THE UBRARY OF THE 
 UNIVERSITY OF 
 HORTH CAROLINA 
 AT CHAPEL HILL 
 
 ENDOWED BY THE 
 DIALECTIC AND PHILANTHROPIC 
 SOCIETIES 
 
 PR4075 
 .F3 
 B43 
 1870 
 
This book is due at the WALTER R. DAVIS LIBRARY on 
 the last date stamped under "Date Due." If not on hold it 
 may be renewed by bringing it to the library. 
 
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 DUE 
 
 RET. 
 
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BEAUTY TALBOT. 
 
 BY 
 
 PERCY FITZGERALD, M.A. 
 
 AUTHOR OF " BELLA DONNA," " NEVEE FOEGOTTEN," &C. 
 
 I ]Sr T H E E E Y O L tf/M^ S. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 EICHAED BENTLEY, NEW BUELINGTON STEEET. 
 
 1870. 
 
 The right of Translation is reserved. 
 
BEAUTY TALBOT. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 MISS livy's first appearance. 
 
 There is a pretty by-way of the 
 Great Western, considered a • failure as to 
 traffic, and quite as retired as a little 
 country lane or bridle-road. It wound up 
 to the station, Pengley, through a deep 
 cutting made by Nature, and lined with 
 a velvety sward, and trimmings of Nature's 
 own millinery. The station burrowed 
 snugly at the bottom, just as a lap-dog 
 does on his mistress's skirt, and was 
 fenced at the other end from winds and 
 showers, by a sudden hill, where a tunnel 
 
 VOL. I. B 
 
2 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 began. The house was like a Swiss sta- 
 tion, with a varnished wood verandah 
 overgrown with creepers ; and squire and 
 clergyman often said any man would be 
 well off in that little box, and that they 
 would change with Fenton any day. Fen- 
 ton, the station master, was always treated 
 in a studiously friendly and intimate way ; 
 — for the legend ran that, Fenton was a 
 gentleman;" — had been a lieutenant in the 
 army, had run through everything, and 
 some Sir John had got him this place. He 
 was a very gentlemanly man, a little sen- 
 sitive, and above his situation; which5 
 wisely and well, was never alluded to, or 
 droned over by him. The little Swiss 
 station was, of course, like a pigeon cot, 
 and from every window hopped little heads 
 in and out, like Sir John Suckling's mice, 
 and those heads were, of course, the pro- 
 perly of the gi-devant officer. 
 
Miss Livifs First Appearance. 3 
 
 Round about it rose and fell a warm cozy 
 sort of country, with a snug and sheltered 
 lane that led up to a village, and another 
 that brought us to a no less sheltered high 
 road, alon^ which wandered the unfre- 
 quent tramp, or groaned the laden four 
 horse waggon, and merrily bowled the 
 light coach, which the railway had not 
 yet driven out, as St. Patrick might have 
 done a solitary snake. Half a mile off 
 behind the clump, nestled the village, 
 w^iich was indeed not worth a station, and 
 beyond the village a dotted settlement 
 of not more than half a dozen houses, 
 which was the neighbourhood. These 
 were of an old pattern, and stood scat- 
 tered like vedettes. Here was none of the 
 herding, and economical clustering of new 
 houses upon ground that is being built 
 upon. 
 
 One Saturday evening in winter, which 
 
 B 2 
 
4 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 is the evening of our first little scene, 
 Fenton, the station-master, has just turned 
 in to his office, after standing deferentially 
 on his platform to do homage to the 
 express, which thundered by contemp- 
 tuously, and would not know Pengley. 
 For the express, Pengley had a sacred awe 
 and admiration, yet mingled with dislike, 
 as for a badge of servitude. It had to 
 do with humble, plebeian trains that came 
 creeping up, after stopping at every sta- 
 tion. In a quarter of an hour after the 
 express had gone by, such a decent convoy 
 was due ; and now Fenton hears the jing- 
 ling of bells, and looking through his 
 window sees the Red Hill little carriage 
 coming over the bridge, Mr. Talbot driving, 
 and which will turn presently and trundle 
 down the little lane to the station. 
 Friendly vehicles were often thus seen at 
 a distance, and Fenton always contrived 
 
Miss Livijs First Appearance. 5 
 
 to detain the train, on some pretext. Mr. 
 Talbot gets out and conies on the platform 
 to talk to Fenton. 
 
 Miss Livy in the next train ?" says 
 Fenton. r 
 
 Yes/' answers Mr. Talbot, taking out 
 a rich and gaudy cigar case of seal skin — 
 a large golden monogram, and crimson 
 watered silk lining, &c. 
 
 " You know a good cigar, Fenton ?" 
 
 Charming and delicate fingers held out 
 the case ; choice rings were on them, the 
 finest linen about the wrist, above the 
 wrist a coat of fur. Mr. Talbot was tall, 
 slight, graceful, with black hair, no beard 
 or moustache, because his mouth and smile 
 were considered charming," and looked 
 no more than five-and-thirty. He was 
 about forty ; clothes, everything, were of 
 the best make; he was pale, his hair was 
 parted in the middle, and he was the father 
 
6 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 of the heroine of this little narrative, 
 Miss Olivia Talbot. 
 
 The two gentlemen walk up and down 
 the station. The station-master never 
 says sir/' but at the same time never 
 alludes, or notices allusions, to his older 
 and better days. 
 
 She went in to get some finery," said 
 Mr. Talbot, for her mamma and self. 
 Those Hardman people open their staring 
 new house with a dinner to-night." 
 
 ^^Yes," said the other; ^Hook here, 
 and here," pointing to parcels and boxes. 
 
 It has been the same for this month 
 back." 
 
 " Exactly. Wealth, money, vulgarity, 
 all daubed on in its grossest form. A 
 blazing dinner. But they will find it hard 
 to astonish m^, even if the chairs were of 
 solid gold. We have to go." 
 Here is the train." 
 
Miss Levy's First Appearance. 7 
 
 And out came the one porter, and the 
 
 one third-class passenger, who was going 
 
 r 
 
 to get in. The porter began his song, 
 " Pengley ! Pengley ! Pengley !" going 
 down the carriages, until he opened a 
 door, and, touching his cap, began to take 
 out parcels. Then a young lady, followed 
 by a stout woman in black, came out, and 
 tripped up softly to Mr. Talbot, and 
 gave him a kiss, which she would have 
 done had it been an excursion train, full 
 of grinning cads" and clodhoppers ; but 
 it was a range of desolate saloon carriages, 
 with a scattered gentleman or two, read- 
 ing newspapers. 
 
 This is Miss Livy. The evening is a 
 little grey, but it is easy to see her. She 
 is small, but delicately made, with a peaked 
 velvet hat and green plume, a little gay, 
 with a delicately cut face, which was so 
 like her father's in this way ; that any one 
 
8 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 looking at him, at once thought of her, 
 though no one looking at her, ever 
 dreamed of him. The reader will see what 
 a distinction is here. She was not more 
 than eighteen, but had a possessed manner 
 that people of thirty often want, and 
 which gave her a specially piquant charm ; 
 for a contrast between so young a face 
 and so wise a little soul was a delight and 
 surprise to observers. At times, how- 
 ever, she would give the word, all the 
 lamps would be turned on, and that deli- 
 cate face lit up with a perfect illumination 
 of good spirits and intelligence. But these 
 small points will work themselves out in 
 her character, as this little history goes 
 on. 
 
 Beauty, dear," she said, nervously 
 — and she rarely called him papa, for 
 she had long discoverd that he thought 
 himself more like her brother, or hus- 
 
Miss Livifs First Appearance. 
 
 9 
 
 band — let us get to tlie carriage quickly 
 I just escaped that odious Hardman, 
 who is in the train." 
 
 But she was not to escape now ; for 
 the tall arrogant-looking man, with head 
 and hat thrown back, and nose and chin 
 in the air, and a kind of Brummagen 
 
 statesmanship " in the way he carried 
 his umbrella under his arm (copied from 
 Canning, and Peel, statues), was coming 
 up to them. His face was thin and 
 pinched, and with those coarse streaks 
 of pink we see in the skin of a man of 
 low origin, as though his cheeks had 
 done hard service, like his hands. 
 
 This was Mr. Hardman of The Towers 
 yonder, who had made his money in 
 banks and railways, and was said to 
 have begun as an errand-boy in the City, 
 and then had been a ticket collector. 
 He had got into Parliament for a Scotch 
 
10 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 burgh, which he had bought, as he had 
 bought his place, and bought so clumsily, 
 that he had to stand a most expensive 
 contest and more expensive unseating. 
 He had bought The Towers from a lord, 
 and would have preferred it on that ac- 
 count to a handsomer place at a lower 
 price. 
 
 " Very unwarrantable — scandalous !" he 
 said, as he came. " I told my coachman 
 to be here a good quarter before the 
 time. Must be an accident." 
 
 Can't say, indeed, Mr. Hardman," 
 said Mr. Talbot, coldly. 
 
 ^^It must be explained though. That 
 man came to me from Farnaby — had 
 been seven years with the Duke — the 
 highest character. Scandalous ! Or there 
 must be an accident." 
 
 " I wish we could help you. Our 
 ponies could hardly do the five miles. 
 
Miss Livi/s First Appearance. 11 
 
 then five miles back, and then go again 
 for your dinner." 
 
 " Oh, a carriage will come. We have 
 plenty there. But to be kept waiting 
 here ! You'll be in time. We expect a 
 large party, and some coming a greater 
 distance than you are." 
 
 Miss Livy was in the carriage, — station- 
 master, porter, and small boy, who car- 
 ried up a parcel, all busy arranging 
 rugs about her. She had the ribbons" 
 in her hand, and the light whip, carriage, 
 and ponies suited her as if they had 
 been made to measure. The latter were 
 dappled iron grey, round and short, and 
 coquettishly arching their necks, as in- 
 deed their mistress often did hers. Mr. 
 Talbot got in beside her, arranging his 
 fur, &c., about his figure, perhaps to 
 be picturesque to any stray villager they 
 might encounter. Livy gave a touch to 
 
12 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 Bouncer, the pony she liked the least, 
 and with a sudden plunge and scatter- 
 ing of gravel they were off, she leav- 
 ing a pleasant nod and smile to the 
 group. 
 
CHAPTER 11. 
 
 " THE HOME." 
 
 They turned reluctantly to Mr. Hard- 
 man, still stalking in the Peel attitude, 
 and whose lips were pursing and blow- 
 ing indignantly at the slight." 
 
 He to be kept waiting ! ''I pay my 
 coachman seventy pounds a year — one 
 of the best in England. Came to me 
 from Farnaby," &c. He did not care 
 to speak to the station-master or porter. 
 For the former, indeed, he had a con- 
 tempt, as being a reduced gentleman. 
 Presently the sound of wheels was heard ; 
 and a showy yellow carriage — " my co- 
 lour" — with sheriff-like liveries, was com- 
 
14 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 ing over the bridge. Mr. Hard man stalked 
 out. 
 
 " "What's this delay ? I have been 
 kept!" 
 
 The footman explained. 
 
 The Duke's coachman did not con- 
 descend to offer anv excuse — 
 
 Please, sir, I was out with the 
 vouno* ladies : — didn't come in till five 
 minutes ago." 
 
 But I pay other servants. It is 
 most improper, most irregular, and, 
 really. Miller, I hope it won't occur 
 again." 
 
 Then the Duke's coachman looked 
 down coldlv, — 
 
 Beg pardon, sir ; what was you say- 
 ing to me, sir ?" 
 
 Xever mind now. I expect you to 
 drive fast." 
 
 And they drove avvaj", certainly as 
 
" The Home:' 
 
 15 
 
 fast as a fine pair of carriage horses 
 could take them ; for which animals 
 many knew that I gave Hopper, of 
 Manchester, my cheque for five hun- 
 dred." 
 
 The Duke's coachman had bought them, 
 and some judges said they were fair 
 enough in their way," but were not worth 
 three hundred. 
 
 Miss Livy had always plenty to say 
 to her young brother-father. There are 
 members of families who never talk to 
 each other save when they have some- 
 thing to tell ; news, business — or, perhaps, 
 want to know something. It is beginning 
 to be understood, indeed, that the art of 
 conversation is chiefly based on talking 
 about nothing. Grood spirits, good will, 
 and good humour are certainly the three 
 keys. Our Livy had them all in her 
 possession, hung, as it might be, to 
 
16 
 
 Beauty Talbot, 
 
 that gold chatelaine of hers. Whereas 
 her dear Talbot's key was himself, his 
 mirror, and his monkey ; or, less meta- 
 phorically, his own plans, own prospects, 
 pleasures, and such like, on which, to 
 do him justice, he could enlarge charm- 
 ingly. And, let it be said, that to 
 listen to people telling you about them- 
 selves is not unentertaining, provided it 
 be not a mere brutal exhibition of sel- 
 fishness — akin to looking at yourself in 
 the glass — the man or woman turning 
 you into such a mirror. 
 
 That low beast, Hardman, I wish 
 we weren't going to him. He grates on 
 me at every turn ; but your mother 
 thought it right." 
 
 " But you recollect, dear," said she ; 
 
 Phoebe, you know, and her admirer." 
 
 " I see nothing in it, and said so 
 from the beginning. He is a knowing, 
 
The Homer 
 
 17 
 
 selfisli old campaigner. But, of course^ 
 
 as she has set her mind on it " 
 
 And it will be so amusing, dear ; 
 we shall have so much to laugh at and 
 talk of." 
 
 " That's true. There's nothing so 
 comical as wealthy vulgarity. I dare 
 say I shall have some offensive bit of 
 trade stuck on to me." 
 
 N05 no. They will give you some 
 nice-looking, well-born ofi&cer's wife. They 
 know well how brilliantly you talk and 
 write, and what good society you have 
 been in. A handsome fellow isn't to be 
 thrown away." 
 
 " What does it matter, being handsome 
 or brilliant in a place like this?" said 
 Mr. Talbot, despairingly. I might 
 as well show myself to the Andaman 
 Islanders. Still, we shall amuse our- 
 selves; unless they show their igno- 
 
 VOL. 1. c 
 
18 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 ranee and ill-breeding, by some stupid 
 (jaitckerie taking your mother in second, 
 or something of the kind." 
 
 ''They couldn't," said she, eagerly; 
 ''there is something about mamma — I 
 don't know how to describe it — an air, 
 a style of birth, and good society, that 
 it would be impossible to overlook. That 
 dignity and look of refinement. Beauty 
 dear, seems to me to come out in con- 
 trast with these sort of people ; and any 
 stranger, seeing you and her coming into 
 the room, would know the true metal, 
 and ask your name." 
 
 There is a good deal in that, Livy. 
 Your mother has that sort of air of 
 good breeding and high birth which 
 can't be bought. It is far better than 
 good looks, which have got cheap enough." 
 
 As they talk and drive on, to the 
 jangling of the Norwegian bells, the 
 
The Bomer 
 
 19 
 
 quick-sighted reader may have guessed 
 from this fragment what was in Miss 
 Livy's mind. Nay, a shrewd observer, 
 having heard such a snatch of conver- 
 sation in real life, would construct the 
 whole social interior of this household 
 much as the ingenious Owen made up 
 whole elks and megatheria from a toe- 
 joint. It seemed as though that pretty 
 young girl, having this young and good- 
 looking father, was likely enough to have 
 at home a mamma a good deal older, 
 and who, alas ! was growing older, as 
 women do, far faster than he was. Was 
 Livy the one who stood between, and 
 so amiably held her hands before her 
 father's good eyes ; or else a gauze veil 
 before her mamma's fading charms, and 
 with ceaseless exertion tried every day to 
 make the disagreeable old man with the 
 scythe mow gently, or appear not to 
 
 0 2 
 
20 
 
 Beaut y Talbot. 
 
 mow at all ? And it is a fact that slie 
 absolutely succeeded to a degree. At 
 least, with another less laborious in the 
 house, the family of Talbot the Hand- 
 some would have been in a poor way. 
 Faith moves mountains ; but love's labour 
 is rarely lost. 
 
 When Livy fluttered up the steps into 
 the house, she found two ladies in the 
 circular drawing-room. One of them 
 was her mother, the other her mother's 
 sister, the Honourable Phoebe. 
 
