the grounds of Littlehill, so that the Squire had a pleasant walk under the cool shade of his own immemorial elms, and enjoyed the satisfaction of inspecting his own most excellent shorthorns. Reflecting on the elms and the shorthorns, and on the house, the acres, and the family that were his, he admitted that he had been born to advantages and oppor- tunities such as fell to the lot of few men ; and, inspired to charity by the distant church-bell A CHANGE OF AIR. 3? sounding over the meadows, he acknowledged a corresponding duty of lenient iudgment in re. spect of the less fortunate. Thus he arrived at |littlehill in a tolerant temper, and contented himself with an indulgent shake of the head when he saw the gravel fresh marked with horses' hoofs. “Seen riding instead of going to church, the young rascals,” he said to himself, as he rang , the bell. A small, shrewd-faced man opened the door and ushered Mr. Delane into the hall. Then he stopped. - “If you go straight on, sir,” said he, “through that baize door, and across the passage, and through the opposite door, you will find Mr Bannister.” g Mr. Delane's face expressed surprise. “Mr. Bannister, sir,” the man explained, “don’t like visitors being announced, sir. If you would be so kind as walk in—” It was a harmless whim, and the Squire nodded assent. He passed through the baize door, crossed the passage, and paused before opening the opposite door. The sounds which came from behind it arrested his attention. To the accom- paniment of a gentle drumming noise, as if of sticks or umbrellas bumped against the floor, a voice was leclaiming, or rather chanting, poetry. The voice rose and fell, and Mr. Delane could not distinguish the words, until it burst. forth triumphantly with the lines— ( “Love grows hate for love's sake, life takes death for guide, Night hath none but one red star—Tyrannicide.” 32 A CHANGE OF AIR. “Good gracious !” said Mr. Delane. The voice dropped again for a few moments, then it hurled out— “Down the way of Tsars awhile in vain deferred, Big the Second Alexander light the Third. How for shame shall men rebuke them 2 how may we Blame, whose fathers died and slew, to leave us free?” The voice was interrupted and drowned by the crash of the pianoforte, struck with remorse- less force, and another voice, the voice of a woman, cried, rising even above the crash, “Now, one of your own, Dale.” “I think I’d better go in,” thought Mr. Delane, and he knocked loudly at the door. He was bidden to enter by the former of the two voices, and, going in, found himself in a billiard-room. Five or six people sat round the wall on settees, each holding a cue, with which they were still gently strumming on the floor. A stout, elderly woman was at the piano, and a young man sat cross-legged in the middle of the billiard-table, with a book in one hand and a cigar in the other. There was a good deal of tobacco smoke in the room, and Mr. Delane did inot at first distinguish the faces of the company. The young man on the table uncoiled himself with great agility, jumped down, and came for- Ward to meet the new-comer with outstretched hands. As he outstretched them, he dropped the book and the cigar to the ground on either side of him. “Ah, here you are l Delightful of you to come!” he cried. “Now, let me guess you!” “Mr. Bannister?—Have I the pleasure?” f A CHANGE OF AIR. 33 “Yes, yes. Now let's see—don’t tell me your name.” He drew back a step, surveyed Mr. Delane's portly figure, his dignified carriage, his plain solid watch-chain, his square-toed strong boots. “The Squire l’” he exclaimed. “Mr. Delane, isn’t it 22° “I am Mr. Delane.” “Good! You don’t mind being guessed, do you? It's so much more amusing. What will you have?” “Thank you, I’ve lunched, Mr. Bannister.” “Have you? We’ve just breakfasted—had a ride ...before, you know. But I must introduce you. ,” He searched the floor, picked up the cigar, looked at it regretfully, and threw it out of an open window. “This,” he resumed, waving his hand towards the piano, “is Mrs. Ernest Hodge. This is Miss Fane, Mrs. Hodge's daughter—No, not by a first marriage—everybody suggests that. Profes- sional name, you know—she sings. Hodge really wouldn’t do, would it, Mrs. Hodge? This is Philip Hume. This fis Arthur Angell, who writes verses—like me. This is—but I expect you know these gentlemen?” Mr. Delane peered through the smoke which Philip Hume was producing from a long pipe, and to his amazement discerned three familiar faces—those of Doctor Roberts, the Mayor, and Alderman Johnstone. The doctor was flushed and looked excited; the Mayor was a picture of dignified complacency; Johnstone appeared em- barrassed and uncomfortable, for his bald head 3 34 A CHANGE OF AIR. was emoellished with a flowery garland. Dale saw Mr. Delane's eye rest on this article. “We always crown anybody who adds to our knowledge,” he explained. “He gets a wreath of honor. The Alderman added to our knowledge of the expense of building a room. So Miss Fane Crowned him.” " An appreciative chuckle from the Mayor fol. lowed this explanation ; he knocked the butt of his cue against the floor, and winked at Philip Hume. * The last-named, seeing that Mr. Delane was somewhat surprised at the company, came up to him and said, “Come and sit down ; Dale never remembers . that anybody wants a seat. Here's an arm- chair.” - - Mr. Delane sat down next to Miss Fane, and noticed, even in his perturbation, that his neigh- bor was a remarkably pretty girl, with fair hair clustering in a thick mass on the nape of her neck, and large blue eyes which left gazing on Dale Bannister when their owner turned to greet him. Mr. Delane would have enjoyed talking to her, had not his soul been vexed at the presence of the three Denborough men. One did not expect to meet the tradesmen of the town ; and what busi- ness had the Doctor there 2 To spend Sunday in that fashion would not increase his popularity or his practice. And then that nonsense about the wreath ! How undignified it was—it was even worse than yelling out Nihilistic verses by way of Sabbath amusement. “I shall get away as soon as I can,” he thought, “ and I shall say a word to the Doctor.” A CHANGE OF AIR. 35 He was called from his meditations by Miss -Fane. She sat in a low chair with her feet on a stool, and now, tilting the chair back, she fixed her eyes on Mr. Delane, and asked, “Are you shocked ?” No man likes to admit that he is shocked. “I am not, but many people would be.” “ I suppose you don’t like meeting those men 2 ° “Hedger is an honest man in his way of life, I have no groat opinion of Johnstone.” “This is your house, isn’t it 2 ” « Yes.” “All the houses about here are yours, aren't they 2 ° “Most of them are, Miss Fane.” “Then you are a great man 2 ” The question was put so simply, that Mr. Delane could not suspect a sarcastic intent. “Only locally,” he answered, smiling. “Have you any daughters ?” she asked. “Yes, one.” “ What is She like P” “Fancy asking her father I think Janet a beauty.” * “ Fair or dark 2 ° & Dalek.” *- “Dale likes dark girls. Tall or short” « Tall.” “Good eyes 2" “I like them.” “Oh, that'll do. Dale will like her; ” and Miss Fane nodded reassuringly. Mr. Delane had not the heart to intimate his indifference to Dale Bannister's opinion of his daughter. 36 A CEIANGE OF AIR. “Do you know this country P” he asked, by way of conversation. “We’ve only been here a week, but we’ve rid- den a good deal. We hold Dale on, you know.” “You are on a visit to Mr. Bannister ?? “Oh yes, mother and I are here.” Mr. Delane could not help wondering whether their presence was such a matter of course as her tone implied, but before he could probe the matter further, he heard Dale exclaim, “Oh, it's a wretched thing ! Read it yourself, Roberts.” “Mount him on the rostrum,” cried the young man who had been presented to Mr. Delane as Arthur Angell, and who had hitherto been engaged in an animated discussion with the JDoctor. Laughing, and only half resisting, the Doctor allowed himself to be hoisted on to the billiard- table, sat down, and announced in a loud voice— “ Blood for blood: by Dale Bannister.” The poem which bore this alarming title was perhaps the most outrageous of the author's works. It held up to ridicule and devoted to damnation every person and every institution which the Squire respected and worshipped. And the misguided young man declaimed it with sparkling eyes and emphasizing gestures, as though every wicked word of it were gospel. And to this man’s charge were committed the wives and families of the citizens of Denborough I The Squire's self-respect demanded a protest. He rose with dignity, and went up to his host. A CHANGE OF AIR, 37 “Good-bye, Mr. Bannister.” “What? you're not going yet? What? Does this stuff bore you?” “It does not bore me. But I must add—ex- cuse an old-fashioned fellow—that it does some- thing worse.” “What? Oh, you’re the other side? Of course you are!” A “Whatever side I was, I could not listen to that. As an older man, let me give you a word of advice.” Dale lifted his hands in good-humored protest. “Sorry you don’t like it,” he said. “Shut up, Roberts. If I'd known, we wouldn’t have had it. But it's true—true—true.” The Doctor listened with sparkling eyes. “I must differ utterly—I must indeed. Good- bye, Mr. Bannister. Hedger!” The Mayor started. “I am walking into the town. Come with me.” The Mayor wavered. The Squire stood and waited for him. “I didn’t think of goin' yet, Mr. Delane, sir.” Dale watched the encounter with a smile. “Your wife will expect you,” said the Squire. “Come along.” The Mayor rose, ignoring Johnstone's grin and the amusement on the faces of the company. “I’ll come and look you up,” said Dale, press- ing the Squire's hand warmly. “Oh, it's all right. Tastes differ. I’m not offended. I’ll come some day this week.” He showed them out, and, returning, said to the Doctor, “Roberts, you’ll get into trouble.” 38 A CHANGE OF AIR. “Nonsense !” said the Doctor. “What busi- ness is it of his 2 ” Dale had turned to Johnstone. “Good-bye,” said he abruptly. “We close at five.” “I’ve 'ad a pleasant afternoon, sir.” “It will be deducted from your bill,” answered Dale. A After ejecting Johnstone, he stood by the table, łooking moodily at the floor. “What's the matter, Dale 2% asked Miss Fane. “I suppose he thought we were beasts or lunatics.” * “Probably,” said Philip Hume. “What then?” “Well, yes,” answered Dale, smiling again. “You’re quite right, Phil. What then?” t A CHANGE OF AIR. 39 CHAPTER V. THE INECESS ARY SCAPEGOAT. IF men never told their wives anything, the condition of society would no doubt be pro- foundly modified, though it is not easy to fore- cast the precise changes. If a guess may be hazarded, it is probable that much less good would be done, and some less evil said: the loss of matter of interest for half the world may be allowed to sway the balance in favor of the present practice—a practice so universal that Mr. Delane, the Mayor, and Alderman Johnstone one and all followed it by telling their wives about their Sunday afternoon at Littlehill. Dr. Roberts, it is true, gave a meagre account to his wife, but the narratives of the other three amply filled the gaps he left, and as each of them naturally dwelt on the most remarkable features of their enter- tainment, it may be supposed that the general impression produced in Market Denborough did not fall short of the truth in vividness of color. The facts as to what occurred have been set down without extenuation and without malice: the province of Market Denborough society was to supply the inferences arising therefrom, and this task it fulfilled with no grudging hand. Before eight-and-forty hours had passed, there were re- ports that the Squire had discovered a full-blown f 40 A CHANGE OF AIR. Saturnalia in process at Littlehill—and that in these scandalous proceedings the Mayor, Alder- man Johnstone, and Dr. Roberts were participa- tors. Then ensued conduct on the part of the Mayor and the Alderman deserving of unmeasured scorn. They could not deny that dreadful things had been done and said, though they had not seen the deeds nor understood the words: their denial would have had no chance of credit. They could not venture to say that Squire Delane had done anything except manfully protest. They began by accusing one another in round terms, but each found himself so vulnerable that by an unholy tacit compact they agreed to exonerate one another. The Mayor allowed that Johnstone was not conspicuous in wickedness; Johnstone admitted that the Mayor had erred, if at all, only through weakness and good-nature. Public opin- ion demanded a sacrifice; and the Doctor was left to satisfy it. Everybody was of one mind in holding that Dr. Roberts had disgraced himself, and nobody was surprised to hear that the Squire's phaeton had been seen standing at his door for half an hour on Wednesday morning. The Squire was within, and was understood to be giving the Doctor a piece of his mind. The Doctor was stiff-necked. “It is entirely a private matter,” said he, “and no one has a right to dictate to me.” “My dear Roberts, I spoke merely in your own interest. It would ruin you if it became known that you held those atrocious opinions; and be- come known it must, if you openly ally yourself with this young man.” º w A CHANGE OF AIR. 41 “I am not the servant of the people I attend. I may choose my own opinions.” “Yes, and they may choose their own doctor,” retorted the Squire. The two parted, almost quarrelling. Perhaps they would have quite quarrelled had not the Squire thought of Mrs. Roberts and the baby. He wondered that the Doctor did not think of them too, but he seemed to Mr. Delane to be under such a spell that he thought of nothing but Dale Bannister. It was not as if Roberts were the only medical man in the place. There was young Doctor Spink—and he was a real M. D.— up the street, ready and eager to snap up stray patients. And Doctor Spink was a church- warden. The Squire did not like him overmuch, but he found himself thinking whether it would not be well to send for him next time there was a case of illness at the Grange. The Squire meditated, while others acted. On her walk the same afternoon, Ethel Roberts heard news which perturbed her. The Vicar's wife was ill, and Dr. Spink had been sent for. The Vicar was a well-to-do man. He had a large family, which yet grew. He had been a constant and a valuable client of her husband’s. And now Dr. Spink was sent for. “Jim,” she said, “ did you know that Mrs. Gilkison was ill ?” “Ill?” said the Doctor, looking up from Slug- gards. “No, I’ve heard nothing of it.” She came and leant over his chair. “They’ve sent for Dr. Spink,” she said. “What?” he exclaimed, dropping his beloved Volume, 42 A CIHANGE OF AIR. “Mrs. Hedger told me.” “Well, they can do as they like. I suppose his ‘Doctor’ is the attraction.” “Do you think it’s that, dear?” “What else can it be?