 The Honourable Phoebe was a poor 
 infirm creature ; she had not the style, 
 or the looks, or the genius, as it may 
 be called, of her sister. She was getting 
 on to a cool forty," said the ill-natured 
 ones, whose business is to watch these 
 things ; but she had not the exquisite 
 art of diso'uisino;. Her nose was retroussL 
 turned up, in fact ; and though it would 
 
me Homer 21 
 
 be beyond art or science to alter that, 
 still, is there not a way of diverting at- 
 tention from so obnoxious a feature, by 
 developing other shining beauties ? The 
 skilful painter can make a black appear 
 pale blue, by disposing certain colours 
 about it. She could do little for herself, 
 and never could. She had good-will, and 
 nothing else. She did not know how to 
 economise speech or action, to methodise 
 her conduct, so as to conduce to a great 
 end. She did not know how to arrange 
 her wares, such as they were, in her 
 shop window. The best were lying in 
 the cellars, until her sister and Livy good- 
 naturedly stepped in, and naturally offered 
 to help her, and teach her shopkeeping. 
 A certain Colonel Labouchere, who 
 
 commanded the th regiment ol 
 
 Hussars, a man with grey moustache, but 
 still gay and not old, who had been a 
 
22 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 dashing cavalry officer, had somehow 
 taken notice of Phoebe at several balls. 
 He had danced, he had talked, he had 
 walked with her. The paint brush of 
 Phoebe, dipped in the most glowing co- 
 lours, had worked out of these materials a 
 picture of the most gorgeous kind, and 
 drew the grey Colonel like one of his own 
 Arabian chargers — eager, flaming-eyed, 
 uncontrollable, with the bit between his 
 teeth, and frantic to clear the matrimonial 
 hurdles at a bound. 
 
 This account was received by her re- 
 latives with their usual large margin of 
 allowance, Phoebe's incorrect drawing, 
 and over enormous canvases, being well* 
 known to them. But they were very 
 good-natured ; and when it was known 
 that the Hussar regiment had moved re- 
 cently to , six miles from Pengley, 
 
 Mrs. Talbot was quite eager that Poor 
 
" The Home:' 
 
 23 
 
 Phoebe " should be sent for at once, and 
 come and stay two months at the least " 
 with them. The conspiracy was entered 
 into eagerly ; and Livy became a perfect 
 ringleader; as Mr. Talbot put it, the 
 Colonel was to be snaffled and not let out 
 of the country with his life. The regiment 
 was sure to be there two years at least ; so 
 there was time to form a splendid plan, 
 and from their little rifle pit they might 
 securely plan attack after attack, sally after 
 sally, until the enemy grew weary and 
 laid down his arms. 
 
 Not very much success had hitherto 
 crowned their united efforts ; indeed, 
 Phoebe's good allies held privately small 
 hopes, and Mrs. Talbot often owned to 
 her husband that there was no doing any- 
 thing for Phoebe," whose second affair this 
 was. Latterly, however, some curious signs 
 had been noticed about the Colonel, which 
 
24 
 
 Beauty TaOot. 
 
 made the assailants redouble their efforts. 
 Our Jjxvy had also noted other signs ; she 
 was venr far sefi::^ and penetratLng, but 
 she was too delicate to rereal wliat ste 
 suspected. The shrewd reader will think 
 she anticipates what is to be told, but 
 mav be warned here she is mistaken, 
 Colonel Laboudiere, C.B., Kked, as every- 
 body did, but did not "admire" as it 
 is called, our heroine. 
 
 Mrs. Talbot was sitting on the sofe 
 as they entered, ia her afternoon ioUefte, 
 for she dressed at toine T?rettY much as 
 they would do at a tiashiona :'e watering- 
 place, and she knew that tL s s:rict dis- 
 cipKne of herself insured certain discipline, 
 resj>ect, and admiration in others. The 
 attitude as she entered was a model of 
 grace, not, perhaps, affected for that 
 occasion, but habit and repetition had 
 snren her natural ease. She was readincf. 
 
The Earner 
 
 25 
 
 One of Talbot's published compositions," 
 as it is only courtesy to call them, was 
 open on the piano, and the hint was con- 
 veyed that she had been practising it. 
 
 I suppose it is time to go and dress, 
 Beauty," she said, for he liked the title 
 now, Phoebe has been at work an hour 
 ago." 
 
 Poor Phoebe," said he, what is it 
 to be? — the crimson, or the yellow, or 
 the blue ?" 
 
 No, we must turn her out in white, 
 I shall take care of that. But what 
 am I to put on? You must settle for 
 me." 
 
 The Beauty became reflective, as if 
 he had been asked to make up a sum of 
 money, or to divide one set of fractions by 
 another, which indeed he could not have 
 done. 
 
 Yes," he said, " for they have got hold 
 
26 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 of the Northfleets, and some nice people, 
 — an allusion to Lady Northfleet, — 
 "has wonderful taste and finery. So I 
 must ask you both to do your best, and 
 look as well as you can for the credit of 
 the house." 
 
 " We'll not disgrace you. Beauty dear,'^' 
 said Livy. The two ladies passed out to 
 their important duty, and Mr. Talbot, 
 with a soft sigh, which seemed to say, 
 " All is on my elegant shoulders, and I 
 must think of everything for them,^' 
 lounged carelessly to the piano, on 
 whose chords he laid his elegant fingers. 
 It was rather an unfortunate thing for 
 his house and his friends, when he took 
 to " composition," or rather to publication 
 of his compositions. The bill for en- 
 graving, advertisements, &c., was heavy; 
 and there was to be read in the papers 
 something like this : — 
 
The Home.'' 
 
 27 
 
 *^Mr. Albert Talbot's T^ew Song : 'He 
 gave one look at parting Words and 
 Music by Albert Talbot, Esq., Author of 
 ^ His arching naouth and dimpled smile,' 
 Cara-Cole Valse/ &c." 
 
 The real publication consisted in the 
 distribution of copies as presents. It was 
 Mrs. Talbot who got Miss Ivors, her 
 young friend, who had really a fine voice, 
 to practise and learn, " He gave one look 
 at parting," overcoming the young lady's 
 scruples as to what she called such 
 curious words, you know." But Talbot 
 was " difficult." He was now trying it 
 himself in his rather feminine voice. As 
 he played and warbled, the subdued light 
 from a lamp played on that little round 
 room, which was the essence of comfort 
 and snugness, and on which, indeed, 
 Mrs. Talbot had spared no money to 
 make comfortable. Bookcases ran round, 
 
28 
 
 Beauty Talbot, 
 
 and gave it an air of coziness, rich pic- 
 tures, warm carpets, elegant little tables, 
 
 snug " chairs, and all manner of plea- 
 sant and convenient trifles. It was, in- 
 deed, a cozy house, old, but made cozier 
 by alterations and additions. The very 
 lobbies were rooms, and furnished as 
 rooms. The hall was another room; the 
 whole was compact and tight, and nestled 
 in a green corner under shelter. 
 
 Mr. Talbot soon got tu^ed of his song ; 
 but an idea for a new one occurred to 
 him, which he began to work out on the 
 notes, Ms way of composition, though 
 he mysteriously seemed to convey to 
 friends that he had mastered thorough 
 bass and harmony, and scored away" 
 at his desk. Whatever he wrote, a de- 
 vouring craze for publishing seized him. 
 He used to get quite delighted with his 
 
 thoughts; " but now the three ladies in 
 
" The Homer 
 
 29 
 
 splendid raiment rustled in like queens, 
 and surprised him at his task. 
 
 We shall be late, Beauty dear," said 
 Livy, anxiously. 
 
 He was put out at being interrupted, 
 and rose pettishly. He was a little of a 
 child still. 
 
 You must hurry, you know^" said 
 his wife ; we have a long way to drive." 
 
 Mr. Talbot took nearly an hour for 
 his regular festive toilette. On this oc- 
 casion he was quicker. The carriage 
 is at the door, glistening, with the 
 steps down, and the three ladies are 
 getting in. Beauty Talbot comes last, 
 in exquisitely made clothes, that some 
 way show the shape of his ancles and 
 limbs ; and delicately scented. Then 
 folds himself up, as it were, and in- 
 sinuates himself into a crevice among 
 them, more fearful than they of being 
 
30 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 crushed. Tlie door is shut to, and away 
 they drive briskly for The Towers. 
 
 Talbot's history was a little curious. 
 Nearly every one said he had married 
 too early; a few, that he had thrown 
 himself away ; which, translated, often 
 means that it is the other who has been 
 thrown away. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 beauty" TALBOT. 
 
 As they drive, then, at this smart 
 pace over stones and hillocks, we may 
 just look back a little, as Mr. Talbot does 
 often at the country behind from his seat, 
 and sometimes does in his study, at the 
 earlier country of his life. 
 
 When twenty years old, Albert Talbot 
 was a very handsome creature indeed; 
 pale, soft, languishing, of delicate colour, 
 with the darkest, glossiest hair, which 
 would have gone into ringlets had he 
 allowed it ; and when he was set off with 
 deep velvets and rich purple tints, was 
 nearly as much admired by others as he 
 
32 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 was by himself. He was known by his 
 friends as Beauty " Talbot, an epithet 
 which did not at all displease him, though 
 it hinted at effeminacy. 
 
 Beauty Talbot did well at the university 
 — was found to have brains, which disap- 
 pointed the stupid men who were fond of 
 sneering at his fair skin ; and when he 
 left college, coming of a gentlemanly stock, 
 found himself in the very best society. He 
 was very well off for a young man," his 
 father havino; about eio^hteen hundred a 
 year, and no other children and many 
 good connections. A profession was 
 thought of for a time ; but the one he 
 chose — and, let it be remembered, it is 
 often more profitable than others — was 
 Country Houses. This he embraced with 
 ardour. He became spread," — repanduy 
 as the French put it. This delightful, 
 charming, interesting creature, with the 
 
"Beauty Talbot:' 
 
 33 
 
 sweet voice and lovely hands, could not 
 be done without anywhere. His Kquid eyes 
 and dehcate skin committed deadly havoc 
 among the virgins and matrons. He sang, 
 and played upon the piano. He did 
 not shoot, and did not care for hunting, 
 though he hunted ''like a man." The 
 materials used in Beauty Talbot's profes- 
 sion were chiefly hair-brushes. The display 
 of these articles was really magnificent. 
 He might have exhibited those gorgeous 
 instruments at South Kensington : mas- 
 sive tooth-brushes, which it was a pleasure 
 to feel and wield ; exqusite monograms ; 
 crest in raised gold, mediaeval touch. 
 They lay, when not in use, or on their 
 travels, in a blue morocco case, expressly 
 constructed for their reception, nestling, 
 in silk. They cost a fortune. Truefitt's 
 bill indeed was serious ; his " ess. bou- 
 quet" was ordered in gallons. A lovely 
 
 VOL. I. D 
 
34 
 
 Beaut 1/ Talhot, 
 
 youth ; Endymion was nothing to him/' 
 an envious ugly friend remarked ; and sure 
 to do well in the profession he had chosen. 
 
 It was amazing the advantage Beauty 
 Talbot had over other men at any innings 
 he took in the game of society. Other 
 men had to exert themselves — it was all 
 done for him. For some objects ladies are 
 privileged to show their preference in an 
 almost indecent way. They said openly 
 they were quite in love with Beauty Tal- 
 bot, and his lovely eyes, and smooth skin 
 — things they would have " died " sooner 
 than have remarked in the great manly 
 Captain Bushe, or Mr Barron, with the 
 huge luxuriant fox-coloured beard. He 
 seemed to have the privileges of little boys 
 of tender years, who are admitted to bathe 
 with ladies. 
 
 And so he fluttered for a year or two, 
 from house to house, literally doing what 
 
Beauty Talbot:' 
 
 3S 
 
 lie pleased — bringing about his noble hair- 
 brushes, his violet, his mauve, his velvet, 
 his pumps and scarlet stockings, his fine 
 hands and his lisp. He played little waltzes 
 on the piano, composed by himself, with 
 quite a feminine touch. He composed little 
 ballads to French words, which any young 
 woman was only too proud to copy out, 
 learn, and sing for him ; and yet more 
 transported to hear him sing, in his warble- 
 chirrup. The fox-bearded men, some- 
 times contemptuously put aside by him, 
 were, in their own slang, ^' fit to be tied." 
 
 Where are his petticoats ?" they would 
 say. A creature that I could just take 
 up between my thumb and finger and 
 squeeze as I would an insect. And his 
 saucy airs !" 
 
 One Christmas, Beauty Talbot was asked 
 down to a great house for the festivities 
 of the season. Oxberry Hall was full to 
 
 D 2 
 
36 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 over-flowing. Lady Oxberry said, — Po- 
 sitively, if my dear Cupid wasn't coming, 
 I'd give up the whole thing." Great men 
 and great women were to be there — a 
 Cabinet Minister, to go out cock-shooting ; 
 a bishop, not of the real sort, one of the 
 colonial creatures, my dear," said Lady Ox- 
 berry; various supernumeraries of society, 
 who are wanted to fill up the stage, and 
 give cues for the greater actors. Among 
 others came the daughter of the late Lord 
 Langrishe, The Honourable Eva had fine 
 hair, golden, a fine complexion and 
 presence, and was a fine girl generally. 
 
 But, my dear," said Lady Oxberry, 
 in her own deliciously special manner, 
 " that woman has hacked and worked about 
 the world more than one of those navvies 
 you see on the railway. Try her on Hom- 
 burg, Baden, Harrogate, Scarborough, 
 Brighton, even Jersey, my dear, though 
 
"Beauty Talbot^ 87 
 
 she won't own to it ; but I know it from a 
 sure source. There was a man there, and 
 they followed him. She could write a 
 guide-book, that woman. Scandalous !" 
 
 Lady Oxberry never said ^^girl," and 
 she could give us a splendid catalogue of 
 the various human types. Yet to the 
 woman herself Lady Oxberry spoke softly 
 — as ^'Eva dearest/' which Eva dearest 
 knew perfectly did not mean hypocrisy, 
 and accepted as being about as conventional 
 as the " ever sincerely yours " of a letter. 
 The description was quite accurate, indeed, 
 rather undercoloured. Not the barrister 
 grinding till three in the morning, and 
 exhausting himself in court to carry a 
 case," could slave harder than she did to 
 carry hers, and win a matrimonial verdict. 
 But she w^as unfortunate, cast after cast 
 was a failure ; and a reputation for failures 
 brought fresh failures. It is well known 
 
38 
 
 Beauty Talbot, 
 
 that the most skilful captain, if he be 
 unlucky, is shunned ; and thus the years 
 liad gone by — or, rather, stolen by, as, 
 alas ! they will do, during the third and 
 fourth decade of our lives. It began to be 
 said, with enjoyment, that the Honourable 
 Eva was pretty well on, you know, now 
 and the fatal word '^passee^^ was being 
 lieard. Younger soldiers were rudely 
 pushing by her to the front, muttering 
 that she was stopping the promotion, and 
 ought to retire. She herself was losing the 
 elan with which she had so often maintained 
 the fight, and was doing duty now more 
 from habit and mechanical exertion. 
 
 In this state of things she found herself 
 at Oxberry, and, for the first time, met 
 Beauty Talbot. That vouth had never 
 seen her, and was much struck by her 
 mature charms. She was, indeed, a fine 
 creature still, as many a soldier pronounced. 
 
"Beauty Talbot:' 
 
 39 
 
 To the Beauty she herself was not indif- 
 erent ; and, having made some necessary 
 inquiries, determined to get ready the old 
 well-worn gear — the brown, torn nets, let 
 down over the side so often, and through 
 which so many a plump and noble fish had 
 broken — once more. 
 
 Lady Oxberry was in a good-natured 
 vein, and co-operated without giving her- 
 self much trouble. A lady of the house, 
 who is favourable, is, like cavalry in bat- 
 tle, a truly valuable arm. She had daugh- 
 ters, too, just going to step down into the 
 circus ; and it was no harm to get a rival 
 horsewoman out of the way. 
 
 Beauty was accordingly judiciously ral- 
 lied and complimented — not on his prefer- 
 ence, but on hers for him, a far more 
 artful proceeding. As at the close of a 
 season, Messrs. Howell and James, '^clear- 
 ing off stock," will take any reasonable 
 
40 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 offer for what at the beginning they 
 disdainfully refused you, so the Honourable 
 Eva made up her mind that a good look- 
 ing youth, so much her junior, and in 
 possession of some fifteen hundred a-year, 
 was really highly desirable, and far pre- 
 ferable to an inglorious solitude. 
 
 It came about at last. Had it been pro- 
 posed seriously and suddenly to the Beauty 
 he would have taken flight, and perhaps 
 taken post and fled miles from Oxberry. 
 But the great, hulking man, with the fox- 
 coloured beard, who had the bitterest con- 
 tempt for Beauty, unconsciously contri- 
 buted. He was never weary, was Dick Bar- 
 ron, of ^chaffing' the youth, who was not un- 
 successful in his replies. Perhaps he had a 
 lurking admiration himself for the Honour- 
 able Eva; but his favourite tone was infinite 
 amusement at the notion of that ' china 
 figure ' inspiring any liking in any lady. 
 