—unless it’s a mere freak.” “Well, Jim, I thought—I thought perhaps that the Vicar had heard about—about Littlehill— Yes, I know it’s very stupid and narrow, dear—- but still—” The Doctor Swore under his breath. “I can’t help it if the man’s an ass,” he said. Ethel Smiled patiently. It's a pity to offend people, Jim dear, isn’t it 2 ° “Are you against me too, Ethel?” “Against you? You know I never would be, but—” “Then do let us leave Denborough gossip alone. Fancy Denborough taking on itself to disapprove of Dale Bannister | It's too rich.” Ethel sighed. Denborough's disapproval was no doubt a matter of indifference to Dale Bannis- ter: it meant loss of bread and butter to James Roberts and his house. , Meanwhile, Dale Bannister, all unconscious of the dread determinations of the Vicar, pursued his way in cheerful unconcern. People came and went. Arthur Angell returned to his haunts, rather dissatisfied with the quiet of Littlehill, but rejoicing to have found in the Doctor one thor- ough-going believer. Mrs. Hodge, her daughter, and Philip Hume seemed to be permanent parts of the household. Riding was their chief amuse- ment. They would pass down High Street, Dale A CHANGE OF AIR. 43 f on his ancient mare, with Nellie and Philip by his side, laughing and talking merrily, Dale's own voice being very audible as he pointed out, with amusement a trifle too obvious to be polite, what struck him as remarkable in Denborough ways of life. Philip, however, whom Mr. Delane had de- scribed to his wife as the only apparently sane person at Littlehill, was rather uneasy in his mind about Roberts. “You’ll get that fellow disliked, Dale,” he said one morning, “if you don’t take care.” “I? What have I to do with it. 2” asked Dale. “They'll think him unsafe, if they see him with you.” “He needn’t come unless he likes. He’s not a bad fellow, only he takes everything so precious seriously.” “He thinks you do, judging by your books.” “Oh, I do—by fits. By the way, I have a fit now! Behold, I will write Nellie ' Where's Nellie?” Nellie Fane came at his call. “Sit down just opposite me, and look at me. I am going to write. The editor of the Cynosure begs for twenty lines—no more—twenty lines— fifty pounds! Now, Nellie, inspire me, and you shall have a new hat out of it. No, look at me!” Nellie sat down and gazed at him, obediently. “Two pound ten a line—not bad for a young 'un,” he pursued. “They say Byron wrote on gin and water. I write on your eyes, Nellie—much better.” “You’re not writing at all—only talking non- sense.” 44 A CHANGE OF AIR. “I’m just beginning.” 2 “Look here, Dale, why don't you keep the Doctor—” began Philip. “Oh, hang the Doctor! I’d just got an idea. Look at me, Nellie!” Philip shrugged his shoulders, and Dr. Roberts dropped out of discussion. The twenty lines were written, though they were never considered one of his masterpieces; then Dale rose with a sigh of relief. “Now for lunch, and then I’m going to return Mr. Delane’s call.” “I thought we were to ride,” said Nellie disap- pointedly. “Well, won't you come?” “Don’t be absurd l’” “Mightn't she come, Phil?” “Mrs. Delane has not called, has she?” inquired Philip, as though for information. “Of course I shan’t go, Dale. You must go alone.” “What a nuisance " I shall have to walk. I daren’t trust myself to that animal alone.” After luncheon he started, walking by the same way by which Mr. Delane had come. He reached the lodge of the Grange; a curtsey- ing child held open the gate, and he passed along under the immemorial elms, returning a cheery good-day to the gardeners, who paused in their work to touch their hats with friendly deference. The deference was wrong, of course, but the friendliness pleased him, and even the deference seemed somehow in keeping with the elms and with the sturdy old red-brick mansion, with its coat-of-arms and defiant Norman motto over A CHANGE OF AIR. 45 ~\ . the principal door. Littlehill was a pleasant house, but it had none of the ancient dignity of Dirkham, and Dale's quick brain was suddenly struck with a new understanding of how such places bred the men they did. He had had a fancy for a stay in the country; it would amuse him, he thought, to study country life: that was the mean- ing of his coming to Littlehill. Well, Dirkham summed up one side of country life, and he would be glad to study it. Mr. Delane was not at home—he had gone to Petty Sessions; and Dale, with regret, for he wanted to see the inside of the house, left his name—as usual he had forgotten to bring a card —and turned away. As he turned, a pony car- riage drew up and a girl jumped out. Dale drew back to let her pass, raising hi hat. The servant said a word to her, and when he had gone some ten or fifteen yards, he heard his name called. “Oh, Mr. Bannister, do come in l I expect papa back º and he will be so sorry to miss you. Mamma is up in London; but I hope you’ll come in.” Dale had no idea of refusing the invitation given so cordially. He had been sorry to go away before, and the sight of Janet Delane made him more reluctant still. He followed her into the oak-panelled hall, hung with pictures of dead Delanes and furnished with couches and easy- chairs. “Well,” she said, after tea was brought, “and what do you think of us?” “I have not seen very much of you yet.” “As far as you have gone? And be candid.” “You are very restful.” 46 A CHANGE OF AIR. She made a little grimace. “You mean very slow 2° g “Indeed I don’t. I think you very interest. ing.” “You find us interesting, but slow. Yes, you. meant that, Mr. Bannister, and it’s not kind.” “Have your revenge by telling me what you think of me.” “Oh, we find you interesting too. We’re all talking about you.” “And Slow P” “No, certainly not slow,” she said, with a smile and a glance: the glance should be described, if it were describable, but it was not. Dale, however, understood it, for he replied, laughing, “They’ve been prejudicing you against me.” “I don’t despair of you. I think you may be reformed. But I’m afraid you’re very bad just now.” “Why do you think that ? From what your father said?” “Partly. Partly also because Colonel Smith and Tora—do you know them?—are so enthusi- astic about you.” “Is that a bad sign?” “Terrible. They are quite revolutionary. So are you, aren’t you?” “Not in private life.” “But of course,” she asked, with serious eyes, “you believe what you write?” “Well, I do; but you pay writers a compliment by saying ‘of course.’” “Oh, I hope not. Anything is better than insincerity.” CHANGE OF A$". 47 “Even my opinions?” “Yes. Opinions may be changed, but not natures, you know.” $ She was still looking at him with serious, inquiring eyes. The eyes were very fine eyes. Perhaps that was the reason why Dale thought the last remark so excellent. He said nothing, and she went Cºn. “People who are clever and—and great, you know, ought to be so careful that they are right, oughtn't they?” * “Oh, a rhymer rhymes as the fit takes him,” answered he, with affected modesty. “I wouldn’t believe that of you. You wouldn’t misuse your powers like that.” “You have read my poetry?” “Some of it.” She paused and added, with a little blush for her companion, “There was some papa would not let me read.” A man may not unreasonably write what a young girl’s father may very reasonably not like her to read. Nevertheless, Dale Bannister felt rather uncomfortable. “Those were the shocking political ones, I suppose?” he asked. “No, I read most of those. These were against religion and—” « Well?” “Morality, papa said,” she answered, with the same grave look of inquiry. l Dale rose and held out his hand, saying petu- antly, “Good-bye, Miss Delane. You evidently don’t think me fit to enter your house.” “Oh, now I have made you angry. I have no } 48 A CHANGE OF AIR. right to speak about it, and, of course, I know nothing about it. Only—” *. “Only what?” “Some things are right and some wrong, aren’t they 2” “Oh, granted,—if we could only agree which were which.” / “AS to Some we have been told. And I don’t think that about you at all—I really don’t. Do wait till papa comes.” Dale sat down again. He had had his lecture; experience told him that a lecture from such lecturers is tolerably often followed by a petting, and the pettings were worth the lectures. In this instance he was disappointed. Janet did not pet him, though she displayed much friendliness, and he took his leave (for the Squire did not appear) feeling somewhat put out. • Approbation and applause were dear to this man, who seemed to spend his energies in court- ing blame and distrust; whatever people thought of his writings, he wished them to be fascinated by him. He was not sure that he had fascinated Miss Delane. * “I should like to see more of her,” he thought. “She's rather an odd girl.” A CHANGE OF AIR. 49 CHAPTER VI. IJºTLEEIILL GOES INTO SOCIETY. MR. Dr ANE's late return from his public duties was attributable simply to Colonel Smith’s ob- stinacy. He and the Colonel sat together on the bench, and very grievously did they quarrel over the cagº of a man who had been caught in pos- session of the body of a fresh-killed hare. They differed first as to the policy of the law, secondly as to its application, thirdly as to its vindication; and when the Vicar of Denborough, who was a county justice and present with them, sided with the Squire on all these points, the Colonel angrily denounced the reverend gentleman as a disgrace, not only to the judicial bench, but even to his own cloth. All this took time, as did also the Colonel’s cross-examination of the constable in charge of the case, and it was evening before the dispute was ended, and a fine imposed. The Colonel paid the fine, and thus every one, includ- ing the law and the prisoner, was in the end satisfied. Mr. Delane and the Colonel, widely and fiercely as they differed on every subject under the sun, were very good friends, and they rode home together in the dusk of a September evening, for their roads lay the same way for some dis- 50 A CEIANGE OF AIR. tance. Presently they fell in with Sir Harry Fulmer, who had been to see Dale Bannister, and, in his absence, had spent the afternoon with Nellie Fane and Philip Hume. “Hume's quite a good fellow,” he declared; “quiet, you know, and rather sarcastic, but quite a gentleman. And Miss Fane—I say, have you seen her, Colonel ?” “By the way, who is Miss Fane P” asked the Squire. “Oh, she acts, or sings, or something. Awfully jolly girl, and uncommon pretty. Don’t you think so, Squire?” w - “Yes, I did, Harry. But why is she staying there?” - “Really, Delane,” said the Colonel, “what pos- sible business is that of yours?” * “I’ve called on Bannister, and he's going to return my call. I think it’s a good deal of business of mine.” “Well!” exclaimed the Colonel; “for sheer uncharitableness and the thinking of all evil, give me a respectable Christian man like yourself, Delane.” “Oh, it’s all right,” said Sir Harry cheerfully. “The old lady, Mrs. What's-her-name, is there.” “I hope t is,” said the Squire. “Bannister has himself to thank for any suspicions which may be aroused.” “Suspicions? Bosh!” said the Colonel. “They are all coming to dine with me to-morrow. I met Bannister and asked him. He said he had friends, and I told him to bring the lot. Will ou and Mrs. Delane come, Squire?” “My wife's away, thanks.” A CHANGE OF AIR. 51 | “Then bring Janet.” “ Hum ! I think I’ll Wait.” “Oh, as you please. You’ll come, Harry P” Sir Harry was delighted to come. “Tora was most anxious to know them,” the Colonel continued, “and I hate ceremonious ways. There’ll be nobody else, except the Doctor and his Wife.” “You haven’t asked Hedger and Johnstone, have you ?” inquired the Squire. “They’re friends of Bamnister’s. I met them at his house.” “I haven’t, but I don’t know why I shouldn't.” “Still you won’t,” said Sir Harry, with a laugh. The Colonel knew that he would not, and changed the subject. “This is a great occasion,” said Philip Hume at afternoon tea next day. “To-night we are to be received into county society.” “Is Colonel Smith “county society’?” asked Nellie. “Yes. The Mayor told me so. The Colonel is a Radical, and a bad one at that, but the poor man comes of good family and is within the toils.” “I expect he really likes it,” said Nellie. “I should.” “Are you nervous?” inquired Philip. Nellie laughed and colored. I really am a little. I hope I shall behave properly. Mother is in a dreadful state.” “Where is Mrs. Hodge?” “Putting soune new lace on her gown" “And Dale P’’ 52 A CHANGE OF AIR. “He’s writing. Mr. Hume, has he told you anything about his visit yesterday ?” “Yes. He says he met an angel.” “Oh, that accounts for the title.” “What, title P’” “Why, I went and looked over his shoulder, and saw he was beginning some verses, headed “To a Pretty Saint.’ I always look, you know, but this time he snatched the paper away.” “‘To a Pretty Saint’? Dear, dear! Perhaps he meant you, Nellie.” Miss Fane shook her head. “He meant Miss Delane, I’m sure,” she said dolefully. “I hope Miss Smith is just exactly a county young lady—you know what I mean. I want to see one.” “Do you contemplate remodelling yourself?” “I’m sure Dale will like that sort of girl.” Philip looked at her sideways. He thought of telling her that “county young ladies " did not proclaim all their thoughts. But then he reflected that he would not. The Littlehill party arrived at Mount Pleasant, the Colonel’s residence, in the nick of time; and Mrs. Hodge sailed in to dinner on her host’s arm in high good humor. Dale, as the great man and the stranger, escorted Tora, Philip Hume Mrs. Roberts, and Sir Harry fell to Nellie's lot. Mrs. Hodge was an amusing companion. She did not dally at the outworks of acquaintance, but closed at once into intimacy, and before half an hour was gone, she found herself trying hard not to call the Colonel “my dear,” and to remem- ber to employ the usual prefixes to the names of the company. The Colonel was delighted; was A CHANGE OF AIR. 53 he at last escaping from the stifling prison of con- ventionality and breathing a freer air? Unhappily, just in proportion as good cheer and good fellowship put Mrs. Hodge at her ease, and made her more and more to the Colonel's taste, her daughter's smothered uneasiness grew more intense. Nellie had borne herself with an impossible dignity and distance of manner towards Sir Harry, in the fear lest Sir Harry should find her wanting in the characteristics of good society, and her frigidity was increased by her careful watch on her mother’s conduct. Sir Harry was disappointed. As he could not sit by Tora Smith, he had consoled himself with the prospect of Some fun with “ little Miss Fane.” And little Miss Fane held him at arm’s length. He deter- minded to try to break down her guard. “How did you manage to shock the Squireso?” he asked. “Was he shocked ? I didn’t know.” “You were there, weren’t you?” “Oh yes. Well, I suppose it was Mr. Bannis- ter’s poetry.” “Why should that shock him?” asked Sir Harry, who knew very well. “By Jove, I wish I could write Some like it !” She turned to him with sudden interest. “Do you admire Dale's writings P” º “Awfully,” said Sir Harry. “Don’t you?” “Of course I do, but I didn’t know whether you would. Do you know Miss Delane 2 ° “Yes, very well.” “I)o you like her ?” g “Oh yes. I have known her all my life, and I like her. She frightens me a little, you know.” 54 A CHANGE OF AIR. “ Does She 2 How P” “She expects such a lot of a fellow. Have you met her ?” S *, “ No. D– Mr. Bannister has. He likes her.” “I expect she blew him up, didn’t she?” i. Oh, I shouldn’t think so. Dale wouldn’t like that.” “Depends how it's done,” observed Sir Harry. “Don’t you ever