''Beauty Talhoty 
 
 41 
 
 " See here. Beauty/' he would say, in 
 the smoking room ; '' they think about you, 
 very much as they do about the little ur- 
 chins that are allowed to bathe with the 
 grown-up ladies—that is, they don't think 
 about you at all^ 
 
 '' You have vulgar ideas, Barron," the 
 Beauty would answer, calmly ; " not to 
 say coarse. You picked up that in your 
 savage travels." 
 
 '' That's neither here nor there ; but 
 what I say is, the folly of a fellow like 
 you thinking women would take you up 
 seriously as they would other men. You 
 know the way they put little Tommy on 
 their knees, not that I mean that they'd 
 do that to you ; but I mean all this means 
 nothing with you. Wow Beauty thinks, 
 because all the women pet him, as they do 
 the white poodle upstairs, that they are 
 all in love with him. And that girl Lan- 
 
42 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 grislie, I'll bet any sum, he thinks is 
 pining away for him." 
 
 The other smiled good-humouredly. ^' I 
 never make bets abont ladies ; I don't think 
 any gentleman should. I don't think you 
 know much what you are talking about." 
 
 Beauty knows what he's doing," said 
 another gentleman ; indeed Eva having no 
 mamma, or brother, or father ahve, was 
 always spoken of like a ' man/ and the 
 Langrishe may have a sneaking kindness 
 for him after all. Women are queer 
 cattle." 
 
 "And men," said Beauty, " seem to be 
 very coarse fishes. I'm tired of the subject. 
 Let us change it." 
 
 But Big Barron was not, and came back 
 to it very often. In his lumbering way it 
 seemed to him something of a joke, in 
 which department he was but poorly 
 furnished, and had to make up by repeti- 
 
Beauty Talbot^ 
 
 tion for variety. There are many men of 
 this sort, who require a butt of some sort 
 to bring out their dormant humour ; and 
 this stupid fellow harped on this poor topic 
 ad nauseam almost. Old Dick Lumley — 
 who will appear by-and-by — could have 
 told the whole story minutely 
 
 The Oxberry festivities went on bravely. 
 There was a ball and dancing, and on one 
 night a play, in which all the ladies took a 
 part. The leading character, Helen of 
 Troy," fell, as of right, to Miss Langrishe, 
 whose golden hair was splendidly in keep- 
 ing. For that night she made what the 
 envious called a vigorous rally, and by 
 enormous exertion, by artistic decoration, 
 exquisite dress, and enforced animation of 
 feature, succeeded in reducing her age, 
 just as a jockey in training would his weight, 
 to about eighteen. It was a wonderful 
 tour deforce; b^t the human will, when 
 
44 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 concentrated, will perform still greater 
 marvels. Nearly every one was delighted, 
 and people who saw her for the first time 
 thought her perfectly lovely/' Female 
 rivals — who knew all the details, how 
 every touch w^as done, who could tell 
 real lace from false" in a glance, and 
 but too often, when their passions in- 
 terposed, pronounced real lace mere imi- 
 tation — the sniffs and sneers of these dis- 
 dainful partisans through that eventful 
 evening w^ere indeed trying, but they did 
 not touch her ; for rejuvenescent the whole 
 night, she was borne on one triumphant 
 tide of success. She had the public of the 
 place with her. When you have the public 
 with you on any occasion, you may despise 
 enemies, snarlers, and even critics ; and 
 with her she had her own admirer, squire, 
 and clacqueuTy Beauty Talbot. 
 
 Festival nights of this sort, w^hen 
 
Beauty Talhotr 
 
 45 
 
 there are lights, enthusiasm, gaudiness, 
 and a general halo over everybody and 
 everything, are specially dangerous for the 
 cautious man and the half-professional 
 flirt" — odious term ! used here with 
 apology — who would go on his road reap- 
 ing all the enjoyment and delights, which 
 others, more honourable, also seek, but 
 attended with graver responsibilities. In 
 that glare, the ardent and dazzling glow, 
 the barley-sugar barriers which fence his 
 resolutions thaw and droop down into a 
 universal solvence, he is carried away in a 
 rush, overleaping that sticky barrier, and 
 too often cannot undo the night's work. 
 So it was to be with our Beauty — the 
 ladies' pet — already predisposed. She 
 seemed radiant, lovely even, and there was 
 a gentle languor, a pensive melancholy, 
 a confidence for him, and him only, that 
 was in itself attractive. 
 
46 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 It was at the end of the third act 
 that she came to him in hysterical tears. 
 She could hardly tell him the cause of 
 her trouble. The place opened on a 
 garden, and seriously he begged of her 
 to come out into the cool air. Then the 
 mature Eva told him, that as she passed 
 by the wing, she had heard her enemy — 
 that cruel, unkind Mr. Barron — making 
 his remarks on her, — dark, cutting, un- 
 generous speeches. Oh, so cruel " 
 
 ''A coarse, ill-bred fellow," said the 
 other, excited; ''but I have long in- 
 tended to bring him to account, and 
 now " 
 
 " Not for the world ! not for the 
 world !" 
 
 There was perfect truth in this. The 
 unconscious giant, lounging against the 
 scene, his hands in his pockets, was cri- 
 ticising the leading actress with a caustic 
 
" Beauty Talbot:' 
 
 47 
 
 aud yet indijBTerent severity, whicli he 
 little dreamed ste overheard. It was 
 some such expression as this : — 
 
 The ancient is getting through the 
 work amazingly. She must have been 
 practising at a gymnasium all last week." 
 Gentlemen do talk thus indelicately among 
 themselves. 
 
 On such a night it seemed doubly 
 coarse, and besides quite ridiculously un- 
 true and out of nature. Beauty Talbot 
 could not resist the influences of a dra- 
 matic situation. There is a pleasant 
 sweetness and luxury in such a moment, 
 which we may defy the coldest and most 
 calculating pundit of us all to resist. He 
 had that chivalry in him which is " youth." 
 In short, before they left that garden he 
 was enrolled — solemnly sworn her cham- 
 pion and defender. The tears were dried 
 by the delicate fingers of the Beauty, 
 
48 
 
 Beauty Talbot, 
 
 holding the most exquisite cambric. The 
 performance went on triumphantly to the 
 end. But in the smoking-room that night, 
 when the hulking Barron was recom- 
 mencing his one stale topic, the Beauty 
 interposed and said, quietly, — 
 
 ''You must stop all that now, Barron. 
 I can't stand by and suffer any more 
 of that language. I give you fair warn- 
 iug." 
 
 '' And why, pray ?" said the other, 
 good humouredly. 
 
 Then the Beauty told him. And, in 
 justice to the rough Barron, it must be 
 said that he seized the womanly hand, 
 wrung it warmly, and poured out many 
 excuses and hearty congratulations. 
 
 But with the next day came the cold 
 grey of the morning. It was like walk- 
 ing across a stage at eight o'clock of a 
 November day. after the glorious debut 
 
Beauty Talbot/' 49 
 
 of a prima donna. The Beauty awoke, 
 as it were. Tlie change for him, indeed, 
 was the suddenest and strangest; ladies 
 looked on him curiously, as if he had 
 been transformed in the night. He was 
 reduced to being a private. It was be- 
 lieved he would have committed suicide ; 
 but there was no escape. Unlucky as 
 that sportswoman had been, in her gentle 
 art — indifferent Waltonian — once she had 
 something on her line, she was not 
 likely to let it go. The marriage was 
 speedily arranged," as it is called, and 
 the Beauty was (perhaps, literally) led 
 to the altar. 
 
 With this alliance began, of course, 
 quite a new life for Beauty Talbot. The 
 name he never lost, though it was applied 
 more from the wish to avoid the trouble 
 of unlearning anything, which the public 
 always dislikes. He was said to be fairly 
 
 VOL. T. E 
 
50 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 brokeD-in ; but a greater cbange came 
 over the Honourable Mrs. Talbot. It 
 has been mentioned that she really liked 
 the Beauty ; and she seemed to her 
 friends, from the hour of her marriage, 
 to have put on quite a new character. 
 She really flung away the old arms — for 
 armour she wore none, as she was only 
 too willing to receive a wound — with 
 delight. She was sick of the old 
 campaigning and skirmishing and the 
 trenches, and was delighted to retire 
 thus on full pay. She genuinely laid 
 herself out to be domestic, and to make 
 the Beauty contented and happy — a task 
 of surprising difficulty ; for he was by 
 no means weary of the trenches, and 
 literally pined for what Barron had called 
 being petted among the ladies,*' like 
 a little boy of tender years. He moped 
 and mused ; it was the air he had 
 
Beauty Talhotr 
 
 51 
 
 breathed. What was to become of him ? 
 He would sicken and die. Perhaps he 
 had sacrificed himself ; perhaps he was 
 lost and undone for ever. The enemies 
 and rivals, who never forgave her, were 
 not indisposed to encourage this tone. 
 She had committed one of the unpardon- 
 able sins. They were never weary of 
 shooting their little arrows, tipped with 
 a venomous poison, which festered and 
 irritated. The poison was, that woman 
 and her boy," on which the changes were 
 rung. Yet nothing could have been more 
 unfair. There was about ten or twelve 
 years between them ; and she looked not 
 very much older. But that majority was 
 on the wrong side ; and she was un- 
 wearied in her efforts to atone for it. 
 
 Firstly, she took him to travel for 
 two years, wisely judging it prudent to 
 remove him from those who were his 
 
 E 2 
 
52 
 
 Beaut)! Talbot. 
 
 old friends and tier old enemies. This 
 answered very fairly for a time, until 
 they got to Paris, and then to some of 
 the fashionable watering-places, where the 
 good looks of the Beauty found him some 
 admirers. She had then to remove him 
 home, and she took a small house in 
 London, where she began seriously to 
 devise and cogitate how she was to em- 
 ploy him. After much trouble and toil 
 she got him a place, that was at once 
 genteel and out of mischief, in the Palace, 
 on what was called the Board of Green 
 Cloth, with not much to do and not 
 much salary. It suited him exactly. He 
 was thrown with some ''nice" people — 
 was in a good atmosphere. But it 
 would be endless to record the un- 
 wearied arts of this singular woman at 
 home to secure her influence. For there 
 was besides a simplicity in the Beauty, 
 
''Beauty Talbot'' 
 
 53 
 
 under all his follies, whicli attracted, and 
 under good training, would have made 
 him, in the conventional phrase, a useful 
 member of society ; and a good nature, 
 which exhibited itself where his own in- 
 terest was not very directly concerned. 
 
 The result, however, was, that these 
 laborious arts bore fruit, and he at last, 
 after a faint struggle, and by the judi- 
 cious removal and fencing off of all 
 temptation, began to fall completely 
 under the influence of his wife. Not 
 that he was conscious of this, in the 
 least, and believed he had a strong mind 
 and " a will of his own." Her '' arts," 
 as will be seen, were all directed to the 
 aim of maintaining that influence, and 
 of hiding from him the ravages of the 
 cruel enemy. Time. He was taught— it 
 was forced upon him — to believe that 
 she was superior to most women : so 
 
54 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 elegant and refined, and with the true 
 style ; and some really good-natured old 
 friends of hers co-operated. One of 
 these Samaritans, whom we shall see 
 presently, Mr. Lumley, whom the Beauty 
 looked up to amazingly, did wonders in 
 this direction. It was impossible, indeed, 
 not to feel sympathy for such unwearied 
 efforts. She certainly had the art of 
 dress — ^had also the art of keeping her 
 hair, her colour, her eyes, and of con- 
 cealing that art. 
 
 But it would have all broken down 
 after a few years, but for a new and 
 more powerful ally that began to move 
 upon the scene. The pretty heroine of 
 this story had come iuto the world, was 
 growing up, from a piquant infant into 
 a pretty and delightful little girl, wearing 
 a blue cloak and straw hat, and with her 
 dark hair tumbling about her in curls 
 
Beauty Talbot:' 
 
 as she cantered along by the seaside on 
 a high-spirited donkey, laughing with 
 enjoyment, and making the heart of the 
 school-boy, who looked after her, ache 
 for long after. As she glided on from 
 ten years old to fifteen, from fifteen to 
 eighteen, the troubled mother found her 
 a wonderful and far more skilful as- 
 sistant. Her devices were inexhaustible, 
 and infinitely more original. She made 
 it all secure ; and though the paternal 
 heart was not bubbling over with affec- 
 tions or doating on her, she was irre- 
 sistible in her way. The jewel of that 
 household was Miss Livy. 
 
 Thus do we find them, on the even- 
 ing she came down from town, and 
 drove her ponies from the station, her 
 young father-brother sitting beside her. 
 How often she wished things could go 
 on so for ever. They were so happy — 
 
56 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 her brother-fatlier so young and pleasant, 
 mamma so tranquil, life so enjoyable. 
 Alas ! that the great warn of time should 
 be hurrying down an incline with a 
 gathering velocity. There are pleasant 
 epochs in life, when the sense of tranquil 
 felicity is so keen, we should wish the 
 break put on, and all things to stop — 
 for a time at least. Their little pleasant 
 house, and the delightful little interior, 
 where they were all so happy together — 
 there was no reason in life " why 
 things should not go on. The faith and 
 purpose of these two women could at 
 least secure that. The passiveness of 
 Beauty Talbot made everything the more 
 secure. He was so " broken in," so 
 trained now, he could be trusted among 
 whole flocks of ladies. Such is the text 
 — the carte de pays; it will not be diffi- 
 cult to follow out the sermon. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE MAN OF MONEY. 
 
 While the Talbots are driving swiftly 
 to this party, we may take a glance at 
 their host, Richard Hardman, Esq., now 
 on his rug, in a senatorial attitude. 
 
 A low, coarse fellow. But ^Mords " and 
 ^'people of that sort," found him quite 
 another description of man. They always 
 said that Hardman was a shrewd clever 
 man of the world, whose opinion on any 
 subject was worth money." He was 
 pushing and forward ; but it was im- 
 possible not to respect a person who had 
 raised himself from the very dregs," 
 whatever they were, and could hold his 
 
58 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 own with any of the moneyed men of the 
 kingdom. You asked him to meet a 
 number of men of rank, and men of 
 intellect, and it was impossible to pass 
 over Hardman, who, in a quiet way " held 
 his own," and did not obtrude any of 
 the vulgar I could buy and sell you,'' 
 — the syllogism on every subject, to 
 which men of his class reduce all reason- 
 ing. The host would whisper, That's 
 Hardman, at the end of the table, a 
 shrewd, clear-sighted City mau ; began 
 with nothing, made his money out of his 
 brain, perfect man of the world, long- 
 headed to a degree." 
 
 It is surprising the respect with which 
 noble persons thus regard intelligent men 
 of this sort, who do not represent the 
 mere animal type of wealth, as it may 
 be called, and which is a chuckling, 
 selfish, good-for-nothing type ; but who 
 
The Man of Money. 
 
 59 
 
 are sufficiently deferential and even obse- 
 quious, and, it is to be feared, can give 
 a sort of return in the shape of a rare 
 and useful bit of information Citywards, 
 which may be turned into money. For 
 the aristocrats of the kingdom are not 
 above receiving " information " in other 
 matters, as well as in the racing. A 
 startling truth was stated not long ago, 
 that ''the Irish were now the most stingy 
 race in the kingdom," and it is a, pendant 
 for that truth that the " noble " persons 
 of our kingdom have a certain greed of 
 " low " money, and an eagerness for 
 getting it, that is inconceivable. Mr. 
 Hardman, shrewd fellow that he was, 
 took due account of this foible, and turned 
 it to his own profit. 
 
 About Richard Hardman was often 
 asked the question, Who was he ?" 
 That almost ungrammatical question, and 
 
60 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 one of tlie audacious ellipses in the lan- 
 guage, — stands for a whole biography. 
 But here again Mr. Hardman was ex- 
 ceptional. We hear of a Chancellor of 
 England who was a bedmaker, or a 
 scrivener, or some such thing; of peers 
 who swept a warehouse. These are 
 matters of just pride, as in the case of 
 Mr. Bounderby, boasting of the hedge as 
 that four-post bed under whose shelter 
 he was born. But somehow no one 
 "raked up" these things in Mr. Hard- 
 man's instance. The mystery was, no 
 one knew anything, and yet each human 
 figure has its place in the universe, filling 
 up a certain space, comes in contact with 
 a number of people, and must be noted 
 and recollected. At the police courts, 
 the jailors and warders remember Mr. 
 Sykes, as having been under their charge 
 so many years ago. 
 
The Man of Money. 
 
 61 
 
 Some one once stated that Richard 
 Hardmau's father had kept a shop in some 
 particular town. But there was no 
 evidence. Who would believe it now ? 
 There was the man himself, a millionaire, 
 as it was believed. A perfect gentle- 
 man, I assure you. So intelligent, so 
 shrewd, it is quite a pleasure to talk to 
 him." They were not above consulting him 
 on their little, mean, miserable ventures, 
 just as at the German gambling places, 
 we see noble ladies and gentlemen on the 
 strangest terms of familiarity with black- 
 leg gamblers, looking on them with awe 
 and respect. 
 
 But it was with ladies, and in ladies' 
 society that Mr. Hardman " showed the 
 cloven hoof " as it is called, — rather ex- 
 hibited those huge clodhopper hobnailed 
 brogues — symbols of his low vulgarity, 
 and which he unconsciously brought into 
 
62 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 tlie drawing-room, and put up on the 
 sofa and cushions. Here it was that he 
 revealed himself ; no training, no pur- 
 chased education of dinner-giving, or 
 dinner-going, could impart that nice and 
 delicate tact, that bloom which is not to 
 be taught, that gentleness "—not of 
 blood, but of mind — which is based upon 
 what is considerate, and the feeUngs of 
 others. This he had not acquired, and 
 never would acquire, and with the best 
 intentions he was perpetually making 
 some blunder, which he would have been 
 delighted to have been allowed to repair 
 in a fashion like this, to take the person 
 aside and say, ^'My dear sir (or lady), 
 here is a little cheque, which I hope you 
 will let me press on you ; you will really 
 oblige me !" 
 
 But for real persons of quality, — the 
 high-bred sort, so composed, so confident 
 
The Man of Money, 
 
 63 
 
 and immovable in their proud position, — 
 the calm, tranquil, refined ladies of birth 
 and title, who spoke in a sweet, low, but 
 cold voice, whose eye rested on him with 
 an inquiring, half-indifferent, half-con- 
 temptuous way, these seem^ed as far above 
 him as the angels, whom he read of 
 pompously each Sunday in his prayer- 
 book — ('^ reduced sort of people, who, 
 for that matter, he might buy and sell ") 
 —for them he languished ; in their every 
 movement and action he saw grace and 
 perfection. 
 
 When he first came to this neighbour- 
 hood, Mrs. Talbot thus impressed him. 
 She was the true style — had the true, 
 almost contemptuous insolence. For her 
 acquaintance he actually languished ; and 
 it was indeed a day of great joy, when 
 that ^'call" was made. Her refined 
 presence seemed to pervade that gaudy 
 
64 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 and spick and span " house like a 
 perfume. In that gaudy gold and silver, 
 overloaded drawing-room, she was like 
 the pearl or diamond in the forehead of 
 the staringly-coloured idol. He would, 
 did society tolerate it, have abased him- 
 self on the carpet, taken that charming 
 foot, a la Man Friday, and placed it upon 
 his head. 
 
 His great stout wife this enchant- 
 ing presence did not at all affect in 
 the same way; she was as gratified, 
 but hers was quite a different department 
 of snobbishness and, in truth, quite 
 as low as her husband. She was less 
 vulgar-minded, in a sense. She assumed 
 herself to be as good as any of them," 
 and accepted such a visit as homage to 
 their great wealth and condition. Her 
 husband looked down on her as thus 
 wantiug in refinemement ; and thus his 
 
The Man of Money. 
 
 65 
 
 vulgarity " was the lowest in degree of 
 the two. 
 
 On the morning of that auspicious visit, 
 Mr. Hardman was fortunately v^^ithin 
 so, too, was his wife, but not his daughter 
 Rose. We may dwell a little on this 
 scene, as it will illustrate that strange 
 yet interesting formation," the soul 
 that has become calcareous, or ossified, 
 by money. After all, such a character 
 followed with the finger along all its 
 windings and lines, is as interesting and 
 as full of surprises as a course of incidents 
 itself. It is, besides, the very turning- 
 point of this little narrative, and brought 
 about a vefy strange relation between the 
 two families. 
 
 MrSi Talbot had an object in this visit, 
 which will be seen later. She was not 
 indisposed to find them a little useful. 
 She admired, in a dubious way, the 
 
 VOL. I. F 
 
66 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 splendour of the drawing-room, praising 
 the richness of the fabrics^ the treasures 
 of gold, &C.5 but saying nothing of the 
 way these things were combined. The 
 walls, a blazing salmon and gold, were 
 hung round with pictures of the modern 
 school," by those eminent painters, 
 
 Twelve hundred " or " Two thousand 
 for the owner dwelt with infinitely more 
 admiration on those prices than on the 
 humble '^fellow" who had laid on the 
 colours. He had succeeded in getting 
 the worst specimen of the masters — 
 gaudy costly failures of a subject, which 
 the painter himself excused to his friends. 
 
 Oh, yes, a thing I did -as an ex- 
 periment. One of the manufacturing men 
 came bothering me to let him have it, 
 so I put in as much colour as I could for 
 the money. A dreadful thing, sir ! but 
 done to order." 
 
The Man of Money. 
 
 67 
 
 In this grateful way is sheer money 
 spoken of. 
 
 With her glass Mrs. Talbot surveyed 
 these treasures. Suddenly at a corner 
 she came upon a little cabinet picture, 
 by a humble French artist — one of his 
 favourite genre pieces — a Game of 
 Chess/' in the Meissonier style — bright, 
 clear, firm, and exquisitely finished. 
 
 ^^Ah! that!" said Mr. Hardman; ^^it's 
 not worthy of the situation. I am 
 ashamed that you should have seen it, 
 Mrs. Talbot; a nice little thing in its 
 way, and good for a beginner." 
 
 "A beginner!" she said; ''and who 
 did it, pray ?" 
 
 " Oh^ it's a fancy of my daughter's, 
 and shall be cashiered at once. An hum- 
 ble French fellow that died. We took 
 him up a little." 
 
 " I cannot tell you how I admire 
 
 F 2 ■ 
 
08 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 it/' slie said ; it is by far the best. 
 In fact, the others cannot compare to 
 it." • 
 
 She was nearly right ; for she had the 
 iUhris of a good early taste. Besides, 
 she was not sorry in a gentle way to take 
 down this monetary arrogance. He was 
 amazed— confused rather. 
 
 " Oh, it is good," he said, looking into 
 it. Great promise. I always said so." 
 
 Promise !" she repeated, smiling. 
 '' That was long before — this is perform- 
 ance !" 
 
 ^'Ah, hah! very good, Mrs. Talbot. 
 So cleverly said. Worthy of the House !" 
 
 ^'You don't pay compliments, I see," 
 she answered, quietly. " Now, I tell you, 
 Mr. Hardman, this is the prettiest thing 
 I have seen for years, and any real artist 
 will tell you so. It is worth any money." 
 
 '/You don't say so, Mrs. Talbot?" 
 
The Man of Money. 
 
 69 
 
 said he, getting out his glasses, and 
 staring it all over, as if looking for the 
 words any money." " I declare it Is 
 good — uncommonly good. Unpretending, 
 you know ; and now that you say so, 
 really good. It has merit." 
 
 Mrs. Talbot showed almost disgust at 
 this patronage. He read in her face quite 
 plainly, You don't know what you are 
 talking about, low man that you are !" 
 " It is worth your collection put together. 
 I don't mean in money, but for pleasing." 
 She swept away with that delicious 
 "high-bred smile," and left Mr. Hard- 
 man half pleased, half uncomfortable. 
 His daughter now came in, and found him 
 ruminating. 
 
 " Mrs. Talbot has just been here," he 
 said, in a sort of lofty, chamberlain way, 
 and a tacit intimation, — " See what I do 
 for you. Where would you all be but for 
 
70 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 me ?" A hint whicli he conveyed in the 
 most insufferably arrogant way at every 
 hour of the day. 
 
 I say, Mrs. Talbot has paid us a visit. 
 I say a very aflPable, nice sort of person, 
 whom I wish you. Rose, to cultivate. 
 You hear ?" 
 
 Affable?" said Rose, coldly. She 
 has not been patronising us ?" 
 
 Folly ! You cannot understand the 
 difference between civility and the defer- 
 ence paid to a person of fortune that one 
 is anxious to make a friend of." 
 
 More anxious to come and laugh at 
 us," said Rose, her lip curling. " I know 
 what these sort of people are, and what , 
 they stoop to do, with all their good 
 l)lood and gentility. They will do mean 
 things, as I have seen." 
 
 '^Oh, ridiculous!" said Mr. Hardman, 
 much put out. You are thinking of 
 
The Man of Money. 
 
 71 
 
 what you saw of those people in Ireland. 
 The Irish are paupers, high and low. I 
 could buy and sell the richest among 
 them, fifty times over." 
 
 So you could the Talbots, papa. 
 Take my advice," she added, going up to 
 him: "just take her advances for what 
 they are worth. I have heard some of 
 her history, and know what she is per- 
 fectly. We shall be mnch more respect- 
 able and respected if we keep to our own 
 set. Let them, if they like, court us ; 
 but for God's sake, let us not be seen 
 courting them, or currying a smile from a 
 woman that will ask you to amuse her 
 friends, if she ask at all." 
 
 "You are a mere fool !" said Mr. Hard- 
 man, in a rage ; " utterly ignorant. You 
 have no more sense than that dog. Besides, 
 I will not take any lecturing. It's insult- 
 ing. Don't speak to me ; don't make 
 
72 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 such speeches to me. It's infernal dis- 
 respectful." 
 
 I mean it for your good, father ; and if 
 I have said anything wrong — " 
 
 '^You have. Mean things for your 
 own good ! I know what is thought of me 
 in the county, and over England too, and 
 I won't be interfered ^dth, if I choose to 
 assert the position I am entitled to. Here, 
 you ! send round the carriage at once." 
 
 The carriage came round. 
 Where is Miller ?" (the duke's coach- 
 man.) 
 
 He was told he had to go into the town 
 about the bad oats." Mr. Hardman 
 threw back his head haughtily, as if about 
 to scold, but recollected himself. The 
 duke's coachman was in the habit of giving 
 warning if he was found fault with even 
 in his absence. I 'ear, sir, that you 
 expressed yourself as dissatisfied," &c.)^ 
 
The Man of Money. 73 
 
 Bring down that picture carefully, now ; 
 it is of great value." He then drove 
 away, the magnificent steeds (" cost me/' 
 &c.) striding out at a good pace. 
 
 Eose, wandering back listlessly into the 
 drawing-room, noticed the blank space, 
 and asked what had become of her dear 
 and favourite picture. The answer was, 
 ^'Master had taken it away in the car- 
 riage." 
 
 That evening Mr. Hardman sat in the 
 great swinging chamber he called his car- 
 riage, in a haughty, arms-folded" way, 
 as though there were people opposite 
 watching him. Instead of such specta- 
 tors, was the picture of The Chess 
 Players," in its gilt frame, leaning against 
 the cushions. The frame gave him some 
 uneasiness ; it was not broad, nor rich 
 enough. 
 
 It was a pity," he thought, there 
 
74 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 was not time to get more gold on ; but 
 there was nothing like striking when the 
 iron was hot." 
 
 The great coach turning up to the 
 modest red-brick house, he got out, was 
 told Mrs. Talbot was at home, and then 
 said, loftily, — 
 
 Be careful in bringing that picture 
 in ; it is of value." 
 
 It was carried in, and maids — and, 
 perhaps^ some of higher station looking 
 from lofty eyries in the roof- — wondered 
 what this meant. Mr. Talbot himself, 
 passing through the little hall, saw a 
 picture on a chair, and read the solution 
 at once. 
 
 Miss Livy was in the drawing-room, 
 and with her bright, beaming face 
 welcomed the man of money cordially. 
 To her he was obsequious, though he 
 fancied she had not the true high-bred 
 
The Man of Money. 
 
 75 
 
 touch " of her mother — that latent con- 
 tempt which he so admired, yet dreaded. 
 Mamma," she said, with animation, 
 
 had gone to see him that very morning." 
 
 Mr. Hardman (loftily) knew that per- 
 fectly. He had had the pleasure of 
 seeing Mrs. Talbot. 
 
 Then entered Mrs. Talbot, with a 
 curious look on her face, something rather 
 hard and severe — as it were, giving warn- 
 ing to the visitor, — 
 
 " Take care now what you are going 
 to do." 
 
 There was, besides, a perplexing in- 
 terrogatory, — 
 
 " What can you want with me ?" 
 
 It made Mr. Hardman nervous, he 
 could not explain how ; and at every di- 
 version he made, this cold look was still 
 on him asking, pertinently, — 
 
 Now, please, what do you want?" 
 
76 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 At last he was brought to the point 
 rather awkwardly, for Beauty himself — 
 who had been composing " at the piano, 
 and was much put out at the long inter- 
 ruption — came in. ■ 
 
 " I say," he said, where on earth did 
 that picture in the hall come from — two 
 men playing chess ?" 
 
 Mrs. Talbot looked very stern. 
 Playing chess !" 
 
 Mr. Hardman now wished he had left it 
 at home. 
 
 " The truth is," he said, you so ad- 
 mired it, and did me the honour of 
 praising it so much, that — — " 
 
 The cold eyes were on him. 
 Yes, Mr. Hardman ; that " 
 
 " That I thought — " — he went on, with 
 a poor attempt at a flourish — I could 
 not do better than venture to present it to 
 one who — who " 
 
The Man of Money. 77 
 
 Here lie stopped ; the cold face was too 
 mucli. The Beauty did not know what 
 to say, though not displeased at the House 
 receiving anything. 
 
 Oh, dear, no," said she, decidedly ; 
 
 that would be out of the question. Oh ! 
 
 I never However, it was very kind 
 
 of you to bring it over, because I should 
 like Mr. Talbot to see it, whose criticism 
 will agree with mine, I am sure." 
 
 A servant brought in the picture, and 
 it was admired. The stupid man did not 
 seize on the friendly plank thus thrown 
 to him, but became bold again. 
 
 '^Oh, you must take it, Mrs. Talbot; 
 I insist on it now. No ceremony with 
 us." 
 
 Mrs. Talbot looked at him with some- 
 thing like scorn. 
 
 "I said, Mr. Hardman, that it was 
 out of the question ; I never take pre- 
 
78 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 sents, except under circumstances. You 
 must excuse us, indeed." She smiled on 
 liim, as if she was saying something 
 complimentary. " Shall I ring for them 
 to take it aAYay ? It is so heavy, is it 
 not ?" 
 
 Beauty Talbot admired the way his 
 wife performed all this — as, indeed, she 
 intended that he should. Clever woman, 
 he thought ; but with such a delicate 
 way of doing the thing. 
 
 Mr. Hardman got up, very hot and 
 miserable — much hurt, as he showed by 
 his glowing face. 
 
 " Oh, no matter," he said ; " I assure 
 you the picture is a good one, and you 
 have a loss of it. However, it is no 
 matter in the world — none at all." 
 
 I am so much obliged to you, Mr. 
 Hardman," Mrs. Talbot went on, with 
 a languidly amused air. ''I am sure it 
 
The Man of Money. 
 
 79 
 
 was too good of you to come up with, 
 it." 
 
 Oh, don't mention it," lie said, 
 anxious to get away, and buttoning his 
 coat tightly. There is nothing so humi- 
 liating as having to take a thing back. 
 
 And Mr. Hardman was savage as he 
 strode down the steps, his picture carried 
 in front. He flung himself back in his 
 carriage and fumed. As he had not the 
 duke's coachman driving, he could vent 
 himself — his head out of the window, — 
 
 ''Is that the way to treat my horses, 
 sir ? You don't know liow to drive, sir." 
 
 Entering the house, his picture car- 
 ried before him, he came full on his 
 daughter. 
 
 '' I knew she wouldn't take it, papa. 
 Why didn't you consult me?" 
 
 Nothing is so aggravating, even for 
 a good temper, as being thus surprised 
 
80 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 at so humiliating a moment. An army 
 in a rout, hurrying along its baggage, 
 is not in a humour to be " brought 
 to book." Hardman answered her an- 
 grily :— 
 
 Am I to take you into my confi- 
 dence ? I do what I choose." 
 
 You shouldn't have done this, father. 
 She would have delighted in mortifying 
 us, and be glad of the opportunity. She 
 will call us vulgar and low. And to 
 offer a present to a person you have 
 seen only once or twice — we deserve such 
 a rebuff." 
 
 " This is outrageous !" said her father, 
 turnino' on her. and makino^ his voice 
 resound though the house. " Am I 
 master here ? Who pays for everything 
 in this house ? And am I to be dic- 
 tated to in this way ? Damn it !" (For, 
 scraping the thin coating of civiUsation, 
 
The M.an of Money. 
 
 8] 
 
 we come on the common workman, with 
 oaths, &c.) I'll not put up with it ! 
 Insulted this way, right and left ! Don't 
 speak to me, girl. I, that have raised 
 you out of the mud; — only for me you'd 
 
 be a common, trolloping " 
 
 She gave him such a look of contempt, 
 and turned from him with a For 
 shame!" 
 