blow him up?” “Of course not. I’m much too—I look up to him too much.” They were interrupted by the Colonel’s voice. He was saying, with much energy, “Ability we don’t expect in a Government office, but honesty one might hope for.” “Just what Hodge used to say of old Pratt,” said Mrs. Hodge. “I beg pardon ?” said the Colonel. “Pratt was his manager, you know—my hus- band’s.” “Oh yes, of course.” “Nellie, you remember your father throwing down that two pound ten on the table, and saying • Well, I’m 2–?” - “No, mother, I don’t. Do you think I could learn to hunt, Sir Harry?” “Of course you could, in no time.” “Does Miss Delane?” “And Pratt said that if Hodge couldn’t play the king at two pound ten a week—though that’s hard living, my dear—I beg pardon—Colonel—” The Colonel bowed courteously. Nellie grew very red. “Why, bantam-cocks had risen since his day, and that was all about it.” And Mrs. Hodge f A CHANGE OF AIR. 55 emptied her glass and beamed pleasantly on the Company. Suddenly Dale Bannister began to laugh gently. Tora Smith turned an inquiring look in his di- rection. “What is it, Mr. Bannister?” “I saw your father's butler looking at my friend Mrs. Hodge.” “What nonsensel Simmons is not allowed to look at any one.” “Isn't he Why not?” “No good servant does.” Dale smileo. “I know what you mean,” Tora continued; “but surely while they’re actually waiting, Mr. Bannister, we can’t treat them quite like our. selves? At any other time, of course—” “You’d take a walk with them 2 ° “They’d be horribly uncomfortable if I did,” she answered, laughing. “That’s the worst of it,” said he. “Do you think us great shams ?” “I have come to learn, not to criticise.” “We want a leader,” said Tora, with pretty earnestness. “Haven’t you one P’’ “Sir Harry Fulmer is our leader, but we’re not contented with him. He’s a very mild Radical. Won’t you come to our help ?” “I expect I should be too extreme the other way.” “Oh, I love people who are extreme, in my direction, I mean.” “Well, then, try the Doctor.” “Mr. Roberts? Oh, he's hardly prominent 56 A CHANGE OF AIR. enough ; we must have somebody of position. Now, what are you laughing at, Mr. Bannister ?” The gentleman to whom they referred sat looking on at them with no great pleasure, though they found one another entertaining enough to prevent them noticing him. Dale Bannister said that his new friend took life seriously, and the charge was too true for the Doctor’s happiness. Dale Bannister had taken hold of his imagination. He expected Dale to do all he would give his life to see done, but could not do himself; the effect of Dale was to be instantaneous, enormous, trans- forming Denborough and its inhabitants. He regarded the poet much as a man might look upon a benevolent volcano, did such a thing exist in the Order of nature. His function was, in the Doctor’s eyes, to pour forth the burning lava of truth and justice, wherewith the ignorance, prej- udice, and cruelty of the present order should be consumed and smothered; let the flood be copi- Ous, scorching, and unceasing ! The Doctor could do little more than hail the blessed shower and declare its virtues; but that he was ready to do at any cost. And the volcano would not act The eruptions were sadly intermittent. The hero, instead of going forth to war, was capering nimbly in a lady’s chamber, to the lascivious pleasing of a lute; that is to say, he was talking trifles to Tora Smith, with apparent enjoyment, forgetful of his mission, ignoring the powers of darkness around. No light-spreading saying, no sword-flash had come from him all the evening. He was fiddling while Rome was– waiting for the burning it needed so badly. Perhaps it was a woebegone look about the A CHANGE OF AIR. 57 Doctor that made Philip Hume take the chair next him after dinner, while Dale was, still as if in play, emitting anarchist sparks for the Colonel's entertainment. “Is it possible,” asked the Doctor in low, half- angry tones, “that he thinks these people are any good—that they are sincere or thorough in the matter? He's wasting his time.” “Well, well, my dear fellow, we must all dine, whatever our opinions.” “Oh yes, we must dine, while the world starves.” “The bow can’t be always stretched,” said Philip, with a slight smile. “You don’t think, Hume, do you, that he’s get- ting any less—less in earn, ºt, you know?” “Oh, he wrote a scorcher his very morning.” “Did he? That’s good now... Where is it to appear?” “I don’t know. He didn’t write it on commis- sion.” “His poems have such magnificent restlessness, haven’t they 2 I can’t bear t see him idle.” “Poor Dale ! You must givhim some holi- days. He likes pleasure like he rest o us.” The Doctor sighed impati ty, and Philip, looking at him anxiously, laid a hand on his a. I’Iſl. “Roberts,” he said, “there is ne need that you should be ground to powder.” “I don’t understand.” “I hope you never will. Your wife doesn’t look very strong. Why don’t you give her a change P’” “A change? How am I to afford a change? 58 A CHANGE of AIR. } Besides, who wants a change? What change do most workers get 2' “Hang most workers! Your wife wants a change.” “I haven’t got the money, anyhow.” “Then there’s an end of it.” The Colonel rose, and they made for the draw. ing-room. Philip detained his companion for a moment. “Well?” said the Doctor, feeling the touch on his arm. * “For God’s sake, old fellow, go slow,” said Philip, pressing his arm, and looking at him with an appealing Smile. A CHANGE OF AIR. Fig. CHAPTER VII. “To A PRETTY SAINT.” | WHEN Mrs. Delane came back from London, she was met with a question of the precise kind on which she felt hersely to be no mean authority. It was a problem of propriety, of etiquette, and of the usages of Society, and Mrs. Delane attacked it with a due sense of its importance and with the pleasure of an expert. It arose out of Dale Bannister's call at the Grange. Tale had been accustomeu, when a lady fonnd favor in his eyes, to inform her of the gratifying news through the , medium of a set of verses, more or less enthus'. astic and rhapsodic in their nature. The impuls- to follow his usual practice was strong on hip- after meeting Janet Delane, and issued in the composition of that poem called “To a Pref{ Saint,” the title of which Nellie had seen. He copied it out fair, and was about to put it in the post, when a thought suddenly struck him. Miss Delane was not quite like most of his acquaint- ances. It was perhaps possible that she might think his action premature, or even impertinent, and that she might deem it incumbent on her to resent being called either a saint or pretty by a friend of one interview’s standing. Dale was divided between his new-born doubt of his own 60 A CHANGE OF AIR. instinct of what was permissible, and his great reluctance to doom his work to suppression. He decided to consult Philip Hume, who was, as he knew, more habituated to the social atmosphere of places like Denshire. t “Eh 2 what ?” said Philip, who was busily engaged in writing a newspaper article. “Writ- ten a poem to a girl? All right. I’ll listen presently.” “I don’t want you to listen. I want your advice as to whether to send it or not.” “If you’ve wasted your time writing the thing, —by the way, take care the Doctor doesn’t hear of it, you may as well send it.” “The question is, whether she’ll be offended.” “I’m glad it isn’t more important, because I’m busy.” “Look here! Stop that anonymous stabber of yours and listen. It's to Miss Delane.” Philip stopped in the middle of a particularly vicious paragraph of the “stabber,” and looked up with amusement on his face. “It’s a perfectly—you know—suitable poem,” pursued Dale. “The only question is, will she think it a liberty ?” “Oh, send it. They like getting 'em ; ” and Philip took up his pen again. f “You don’t know the sort of girl she is.” “Then what the deuce is the good of asking me? Ask Nellie.” “No, I shan’t,” said Dale shortly. Thus thrown, by his friend's indifference, on his own judgment, Dale made up his mind to send the verses, he could not deny himself the pleasure, but, half alarmed at his own audacity, A CHANGE OF AIR. 61 which feeling was a new one in him, he “hedged” by enclosing with them a letter of an apologetic character. Miss Delane was not to suppose that he took the liberty of referring to her in the terms of his title: the little copy of verses had merely been suggested by a remark she made. He had failed to find an answer on the spot. Would she pardon him for giving his answer now in this indirect way?—and so forth. The verses, with their accompanying letter, were received by Janet, and Janet had no doubt of what she did feel about them, but some con- siderable doubt as to what she ought to feel; so she carried them to her mother. Mrs. Delane put on her pince-nez and read the documents in the Ca,Se. “I’m sure he didn’t mean to be—anything but what's nice, mamma,” said Janet. “I daresay not, my dear. The question is, whether the young man knows his manners. Let's see.” After careful perusal, during which Janet watched her mother's face with some anxiety, Mrs. Delane delivered judgment. “There's no positive harm in them,” she said, “ and I don’t think we need take any actual steps. Still, Janet, he is evidently to be treated with discretion.” “How do you mean, mamma P’’ “Well, he isn’t in need of encouragement, is he? He's not backward in making friends.” “I suppose not. May I keep them?” “Keep them? Do you want to keep them 2'' “Not particularly, dear,” answered Janet. “I —I thought he meant me to.” 62 A CHANGE OF AIR. “No doubt. Write a civil note, dear, thank him for letting you see them, and return them enclosed.” Janet was a little reluctant to part with her autograph manuscript, not because of its pecun- iary value, though that was more than a trifle, had she known, but because such things are pleasant possessions to show to envious friends,--but she did as she was told. She did not, however, feel herself bound altogether to smother her pride or to make a secret of the tribute she had received. Tora Smith heard the story with evident amuse- ment, and, thinking that others would share her appreciation of it, relieved the somewhat uphill course of Mrs. Hodge's call by a repetition of it : whereby it happened that Nellie Fane came to know, not only that Dale had written verses to Miss Delane and sent them, but also that Miss Delane had returned the offering. She told Philip the latter fact, and the two ventured to rally the poet on the occurrence. Dale took their action very badly, and his displeasure soon re- duced Nellie to apologies. Philip was less sen- sitive. “D. W. T., by Jovel” he remarked. “Quite like old times, Dale !” Dale muttered something about “infernal Chatter.” “You will soon be in a position to publish a volume of Rejected Addresses.’” “Not at all,” said Dale. “It’s simply that she didn’t understand I meant her to keep them.” “Oh, that's her delicate way of snubbing you, my boy.” A CHANGE OF AIR. 63 “What the deuce do you know about it, Phil? You never wrote verses in your life. Don’t you agree with me, Nellie?” “Miss Smith said Miss Delane thought she had better not keep them.” “I knew that girl was a gossip directly I set eyes on her.” “You’re naturally hurt, old fellow, but —” “Go to the deuce Look here, I’ll bet you a fiver she takes them back and keeps them.” “Done!” said Philip, and Dale seized his hat. “Why does he want her to take them 2° asked Nellie. “Vanity, my dear, vanity. I suppose he’s ac- customed to having his verses laid up in lavender. Is that what you do with yours?” - “He never wrote me any,” answered Nellie in a tone of superlative indifference. It being only two o'clock, Dale felt he could not yet go to the grange. He made a détour by the town, on pretence of buying stamps; and, the stars fighting with him, outside the Mayor's shop he saw Janet talking to the Mayor himself. “Thank you, Miss Delane, miss,” said the Mayor. “Mrs. Hedger is doin’ nicely. She had a bit of feverishness about her, but Dr. Spink's treated her wonderful.” “Dr. Spink? I thought you went to Dr. RobertS 22' “I did, miss, but— Well, things come round to me, miss, being a centre like.” “What things?” “Well, you may not have heard, miss, of the things that—Good-mornin', Mr. Bannister, sir, 64 A CHANGE OF AIR. good-mornin’. A fine day. Anything in our line, sir?” “Good-morning, Mr. Mayor,” said Dale. “Ah, Miss Delane, how do you do?” His coming interrupted Janet's investigations into the affairs of the Doctor, and she took her leave of the Mayor, Dale assuming permission to walk with her. He ought to have asked, no doubt, thought Janet, but it would be making too much of it to tell him so. | h They had hardly started, when he turned to €I’. “Why did you send back my verses?” 1." could hardly venture to keep them, could “Why not?” “On so slight an acquaintance! It was very kind of you to let me see them before they were published.”. f “They are not going to be published.” “Oh, you must publish them. They’re sovery rett V.” prº Didn’t you think I meant you to keep them?” * “I should have been very conceited if I had, shouldn't I?” “Well, they were for you—not to be published. If you don’t like them, they’ll be burnt, that's all.” Janet stole a glance at his face: he looked like a petulant Apollo—so she thought. “That would be a pity,” she said gravely; “but I don’t think I ought to keep them.” “Why not?” Socrates is reported to have said that nothing A CHANGE OF AIR. 65 is reasonable which cannot be stated in a reason- able form. Miss Janet Delane would have dis- sented. “Of course I like them yery much. But— well, we haven’t known each other very long, Mr. Bannister.” “You mean it was impertinent 2" “Oh no. I thought your letter perfect—I did really. But mamma thought—” “Oh!” said Dale, with brightening face. “You would have kept them 2 ° “That’s not the question,” said Janet, smiling. It was pleasant to see Apollo looking less petu- lant. “But what would people say if they heard I had poems of Mr. Dale Bannister’s about me? I should be thought a dangerous person.” “I’ll write some which you would like to have.” “I am sure you could, if you only would. Fancy, if you wrote really noble verses—worthy of you !” “Well, I will, if it will please you.” “Nonsense, Mr. Bannister There's no ques- tion of pleasing me: it doesn’t matter—well, I mean, then, the great thing is to do justice to yourself.” “I ought to have some encouragement in well- doing,” said Dale plaintively. She shook her head with a smile, and he went On, “I wish you’d come to Littlehill and see the house. I’ve improved it tremendously.” “Oh, you must invite mamma.” “Would Mrs. Delane come P’’ This question was a little awkward, for Mrs. Delane, after cross-examining Tora Smith closely 5 6% A CHANGE OF AIR. \ as to Mrs. Hodge and her daughter, had an- nounced that she would not go. 66 à bachelor doesn’t entertain ladies, does he P’ “I should like to ; and there are some ladies—” A sudden thought struck him, and he stopped. He looked so pointedly at Janet, that, to her intense annoyance, she felt herself blush- ing. She made the grave mistake of changing the conversation abruptly. “How did you like the Smiths?” “Oh, pretty well.” “I should have thought you would have got on tremendously well together.” “Oh, I don’t know. I think I like people to be one thing or the other, and the Smiths are half-way housers.” “You’re very ungrateful.” “Oh, they only asked us as a demonstration,” said Dale, who had some acuteness. Janet laughed, but her companion was moodily prodding the ground with his stick as he walked along. They reached a cottage where she had a visit to pay, and she bade him good-bye. “Then you won’t have the verses?” “I think not.” “Very well, then, here goes ; ” and he took the paper out of his pocket and tore it to bits. The fragments fluttered to the ground. “How foolish !” she said. “I daresay they were worth a lot of money—but then you can. write them out again.” * “Do you think I shall ?” he asked, grinding the fragments into the mud. A CHANGE OF AIR. 67 “I’m afraid you will do nothing wise,” she said, giving him her hand. Yet the extravagance rather pleased her. TJntil Dale reached his own house, it did not strike him that he had lost his bet. Philip quickly reminded him, and laughed mercilessly when a crumpled five-pound note was thrown at his head by his angry friend. “I tell you she wanted to keep them,” said Dale unjustifiably. “Then why didn’t she?” asked Nellie “Mrs. Delane did not approve of it.” “I expect Mrs. Delane does not approve of you at all,” remarked Philip. “No, nor of my friends either,” answered Dale, flinging himself into a chair. “Well, my dear,” said Mrs. Hodge, who sat by, º her opinion will neither make us nor mar us.” “How have we had the misfortune to offend the lady?” inquired Philip. “She has never seen us.” “Here's your tea, Dale,” said Nellie. “Are you tired?” “Yes, a little. Thanks, Nellie.” “Was she looking nice, Dale * “I didn’t see her.” “I mean Miss Delane.” “Oh yes, I suppose so. I didn't look much.” 6ö A CHANGE OF AIR's CHAPTER VIII. AN INDISCREET DISCIPLE. SUMMER wore away, and autumn came in brief, calm radiance, and passed: winter began to threaten. At Denborough, one quiet day followed another, each one noticeable for little, but in the aggregate producing some riot unimportant changes at Littlehill. Dale Bannister had begun to work hard and to workin solitude; the inspira- tion of Nellie's eyes seemed either unnecessary or ineffectual. Moreover, his leisure hours were now largely spent in visiting at houses in the neighbor- hood. He did not neglect his guests, but, when- ever their engagements occupied them, instead of wandering about alone or enjoying the humors of the High Street, as he had been prone to do in the early days of his sojourn, he would go over to Mount Pleasant, or to the Grange, or to Sir Harry Fulmer's, and he was becoming learned in country lore and less scornful of country ways. The Doctor was a rare visitor now, and, when he came, it generally fell to Philip Hume's lot to entertain him. Philip did his duty loyally, but it was dreary work, for Roberts’ conversation, at their meetings, consisted, in the main, of diatribes against Dale Bannister. He would declare that Dale's conduct, in maintaining friendly relations A CHANGE OF AIR. 69 with the gentry of the neighborhood, was in flagrant contradiction to the views he had pro- claimed in his writings. Philip shrugged his shoulders, and said that some men were better than their writings, some worse, but no main the same as his writings; the pose must ever be allowed for: and at this, the angry man often turned his back on the house with an imprecation on half-heartedness. For the rest, Philip's hands were not very full, and he and Nellie Fane found time for long expeditions together, which would have been more cheerful, had it not been for Nellie's scrupulous determination to ignore the absence of the third member of the old trio. One day Philip's idle steps led him through the town On the search for matter of amusement. He was caught in a shower, and took refuge in the Mayor's shop, knowing that his Worship always had time for a gossip. He was not disappointed. The Mayor entertained him with a graphic account of the last assault on Mr. Delane's position as member for the Denborough division, and of his own recent re-election to his high office. Philip Congratulated him on the latter event, and asked in curiosity, “And what are your politics, Mr. Mayor?” “I hold as a man in my position should have no politics, not party politics, Mr. Hume, sir.” “Well, there’s something to be said for that.” “After all, we know what they are, sir. One out and the other in—that's what they are, sir.” “But you said Mrs. Hedger canvassed for the Squire.” “So she did, sir Now, my daughter is on the 70 A CHANGE OF AIR. Liberal side; she and Miss Smith used to go a-drivin’ round together.” “A sad division of opinion, Mr. Mayor.” “Well, we can differ without disagreein', sir. Besides,” he added, with something like a wink, “customers differ too.” “MOSt. true.” “Business is business, sir, especially with a growin’ fam’ly. I always think of my fam’ly, Mr. Hume, and how I should leave 'em if I was took—taken.” **_ “A man's first duty, Mr. Mayor.” “You wouldn’t catch me goin’ on like this young Roberts.” “Why, what's he been up to now?” asked Philip uneasily. “You ain’t seen the Standard, sir?” The Mayor, of course, meant the East Denshire Stand. ard, not the London paper of the same name. « No.” “Well, last week they printed the Vicar's sermon on ‘The work of Christianity' in the World.” A fine sermon it was, sir. I heard it, being a Church of England man. Mrs. Hedger goes to Chapel.” & “Customers differ too,” thought Philip, smil- Ing. | “Well, as I was sayin', Jones' of the Standard got the Vicar to give it 'im, and it came out, with a leadin’ article of Jones’s crackin’ it up.” “But how does the Doctor—” “This week, sir,” continued the Mayor, shaking an impressive forefinger, “in the Chronicle—that's the Liberal paper, sir—there’s a letter from the Xoctor—two columns—just abusin' the Church A CHANGE OF AIR. 71 and the parsons, and the 'ole—whole thing, fit to—well, I never did l’” “Hum ! Rather rash, isn’t it 2° “Rash, Mr. Hume, sir? It’s madness, that’s what it is, sir. He talks about ‘pestilent priests,’ and I don’t know what all, sir, and ends with quotin' thirty or forty lines from a poem called, I think, The Arch Apostates,—would that be it, sir?—by Mr. Bannister.” “No 1 does he, by Jove?” said Philip, slapping his thigh. “And the po’try, sir, is worse than the Doctor's own stuff, sir, beggin' your pardon as a friend of Mr. Bannister.” “I know the lines. They’re some of the hot- test he's ever done.” “Mr. Bannister, of course, can afford it, sir. His opinions are what he pleases—but the Doctor, Sir * “So the fat’s in the fire P’” “Just the very worst time it could ha’ come out, S.r. The Guardians over at Dirkham meet to- morrow to elect their medical Officer. I’m afraid as they won’t re-elect Dr. Roberts, sir, and there was more than One down at the ‘Delane Arms” sayin’ they’d had the last to do with him.” Philip parted from his informant in much con- Cern for Roberts, and in no small amusement at the public placarding of The Arch Apostates. Surtout, point de 2éle, he could imagine Dale say- ing to his infatuated disciple. On returning home, however, he found the poet saying much harder things of, if not to, Mr. Roberts. Dale had been calling at the Smiths’, The Colonel, while shaking his head over Robert's 72 A CHANGE OF AIR. imprudence, had applauded his opinions, and was, above all, enchanted with the extract from Dale's poem, which he had never hitherto read. His pleasure was, as he told Dale, greatly increased by finding that the letter and the quotation had fallen like a bombshell on the Grange household. “The Squire was furious. Mrs. Delane said she had no idea you had done anything so bad as that ; and little Janet sat and looked as if some one had knocked down the Archbishop of Canter- bury. It was splendid! Gad, sir, you’ve waked 'em up.” These congratulations had the effect of reduc- ing the poet almost to a frenzy. “What business,” he demanded, “has the fellow to quote me in support of his balderdash without my leave?” “My dear fellow, your works are the possession of the nation,” said Philip, smiling, as he lit a cigar. “It’s an infernal liberty!” fumed Dale. “You light the fire, and blame it for blazing,” said Philip. * “One doesn’t want to shove one’s views down people’s throats.” “Doesn’t. One P One used to.” “I shall write and disclaim any responsibility.” “For the poem 2° “For its publication, of course.” “That won’t do you much good.” The Mayor’s forecast, based on a lifelong observation of his neighbors, proved only too correct. Dr. Spink entered the lists against Roberts, and was elected by every vote save one. Sir Harry Fulmer, in blind and devoted obedience to Tora Smith, voted for Roberts: the rest, headed A CHANGE OF AIR. 73 by the Squire, installed his rival in his place; and the Squire, having sternly done his duty, sat down and wrote a long and friendly letter of re- monstrance and explanation to his erring friend. As misfortune followed misfortune, the Doctor set his teeth, and dared fate to do her worst. He waited a few days, hoping to be comforted by a word of approval from his master; none came. At last he determined to seek out Dale Bannister, and was about to start, when his wife came in and gave him the new issue of the Chronicle. Ethel Roberts was pale and weary-looking, and she glanced anxiously at her husband. “I am going up to Littlehill,” he said. “Have you done your round, dear?” “My round doesn’t take long nowadays. Maggs will give me fifteen pounds for the pony: you know we don’t want him now.” “No, Jim, and we do want fifteen pounds.” “What’s that 22° “The Chronicle, dear. There's—a letter from Mr. Bannister.” “Is there? Good l Tet’s see what Bannister has to say to these bigoted idiots.” He opened the paper, and in the middle of the front page read:— “A DISCLAIMER FROM MR. BANNISTER.” “Sir, I desire to state that the use made by Mr. James Roberts of my poem in your last issue was without my authority or approbation. The poem was written some years ago, and must not be assumed to represent my present view on the subject of which it treats.-I am, sir, your obedient servant “DALE BANNISTER,” 74, A. CEIANGE OF AIR. The Doctor stared at the letter. “Bannister—Dale Bannister wrote that l” and he flung the paper angrily on the floor. “Give me my hat.” “You’re not going—” “Yes, I am, Ethel. I’m going to find out what this means.” “Hadn't you better wait till you are less—” “Less what, Ethel? What do you mean?” “Till the rain stops, Jim dear; and it's just baby’s time for coming down.” “Hang—no, I beg your pardon, Ethel. I’m very sorry, but I must see the end of this.” He rushed out, and the baby found a dull, pre- occupied, almost tearful, very unamusing mother to play with that day. The Doctor marched into Dale's room with a stern look on his face. i “Well, Roberts, how are you?” asked Dale, not graciously. “What does this mean, Bannister?” “It means, my dear fellow, that you took my name in vain, and I had to say so.” “I’m not thinking of myself, though it would have been more friendly to write to me first.” “Well, I was riled, and didn’t think of that.” “But do you mean to deny your own Words 2 ° “Really, Roberts, you seem to forget that I don’t enjoy setting the place by the ears, although you seem to.” “You wrote that poem’’’ A CHANGE OF AIR. 75 “Of course I wrote the damned thing,” said Dale peevishly. N * “And now—Bannister, you’re not going to—to throw us Over ?” “Nonsense! I like to publish my views at my own time and place, that's all.” “A man like you belongs to his followers as much as to himself.” “More, it seems.” \ The Doctor looked at him almost scornfully. Dale did not like scorn from any one. “I was particularly anxious,” he began apolo- getically, “not to get into a shindy here. I wanted to drop politics and so on, and be friendly—” “Do you know what you’re saying, or the meanness of it 2 ° “Meanness? What do you mean?” “You know very well. All I want to know is if you wrote this thing?” “Of ČOurse I Wrote it.” “And you stand to it?” “Yes. I think you ought to have asked me before you did it.” “The Squire is shocked, eh?” asked the Doctor with a sneer. “The Squire's views are nothing to me,” an- swered Dale, flushing very red. The Doctor laughed bitterly. “Come, come, old fellow,” said Dale, “don’t let us quarrel.” “Quarrel? Well, we won’t. Only look here, Bannister.” « Well ?” * “If you throw us over now, you'll be-" 76 A CHANGE OF AIR. 2^ “There, don’t abuse me any more.” “Oh, I wasn’t going to abuse you. If you leave us, you, the leader We trusted,—where are we, where are we ?” * “Give me another chance,” said Dale, holding out his hand. “You won’t withdraw this?” “How the deuce can I now 2° The Doctor shook his hand, saying, “Don’t betray us, don’t betray us;” and thus the very uncomfortable interview came to a desired end. That night at dinner Dale was cross and in low spirits. His friends, perceiving it, forbore to ex- press their views as to his last public utterance, and the repast dragged its weary length along amid intermittent conversation. When the dessert was on the table, a note was brought for Dale. It was from the Squire. “DEAR BANNISTER,--I was very glad to see your letter in the Chronicle. Mrs. Delane joins me in hoping you will dine with us to-morrow en famille. Excuse short notice. The man waits for an answer—don't write one.—Yours truly, * “GEORGE DELAN.E.” “Say I’ll come with great pleasure,” said Dale, his face growing brighter. *R “Where will he go with great pleasure?” asked Philip of Nellie Fame." “Where is it, Dale P” “Oh, only the Grange, to dinner to-morrow. I think I had better write a note, though—don't ou think so, Phil? More—more attentive, you - OW.” A CHANGE OF AIR. 77 “Write, my son,” answered Philip, and, as Dale left the room, he looked round with a smile and exclaimed, “One!” “One what, my dear?” asked Mrs. Hodge. “Piece of silver, ma'am,” replied Philip. “You’re sneering again,” said Nellie in a warn- ing tone. “Why shouldn’t he like to dine at the Grange?” and she looked marvellously reason- able and indifferent. “I was speaking with the voice of Doctor Roberts, Nellie, that’s all. For my own part, I think a dinner is one of those things one may accept even from the enemy.” 