 He was not displeased. He had had 
 the best of that, and retired into his 
 den. Strange to say, he was in a 
 greater fury with his daughter than with 
 Mrs. Talbot. He admired and respected, 
 while he ground his teeth. How he 
 would give the world to have that art. 
 How much would he not pay down for 
 it — a cheque for a large amount ; but 
 he knew it was hopeless. Even at his 
 business, with inferiors — wretched de- 
 pendants—he could not compass it. He 
 
 VOL. I. G 
 
82 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 could abuse them," and be insulting 
 also, as he could be overbearing to men 
 his own equals ; but he could not attain 
 that courteous, stinging, placid shape of 
 deadly offence. He felt no wish to 
 punish her or revenge himself in any 
 way ; but he could not forgive his 
 daughter for having known more than he 
 did, and for having foretold what he 
 could not foretell. This is often the 
 heaviest of crimes. Thus he sat in his 
 parlour glowering at people, and enemies 
 who were not present. 
 
 This was shortly before the night when 
 the first chapter of this little history 
 opens — in fact, within ten days ; and a 
 man on horseback had ridden up to the 
 red brick house, with a despatch, wherein 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Richard Hardman re- 
 quest the honour of Mr. and Mrs. Talbot 
 at dinner, on Monday, the — th, at half- 
 past eight o'clock." He was very forgiving. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 A DINNER AT THE TOWERS. 
 
 The Towers, where the Hardmans 
 lived, had belonged to the Tilley family, 
 before Sir John had been obliged, from 
 unsuccessful horse-racing, to sell the 
 place and go abroad. It was a great 
 red barrack of a house, with yellow 
 copings and edgings, and white stone- 
 flower-pots on the top. The monetary 
 soul of the rich man hungered for this 
 place, and fancied it, when it came into 
 the market, because it had belonged 
 to the Baronet." He already heard him- 
 self saying, in answer to some guest's 
 inquiry, Yes, I got this place when 
 
 G 2 
 
84 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 the Tilleys broke up — Sir John, you 
 know. I gave him a fine price for it. 
 I lunched with him in this room, and 
 he had his hands under my feet. ^ I 
 am a beggar,' he said ; ^ don't be hard 
 on me.' ^ No, Sir John,' I replied. 
 ' I'll draw ^ cheque for the sum you 
 wish.' " 
 
 This was the Hardman version — true 
 in a literal way; but it was said, on the" 
 other hand, that tlie rich man had 
 screwed and haggled, and wanted this 
 in, and that in, and all the while kept 
 off other purchasers. This, however 
 may have been exaggeration ; for the 
 stories about Hardman were endless, and 
 every one could contribute something 
 about his arrogance, his parvenu-ish- 
 ness," and innate meanness of soul ; for 
 he had not bought or paid for tact, to 
 hide these odious blemishes. A different 
 
A Dinner at the Towers. 
 
 85 
 
 compliment to the well-known one paid 
 to Mr. Burke could be paid to him ; for 
 you could not stand five minutes under an 
 archway with him during a shower, with* 
 out in some way getting the impression 
 that he was one of the most offensive of 
 men. There would be something in the 
 way he handled his umbrella, or the 
 way he would look out on the weather, 
 as if it was some low '^poor" creature 
 that was coming in his road. He was 
 giving these dinners, in the fancy that 
 he was growing popular, but found far 
 more secret pleasure in showing off his 
 coarse magnificence. Mrs. Hardman was 
 about as vulgar as he was, with an ap- 
 paratus besides of noddings and bendings, 
 which she took for graciousness and con- 
 descension. But they had a son and 
 daughter who, strange to say, seem^ed 
 wholly of another pattern. They did 
 
86 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 not reflect the coarseness of mindj or 
 manner of their sire and mamma. The 
 daughter we have seen. 
 
 The Talbot carriage met several others 
 returning as it rolled up the avenue. The 
 door was open, and a blaze of light was 
 shed forth, in which sheen appeared, 
 standing as archangels of the household, 
 the menials, in the Hardman canary colour 
 and blue. During dinner more will be 
 heard about these gentry. The procession 
 went up the grand stair," and was sung 
 into the drawing-room, which was already 
 pretty full. 
 
 Mr. Hardman came from off the rug — 
 the royal tabaret, as it were — with his 
 face still turned towards an old-fashioned 
 gentleman, who was talking and illustra- 
 ting something with his hands — and gave 
 the new guests quite a mechanical greet- 
 ing. Mrs. Hardman, however, welcomed 
 
A Dinner at the Towers. 87 
 
 them with a fat and rubicund statehness, 
 as though she was some queen receiving. 
 Mr. Talbot looked round the room to take 
 a hasty view of the people who were 
 assembled, and most of whom he knew. 
 For the Honourable Mrs. Talbot there 
 was, after the usual formula, a seat dug 
 out, as it were, on the sofa, between other 
 matrons, and the lovely Phoebe had sunk 
 down on an ottoman, spreading out 
 in vast billows of virgin silk, quite close 
 to a tall, soldierly man, with grey mous- 
 taches. 
 
 The potentate upon the rug — and at 
 every dinner there is a king— was a 
 wiry, compact, high -shouldered gentle- 
 man, with a very tight, smooth face, a 
 white tie without any creases, and that 
 seemed to fasten behind a velvet collar 
 and a wig. " And the most curious part 
 of the whole," he was saying, was that 
 
88 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 the bishop never saw him again — never 
 heard of him even !" And he turned and 
 swayed on his heel from one side to the 
 other, looking into every face. Strange, 
 wasn't it ? Brindley told me that story 
 himself." Chorus, — Most singular !" 
 
 Oddest thing!" So strange!" was 
 murmured all round. Mr. Talbot knew 
 that this was Lord Northfieet. Ever 
 hear how Brindley himself got Graves- 
 end?" he went on, sharply. '^A mere 
 accident. Same name, you know, as the 
 engineer — connected, of course, with the 
 canal, and the Ellesmeres. The Premier 
 once sat for the borough," &c. All this 
 while Mr. Hardman was listening in the 
 statesman attitude, his chin now high, now 
 depressed, as he looked at his glazed feet, 
 the lord clattering on with the most 
 
 curious " stories. With reluctance the 
 host had to address himself to the almost 
 
A Dinner at the Toivers. 89 
 
 menial duty of assorting Ms guests, and 
 in a haughty way bade each man take 
 down each woman. A good-looking 
 youth, with small, glossy moustache, and 
 not more than eighteen, was led pom- 
 pously to our Livy for her dinner com- 
 panion, introduced as My son," and 
 it was just at that moment that Mrs. Tal- 
 bot rose up with rustles and many smiles 
 to greet the daughter of the house. 
 
 Any man of the world seeing the two 
 ladies meet, would have read off the 
 whole story with much amusement and 
 interest, just as an experienced doctor 
 would guess at the history of a whole 
 case. The manufacturer's daughter came 
 forward with a placid wariness, much 
 as a man of business comes out from his 
 office to see some importuning visitor who, 
 he suspects, wants something. There 
 was a calm coldness — combativeness in 
 
90 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 ambuscade — a defence at all points, with 
 a prospect of security. This gave to Mrs. 
 Talbot's simpering courtesies an air of 
 trepidation almost. The two ladies dis- 
 liked each other ; one, besides, despising, 
 and the other fearing, that dull lump of 
 coarse metal, her father, who, from con- 
 stant grovelling before the molten calf, 
 had grown into the image of one himself ; 
 and his coarse instinct was utterly in- 
 sensible to any such fine-spun, and delicate 
 currents of emotion about him. About 
 Miss Hardman there was something re- 
 markable. She carried herself well ; she 
 was really one of the company of fine 
 girls," as they are called, who, twenty 
 years hence, turn out vast and portly 
 women. 
 
 Every one wondered how Rosa Hard- 
 man had contrived to drive out of herself 
 all trace of those two vulgar parents of 
 
A Dinner at the Towers. 
 
 91 
 
 liers; but she had for the present, cer- 
 tainly ; unless physical enemies, — skin, 
 flesh, &c., — should prove too much for 
 her by-and-by. She had fine hair, and 
 good eyes, which seemed her own very 
 mind, for when she fixed them she gave 
 the idea of search, and of question, and 
 of deliberation, and of final decision. 
 They seemed to say, " Ah, now ! I see 
 through your designs !" This thoughtful 
 gaze no one much relished, still less her 
 parents, who disliked their daughter, and 
 had an uneasy feeling that she took the 
 measure of their inferiority. Even such 
 an uneasy feeling was in Mrs. Talbot's 
 mind, as she retired to her sofa again. 
 And when it had got abroad in the room, 
 by a sort of gentle masonry, that the time 
 had come, and every one was rustling 
 about and seeking his own, in a sort of 
 agitation, Mrs. Talbot, glancing in the 
 
92 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 direction of her sister Phoebe, followed 
 that maiden's look of consternation, and 
 saw Colonel Labouchere and Miss Hard- 
 man passing down, joined together and 
 not to be sundered for that evening. 
 
 At that moment the woman of the 
 w^orld seemed to read, as by an inspira- 
 tion, a whole chronicle of what had taken 
 place when she was not present — chapters 
 upon chapters in the book of intrigue. 
 To the deserted Phoebe came one of the 
 supernumeraries of the party, called up 
 from the rear, — a mere raw soldier, and 
 Mrs. Talbot note^ with pain her look of 
 bewildered astonishment. For there is a 
 sort of' honourable understanding in these 
 matters — a kind of delicate forbearance as 
 to the matter of proprietorship. It was 
 understood through the whole parish what 
 designs the Talbot family entertained upon 
 the stranger. 
 
A Dinner at the Towers. 93 
 
 That dinner was like one of the banquets 
 on an opera stage — the gold and the silver 
 and finery were daubed on over the 
 room, the table, and the picture-frames, 
 much as the owner was inclined to em- 
 broider heavily his canary liveries. There 
 was a vast deal of what seemed gold 
 plate, huge silver urns, in the worst taste, 
 under which the table groaned. It was, 
 as some one said, like the prize table we 
 see in a tent at a shooting match. The 
 host and his lady sat well back, and 
 scarcely spoke, but surveyed their own 
 magnificence, like the theatrical kings and 
 queens who preside at the banquets just 
 alluded to. On the wall hung another 
 host and hostess, with full as much gaudy 
 paint heaped on as could be given for the 
 money — he, with his hand under his waist- 
 coat collar, his head back, his lips and 
 chin drawn up, in the favourite expression, 
 
94 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 I am listening to your statement, sir ; 
 and am prepared with a reply to your 
 worthless argument she in a rich flame- 
 coloured silk, diamonds, and lace, full 
 length; the red, full face, toned down 
 into a lovely and heightened " bloom, — 
 indeed, one of the grossest pieces of pic- 
 torial subservience Bicknell, the artist, 
 had yet been guilty of. It had been re- 
 fused admittance to the walls of the 
 Academy ; owing to its size /" Bicknell 
 told the rich man, but told his friends 
 quite another story. He would have been 
 ashamed to have such a bit of millinery 
 hung up with his name to it; but had 
 made the ^' two vulgarians " pay fifty per 
 cent, more for his putting in the dress 
 at all. 
 
 Mrs. Talbot was seated opposite the 
 daughter of the house, and before dinner 
 was half over, had read full a volume and 
 
A Dinner at the Towers. 
 
 95 
 
 a half of that story. It was a game, in- 
 deed, she had often played herself, and 
 found a great piquancy in it. Just as our 
 gallant sailors love what is called a cut- 
 ting out" expedition; and while they are 
 preparing the blockade and bombardment 
 of some great port or fort, they man the 
 pinnace and keep up the spirits of the men 
 by a bold capture of some little sloop or 
 merchantman, under the very noses of the 
 guns. There is not much profit on the 
 whole — if successful, the prize is worth- 
 less ; but it is a dashing achievement, and 
 annoys the enemy. So, it seemed to her, 
 had been the motive of the large, steadily 
 gazing Rose Hardman, and who, when 
 she looked, seemed to look in reply, coldly, 
 "Well? I am as much entitled as you. 
 This was your old game. You think be- 
 cause my mother and father are vulgar, 
 and have bad taste, that their family are 
 
96 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 to be considered inferior, and that mind 
 and ability go for nothing?" 
 
 The unhappy Phoebe also had an uneasy 
 feeling that this was a new enemy who 
 had appeared on the scene, and who was 
 a highly dangerous one. She had not 
 been trained in the mere arts of that war- 
 fare, had no strategy, and knew not how 
 to change her front, fall back, form square, 
 or even advance. She required cavalry, 
 that useful ^' arm " in the person of her 
 sister, to charge and clear the ground for 
 her. And thus the young supernumerary 
 who had her in his keeping knew not what 
 to make of her distrait and worried air, 
 and the young gentleman returning home 
 that night told his friends that he had 
 been sent down with a heavy lump of a 
 girl that hadn't two words to say for her- 
 self." 
 
 Lord Northfleet was in great vein " 
 
A Dinner at the Toivers. 97 
 
 that evening. His ^' curious " stories and 
 odd observations charmed every one. His 
 thoughts or investigations ran in the 
 strangest gulHes and courses. 
 
 " Did you ever hear/' he was heard to 
 ask, with a loud mysteriousness, " that 
 Byron left tivo sons ? I had it from the 
 old dean near Newstead ; so hke him, too ; 
 one of them with a tendency to club-foot. 
 Wasn't it strange ? He said they went to 
 America." Or about the late Duke of Wel- 
 lington, which was told me by the pre- 
 sent Lord Huntinbrough, not long before 
 the time of the battle of Waterloo. When 
 he was in London, he received a mysterious 
 letter, asking him to give the writer a 
 meeting in one of those back slums behind 
 Soho. He was enjoined secrecy, and 
 bidden to come alone, and the writer said 
 if he had courage she would show him, 
 for it was a woman's hand, a paper con- 
 
 VOL. I. H 
 
98 
 
 Beauty Talbot, 
 
 taming tlie plans of one wlio was his 
 greatest enemy. Huntinbrough, who was 
 going on his staff at the time, came in, 
 and it was shown to him, and he said 
 something about the waste-paper basket, 
 as a matter of course, but the Duke said, 
 in his quiet way, ' I mean to go.' Hunt- 
 inbrough knew it was useless to remon- 
 strate, but he said he was never in such 
 a mortal terror, for it had all the air of 
 what they call a regular plant." 
 
 Lord Northfleet had a clear gritty voice, 
 and worked his sharp head briskly as he 
 told a story, addressing a scrap to this 
 one, another to that, no matter how 
 far off, until he gradually drew in an 
 audience. Everyone was now listening. 
 Mr. Hardman very proud. 
 
 " The Duke rode down to Soho ; got 
 down, threw the reins to a gamin, who 
 was standing about, and went in to one 
 
A Dinner at the Towers. 99 
 
 of the most cut-throat places you could 
 conceive. He came home very grave and 
 serious. It is supposed, and Hutinbrough 
 had reason to know," the lord added, 
 dropping his voice, and a salt spoon might 
 have been heard to drop as he spoke, 
 ^'that she was a former — you know — of 
 the Emperor's. I believe what he heard 
 there had somethino; to do with the gain- 
 ing of the battle !" 
 
 The host looked up and down the table, 
 and it seemed as though his chin were 
 about to retire for ever within his white 
 tie, and be never seen again. His air was 
 as who should say pompously to the guests. 
 
 See, what I have provided for you, a 
 real lord, telhng such curious stories, not 
 the common sort of article, stories out of 
 the newspapers, and all that, but real 
 rare things you won't meet every day." 
 The servants, in obedience to a haughty 
 
 H 2 
 
100 Beauty Talbot 
 
 sign, refrained from movement or clatter; 
 the magic sounds, " Duke of Wellington," 
 Lord Huntinbrough," had the influence 
 of a charm. Mr. Hardman spoke later of 
 the great ''tact" of Bewley, his butler, 
 who had come to him from Lord True- 
 man, at Trueman's Court. The coach- 
 man, too, who had come from the Duke, 
 was also seen hovering about, disdainfully 
 making him self inefficient, haughtily stand- 
 ing afar off, listening with refined enjoy- 
 ment, in what was a stiff robe that flowed 
 about his limbs. 
 