78 A CHANGE OF AIR. CHAPTER IX. DALE’s own op1NION. IF ever our own fortune would allow us to be perfectly happy, the consummation is prevented and spoilt by the obstinately intruding unhap- piness of others. The reverend person who was of opinion that the bliss of the blessed would be in- creased and, so to say, vivified by the sight of the tortures of the damned, finds few supporters now- adays, perhaps because our tenderer feelings shrink from such a ruthless application of the doctrine that only by contemplating the worse - can We enjoy the better; perhaps also because We are not SO sure as he was that we should not be the Onlooked rather than the onlookers if ever his picture came to be realized. So sensitive are We to the ills that others suffer, that at times we feel almost a grudge against them for their per- sistence—however unwilling it be—in marring our perfect contentment; surely they could let us forget them for once in a way. This last was Dale Bannister’s frame of mind, as he lay, idly and yet not peacefully, on his sofa next morning. This Doctor, with his unflinching logic and unrestrained zeal, was a nuisance. His devotion had not been sought, and certainly, if it entailed scenes like yesterday's, was not desired. A CHANGE OF AIR. 79 Dale never asked him to ruin his practice, as Philip Hume said he was doing, in order to up- hold Dale's principles; Dale did not want a starving family to his account, whose hungry looks should press him to a close questioning of his conscience. Any man with an ounce of come mon sense would understand that there was a time for everything, and a place. It was one thing to publish your views in a book, addressed to the world of thinkers and intelligent readers; it was quite another to brandish them in the face of your neighbors, and explode them, like shells, tn the innocent streets of Denborough. And yet, because he recognized this obvious distinction, because he had some sense of what was suitable and reasonable, and because he refused to make enemies of people simply because they were well- off, the Doctor stormed at him as if he were a traitor and a snob. And Philip Hume had taken to smiling in an aggravating way when the Grange was mentioned; and even Nellie—but Bale, alert as he was in his present mood to discover matter of complaint, found none against Nellie, unless it might be some falling off in her old cheerfulness and buoyancy. Dale lit his pipe and set himself to consider with impartiality whether Roberts had in fact any grievance against him. . He wanted to satisfy himself that there was no basis for the Doctor's indignation; his self-esteem demanded that the accusation should be disproved. But really it was too plain. What had he done? Refused to acquiesce in being made a fool of, refused to meet civility with incivility, to play the churl, to shut his eyes to intelligence and culture and attrac- 80 A CHANGE OF AIR. tiveness, because they happened to be found among people who did not think as he did or as Roberts was pleased to think. He knew, what those sneers meant, but he would go his own way. Things had come to a pretty pass if a man might not be civil and seek to avoid wholly unnecessary causes of offence without being treated as a renegade to all his convictions. That was not his idea of breadth of mind or toleration, or of good feeling either. It was simple bigotry, as narrow as—ay, narrower than—anything he at least had found on the other side. Dale disposed of this question, but he still lay on the sofa and thought. It had been a gain to him, he said to himself, to see this new side of life; the expedition to Littlehill was well justified. It is good for a man to take a flag of truce and go talk with the enemy in the gate. He may not change his own views, Dale was conscious of no change in his, but he comes to see how other people may hold different ones, and the reason, or anyhow the naturalness, of theirs. A man of Roberts’ fierce Puritan temper could not feel nor appreciate what appealed to him so strongly in such a life as they lived, for instance, at the Grange. It had a beauty so its own, that un- questioned superiority, not grasped as a prize or valued as an opportunity, but gravely accepted as the parent of duties—the unbroken family life, grasping through many hands the torch un- dimmed from reverend antiquity—the very house, which seemed to enshrine honorable traditions, at which he could not bring himself to sneer. The sweetness of it all broke back baffled from the wall of the Doctor’s stern conviction and iron *º- A CHANGE OF AIR. 81 determination. Yet how sweet it all was And these people welcomed into their circle any man who had a claim to welcome; freely, ungrudgingly, cordially. All they asked was a little gentleness to their—he supposed they were prejudices, a little deference to their prepossessions, a little smoothing off of the rougher edges of difference. It was not much to ask. Was he churlishly to deny the small corºcession, to refuse to meet them any part of the way, to entrench himself in the dogmatic intolerance of his most vehement utter- ances, to shut his mind off from this new source of inspiration? That was what Roberts wanted. Well, then—Roberts be hanged 1 The course of these reflections produced in Dale a return to his usual equanimity. It was plainly impossible to please everybody. He must act as seemed right to himself, neglecting the frowns • of unreasonable grumblers. No doubt Roberts was devoted to him, and Arthur Angell too. Yet Roberts abused him, and Arthur bothered him with imploring letters, which warned him against the subtle temptations of his new life. It was a curious sort of devotion which showed itself mainly in criticism and disapproval; it was very flattering of these good friends to set him on a pedestal and require him to live up to the position ; only, unfortunately, the pedestal was of their choosing, not his. All he asked was to be allowed to live a quiet life and work out his own ideas in his own way. If they could not put up with that, why—Dale refilled his pipe and opened a story by Maupassant. ſ It may be asserted that every man is the vic- tim º a particular sort of follies, the follies en- 82 A CHANGE OF AIR. gendered by his particular sort of surroundings; they make a fool’s circle within which each of us has a foot planted : for the rest, we may be, and no doubt generally are, very sensible people. If we set aside Squire Delane’s special and indige- nous illusions, he was very far indeed from a fool, and after dinner that evening he treated his distinguished guest with no small tact. The young man was beyond question a force ; was it outside of ingenuity to turn him in a better direc- tion ? “Everybody approves of your letter,” he said. “ Roberts had no business to drag your name 1Il. “Of course one is exposed to that sort of thing.” “It’s a penalty of greatness. But the case is peculiar when you’re actually living in the place.” “That’s exactly what I feel. It’s making me a party in a local quarrel.” “That’s what he wanted to do ; he wanted to fight under your shield.” “I didn’t come here to fight at all.” “I should think not ; and you haven’t found us thirsting for battle, have you ?” “I have found a kinder welcome than I had any right to expect.” l “My dear fellow ! Much as we differ, we're all proud of counting you as a Denshire man. And I don’t suppose we shall quarrel much about Denshire affairs. Oh, I know you think the whole system of country life an iniquity. I don’t go so deep myself. I say, there it is : perhaps it might be changed, but, pending that, sensible men car. work together to make the best of it. At any A CHANGE OF AIR. 83 rate, they can avoid treading on one another's corns.” ; “I want to avoid everybody’s corns—if they'll avoid mine.” “Well, we'll try. I daresay we shall pull to- gether. At any rate, it’s very pleasant dining to- gether. Shall we go upstairs and ask Janet for a song?” Mrs. Delane had evidently caught her cue from her husband, and she treated Dale not as a sin- ner who repenteth,--a mode of reception which, , after all, requires great tact to make it acceptable, —but as one who had never been a sinner at all. She asked Dale if he had been overwhelmed by callers. He replied that he had not suffered much in that way. * “I knew it,” she said. “You have frightened them, Mr. Bannister ; they think you came in search of studious retirement.” “Oh, I hate both study and retirement, Mrs. Delane.” “Well, Ishall tell people that—may I ? Now, when I was at the Cransfords’ yesterday, he’s our Lord-ſlieutenant, you know, they were wondering whether they might call.” “I am delighted to see any one.” “ From the Mayor upwards—or, I suppose, Hedger would think I ought to say downwards. We heard what fun you made of the poor man.” ſ “Mr. Bannister will be more respectful to the Lord-Lieutenant,” said Janet, smiling. “I suppose I disapprove of Lord-Lieutenants,” remarked Dale, with a laugh. “You’ll like Lady Cransford very much, and 84 A CHANGE OF AIR she'll like you. She gives so many balls, that a bachelor household is a godsend.” “Bannister hardly depends on that for a wel- come, my dear,” said the Squire from the hearth- TUIQ'. t ÉNow I declare, meeting him just as a friend like this, I’m always forgetting that he's a famous man.” ! “Please go on, Mrs. Delane. It’s a capital ex- change. But when are you going to give me the pleasure of seeing you at Littlehill ?” Mrs. Delane paused for just a second. “I should like to visit your hermit’s cell. But I’m so busy just now, and I daresay you are. When your guests forsake you, perhaps, we will come and relieve your solitude. Janet, will you give us some music?” * ... -- Dale followed Janet to the piano, with a little frown on his brow. Why wouldn’t she come now? Was it 2– Janet's voice dispersed the frown and the reflection. She sang a couple of songs, choosing them out of a book. As she turned over the leaves, Dale saw that some of the airs were set to words of his own writing. When Janet came to one of these, she turned the leaf hastily. The Squire had gone out, and Mrs. Delane, with the privilege of near relationship, was absorbed in a novel. “Will you do me a great favor P” he said. “What, Mr. Bannister ?” “I should like to hear you sing words of mine. See, here are two or three.” She glanced through them; then she shut the book and made as though to rise. “You Won’t do it, 27° A CHANGE OF AIR. 8, Janet blushed and looked troubled. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Bannister; but I can't sing those words. I—I don’t like them.” “I am sorry they are so bad,” he answered in an offended tone. “Oh, of course, so far as power and—and beauty goes, everything in the book is trash com. pared to them. But I can’t sing them.” “I won’t press you.” “I know you are angry. Please don’t be angry, Mr. Bannister. I can’t do what I think wrong, can I?” “Oh, I have no right to be angry.” “There, you wouldn’t say that unless you were angry. People never do.” “You have such a wretchedly bad opinion of me, Miss Delane.” “Do you mind that ?” “You know I do.” : Then one would think you would try to change it.” “Ah, how can I?” “Write something I should delight in singing.” “If I do, may I dedicate it to you?” “I’m afraid that wouldn’t be allowed.” “But if it were allowed, would you allow it?” “You know how proud any girl would be of it —of course you know.” “You don’t do justice to my humility.” “Do justice to yourself first, Mr. Bannister.” “What sort of songs do you like?” “Oh, anything honest, and manly, and patri- otic, and—and nice in feeling.” “A catholic taste—and yet none of mine Satisfy it.” 86 A CHANGE OF AIR. “I will not be quarrelled with,” declared Janet. “My only wish is to propitiate you.” “Then you know now how to do it.” It must be allowed that conversations of this nature have a pleasantness of their own, and Dale left the Grange with a delightful feeling of hav- ing been treated as he ought to be treated. He found Philip Hume writing and Smoking in the study. º “Well, been stroked the right way, old man?” asked Philip, throwing down his pen. Dale helped himself to whisky and soda-water, without replying. “I’ve been having a talk with Nellie,” pursued Philip. “What's wrong with Nellie?” “She’s got some notion in her head that she and her mother ought to go.” Dale was lighting a cigar. “Of course I told her it was all nonsense, and that you meant them to stay as long as they liked. She's got some maggot in her head about propriety—all nonsense, when her mother's here.” “I don’t want them to go, if they like staying,” said Dale. “Well, we should be slow without Nellie, shouldn’t we? You must blow her up for think- ing of it. She only wants to be persuaded.” “She can do as she likes.” “You don’t seem very enthusiastic about it, one way or the other.” “Well my dear Phil, I can’t be expected to cry at the idea of little Nellie Fane leaving us.” “Yet you made rather a point of her coming —but that was two months ago.” A CHANGE OF AIR. 87 ſ. “Really, you might leave Nellie and me to settle it.” “What I told her was right, I suppose?” “Well, you don’t suppose I wanted you to tell her to pack up?” t “I don’t know what you want, old man,” said Philip; “and I doubt if you do.” 88 A CHANGE OF AIB. CHAPTER X. A PREJUDICED VERDICT. IT has been contumeliously said by insolent Englishmen—a part of our population which may sometimes seem to foreign eyes as large as the whole—that you might put any other of the world’s capitals, say Paris or New York, down in London, and your cabman would not be able to find it. However this may be, and there is no need in this place either for assertions or admissions,—it is certain that you might unload a wagonful of talents in Piccadilly, and they would speedily be absorbed and leave little ob- vious trace of the new ingredient. Hence the advantage, for a man who does not dislike the digito monstrari et dicter “hic est,” of dwelling in small places, and hence, a cynic might suggest, the craving for quieter quarters displayed by some of our less conspicuous celebrities. It is better, says a certain authority, to reign in hell than serve in heaven ; and a man may grow weary of walking unrecognized down the Strand, when he has only, to be the beheld of all be- holders, to take up his residence in—perhaps it will be more prudent to say Market Denborough, and not point the finger of printed scorn at any better-known resort. This very ungenerous explanation was the one A CHANGE OF AIR. 89 which Miss Victoria Smith chose to adopt as accounting for Dale Bannister's coming to Little- hill. Such an idea had never crossed her mind at first, but it became evident that a man who could leave his friend in the lurch and palter with his principles, as Dale's letter to the Chronicle showed him to be doing, could only be credited with any discoverable motive less bad and con- temptible than the worst through mere hasti- ness and ill-considered good-nature. For her part, she liked a man to stick to his colors and to his friends, and not be ashamed before the tea-tables of Denshire. No, she had never read his poems, she had no time, but papa had, and agreed with every word of them. “Gad! does he?” said Sir Harry Fulmer, to whom these views were expressed. “Well played the Colonel !” “What do you mean?” “Well, some of them made me sit up rather,” remarked Sir Harry. “Oh, anything would make you “sit up,” as you call it. I don’t consider you a Radical.” “I voted for your friend the Doctor anyhow.” “Yes, that was good of you. You were the only one with an elementary sense of justice.” Sir Harry’s sense of justice, elementary or other, had had very little to do, with his vote, but he said with honest pride, \ “Somebody ought to stand by a fellow when he’s down.” * “Especially when he's in the right.” “Well, I don’t quite see, Miss Smith, what business it was of Roberts’ to cut up the Vicar's sermon. Naturally the Vicar don’t like it.” 90 A CHANGE OF AIR. “So he takes his medicine from Dr. Spink' " “Rather awkward for him to have Roberts about the place.” “Oh, of course you defend him.” “The Vicar's a very good fellow, though he's a Tory.” “You seem to think all Tories good fellows.” “So they are, most of them.” “I suppose you think Mr. Bannister's right too?” “I shouldn’t be so down on him as you are.” “You like people who lead their friends on and then