 Beauty Talbot had fallen, as it were, 
 upon clover pastures. A young girl, fresh, 
 naive, countrified, such as French novelists 
 rave of as deUciettse and of a fraiclieiir 
 ravissant. This little sapling was en- 
 chanted with the good-looking and agreea- 
 ble gentleman who took her down, listen- 
 ing with a shy smile and scarcely contained 
 
A Dinner at the Toivers. 101 
 
 enjoyment to all that he told her, of himself. 
 'Not for long had he such a listener ; for 
 on average occasions he was given a 
 trained married lady, who knew and was 
 pretty tired of all the tricks of the little 
 human comedy, and would have made the 
 little girl of the delicious fraicheur " 
 stare by her criticism of that vapid crea- 
 ture Talbot." He was quite happy, and 
 told her all about himself, and his ways 
 and likings. To him, indeed, a new object 
 was almost essential, and to whom every- 
 thing he could say was fresh. With those 
 who knew him, or had met him often, he 
 found 'Mie wanted spring," and soon 
 collapsed into dulness. He would return 
 home quite in spirits, and his lady there 
 would listen with interest to his recital 
 of his great success. It kept him in spirits 
 for a day ; and, as she took care he should 
 not meet the object that had so gratified 
 
102 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 him again, the whole presently passed out 
 of his mind. 
 
 Thus the dinner went on, vastly en- 
 joyed by the supernumeraries and by the 
 grand host, who looked down on his own 
 pride and pomp, spoke very little, save 
 an allusion to Lord Kelldrum, or to the 
 duke" from whom he got his coachman; 
 and this card he had learned to play with 
 what might be called a clumsy adroit- 
 ness." Thus. Lord Northfleet is telling 
 a most singular thing about Madox, the 
 expert. ''Had noticed on a receipt the 
 curious fact, writer bent his r's backwards. 
 A year afterwards called at a trial — paper 
 put into his hand, and remembered r's 
 bent back. It was ten years before. Man 
 hano;ed on the streno;th of this evidence." 
 
 Mr. Hardman (seeing the opportunity), 
 " The best handwriting I ever saw in my 
 life is that of the Duke's, so fine, clear. 
 
A Dinner at the Totuers. 103 
 
 bold, and distinct for a man of his age. 
 You know him, of course, Lord North- 
 fleet ?" 
 
 Mrs. Talbot, sitting beside this golden 
 calf, could not but glance with a smile of 
 significance and amusement at a neighbour 
 of hers, a gentleman of great intelligence 
 and quietness. But the next moment she 
 felt a gaze steadily fall upon her with a 
 cold challenge and defiance, as much as 
 to say, I am on the alert. Well, what 
 discovery have you made ? It is surely 
 not polite — certainly at our table — to sneer 
 at your host." The next moment Mrs. 
 Talbot saw those eyes turned to their 
 neighbour. Colonel Labouchere, and from 
 him to Beauty Talbot, and from the last 
 to Mrs. Talbot, from whom both the 
 Colonel and Miss Hardman, surprised as 
 it were in an unlawful glance, turned 
 away. From the common language of 
 
104 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 women who are hostile to each other, Mrs. 
 Talbot knew perfectly that the disparity 
 between the ao^es of herself and her hus- 
 band — her rock ahead, the ''heel" of 
 hers that was vulnerable — had been the 
 subject of that whisper. That was indeed 
 a most fatal and certain sign of the defec- 
 tion of the Colonel. For the sake of the 
 new love, a man will ungratefully sacri- 
 fice on the spot, to gain the merest point, 
 the most cherished allies, very much to 
 their astonishment. Phoebe, also, afar off, 
 saw that all seemed well-nigh lost. 
 
 Xow, however, the ladies are moving 
 up-stairs to assemble in their private san- 
 hedrim. There it may be suspected it is 
 as difficult for a woman to " hold her own " 
 and take position," as for a man to hold 
 his own in the House of Commons. The 
 
 great lady " of the meeting has a 
 strange power, which an inferior of the 
 
A Dinner at the Towers. 105 
 
 same sex dare not do battle against, after 
 the republican fashion in which an inferior 
 male can stand up against a leading man 
 in a society. With them there is more 
 equality, and the lower being can assert 
 himself even roughly, while the man of 
 rank or genius is content, and too proud 
 to struggle for superiority. 
 
 But the haughty and insipid lady, supe- 
 rior in ton^ rank, and languor (and these 
 arms are hers) — who will not condescend 
 to do battle, how shall the unwieldy, 
 flaming vulgarian contrive to approach her ? 
 That manner wins respect and allies. Those 
 sitting round are drawn by it to support 
 the chieftainess. This high office Mrs. 
 Talbot took up at once when she reached 
 the drawing-room, and the obsequious 
 hostess rolled, as it were, to her feet. 
 The great lady might be thinking of some- 
 thing else : she had not forgotten her old 
 
106 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 days, when she had to fight her way 
 through the crowd before she had attained 
 the honours of the tabaret. 
 
 Thus enthroned, a queen of light, — the 
 rustic ladies of the district grouped about 
 her, a few light girls talking eagerly to- 
 gether at a distance, yet stealing sly and 
 reverential glances — Mrs. Talbot presi- 
 ded," and gave her little senate laws in a 
 low, sweet murmur of gentility, which she 
 had no reason to pitch in a higher key — a 
 softly melodious monologue — which by the 
 art of her training had no air of selfish mo- 
 nopoly or vulgar personality. The great 
 idol in human flesh, that seemed incompres- 
 sible, almost determined to escape from 
 the frail tracery of tulle and silks, Mrs. 
 Hardman sat near her, on rolling billows 
 of cushion, a huge swollen wave. She 
 was content to listen and distend her 
 lips in rich smiles of admiration. 
 
A Dinner at the Towers. 107 
 
 It was only when Mrs. Talbot's eye 
 rested on the daughter of the house, who 
 sat near her, as though under a com- 
 pulsion of respect, that she grew a little 
 uneasy. That cold look, seemed to say, 
 " all this loftiness does well enough 
 among the people who are listening to 
 you, but not for me, on whom you im- 
 pose about as much as the fine clothes 
 of an actor upon an old playgoer." The 
 retired soldier itched " for battle, yet 
 at the same time dreaded it. Something, 
 however, drew her on. 
 
 Mrs. Talbot could not be rude, or 
 ill-bred to honest vulgarity; Mrs. Hard- 
 man was so grotesquely common," that 
 she could only smile at her. It would 
 have been simply cruel to have been in- 
 solent to her ; but there was such a 
 challenge in the eyes of the girl oppo- 
 site that she could not resist sacrificing 
 
108 
 
 Beauty Talbot, 
 
 her good breeding and delicac3^ The 
 hostess spoke of some of the rich pro- 
 perties of the house — the paper splashed 
 and daubed with gold bunches of flowers, 
 and fenced in with great bars of super- 
 fluous moulding. The decorators and 
 finishers had also hoisted up vast beams, 
 or booms, of gold — perhaps with cranes 
 — from which hung enormous mainsails of 
 the richest figured silk known to the 
 market, and which would take a whole 
 crew to draw " or furl. The same artists 
 had filled the room with huge buhl struc- 
 tures. Mrs. Hardman told how she had 
 left it all to Towerson and Jones." 
 
 " Left it all to them repeated Mrs. 
 Talbot, with a smile ; ^' ah, that explains 
 it !" 
 
 It is curious what a retribution there is 
 in these things ; and how, where there is 
 no restraint, punishment is sure to fol- 
 
I 
 
 A Dinner at the Toioers. 109 
 
 low. Mrs. Talbot little dreamed what 
 trouble this unlucky vendetta into which 
 she was rushing was storing up for her. 
 On this hint, which always gave her an 
 eternal fiuencv, Mrs. Hardman beo:an to 
 pour out details : how Towerson himself 
 had come down and stayed a Aveek, super- 
 intending ; and how, in short, " they 
 had left it all to him." The drawing^- 
 room was done exactly "the same as the 
 duke's " — the nobleman who had supplied 
 the famous coachman.. Though, indeed, 
 had the latter been called up to give his 
 testimony as to the exact reproduction of 
 the ducal drawino:-room, he would have 
 contemptuously dismissed any sense of 
 likeness, with a declaration, "it were no 
 more like than a bay 'orse is to a 
 grey." 
 
 "Like the duke's!" said Mrs. Talbot, 
 not to Mrs. Hardman, but to Miss Hard- 
 
no 
 
 Beauty Talbot, 
 
 man. Oh ! then that is conclusive as to 
 its taste." 
 
 "You, of course, mean its bad taste/' 
 said Rosa, coldly. " I understand you ; 
 for you could not mean to say that a 
 nobleman is guaranteed against bad taste, 
 because he is a nobleman." 
 
 Mrs. Talbot coloured, drew her lace 
 shawl up, and rattled her - ornaments. 
 She shook her head helplessly. 
 
 I merely use the common English 
 language," she said, " and ordinary 
 words. My poor head cannot follow all 
 these refinements." 
 
 " There is too much ornament," went 
 on the girl ; far too much heavy gold 
 and gaudiness ; yet we know that large 
 rooms of this sort require this heavy style 
 of decoration. We did not know much 
 of the style usual in the noble houses, so 
 we could only follow precedent and what 
 
* 
 
 A Dinner at the Toivers. Ill 
 
 was told to us. Hence we fell into the 
 mistake of adopting the duke's model. 
 We only deserve pity, but you must not 
 condemn." 
 
 Pity !" repeated her mother won- 
 dering, yet with an instinct that Rosa 
 was at some of her usual absurd philo- 
 sophy. Ah, child, what folly you talk ! 
 Who wants to pity, or to coudemn?" 
 
 Well, you have my pity, with all my 
 heart," said Mrs. Talbot, with a pretty 
 simper; and as much of it as you can 
 want." And the rustic ladies sitting 
 round, though scarcely understanding, 
 saw that there was sparring" going on, 
 and were delighted to show by obsequious 
 smiles that the lady of rank and fashion 
 hit far away the best. 
 
 Miss Hardman seemed to smile good- 
 humouredly. 
 
 " But surely you are amusing yourself 
 
112 BeaufAj Talbot. 
 
 with us when you say that the taste of 
 a duke, or, I suppose you mean, of the 
 aristocracy, is a safe guide, if the things 
 be true that we hear. The fine ladies 
 who take up rich but inferior people for 
 payment " 
 
 The curl on Mrs. Talbot's lip was as 
 though she had seen a reptile crawling 
 towards her. 
 
 " Payment ! Where have you heard 
 such stories ? If indeed you consult the 
 
 penny papers " 
 
 I mean," said Rosa, those who 
 take up, as it is called, the low, rich per- 
 son, and in return for the opera-boxes, 
 carriages, dinners, and perhaps houses, ask 
 a few nice people — surely that is payment. 
 Taste, indeed ! What models to follow ! 
 There are fine ladies up in town, I have 
 been told, who do not disdain to go to 
 the parties of those they think beneath 
 
A Dinner at the Towers. 113 
 
 them — to sit at their tables, use them for 
 their own convenience, and then will 
 sneer, and turn the foolish creatures 
 into ridicule for their fine friends. There 
 is worse taste in the world than over- 
 loading rooms with gilding and decora- 
 tion !" 
 
 Mrs. Hardman rolled on her cushions 
 in great trouble. She thought her 
 daughter taking leave of her senses. 
 The looks of Mrs. Talbot told her that 
 that lady was being hurt — insulted — in 
 some mysterious way, which she could 
 not follow. 
 
 " For shame, Rosa !" she said. What 
 you say, Mrs. Talbot, is so right, and 
 I am sure you know best about the duke, 
 and we could not be wrong in following 
 him." 
 
 VOL. 1. 
 
 I 
 
CHAPTER YI. 
 
 IN THE DEAWING-EOOM. 
 
 JSTow the door opens undecidedly, as 
 under undecided hands, yet such as would 
 outpour blessings on all the world. The 
 gentlemen were coming up !" That bless- 
 ing, too long denied, was to be restored. 
 Below, their ears had been dinned by 
 the coarse trumpeting of the gentleman 
 who was entertaining them. It was " the 
 duke's coachman," over and again, and in 
 a most ingenious variety of shapes. Those 
 fine grapes — the duke's coachman — i.e.^ 
 Sir J. Shortall has the same. Those silver 
 branches, so tall and spreading in their 
 foliage, that a small guest could repose 
 
In the Drawing- Boom. 115 
 
 under it, and literally find shelter from the 
 tropical glare of the Hardman gas — < — 
 Duke's coachman again. "Alcock had 
 supplied the identical fellow to it" to 
 one of the royal princes. These dessert- 
 plates, in the shape of scallop-shells, the 
 duke's coachman explained their presence 
 also ; through some mysterious channel, 
 the host had discovered that that iden- 
 tical pattern " had been chosen as a 
 wedding present for the beautiful and 
 high-born Lady Amelia Winter. They 
 would have found out for themselves, 
 without the assistance of this eternal 
 coachman, that it was tolerable claret 
 which had been set before them, but for 
 the wearying proclamation of their va- 
 pouring host — Bulmer sent me that ; 
 I gave him his own terms. He divided 
 the lot with the duke, his royal 
 highness, and with me. Just our three 
 
 I 2 
 
116 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 cellars. In six years, every glass will 
 be worth a guinea." 
 
 D — n his swagger," said one of the 
 gentlemen, with rude hunting manners, 
 very far down, to his neighbours. " This 
 ain't an auction room. He don't want 
 "US to bid for his wine, does he ?" 
 
 But some of the more rustic were 
 vastly impressed, and, by an instinct, 
 even disbelievers and judges began to 
 sip, in a juryman-like way, and smack 
 their lips, and shake their heads. 
 
 We have not yet arrived at that be- 
 ginning of wisdom which shall make ns 
 indulge in our rare and delicate wines, 
 not at the end of many courses, and 
 of sauces and sweets, but at the begin- 
 ning, with an unvitiated palate. His 
 lordship does not much care, though 
 he knows a good glass of wine. He 
 has a story about the late Bishop of 
 
In the Drawing-Boom. 117 
 
 ' ^ ^'poor old Stinger — when some 
 
 workmen broke into what proved to be 
 an old cellar, stocked by his grandfather 
 — perhaps the best connoisseur of his 
 day. The son thought he had drank 
 it all out, when they came on this find. 
 The late General Dobbs went to dine 
 with him, — scenting a good thing, you 
 know, — and, to his disgust, found the 
 common poor stuff set down before him. 
 You know they were notorious at the 
 palace for bad wine ; even the curates 
 could hardly be got to drink it, though 
 they knew, poor devils, what depended 
 on it." 
 
 " ' But surely,' says Dobbs, literally 
 making a face as he took the first glass, 
 
 this can't be ' 
 
 ^ Oh, that old stufi*,' says Stinger, the 
 old stager ; ^ it had no body in it. I got 
 them to change with me' at the hospital.' " 
 
118 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 The " gentlemen " being now dispersed 
 in skirmishing order about the room, the 
 usual business of that season was going 
 forward. The three or four elders or 
 prophets — lean pantaloons, unslippered 
 for the occasion — were clustered in the 
 back drawing-room, their heads together, 
 jerking like birds over a fountain, talk- 
 ing in pleasant confidence. For those 
 old souls, so red of face, so inflamed 
 in eye, this is one of the few pleasures 
 left ; and it is wonderful how, with all 
 their other organs so palpably perishing, 
 this last sense of relish remains with 
 them. Such veterans we see dining out 
 to the last, taking their wines and rich 
 dishes where far younger men are cau- 
 tious. 
 
 His lordship was still in a circle on 
 the rug, whispering his little story, which 
 seemed an extract from some old scan- 
 
In the Drawing -Room. 
 
 119 
 
 dalous memoir. It was notorious the 
 likeness of young Boothby to the old 
 Dean of Cheltenham. Same eyes, same 
 nose, eh ? Well, there were reasons for 
 that likeness. Dean was tutor, when a 
 young man, at poor Lady Jane Boothby's, 
 and an uncommon good-looking fellow 
 then ; and she must take lessons in Latin 
 from the tutor. An old housekeeper saw 
 what was going on ; and he was quietly 
 chasse. Never knew so sensible a fellow 
 as the Dean." 
 
 The rest of the room was, indeed, an 
 encampment. Mr. Hardman was very 
 happy. His whole full-length came down 
 from the frame ; and, stalking about, he 
 felt something like a minister who had 
 thrown open his rooms, was receiving, 
 and felt it his duty to go about from 
 guest to guest, to make every one feel 
 at his ease," though no one seemed to 
 
120 BeaiUy Talbot. 
 
 value, or sometimes even to notice, such 
 attentions. He was proud of having as 
 his guest such a distinguished woman as 
 ^Hhe Honourable Mrs. Talbot," and was 
 unusually gracious to an obscure stranger 
 or two, as there was an opportunity of 
 explaining to them who she was. 
 