forsake them P” “Bannister never asked him to write the letter.” “Well, it’s not my idea of friendship. I wouldn’t have a friend who thought that con- duct right.” “Then I think it deuced wrong,” said Sir Harry promptly. “It’s no compliment to a woman to treat her like a baby,” remarked Tora, with dignity. Sir Harry perceived that it would be to his advantage to change the subject. “Are you going skating 2°he asked. “There's nothing else to do in this beastly frost.” “IDOes the ice bear 2 ° “Yes, they’re skating on the Grange lake. I met Hume, Bannister’s friend, and he told me Bannister Was there.” & “Wasn’t he going? I rather like him.” “No, he was walking with Miss Fane. I believe I rather put my foot in it by asking her if she wasn’t going.” - r “Why shouldn't you?” A CHANGE OF AIR. 91 “She said she didn’t know Mrs. Delaue, and looked confused, don’t you know?” “HaSn’t Mrs. Delane called ?” “It seems not,” said Sir Harry. “I wonder how long they are going to stay at Tittlehill?” h “Forever, apparently. Shall you come to the lake 2 ° “Perhaps in the afternoon.” Tora returned to the house, still wondering. She was very angry with Dale, and prepared to think no good of him. Was it possible that she and the Colonel had been hasty in stretch- `ing out the hand of welcome to Mrs. Hodge and her daughter ? For all her independence, Tora liked to have Mrs. Delane's imprimatur on the women of her acquaintance. She thought she would have a word with the Colonel, and went to seek him in his study. He was not there, but it chanced that there lay on the table a copy of Dale's first published volume, The Clarion. Three-quarters of the little book were occupied with verses on matters of a more or less public description,--beliefs past and future, revolutions effected and prayed for, and so forth : the leaves bore marks of use, and evidently were often turned by the Colonel. But bound up with them was a little sheaf of verses of an amatory character : where these begun, the Colonel’s interest appeared Jo cease, for the pages were uncut ; he had only got as far as the title. It was not so with his daughter. Having an idle hour and some interest in the matters and affairs of love, she took a paper- knife and sat down to read. Poets are, by 92 A CHANGE OF AIR. ancient privilege, legibus soluti, and Dale cer- tainly revelled in his freedom. Still, perhaps, the verses were not in reality so very, very atrocious as they unhappily appeared to the young lady who now read them. Tora was accustomed to consider herself almost a revo-S lutionary spirit, and her neighbors, half in earnest, half in joke, encouraged the idea; but her revolutions were to be very strictly confined, and the limits of her free-thought were marked out by most unyielding metes and bounds— bounds that stopped very short at the church door and on the domestic threshold. This frame of mind is too common to excite comment, and it had been intensified in her by the social sur- roundings against which she was in mock revolt. Dale's freedom knew no trammels, or had known none when he wrote The Clarion—nothing was sacred to him except truth, everything as nothing beside reason, reason the handmaid of passion, wherein the spirit and individuality of each man found its rightful expression. This theory, embodied in a poet's fancy and enlivened by a young man’s ardor, made fine verses, but verses which startled Tora Smith. She read for half an hour, and then, flinging the book down and drawing a long bre th, exclaimed, “I can believe anything of him now !” And she had had this man to dinner And that girl! Who was that girl? The Colonel came home to luncheon in very good spirits. He had just succeeded, in the interests of freedom, in stirring up a spirit of active revolt in Alderman Johnstone. The Alderman had hitherto, like his father before A CHANGE OF AIR. 93 him, occupied his extensive premises on a weekly tenancy; he had never been threatened with molestation or eviction; but he felt that he existed on sufferance, and the consciousness of his precarious position had been irksome to him. A moment had come when the demand for houses was slack, when two or three were empty and when the building trade itself was nearly at a standstill. The Colonel had incited Johnstone to seize the opportunity to ask from the Squire a lease, and Johnstone had promised to take nothing less than “seven, fourteen, or twenty-one.” If refused, he declared he would surrender the premises and build for himself on some land of the Colonel’s just outside the town. “Delane must grant it,” said the Colonel, rubbing his hands, “and then we shall have one house anyhow where our bills can be put up. Bannister will be delighted. By the way, Tora, he wants us to go in to tea to-day, after skating. I suppose you’re going to skate?” “I am going to skate, but I am not going to Mr. Bannister's,” said Tora coldly. “Why not?” The Colonel was told why not with explicitness and vehemence. He tugged his white whisker in some perplexity: he did not mind much about the poems, though, of course, no excess of scrupulousness could be too great in a girl like Tora; but if she were right about the other affair! That must be looked into. The Colonel was one of those people who pride themselves on tact and savoir faire ; he aggravated this fault by believing that tact and 94 - A CHANGE OF AFR. candor could be combined in a happy union, and he determined to try the effect of the mixture on Dale Bannister. It would go hard if he did not destroy this mare's nest of Tora's. All the neighborhood was skating on the Grange lake under a winter sun, whose ruddy rays tinged the naked trees, and drew an answer- ing glitter from the diamond-paned windows o the house. The reeds were motionless, and the graze of skates on the ice sounded sharp in the still air, and struck the ear through the Swishing of birch brooms and the shuffle of sweepers’ feet. From time to time a sudden thud and a peal of laughter following told of disaster, or there grated across the lake a chair, carrying one who preferred the conquest of men to the science of equilibrium. Rosy cheeks glowed, nimble feet sped, and lissom figures swayed to and fro as they glided over the shining surface, till even the old and the stout, the Cripples and the fox-hunters, felt the glow of life tingling in their veins, and the beauty of the world feeding their spirits with fresh desire, “It is not all of life to live,” but, at such a moment, it is the best part of it. Dale Bannister was enjoying himself; he was a good skater, and it gave him pleasure that, when people turned to look at the famous poet, they should see an athletic youth: only he wished that Janet Delane would give him an opportunity of offering his escort, and not appear so con- tented with the company of a tall man of military bearing, who had come down to the water with the Grange party. He was told that the new- comer was Captain Ripley, Lord Cransford's A CHANGE OF AIR. 95 eldest son, and he did not escape without witness- ing some of the nods and becks which, in the country, where everybody knows everybody, ac- company the most incipient stages of a supposed love-affair. Feeling, under these circumstances, a little desolate, for Philip was engrossed in figures and would not waste his time talking, he saw with pleasure Tora Smith and Sir Harry coming towards him. He went to meet them, and, at a distance of a few yards from them, slackened his pace and lifted his hat, not doubting of friendly recognition. Sir Harry returned his salute with a cheery “How are you?” but did not stop, for Tora swept on past Dale Bannister, without a glance at him. In surprise, he paused. “She must have seen me,” he thought, “but why in the world—?” Bent on being sure, he put himself right in her path, as she completed the circle and met him again. There was no mistaking her in- tention: she gave him the cut direct, as clearly and as resolutely as ever it was given, Sir Harry had remonstrated in vain. In Tora's uncompromising mind, impulse did not wait on counsel, and her peremptory “I have my reasons” refused all information and 'prevented all persua- sion. He felt he had done enough for friendship when he braved her disapproval by declining to follow her example. He did not pretend to under- stand the ways of woman, and Dale Bannister might fight his own battles. While Dale was yet standing in angry bewilder- - ment, for who had received him with more cor- diality than she who now openly insulted him? —he saw the Colonel hobbling towards him across the slippery expanse. The Colonel fell once, and 96 A CHANGE OF AIR. Dale heard him swear testily at the sweeper who helped him to rise. He thought it kind to meet him half way: perhaps the Colonel would explain. The Colonel was most ready to do so; in fact, he had come for the very purpose of warning Ban- nister that some silly idea was afloat, which it only needed a word to scatter. ge “Is there?” said Dale. “Possibly that is why Miss Smith failed to see me twice just now?” “Your poems have shocked her, my boy,” said the Colonel, with a knowing look—the look that represented tact and savoir faire. * “Is that all? She takes rather severe meas- ures, doesn’t she?” “Well,” answered the Colonel, with the smile which brought candor into play, “that isn’t quite all.” “What in the World else is there ?” “You know how censorious people are, and how a girl takes alarm at the very idea of anything— you know?” Dale chafed at these diplomatic approaches. “If there's anything said against me, pray let me know.” f “Oh, it’s nothing very definite,” said the Colo- nel uneasily. He did not find what he had to say so simple as it had seemed. “Indefinite things are most hopeless.” “Yes, yes, quite so. Well, if you really wish it—if you won’t be offended—No doubt it’s all a mistake.” “What do they say?” “Well, we’re men of the world, Bannister. The fact is, people don’t quite understand your— your household.” A CHANGE OF AIR. 97 “My household? It consists of myself alone and the servants.” “Of course, my dear fellow, of course! I knew it was so, but I am glad to be able to say so on your own authority.” The aim of speech is, after all, only to convey ideas: the Colonel had managed, however clum: sily, to convey his idea. Dale frowned, and pretended to laugh. “How absurd ' " he said. “I should resent it if it were not too absurd.” “I’m sure, Bannister, you’ll acquit me of any meddling.” “Oh yes. I’m sorry my guests have given rise, however innocently, to such talk.” “It’s most unfortunate. I’m sure nothing more is needed. I hope the ladies are well ?” “Yes, thanks.” “I don’t see them here.” “No, they’re not here,” answered Dale, frown- ing again. “I hope we shall see some more of them 2° “You’re very kind. I—I don’t suppose they— will be staying much longer.” As "Jale made his way to the bank to take off his skates, Janet and Tora passed him together. Tora kept her eyes rigidly fixed on the chimneys of the Grange. He made no sign of expecting recog- nition, but Janet, as she drew near, looked at him, blushing red, and bowed and smiled. “That girl’s a trump,” said Dale Bannister, “She sticks to her friends.” 7 - 98 A CBANGIE OF AIR. CHAPTER XI. A FAIBLE ABOUT BIRDS. MRs. HoDGE and Nellie, being left to their ow. resources, had employed the afternoon in paying a visit to Ethel Roberts, and nothing was want- ing to fill Dale's cup of vexation to overflowing, unless it were to have Nellie flying open-mouthed at him, as he grumblingly expressed it, with a tale of the distress in the Doctor's household. Ethel Roberts had the fortitude to bear her trou- bles, the added fortitude to bear them cheerfully, but not the supreme fortitude which refuses to tell a tale of woe to any ear, however sympathetic. She did not volunteer information, but she did allow it to be dragged out of her, and the barriers of her reserve broke down before Mrs. Hodge's homely consolations and Nellie's sorrowful horror. They were reduced, she admitted, in effect to liv- ing on little else than her own wretched income; the practice brought in hardly more than it took out, for, while the rich patients failed, the poor remained; the rent was Overdue, bills were unpaid, and the butcher, the milkman, and the coal-mer- chant were growing sulky. “And while,” said Mrs. Hodge, “that poor young creature is pinching, and starving, and A CHANGE OF AIR. 99 crying, the man’s thinking of nothing but Nihi- lists and what not. I’d Nihilist him l’” Dinner was served to Dale with sauce of this " SOrt. * “Can I prevent fools suffering for their folly?” he asked. “The baby looks so ill,” said Nellie, “and Mrs. Roberts is worn to a shadow.” “Did you see Roberts?” asked Philip. “For a minute,” said Nellie, “but he was very cold and disagreeable.” “Thought you were tarred with the same brush as Dale, I suppose?” “Can’t you do anything for 'em, Dale P’’ asked Mrs. Hodge. “I can send him a cheque.” “He’ll send it back,” remarked Philip. “I wish he’d get out of the place.” “Yes, he might as well be miserable somewhere else, mightn't he?” --> Dale glared at his friend, and relapsed into silence. Nevertheless, in spite of Philip's pre- diction, he sat down after dinner and wrote to Roberts, saying that he had heard that he was in temporary embarrassment, and urging him to allow Dale to be his banker for the moment; this would, Dale added, be the best way of showing that he bore no malice for Dale's letter. He sent a man with the note, ordering him to wait for an answer. The answer was not long in coming ; the man was back in half an hour, bringing the Doctor's reply:— *. “Three months ago, I should have thought it an honor to share my last crust with you, and no shame to ask hºlf: . º * 100 A CHANGE OF AIR. of all you had. Now I will not touch a farthing of your money, until you come back to us. If your friends pay my wife further visits, I shall be obliged if they will look some- What less k enly at my household arrangements. “JAMES RoBERTs.” “There is the snub you have brought on me!” exclaimed Dale angrily, flinging 'the letter to Nellie. “I might have known better than to listen to your stories.” *. “Dale, Dale, it was every word true. How selfish he is not to think of his wife . * “Many people are selfish.” “Is anything the matter, Dale?” “Oh, I’m infernally worried. I never get any peace.” “Hadn't you a good time skating 2* “No. I’m beginning to hate this place.” “Oh, Dale ! I’ve enjoyed my visit so much.” “Very glad to hear it, I’m sure.” “You must have seen it; we’ve stayed so long, I’ve often told mamma, we ought to be going.” Dale lit a cigarette. “Indeed we have had no mercy on you, Dale; but the country and the rest are so delightful.” “Hum—in some ways.” “But I must be back at work. Mamma thought next Saturday would do.” “As soon as that ?” said Dale, with polite sur. prise. “Think how long we have been here.” “Oh, don’t go on Saturday !” Mellie's face brightened. “Don’t you want us to ?” she asked, with an eager little smile. Dale was going to be kind ... . after all. & §e f s * . . º A CHANGE OF ATRs 101 “No. Why shouldn’t you stay till Mon- day?” The face fell, the smile disappeared; but she answered, saving her self-respect, * “Saturday is more convenient for—for arriving in town. I think we had better fix Saturday, Dale.” “As you like. Sorry to lose you, Nell.” He sauntered off to the smoking-room to join Thilip. When Philip came into the drawing- room half an hour later in search of a book, he found Nellie sitting before the fire. He took his stand on the hearth-rug, and looked steadily down on her. “Once upon a time,” he said, “there was a very beautiful bird who, as it chanced, grew up with a lot of crows. For a long while he liked the crows, and the crows liked him—very much, some of them. Both he and the crows were pleased when the eagles and all the swell birds admired him, and said nice things about him, and wanted to know him—and the crows who liked him most, were most pleased. Presently he did come to know the eagles and the other swell birds, and he liked them very much, and he began to get a little tired of the old crows, and by and by he left their company a good deal. He was a polite bird, and a kind bird, and never told them that he didn’t want them any more. But they saw he didn’t.” There was a little sob from the arm-chair. “Whereupon some of them broke their healts, and others—didn’t. The others were wisest, , Nellie.” ~, He paused, gazing down at the distressful little 102 A CHANGE OF AIR. heap of crumpled drapery and roughened gleam- ing hair. “Much wiseSt. He was not a bad bird as birds go—but not a bird to break one’s heart' about, Nellie: what bird is ?” There was another sob. Philip looked de- spairingly at the ceiling, and exclaimed under his breath, “I wish to God she wouldn’t cry !” He took his book from the mantelpiece where he had laid it and moved towards the door. But he came back again, unable to leave her like that, and walked restlessly about the room, stopping every now and then to stand over her, and wonder what he could do. 4 Presently he took a feverish little hand in his, and pressed it as it lay limp there. “The old crows stood by one another, Nellie,” he said, and he thought he felt a sudden grip of his hand, coming and timidly in an instant going. It seemed to comfort her to hold his hand. The sobs ceased, and presently she looked up and said, with a smile, & “I always used to cry at going back to school.” “Going back to work,” said Philip, “is one of the few things in the world really worth crying about.” p” “Yes, isn’t it º’” she said, unblushingly avail- ing herself of the shelter of his affected cynicism. She was afraid he might go on talking about crows, a topic which had been all very well, and even a little comforting, when she was hidden among the cushions, but would not do now, “And London is so horrid in winter,” she con- tinued. “Are you going back soon P’’ A CHANGE OF AIR. 103 “Oh, I shall wait a little and look after Dale.” “Dale never tells one what is happening.” “I’ll keep you posted, in case there’s a revolu- *ion in Denborough, or anything of that sort.” A step was heard outside. With a sudden bound Nellie reached the piano, sat down, and be- gan to play a lively air. Dale came in, looking Suspiciously at the pair. “I thought you’d gone to bed, Nellie.” , “Just going. Mr. Hume and I have been talk- jng.” “About the affairs of the nation,” said Philip. “But I’m off now. Good-night, Dale.” Tale looked closely at her. “What are your eyes red for? Have you been crying?” “Crying, Dale 2 What nonsense ! I’ve been zoasting them before the fire, that’s all; and if they are red it's not polite to say so, is it, Mr. Hume P’” º, “Rightly understood, criticism is a compliment, as the reviewers say when they slate you,” re- marked Philip. “He might not have noticed your eyes at all.” “Inconceivable,” said Dale politely, for he was feeling very kindly-disposed to this pretty girl, who came when he wanted her, and went when —well, after a reasonably long visit. “Good-night, Dale. I’m so sorry about—Mr. Roberts, you know.” " Dale, having no further use for this grievance, was graciously pleased to let it be forgotten. “Oh, you couldn’t know he'd be such a brute, Good-night, Nellie.” 104 A CHANGE OF AIR. The two men returned to the smoking-room. Philip, looking for a piece of paper wherewith to light his pipe, happened to notice a little bundle of proof-sheets lying on the table. “Ah, the spring bubbling again P’’ he asked. T}ale nodded. “My dear fellow, how are the rest of us to get our masterpieces noticed ? You are a monopo- list.” - “It’s only a little volume.” “What's it about? May I look?” “Oh, if you like,” answered Dale carelessly; but he kept his eye on his friend. Philip took up the first sheet, and read the title-page: he smiled, and, turning over, came to the dedication. “You call it. Amor Patriae 3’” “Yes. Do you like the title?” “Hum! There was no thought of pleasing me when it was christened, I presume. And you dedicate it—” “Oh, is that there?” “Yes, that’s there—“To her that shall be named hereafter.’” Dale poked the fire before he answered. “Yes,” he said, “that's the dedication.” “So I see. Well, I hope she'll like them. It is an enviable privilege to confer immortality.” “I’ll confer it on you, if you like.” “Yes, do. It will be less trouble than getting it for myself.” “ Under the title of “The Snarler.”” Philip stood on the hearth-rug and warmed himself. “My dear Dale,” he said, “I do not snarl. A A CHANGE OF AIR. 105 wise author pleases each section of the public in turn. Hitherto you have pleased me and my kind, and Roberts and his kind, and Arthur Angell and his kind—who are, by the way, not worth pleasing, for they expect presentation copies. Now, in this new work, which is, I under- stand, your tribute to the nation which has the honor to bear you, you will please”—He paused, “I always write to please myself,” said Dale. “Yourself,” continued Philip, “this mysterious lady, and, I think we may add, the Mayor of Market Denborough.” “Go to the devil!” said the poet. 106 A CELANGE OF AIR. CHAPTER XII. A DEDICATION.—AND A DESECRATION, A FEw weeks later, the Mayor stood at his door, one bright morning in January, holding a parley with Alderman Johnstone. “I dessay now,” said the Mayor, “that you ain’t been in the way of seein’ the Squire lately?” “I see him last when he signed my lease,” answered the Alderman, with a grim Smile, “and that’s a month come to-morrow.” “I had a conversation with him yesterday, and after touchin’ on the matter of that last pavin' contract, he’d heard o' your son-in-law gettin' it, Jphnstone,—he got talkin’ about Mr. Bannis- ter. “Ay? did he?” “And about his noo book. “It’s a blessin’,” he says, “to see a young man of such promise shakin’ himself free of that pestilential trash.’ He meant your opinions by that, Johnstone.” “Supposing 'e did, what then 2 I don’t label my opinions to please the customers like as Some do their physic.” The Mayor was not in a fighting mood; his mind was busy with speculations, and he ignored the challenge. “Queer start Mr. Bannister showin' up at the A CEIANGE OF AIR. 107 church bazaar, eh? Spent a heap o' money, too. I met Mr. Hume, and asked him about it, and he said—” “It wan’t no business o' yours, didn’t he 7” “Mr. Hume—he's a gentleman, Johnstone,” remarked the Mayor in grave rebuke. “Well, what did 'e say?” “That where the carcass was, the eagles 'ud be gathered together.” Mr. Johnstone smiled a smile of pity for the Mayor's density. “Well, what do you suppose he meant 2 ” asked the Mayor in reply to the smile. “Where the gells is, the lads is,” said the Alderman, with a wink, as he passed on his way. This most natural, reasonable, and charitable explanation of Dale's conduct in identifying him- self with the Vicar's pastoral labors had, oddly enough, suggested itself to no one else, unless it might be to Captain Gerard Ripley. His presence had been hailed on the one side, and amathematized on the other, as an outward sign of an inward conversion, and his lavish expenditure had been set down to a repentant spirit rather than a desire to gratify any partleular stall-holder. The Vica. had just read Amor Patriae, and he remarked to every one he met that the transition from an appreciation of the national greatness to an adhesion to the national Church was but a short Step. Unhappily, in a moment of absence, he chanced to say so to Colonel Smith, who was at the bazaar for the purpose of demonstrating his indifferent impartiality towards all religious Sects. 108 A CHANGE OF AIR. “You might as well say,” answered the Colonel in scorn, “that because a man stands by the regiment, he’s bound to be thick with the chap- lain.” Captain Ripley alone, with the penetration born of jealousy, attributed Dale's presence simply and solely to the same motive as had produced his own, to wit, a desire to be where Miss Delane was. The Captain was a little sore; he had known Janet from childhood, they had exchanged many children’s vows, and when he was sixteen and she thirteen, she had accepted a Twelfth Night cake ring from him. The flirtation had always proceeded in its gentle ambling course, and the Captain had returned on long leave with the idea that it was time to put the natural ter- mination in the way of being reached. Janet dis- appointed him; she ridiculed his tender references to bygone days, characterizing what had passed as boy-and-girl nonsense, and perseveringly kept their intercourse on a dull level of friendliness. On the other hand, whatever might be the nature of her acquaintance with Dale Bannister, it was at least clear that it was marked by no such uneventful monotony. Sometimes she would hardly speak to him ; at others she cared to speak to no one else. The Captain would have profited ill by the opportunities a residence in garrison towns offers, if he had not recognized that these changeful relations were fraught with peril to his hopes. At the bazaar, for example, he was so much moved by a long conversation between Janet and Dale, which took place over the handing of a cup of tea, that he unburdened himself to his friend A CHANGE elº ARR. 109 Sir Harry Fulmer. Now Sir Harry was in a bad temper; he had his object in attending as the Captain had, and Colonel Smith had just told him that Tora was not coming. “Who is the fellow 2° demanded Captain Ripley. “Writes poetry.” “I never heard of him.” ...} daresay not. It’s not much in your line, is it, “Well, he’s a queer-looking beggar.” “Think so? Now I call him a good-looking chap.” “Why the deuce doesn’t he get his hair cut 2." l 66 Don't know. Perhaps Janet Dekane likes it ong.” “I hate that sort of fellow, Harry.” “He’s not a bad chap.” “Does the Squire like him 2° “I don’t know, and I don’t care. How beastly hot this room is I shall go.” “I say, Harry, I’ve only just come back, you know. Is there anything on ?” “Well, if you want to take a hand, I should cut in pretty sharp,” said Sir Harry, elbowing his way to the door. Captain Ripley, impatiently refusing to buy a negro doll which the Vicar's daughter pressed on his favorable notice, leant against the Wall and grimly regarded Dale Bannister. The latter was just saying, “Have you looked at the verses at all, Miss Delane P” “I have read every one, over and over. They are splendid.” 110 A CPIANGE OF AIR. “Oh, I’m new to that sort of thing.” “Yes, but it's so—such a joy to me to see you. doing what is really worthy of you.” “If there is any credit it’s yours.” “Now why do you say that ? It isfi’t true, and it just spoils it.” “Spoils it?” said Dale, who thought girls liked compliments. * “Yes. If you had really only done it to please —an individual, it would be worth nothing. You couldn’t help doing it. I knew you couldn't.” “At any rate, you must accept the responsibil- ity of having put it into my head.” “Not even that, Mr. Bannister.” “Oh, but that's the meaning of the dedication.” No one is quite free from guile. Janet answered, “The dedication is rather mysterious, Mr. Bannister.” “I meant it to be so to all the world.” “Oh, did you?” “Except you.” Janet blushed and smiled. “I wonder,” pursued Dale, “if I shall ever be allowed to name that lady ?” “That will depend on whether she wishes it.” “Of course. Do you think she will—here. after P” “Won’t you have another cup 2 It’s only half a crown.” “Yes, two more, please. Do you think she Will 2’’ “How thirsty you seem to be l’” « Will She 2° “Now, Mr. Bannister, I mustn't neglect all my A CHANGE OF AIR. 111 customers. See, Mrs. Gilkison is selling noth- ing.” *4 “But, Will She 2* “Certainly not—unless you go and buy some- thing from Mrs; Gilkison.” Now, whether Janet were really concerned for Mrs. Gilkison, or whethgºe she had caught sight of Captain Ripley’s lowering countenance, or whether she merely desired to avoid pledging herself to Dale, it is immaterial, and also impos- sible to say. Dale felt himself dismissed, with the consolation of perceiving that his dedication had not been unfavorably received in the quarter to which it was addressed. Accordingly it was in a cheerful frame of mind that he set out for home, scattering most of his purchases among the children before he, went. He was in a kindly mood, and when he saw James Roberts coming up High Street, he did not, as he had once or twice lately, cross the road to avoid meeting him, but held on his path, determined to offer a friendly greeting. When the Doctor came up, he stopped and took from his breast-pocket the little green volume which contained Dale's latest poems. He held it up before the author's eyes. “Ah, Roberts, I see you have the new work. How do you like it 2° He tried to speak easily, but the Doctor did not appear to be in a conciliatory tenaper. “Are these things really yours?” he asked. “Of course they are.” “This wretched Jingo doggerel, yours?” Dale felt this unjust. The verses might not express the Doctor’s views, but an immorta; 112 A CHANGE OF AIR. . works are not lightly to be called dog. gerel. “What a narrow-minded beggar you are l’” he exclaimed. The Doctor answered nothing. Buttoning up his threadbare coat, so as to leave his arms free, with an effort he tore the leaves from their Cover, rent them across, flung them on the road, and trod them into the mud. Then, without a word, he passed on his way, while Dale stood and stared at the dishonored wreck. “He’s mad—stark mad!” he declared at last. “How ill the poor chap looks, too !” The Doctor hurried down the street, with a strange malicious smile on his face. Every now and then his hand sought his breast-pocket again, and hugged a cheque for a hundred pounds which lay there. It was his last money in the world; when that was gone, his banking account was exhausted, and nothing remained but his wife's pittance—and nothing more was coming. Yet he had devoted that sum to a purpose, and now he stopped at Alderman John- stone’s door, and asked for the master of the house, still grimly smiling at the thought of what he was preparing for Dale Bannister, if only Johnstone would help him. Johnstone had a lease now, he was independent—if only he would help him The Alderman listened to the plan. “It’s a new trade for me,” said he, with a grin. & * “I find the stock—I have it ready. And—” He held up the cheque. The Alderman’s eyes glistened. A CHANGE OF AIR. - 113 “They can’t touch me,” he said, “and Ishould like to 'ave a shy at the Squire. "Ere's my 'and upon it.” A day or two afterwards, Dale heard that the sale of Sluggards was increasing by leaps and bounds. A single house had taken five hundred copies. Amor Patriae had evidently given