 His eye, however, rested with some 
 displeasure on his son, who was in an 
 effusion of boyish adoration before the 
 pretty daughter of Mrs. Talbot — a foolish 
 and unprofitable proceeding, the lad only 
 making himself " ridiculous with such 
 follies." The Honourable Mrs. Talbot 
 was one thing, but her daughter was quite 
 another; and there were so many rich 
 young fellows, with expectations, who 
 presently would destroy their father's 
 plans by rushing off and marrying mere 
 paupers. For the scion of his house he 
 had quite other designs ; and he could 
 
In the Drawing-Boom. 121 
 
 not even allow of any foolish, waste of 
 time in sucli matters. It was irreverence 
 for the great purpose of life and his vo- 
 cation. By and by, when he had cemented 
 intimacies with many persons of rank, 
 he intended making an arrangement — 
 seated in his cabinet-minister attitude, 
 behind his papers, despatch boxes, &c. — 
 with some noble person for a daughter. 
 This would conduce to his influence and 
 position. It was an incident in the im- 
 portant career he saw fast opening before 
 him. That picture of himself in black, 
 his hand under his waistcoat — perpetu- 
 ally gliding about gilded and gorgeous 
 drawing-rooms — an eternal host, as it 
 were — was always before him. It was 
 with a sort of arrogant rudeness that he 
 called ofi* his son. 
 
 Here, sir ! have you no duties in my 
 house to do ? Chattering folly in this 
 
122 
 
 Beauty Talbot: 
 
 style ! You'll never learn. Go, and 
 attend to my guests, sir; you have no 
 manners !" 
 
 And yet, had this son been forward in 
 company in attending to the leading 
 guests, his father would have rudely thrust 
 him aside, telling him he was "infernal 
 officious," and took too much on him- 
 self. " He'd have him know his place, 
 and that he wasn't master of that house 
 quite, yet." Such is the inconsistency of 
 arrogance. 
 
 The gentle Phoebe had taken up a sort 
 of advanced post near the door, so as to 
 have a desperate chance of cutting off 
 her warrior. The colonel was a gentleman, 
 but quite an old campaigner in many senses. 
 He had '^hacked about" from garrison 
 to garrison, and " knew girls and their 
 tricks by heart." Had he really been 
 originally taken by the attractive Phoebe, 
 
In the Drawing-Boom. 123 
 
 and was now turned away from her, or 
 had lie been merely paying her those 
 gracious civilities with which a selfish 
 man must fill up his time and amuse 
 himself on a desert island ? Or had 
 Phoebe, too sanguine, coloured up into 
 gorgeous pictures what was merely in- 
 different ? It is hard to tell. It is certain 
 that the colonel was detained by that 
 daring outpost only a few seconds (who 
 was alert, bold, and hazardous in her 
 advances), and then was seen to break 
 away ; " to escape," as he ill-naturedly 
 would have said, and make for her with 
 the large eyes. An experienced matri- 
 monial physician, who conducted cases " 
 of that sort, if called in, would have 
 pronounced, after a hopeless glance at the 
 patient, that " all that " was nearly over, 
 and that human skill could avail little or 
 nothing. The patient, alas ! would be 
 
124 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 the last to see this, or to know her 
 danger. 
 
 Now the Honourable Mrs. Talbot is 
 called over to the piano. Everyone is 
 round, pressing the Beauty to give one of 
 his ^'little" songs ; though why they were 
 so styled, being of the same length and 
 pretensions as others, it was diflScult to 
 say. The young nursery " girl was the 
 most eager, the author himself was the 
 least disinclined ; indeed the music was 
 actually below in the hall, enwrapped 
 somewhere in his coat, and he looked 
 about for his wife and faithful accom- 
 panyist. 
 
 Immediately she had glided to the 
 piano. There was all but a silence, save 
 in the voice of Lord Northfleet, who was 
 afar off on the rug of the next room, 
 telling a clergyman, in low, confidential 
 tones, with other admirers, a strange 
 
In the Drawing-Boom. 125 
 
 story lie heard from the late Bishop of 
 the Leeward Isles. Looks of expostula- 
 tion were turned towards him ; but, in 
 truth, his lordship looked on music much 
 as he did on the noise of the tea cups 
 and spoons which the footmen had been 
 bringing round — a disagreeable accom- 
 paniment, but still not enough to interfere 
 with conversation. 
 
 So the Beauty begins in a faint, delicate 
 voice, but with an air as though he were 
 a Mario, his head back, his soft eyes 
 languishing towards the nursery young 
 lady. He is very particular as to the 
 accompaniment. It was called, He gave 
 one last and lingering smile." Words and 
 music by A. Talbot, Esq, It ran some- 
 thing to this- effect : — 
 
 With feeling. 
 
 ^tgzt:?— |-=it^_^-t tt tisf=H 
 
 He stood be-side me at the door. His hand was hold - ing mine. 
 
126 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 He stood beside me at the door, 
 
 His hand was holding mine, 
 The waiting carriage o'er and o'er 
 
 They'd called along the line. 
 
 Oh, lips so arched ! oh, glossy hair ! 
 
 Ah, look that knows not guile ! 
 I conld not go — we could not part : 
 He gave one lingering smile, 
 One smile, 
 One smile. 
 One last and lingering smile. 
 
 This line he addressed point-blank to 
 the lustre, as though he could not trust 
 himself to look lower. Mrs. Talbot, al- 
 ways nervous in accompanying the 
 Beauty's songs, had hurried a little too 
 much at the end, and received a hoarse 
 whispered reproof, which was perceived 
 ^ by all ; and many, ignorant of music, felt 
 "that she was not quite up to the thing. 
 It is surprising, indeed, how easily the 
 good-natured player* is sacrificed to the 
 
In the Drawing-Boom. 127 
 
 selfishness of the one he serves ; and the 
 singer who has failed will be sure, by a 
 look of reproach, to throw the whole 
 blame on the innocent assistant. As the 
 intermediate symphony moved on, there 
 was a sharp recitative from the next room. 
 
 
 
 rf ^ 
 
 ^ — ^--=^ 
 
 
 1 
 
 
 
 
 -t- 
 
 1 
 
 1 — 1 — , 
 
 S 1 
 
 
 l^s— 1 
 
 ==i— s ^. ^ 
 
 
 
 • ! ! i 
 
 — ! — r H 
 
 - 
 
 
 t-' 
 
 (^^ The bishop said to him, ^ My good 
 man, I can do nothing for you, I really 
 can't.' And who do you suppose this 
 apparent beggar turned out to be ?" &c.) 
 
 Every one was conventionally charmed 
 at this melody and the words of the little 
 incident, which seemed to be a picture 
 drawn from the singer's own experience. 
 Some of the men looked at each other 
 privately, with a tendency to grimace, 
 as who should say, ''What fun this 
 
128 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 Beauty was." But they were under the 
 influence of the society, and dared not 
 openly be contemptuous. Even as he 
 finished, the unauthorised recitative fell 
 on the last chord with a jar. 
 
 ('^ I can tell you he never would open 
 his lips to the bishop again.") 
 
 There was one certainly who might 
 have played for him with more effect, but 
 Livy would not have interfered with this 
 pet and special department of her mother's. 
 The young ofl&cer, the son of the house, was 
 greatly attracted by her — as indeed who 
 w^as not likely to be ? — having devoted 
 himself to her during the dinner, and told 
 her all about himself — one of the fashions 
 in which our poor human nature believes 
 it is favourably impressing others. Yet, 
 as has been mentioned, the wretched 
 Birmingham plating " of the father and 
 mother was not overlying his soul, that 
 
In the Drawing-Boom. 129 
 
 cold, showy, glittering, and worthless 
 ware which his odious parents were 
 
 flashing in everybody's eyes. How he 
 escaped having such an ornament bound 
 up in his system, cramping and tighten- 
 ing his feelings and sympathies, was a 
 marvel. But he could talk, and talk 
 with the pleasantness of a young feljow 
 not yet spoiled or grown affected. Livy 
 was amused and interested, and showed 
 that she was interested. Nature has 
 always this certain spell ; but nature also, 
 or perhaps the complacent personality 
 of selfishness, makes the manly heart 
 mistake such indulgence for something 
 belonging to Love's kingdom." He was 
 quite delighted with himself, and in the 
 mood for being rallied, quizzed, punched 
 on the chest, or treated to any of those 
 shapes of compliments with which men 
 greet their brothers in such cases. He had 
 
 VOL. I. K 
 
130 
 
 Beauty Talbot, 
 
 not seen much garrison service, but had en- 
 countered many a garrison girl — irregular 
 liorse of the drawing-room — those forward, 
 loud ladies of industry, who are in their 
 own ranks pretty much as are barmaids, 
 and their manners, in a lower one. Miss 
 Li\y was to his eyes quite of another 
 pattern. And indeed these creatures who 
 come spurring up to men quite boldly in 
 rooms, challenging them to this and that, 
 have their use as foils to their perfect 
 sisters. 
 
 But all were now about moving, when 
 the Colonel showed signs that his cruel, 
 stony heart had been softened, and came 
 over to the lorn and lone Phoebe. He 
 was all smiles and good-nature, and it 
 must be said quite unconscious of his pre- 
 vious baseness. 
 
 ''You have heard," he said, '' what we 
 are going to do ? Our ofl&cers want to 
 
In the Br awing 'Room. 131 
 
 give a series of Wednesday dances. You 
 come, as a matter of course. I ask you, 
 and won't send even a formal invitation." 
 
 The slightest signs of grace in these 
 cases, makes tlie most outrageous past 
 be forgotten. The downcast face beamed 
 again witk smiles and trust. Is it love 
 that does this ? love that forgives, trusts 
 all, and hopes for all, or simply a sense 
 of mistake, an acknowledgment that 
 what had passed meant nothing ; a 
 decorous self-interest which is content 
 to overlook all and begin again fairly, 
 provided there is a sincere change of con- 
 duct? Into these niceties we need not 
 pry ; but the result was the hopeful Phoebe 
 went down to the carriage with the old 
 dreams before her eyes. There was the 
 usual procession, Mr. Hardman leading, 
 with Mrs. Talbot and his enraptured son 
 still with her daughter. Now you will 
 
 K 2 
 
132 
 
 be sure to come to the dance. I count 
 upon you, and I know you will enjoy it." 
 
 Mr. Hardman while sweeping across his 
 own hall in this function always seemed 
 to himself ducal rather, and almost an- 
 cestral. He was the lord of the house 
 seeing "his guests" out. He was par- 
 ticular that all "his menials" should be 
 mustered about that time, so as to impress 
 the departing guests. It gave a baronial 
 air. Phoebe, happiest of women, was 
 waited on by the Colonel. True, the 
 keener eye of Mrs. Talbot had noted that 
 he was going away also, and that the 
 lamps of his little "trap" were flashing 
 in the open door ; but we must not search 
 too narrowly, or look these rare gift 
 horses too jealously in the mouth. Double 
 motives may, and do, accompany many 
 an act in life ; interest may go with in- 
 clination, in the most convenient way; 
 
In the Drawing-Boom. 133 
 
 but the sensible person will accept the 
 satisfactory result. She got into her 
 carriage elated. But what goaded her 
 really was the insolence, the air of com- 
 mand, the victory even " of that low 
 woman," and who seemed to hint at 
 something to be in the future. A sort of 
 claim for dominion, — a low manufac- 
 turer's girl, about, as it were, to con- 
 test the county " with her, the queen of 
 the district. 
 
 In that girl's eyes there was a chal- 
 lenge, and a venomous one. The whole 
 party, the low rich man, and airs of 
 money and show, were simply contemp- 
 tible, not in the least dangerous. Not 
 indeed that she had much care about 
 social pre-eminence now ; but there was 
 something in those steady eyes that meant 
 even more. These were her thoughts as 
 she found herself in her drawing-room, 
 
134 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 taking off her gold and silver armour before 
 the glass. Beauty Talbot looked up from 
 his own personal reverie ; and coming 
 fresh from that gew-gaw house and coarse 
 finery, may have been struck by the con- 
 trast ; the air of refinement and breeding, 
 in that well-shaped face and delicate arms, 
 above all in the dress, which was a mas- 
 ter-piece of design and execution. The 
 first was her own, and the wealth of the 
 Hardmans could not have got quite the 
 same touches. Whether he thought this 
 or no, he was looking at her, and the 
 watchful Livy, full of delight, saw him 
 and struck in, " DoesnH she look well. 
 Beauty, after those people !" 
 
 With some little enthusiasm — it re- 
 flected praise on him, his property — the 
 Beauty answered, Really, yes, she is 
 quite handsome to-night." 
 
 The lady looked round on both with 
 
In the Draiving-Boojn. 
 
 135 
 
 a smile, her elbow on the chimney-piece, 
 her arm and wrist arched. So might 
 Bicknell have painted her for the Aca- 
 demy. The delicate green of her dress, 
 and the lace, would have worked up 
 finely. The Beauty was in good humour, 
 his humour always giving the tone to his 
 little society. 
 
 The party in that small travelling 
 chamber had travelled home very happily. 
 Mrs. Talbot was a little silent. She had 
 a conviction that for Phoebe the day ivas 
 lost. There was all the trouble they had 
 taken, the labour, the positive hard work, 
 all spent for nothing. 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 ''OLD DICK LUMLEY." 
 
 On tlie next day there was still a 
 palpable gloom over the ladies' side of 
 the household. There were councils and 
 consultations. Of these Mr. Talbot was 
 quite unobservant, being in good spirits 
 and good humour. He was pleased with 
 his performances of the night before. 
 Mrs. Talbot had an air of trouble and 
 dissatisfaction. Perhaps it was founded 
 on the idea that in that house she must 
 not seem to be defeated in anything, 
 or by anyone. She was " thorough " in 
 all things ; a gallant creature that would 
 do battle to the last with years, and the 
 
Old Dick Lumleyr 137 
 
 mean little shabby attacks of old Time's 
 toadies and jackals — namely, wrinkles, 
 fading colour, loss of hair, teeth, &c. — 
 fight them inch by inch, repairing the 
 damage until, as the good-natured " Old 
 Dick Lumley" said, who often dined 
 with them, She would all crumble and 
 collapse one fine morning, like the one- 
 horse shay." To be defeated in that 
 little corner of their county, and by a 
 "low" girl, meant a defeat in her own 
 house, in her own rooms. She knew 
 how slight was the allegiance of her own 
 troops, of that domestic force which she 
 had to try and turn out, and keep from 
 insubordination. At any moment there 
 might have been a revolt, which only 
 endless watchfulness could prevent. He, 
 too, though not much interested in so 
 slight an affair, and one that did not 
 concern him, had been led to believe in 
 
138 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 certain victory, and would be sure to 
 harp on the defeat as something that 
 showed him wiser than anyone else. 
 
 That day, also, was to be a day of 
 new disaster and discouragement, for 
 about noon arrived a letter from Colonel 
 Labouchere, with many regrets that he 
 could not present himself at lunch on 
 some particular day, as he had for- 
 gotten that he had engaged himself at 
 The Towers." When this news came, 
 Phoebe flung the letter down passionately, 
 as though the game were up, and with 
 tears in her eyes said she would go away 
 that very evening. Mrs. Talbot was bit- 
 ing her lips, and her foot was patting 
 on the carpet. 
 
 " I have a trifle more spirit than 
 that," she said. She shall come to 
 your feet, Phoebe, and beg your pardon 
 
 yet." 
 
Old Dick Lumleyr 139 
 
 " She !" repeated the other, in amaze- 
 ment. Who do you mean ?" 
 
 Mrs. Talbot was not thinking of the 
 lover, nor of the gentleman they wished 
 to make into a lover. 
 
 " That low girl — that fellow's daughter. 
 Can't you see it is against me she means 
 all this ? She wants to raise that family 
 of hers by their money ; she wants to 
 make them the first people in this part 
 of the county. But she shall not de- 
 pose me, if I die for it." 
 
 Here entered Livy, and just caught 
 these last words. 
 
 " Depose you, dearest ; you who look 
 so magnificent and so like your picture 
 this morning?" And she smoothed her 
 mother's golden hair softly, and kissed 
 her on the forehead, as if she were a 
 younger and petted sister. The picture 
 was of the now exploded Chalon pattern — 
 
140 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 faint, delicate water colouring- — celestial, 
 diaphanous floating in the air, as the chief 
 artists of that school loved to present their 
 heroines. 
 
 This, indeed — done in the full heyday 
 of her charms, when she was in the ser- 
 vice," and, a colonel-like belle — was always 
 the standard of comparison used by this 
 faithful soldier. It was amazing, indeed, 
 considering the interval of years, how 
 little difference there was between the 
 two. In fact, the picture had not lasted 
 nearly so well. It was her mirror, and 
 she consulted it as often as the one on 
 her dressing-table. Pale, faint, pink, deli- 
 cate watery blue, jewels, laces, floating 
 away in the breeze — it can now be seen 
 engraved in an old Book of Beauty. 
 