a fresh impetus to the earlier work, in spite of the remarkable difference of tone which existed be- tWeen them. “It shows,” said Dale complacently, to Philip Hume, “that most people are not such intolerant idiots as that fellow Roberts.” ſ But what it really did show will appear in due season. Dale did not know; nor did Philip, for he said, with a fine sneer, “It shows that immorality doesn’t matter if it's combined with sound political principles, clá man.” \ 8 114 A CHANGE OF AIR. CHAPTER XIII. THE RESPONSIBILITIES OF GENIUS, DR. SPINK sat in his comfortable dining-room with his after-dinner glass of wine before him. The snow was falling and the rain beating against the windows, but the Doctor had finished his work, and feared only that some sudden call would compel him to face the fury of the weather again. A few months back, he would have greeted any summons, however unreasonable the hour, and thought a new patient well bought at the price of a spoilt evening. But of late the world had smiled upon him, the hill which had looked so steep was proving easy to climb, and he was already considering whether he should not take a partner, to relieve him of the more irksome parts of his duty. He pulled his neatly-trimmed whisker and caressed his smooth-shaven chin, as he reflected how the folly of that mad fellow, Roberts, had turned to his advantage. No man could say that he had deviated an inch from pro- fessional propriety, or pressed his advantage the least unfairly. He had merely persevered on the lines he laid down for himself on his first arrival. The success, which astonished even himself, had come to him, partly no doubt, because merit must make its way, but mainly because his rival had A CHANGE OF AIR. 115 wilfully flung away his chances, preferring—and to Dr. Spink it seemed a preference almost insane —to speak his mind, whatever it might be, rather than, like a wise man, hold his tongue and fill his pockets. So Roberts had willed, and hence the Vicarage, the Grange, and many other houses now knew his footsteps no more, and Spink filled his place. As he pondered on this, Dr. Spink spared a pang of pity for his beaten competitor, wondering what in the world the man meant to live upon. The door-bell rang. He heard it with a sigh— the half-pleased, half-weary, resigned sigh that a man utters when fortune gives him no rest in getting gain. A moment later he was on his way to the surgery, to see a lady who would not send in her name or business. He recognized Ethel Roberts with surprise, when she raised her veil. They had known one another to bow to, but he could not imagine what brought her to his surgery. “Mrs. Roberts! Is there anything—?” “Oh, Dr. Spink, you must forgive me for com- ing. I am in great trouble, and I thought you might help me.” & b 66 Play sit down. Is any one ill—your little OW P’ X No, he's not ill. It's—it's about my hus- band.” “I hope Mr. Roberts is not ill?” “I don’t know,” she said nervously. “That's what I want to ask you. Have you seen him lately 2” “No, not very: I passed him in the street the other day.” 116 A. CELANGE OF AFR. “He’s gone to London, suddenly, I don’t know why. Oh, he's been so strange lately l’” “I thought he looked worried. Tell me about it,” said Dr. Spink, moved now with genuine pity for the pale haggard face before him. “Ever since—but you mustn't tell I came to you—or spoke to anybody, I mean—will you?” He reassured her, and she continued, “Ever since his quarrel with Mr. Bannister— you know about it?—there is something the matter with him. He is moody, and absent-minded, and —and hasty, and he settles to nothing. And now he is gone off like this.” “Come, Mrs. Roberts, you must compose your- º I suppose he has let these politics worry im.” “He seems to care nothing for—for his home or the baby, you know ; he does nothing but read, or wander up and down the room.” “It sounds as if he wanted a rest and a change. You say he has gone away ?” “Yes, but on business, I think.” “I’m afraid I can’t tell you much, unless he calls me in and lets me have a look at him.” “He’ll never do that l” she exclaimed, before she could stop herself. Dr. Spink took no notice of her outburst. “If he comes back no better, send me a line, Mrs. Roberts, and we’ll see. And mind you let me know if you or the baby want any advice.” “You’re very kind, Dr. Spink. I—I’m sorry, James is so—” “Oh, that’s a symptom. If he gets right, he won’t be like that. Your jacket's too thin for such a night. Let me send you home in the brougham.” A CHANGE OF AIR. 117 Ethel refused the offer, and started eiz ner re- turn, leaving Dr. Spink shaking a thoughtful head in the surgery doorway. “It really looks,” he said, “as if he was a bit queer. But what can I do? Poor little woman!” And, not being able to do anything, he went back and finished his glass of port. Then, for his dinner had been postponed till late by business, and it was half-past ten, he went to bed. Ethelbeat her way down the High Street against the wind and snow, shutting her eyes in face of the blinding shower, and pushing on with all her speed, to rejoin her baby, whom she had left alone. When, wet and weary, she reached her door, to her surprise she saw a man waiting there. For a moment, she joyously thought it was her husband, but as the man came forward to meet her, she recognized Philip Hume. “Out on such a night, Mrs. Roberts l’” She murmured an excuse, and he went on, “Is the Doctor in? I came to look him up.” “No, he’s away in London, Mr. Hume.” “In London P What, for 2 ° “I don’t know.” .. “May I come in for a moment?” asked Philip, who had been looking at her closely. “If you like,” she answered in some surprise. “I’m afraid there’s no fire.” Philip had followed herºin, and seen the grate in the sitting-room with no fire lighted. “No fire?” he exclaimed. “There is one in my room where baby is,” she explained. “There ought to be one here too,” said he, *You're looking ill.” 118 A CHANGE OF Aff. “Oh, I’m not ill, Mr. Hume—I’m not indeed.” Philip had come on an errand. There are uses even in gossips, and he had had a talk with his friend the Mayor that day. “Where are the Coals P” he asked. “There are some in the scuttle,” she said. He looked and found a few small pieces. The fire was laid with a few more. Philip lit them and threw on all the rest. Then he went to the door, and shouted, f << Wilson 1 ° The small shrewd-faced man who waited on Dale Bannister appeared. He was pushing a wheelbarrow before him. “Wheel it into the passage,” said Philip; “and then go. And, mind, not a word l’” Wilson looked insulted. “I don’t talk, sir,” said he. Philip returned to the room. “Mrs. Roberts,” he said, “listen to me. I am a friend of your husband's. Will you let me help you?” “Indeed, I need no help.” “I know you are frozen,” he went on ; “and— where is the servant 2" “She has left. I—I haven’t got another yet,” she faltered. “In the passage,” Philip went on, “there is a wheelbarrow. It holds coals, food, and drink. It's for you.” She started up. “I can’t—indeed I can’t l Jim wouldn’t like it.” “Jim be hanged 1 I’ll settle with him. You're to take them. Do you hear?” A CHANGE OF AIR. 119 She did not answer. He walked up to her and put a little canvas bag in her hands. “There's money. No, take it. I shall keep an account.” “I really don’t need it.” “You do—you know you do. How much money has he left you?” ...” She laid her hand on his arm. “He’s not himself, he isn’t indeed, Mr. Hume, or he wouldn’t-” “No, of course he isn’t. So I do what he would, if he were himself. You were going to starve.” “He will be angry.” “Then don’t tell him. He'll never notice. Now. Will he P” - “He notices nothing now,” she said. “And you’ll take them? Come, think of what's. his-name—the baby, you know.” { “You’re too kind to me.” “Nonsense! Of course we look after you, Mrs. Roberts.” “Mr. Hume, do you think—what do you think is the matter with Jim P” “Oh, I think he's an old fool, Mrs. Roberts, and you may tell him so from me. No, no, he’ll be all right in a week or two. Meanwhile, we're going to make you and Tommy—Oh, Johnny, is it 2–Comfortable.” He did not leave her till she had consented to accept all he offered: then he went back to Littlehill. * g “I think, Dale,” he said, “Roberts must be mad. He left his wife and child starving.” “Did she take the things?” * 120 A. CFIANGE OF AIR, “Yes, I made her.” “That’s all right. What a strange beggar he is . He can’t be quite right in his head.” “Fancy that poor little woman left like that l” “Horrible !” said Dale with a shudder. “At any rate we can prevent that. I’m so glad you thought of it.” “Old Hedger told me they had ordered nothing for three days.” “How the deuce does Hedger know every- thing?” “It’s lucky he knew this, isn’t it?” “By Jove, it is Because, you know, Phil, I feel a kind of responsibility.” “Nonsense, Dale ! Not really?” “Oh, you needn’t laugh. Of course I couldn’t know the man was a sort of lunatic. One doesn’t write for lunatics.” f “Perhaps they ought to be considered, being so numerous.” “However, it’s all right now. Awfully obliged to you, Phil.” “I wonder if he’ll come back.” “Roberts? Why shouldn’t he 7" “I don’t know, but he's quite capable of just cutting the whole concern.” * “I think he's capable of anything.” “Except appreciating Amor Patriae, eh?” Dale, having got the Roberts family off his mind, drifted to another topic. “I say, Phil, old chap, will you stop playing the fool for once, and give me your advice P’’ “What about?” asked Philip, throwing himself into an arm-chair, A CHANGE OF AIR. 121 “What,” said Dale gravely, filling his pipe, “do you think about getting married?” “Are you thinking of it?” “Discuss marriage in the abstract.” “It is a position of greater responsibility and less freedom.” “Yes, I know that. But a lot depends on the girl, doesn’t it 2° “I expect so.” “I say, Phil, what do you think of Ripley 2” “He seemed a decent enough fellow.” “Do you think—I mean, do you call him an attractive fellow 2° “Oh, uncommonly I’’ “Really 2” “Well, why not ?” Dale fidgeted in his chair, and relit the pipe, which had gone out. He was much too perturbed to give to the filling of it the attention that opera- tion needs. “I suppose he’ll be rich, and a swell, and all that,” he went on. “No doubt—but not a Victorian poet.” “T)On’t be a fool 1 ° “I meant it kindly. Some girls like poets.” ... “They were awfully kind about Amor Patriae at the Grange to-night.” “Oh, you’ve been there ?” * “You know I have. Ripley was there. I don’t think I care much about him, Phil.” “Don’t you ? Does he like you ?” Dale laughed, as he rose to go to bed. “Not much, I think,” said he. Philip also, being left companionless, got up and knocked out his pipe. Then he stood looking 122 A CHANGE OF AIR. into the dying embers for a minute or two, and thinking, as he warmed his hands with the last of the heat. “Poor little Nellie : " he said. After a pause, he said it again ; and once again after that. But then, as saying it was no use at all, he sighed and went to bed. A CHANGE OF AIR. 123 CHAPTER XIV. MR. DELANE LIKES THE IDEA. ON, a bright morning, when February was in one of its brief moods of kindliness, Janet Delane was in the garden, and flitting from it into the hothouses in search of flowers. It was half-past eleven, and Captain Ripley had kept her gossip- ing long after breakfast ; that was the worst o' idle men staying in a house. So she hastened to and fro in a great parade of business-like activity, and, as she went, she would sing blithely, and stop and smile to herself, and break into singing again, and call merrily to her dog, a rotund, 'slate-colored bundle of hair that waddled after her, and answered, if he were given time to get within earshot, to the name of Mop. Mop was more sedate than his mistress: she only pre- tended to be on business bent, while he had been dragged out to take a serious constitutional, on account of his growing corpulence, and it made him sulky to be called here and beckoned there, and told there were rats, and cats, and what not —whereas ins truth there was no such thing. But Janet did not mind his sulkiness; she smiled, and sang, and Smiled, for she was thinking—but is nothing to be sacred from a prying race? It is no concern of any one’s what she was thinking, 124 A CHANGE OF AIR. and no doubt she did not desire it to be known, or she would have told Captain Ripley in the course of that long gossip. The Captain stood gazing at her out of the window, with his hands in his pockets and a doleful look of bewilderment. On his face. He stared out into the garden, but he was listen- ing to Mrs. Delane, and wondering uneasily if he were really such a dolt as his hostess seemed to consider. “You know, Gerard,” said Mrs. Telane in her usual tone of suave sovereignty, “that I am anxious to help you all I can. I have always looked forward to it as an event which would give us all pleasure, and I know my husband agrees with me. But really we can’t do anything if you don’t help yourself.” The Captain gnawed his moustache and thrust his hands deeper into his pockets. “I can’t make her out,” said he. “I can’t get any farther with her.” “It’s not the way to “get farther,” “answered Mrs. Delane, marking the quotation by a delicate emphasis, “with any girl to stand on the other side of the room and scowl whenever she talks to another man.” “You mean Bannister ?” “I mean anybody. I don’t care whether it’s Mr. Bannister or not. And it’s just as useless to pull a, long face and look tragic whenever she makes fun of you.” “She didn’t use to be like that last time I was home.” “My dear boy, what has that got to do with it? She was a child then.” A CHANGE OF AIR.. 125 “She’s always blowing me up. This morning she asked me why I didn’t go to India instead of wasting my time doing nothing in London.” This was certainly unfeeling conduct on Janet's part. Mrs. Delane sighed. “I don’t know that I quite understand her either, Gerard. There’s the Squire calling you. He's ready to ride, I expect.” When Janet came in, she found her mother alone. * “Where's Gerard P’’ she asked. “He’s gone for a ride.” “Is he staying to-night?” “Yes, two or three days, I think.” - “Well, dear, I am glad we amuse him. There doesn’t seem much for a man to do here, does there?” “Don’t you like him to be here?” “Oh, I don’t mind, only he wastes my time.” “I begin to think he's wasting his own too,” remarked Mrs. Delane. “Oh, he's got nothing else to do with it—or at least he does nothing else with it.” “You know what I mean, Janet dear.” “I suppose I do, but how can I help it? I do all I can to show him it’s no use.” “You used to like him very much.” “Oh, so I do now. But that’s quite different.” The world goes very crooked. Mrs. Delane Sighed again. “It would have pleased your father very much.” “I’m so sorry. But I couldn’t care for a man of that sort.” “What's the matter with the man, my dear?” “That's just it, mamma. Nothing—nothing \ 126 A. CHANGE OF AIR. bad—and nothing good. Gerard is like heaps of men I know.” “I think you underrate him. His father was just the same, and he was very distinguished in the House.” Janet’s gesture betrayed but slight veneration for the High Court of Parliament, as she an- swered, “They always say that about dull peo- ole.” ple Well, if it’s no use, the sooner the poor boy 1