 Towards five o'clock Mr. Talbot came 
 forth, and said he would stroll down and 
 meet Old Dick Lumley," who was com- 
 
Old Dich Lumley'' 141 
 
 ing out by the train about that time. He 
 took his daughter with him, as a matter 
 of convenience, just as he would have 
 taken down his hat or his umbrella. He 
 fell into this, not from any profound affec- 
 tion, paternal or otherwise, but from 
 simple habit. He could not endure walk- 
 ing alone, and she, affectionately artful, 
 contrived to be as adroitly flattering in 
 her innocent adulation of his looks and 
 gifts as some old courtier, and had at 
 least the merit of putting him in good 
 humour. 
 
 On the road, when they got to the top 
 of the hill, they saw a small figure in a 
 light grey shooting-coat and garden-hat 
 trotting briskly towards them. Any one 
 might have said, Here is some ofl&cer 
 from the garrison — some young active 
 fellow." Afar off he took off his hat, and 
 waved it cheerily like a Jack Tar, then 
 
142 Beauty Talbot 
 
 broke into a jerky run. This was Old 
 
 Dick Lumley" coming up, whom every one 
 
 about town knew well, and whom people 
 
 could take any number of affidavits, and 
 
 prove by documents, to be at least seventy- 
 six years old, and yet as young as any boy 
 
 in the country. 
 
 "Old Dick Lumley" was in the same 
 ofl&ce (Board of Green Cloth at Bucking- 
 ham Palace) with Mr. Talbot. He had 
 originally filled the strange office of " Gen- 
 tleman at Large " at Dublin Castle, where 
 there are as many curious little court 
 berths as at some German Pumpernickel, 
 had hung on under various viceroys, and 
 had at last been " discharged with all 
 wages paid him," as a malicious snarler 
 of the place said. This sort of pleasant 
 grasshopper is quite a species ; it chirrups 
 with delight about the daisies and butter- 
 cups which have " handles to their names." 
 
Old Dick Lumleyy 
 
 143 
 
 Sometimes they allowed him to nibble 
 at their leaves, and one obtained him this 
 
 little berth/' which came in very satis- 
 factorily. He had been in the service of 
 Rank, from his childhood, man and boy," 
 for years. In that dear campaigning ho 
 had accepted halfpence, kicks, rebuffs, 
 snubs, actual privations ; yet still would 
 not have exchanged the life for plebeian 
 ease and luxury. It was the only air that 
 suited his old lungs. 
 
 To Dublin Castle" had been always 
 coming a stream of visitors, more or less 
 aristocratic, and these the Gentlemen at 
 large " duly breathed, inhaled, felt, and 
 patted all over. He adhered to them like 
 mussels. He would have been glad to 
 do menial offices for them, would they 
 have permitted him. He never let them 
 
 go " afterwards, waited on them in town, 
 trained himself to be amusing, prattling. 
 
144 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 and useful, and at last got recognised — the 
 grand point. To be recognised was to 
 be found at other houses ; an argument to 
 you for having him at yours. About society 
 flutter many of these little insects, chiffon- 
 iers of gossip, who are repaid for their 
 really useful labours by admission to the 
 more select shows. Ten minutes with a 
 baronet is a lunch ; five with a lord, a 
 good dinner. 
 
 But there was another side to " Old 
 Dick Lumley's " character, more human, 
 for which we may have some sympathy. 
 Like Mrs. Talbot, he was doing battle 
 with Time, decay, weakness, and had 
 fought even more successfully than she had 
 done. No one ever knew him to be ill ; he 
 never allowed himself to be ill. It might 
 be suspected that he withdrew to some 
 lone garret, where no one could see him. 
 There was no stooping, no decay, no ne- 
 
Old Dick Lumley:' 145 
 
 gleet; yet his age was undoubted. His 
 dress was more surprising still, — like that 
 of a man of five-and-twenty, and even 
 more gay. As Mr. Talbot and his daughter 
 came down the hill, they saw him glitter- 
 ing in his bright blue tie and still brighter 
 face. In his voice there was a metallic 
 ring, not the wheeze of old age, and in 
 his eye a roguish twinkle. 
 
 Here I am ! come down to you, and 
 made out a day at last. Ah, Miss Livy, 
 I wish you had been at Lady Mantowers' 
 last night. They wanted beauty, I can 
 tell you — a set of ogresses. Well, Talbot, 
 I am so glad to meet you." 
 
 On this, Old Dick Lumley " launched 
 out into an account of his doings, just 
 as a political man might unfold quite a 
 budget of important news. He walked so 
 fast and briskly, they could hardly keep 
 up with him, while his voice left them 
 
 VOL. I. L 
 
146 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 a long way behind. Livy delighted in 
 listening to bim — she thought so at least ; 
 but the reason more likely was, that she 
 saw he was so welcome to both her father 
 and mother. A visit from him introduced 
 new vitality into the house, and kept him 
 in pleasant acceptance of the existing 
 order of things. 
 
 In the little round library — cosiest of 
 regions, and which became infinitely more 
 so during the dark hour before dinner — 
 they found the ladies sitting at the fire, 
 arrayed in what might be called the 
 elegant regimental undress kept for that 
 hour of the day. The iron grey of the 
 evening was seen outside, through the 
 windows, with the twinkle of the lamps 
 from the passing coach or cart ; while a 
 shaded lamp in the corner spread a quiet 
 half-light over the colours and properties 
 in the room. Presently Old Dick Lumley 
 
" Old Dick Lumleyr 147 
 
 was in a little low chair— not by any 
 means an ''arm" one, which he left to 
 the " old" men — sitting at the feet of the 
 ladies, '' amusing them so much." He 
 unpacked all his little boxes and bundles 
 rapidly, telling them of this country 
 house and of that, where he had put up, 
 as at a series of inns, and where he 
 '' picked up" people : with stories of nice 
 Lady Grace," and " dear Lady Mary," 
 which are in a " certain degree welcome, 
 and which elevate our humanity and com- 
 placency, provided there be no object of 
 self-glorification on the side of the relator. 
 With such aid the time slipped by plea- 
 santly, until dinner came. 
 
 These little entertainments " Beauty " 
 Talbot knew how to do very well — so his 
 friends said. Rather he himself could 
 talk about what had been arranged, with 
 quite an air of authorship. Yet it was 
 
 L 2 
 
148 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 the skilful forethought of his daughter — 
 even her more skilful touch — that con- 
 trived the whole. She could even believe 
 —though a partial filial delusion — that he 
 had contrived the whole. Everything was 
 small, hotj choice; everything came up 
 swiftly, by ''a lift;" and a neat-handed 
 Phyllis waited. No ancient stomach ap- 
 preciated these rare qualities so sincerely 
 and gratefully as that of Old Dick Lum- 
 ley. It oiled the very wheels of his 
 elocution. 
 
 Now this is wonderfully good. The 
 last time I had such a vol au veM as this 
 was at Linderston, where, I assure you, 
 we all suspected that Lady Linder's own 
 fair fingers had — now, don't smile. Miss 
 Livy — had held the fork, or whatever 
 it was. It is now coming up a good deal 
 among our fine ladies, is cookery. You 
 know Lady Emily St. Luke's little book — 
 
" Old Dich Lumleyr 149 
 
 the prettiest thing in the world — she gave 
 me a copy herself—^' Toothsome Things" 
 — not bad as a title ! We had a regular 
 consultation over it, your humble servant 
 in the chair, and they did me the honoui 
 to approve of mine. ^ If you were but 
 one of the dishes, Lady Emily!' I said. 
 That carried it." 
 
 This was a specimen of Dick Lumley's 
 " powers," as he would have called it — 
 his style, as it were. As in Lady Emily's 
 cookery, the chief elements were the 
 seasonings, condiments, essences, garnish- 
 ings — not the vulgar meats and poultr}^ 
 — so the chief strength of his talk lay in 
 the garnishing of good names which he 
 sprinkled thickly over it. He was going 
 to Brierly next week, where there were to 
 be theatricals; and, only think," they 
 had got the duke to take a part ! Lady 
 Whitman could make him do anything. 
 
150 
 
 Beantu Talbot. 
 
 The week after, there were to be arreat 
 doino's at Greenhunt — the son, vou know, 
 coming of age. Jfext month there was 
 Lady Susan's marriao;e with Lono-acre, of 
 the Gruards. Lucky dog ! 
 
 So he proceeded with this fashionable 
 diary, which he would be delighted to 
 keep pencilling it day after day, as if 
 he was just starting in life, until one 
 morning or night, a skinny, strong, hand 
 was to be put oyer his shoulder, and 
 snatch it from him. 
 
 He asked about their life down there. 
 
 ^' I heard there was a manufacturing 
 man set up here. Just like 'em, daubing 
 on the splash and colour, and all that ; 
 as Dudley said, the other day, yery 
 happily, too, they'd paint and yarnish 
 their houses in panels, like Lord Majws' 
 carriages, with arms and gold, if they 
 could. Dreadful people, my dear Miss 
 
Old Dick lAimleyr 151 
 
 Livy. They've such a coarse touch, you 
 see. Their money is positively worth to 
 them about one-fourth of what it is to us 
 decently-born people. They don't know 
 how to use it, and," added Old Dick Lum- 
 ley, dropping his voice mysteriously, as if 
 he was about to announce a secret of the 
 cabala, you'll mark that in the way they 
 give to the servants^ you know. I give you 
 my honour, Baker, Lord Greenman's 
 valet — a house absolutely like an hotel 
 all the year round — told me he'd sooner 
 have a gentleman's shilling than your 
 Manchester person's guinea." 
 
 Mrs. Talbot listened with pleasure. 
 For anything I have seen of them, 
 they are terrible. I really can't under- 
 stand them. You may pity us here." 
 
 Not a bit," said Mr. Lumley, 
 heartily. It will be a little excitement. 
 You can snub 'em and snub 'em again : 
 
152 
 
 Beauty Talbot, 
 
 all before the neighbours, too, which gives 
 a whet. That's true luxury, as Lady 
 Towler used to say. They loill go 
 blundering on, daubing their plate and 
 money about in their disgusting way. 
 Now, I'll tell you what occurred a year 
 and a half ago, at Strachey's, over in the 
 wilds of Ireland, where Ladv Emma 
 Strachey had asked rather a mixture, 
 between ourselves ; but we all knew what 
 it was for — to get Strachey in. All the 
 parsons, you know, and that sort of 
 thing. Heavy as dumplings ! Ah ! ah ! 
 Miss Livy. What a Macedonian ! If there 
 be a thing I adore — but there's an artistic 
 touch about this — and I must have some 
 of that old East India with it." 
 
 This was one of the secrets of Old 
 Dick Lumley's vitality — he always eat 
 the best and choicest things that were 
 served, taking care to dine at what he 
 
Old Dick Liimleyr 153 
 
 called guaranteed houses, where there 
 were notorious cellars, cooks, &c. Once 
 give Dick Lumley a bad dinner and his 
 active tongue gave the author a bad 
 name for ever. ' He seemed to think that 
 thus had been shortened his fag end of 
 a life, by some days or hours. 
 
 " Well now, to come back to our foie 
 gras — for old Lord Hartop used to say, 
 they might have chosen a real delicacy 
 when they went about it, and not vulgar 
 sheep. Well, I want to tell you about 
 my adventure at Strachey. It will amuse 
 you all." And Old Dick Lumley smiled 
 and smacked his lips, and showed white 
 and even teeth, and took all the party 
 in at a glance, to see that he had 
 their attention — a regular prologue and 
 manoeuvre of his before beginning a choice 
 story. 
 
 A very good house, I assure you," 
 
154 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 be went on, apologising for Ireland ; 
 
 thino-s very well done, von know — 
 groom of the chamber, and all that. 
 She was a Greenman : took a fancy to 
 Strachey, and qnite formed him. Well, 
 there was a sort of manufacturing girl, who 
 came over with some one — ^^I'nst in the 
 way that class of girl is brought to keep 
 thincrs livelv. '\Vebster savs it's a reorular 
 profession, and a host who has to till 
 his house two or three times in the year, 
 is very glad to hear of these supernu- 
 meraries, who know the business, and 
 go to anyone and for anything. Ah, 
 Miss Talbot, that astonishes you. Well, 
 Strachey did the thing uncommonly well 
 — good style, and all that : but that 
 
 was Ladv Emma, vou know, who reallv 
 , ' » ' • 
 
 had tact, and knew how to mix her 
 company, and bring the right people to- 
 gether." 
 
Old Dich Lumleyr 
 
 155 
 
 (Mr. Lumley spoke as if some delicious 
 beverage was being compounded before 
 Lira.) 
 
 " There were a good many of the 
 Irishry — Lord Mountattic; Sir Hercules 
 Jackson ; a man who called himself, God 
 knows why. The O'Daly ; Lord and Lady 
 Boreena ; more Irish ; and St. Maurice ; 
 with a few of us English, you know, to 
 keep the mass sweet. Ha ! ha !" 
 
 Like some of his countrymen, old 
 Lumley was fond of speaking in a 
 contemptuous way of this class of his 
 fellow subjects. 
 
 " We had very fair shooting," he went 
 on ; " and good horses, and I had really 
 some very pleasant drives about with 
 Lady Boreena, who, by the way, asked 
 me to go and see them at Boreen when- 
 ever it suited me. I declare I never 
 thought of it until this moment ! The 
 
156 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 first slack time, I have I must put in at 
 Boreen. Ha! ha!" 
 
 Olivia was more interested in the dra- 
 matic part of the story; saw that her 
 mother was, and brought him back to the 
 subject. Sometimes the old man part " 
 would overpower him ; and people said that 
 
 Old Dick Lumley" took a fit of rambling. 
 Well, the manufacturing young lady, 
 Mr. Lumley ?" she said. 
 
 Oh, yes. I had my eye on her the 
 whole time ; and I assure you it was 
 worth it ; a kind of demure creature, 
 but with an air of business. There was 
 a genuine Irish barrister there — a rough, 
 forward, amusing fellow — who fell head 
 and ears in love with her. I believe 
 she had a fancy for him, too ; he had 
 met her somewhere before, at some other 
 house, and had actually got himself in- 
 vited here. 
 
Old Dick Lumleyy 157 
 
 Well, they were giving a ball, and some 
 officers came out for it with their colonel, 
 a man whose face and name I remem- 
 ber perfectly. Fotheringham the name, 
 and he had a very striking face, the sort 
 ladies admire, you know ; eh, Miss Livy ! 
 — a bold eye, meaning conquest, — and a 
 steady stare, and a good complexion." 
 
 Livy, who, with quick instinct, saw her 
 father's look, replied, — 
 
 ''Not our style, Mr. Lumley. Those 
 sort of faces are odious, and neither hand- 
 some nor likeable," 
 
 " No," said the Beauty, pettishly ; 
 *' that's the regular healthy ploughman 
 sort of thing. Any country bumpkin, I 
 am sure, could get that up." 
 
 Sometimes, but not often, Old Dick 
 Lumley thus '' put his foot in it." 
 
 ''Well, ,you, the ladies, are the best 
 judges of that. What can we know 
 
158 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 about it, except exhibit our phyzes in 
 competition ? Let the best be taken. 
 Can I say more ? But I am too long 
 over this story of mine ; and so I come 
 to the last day, when I was going away. 
 
 ^'The barrister man had told me, with 
 a foolish confidence, that he had all but 
 got her consent, and was in the greatest 
 jubilation ; but you know I am sharp 
 enough in my way, and I had seen some- 
 thing else going on, as it seemed to me, 
 between my gallant colonel and the girl. 
 As I said, I could not recal the story 
 about him, or stories ; but the ladies, I 
 am bound to say, respected him highly. 
 And why, ma'am ? Some one had given 
 out that he had been distinguished as 
 a love-maker and heart-breaker. Miss 
 Livy; and, 'pon my word, I don't know 
 ^ whether I ought to mention such a thing 
 in this circle, but the rumour was, he 
 
 f 
 
" Old Bid Lumley:' 159 
 
 had taken to running off — with married 
 ladies. And I assure you it amused me 
 to see the curiosity and horrified interest 
 there was about him among the ladies." 
 
 Bea.uty Talbot simpered and arranged 
 his collar, as if he could quite understand 
 that trait of human character. 
 
 Mr. Lumley himself noticed something 
 like awakened attention even in the two 
 ladies who were listening to him, and 
 thus supported his unflattering descrip- 
 tion of a corner of our human nature. 
 
 Mrs. Talbot said, — 
 I could see no attraction in such a 
 man, and would shut my doors against 
 him, as if he were a wild beast." 
 
 Ah, yes ; but we were in Ireland, 
 where love, war, and hunting, they told 
 me, was everything. But now I am 
 really coming to the point. I pass over 
 a good deal of what I saw^^ and what I 
 
160 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 guessed was going on ; but on one grey 
 evening, my Lady Boreena asked me 
 would I take a drive with her and her 
 niece, in a private outside car that Stra- 
 chey had ? I was deUghted to take charge 
 of them, and we had a pleasant drive that 
 really was most agreeable. — (I wish these 
 things were more introduced with us.) — 
 We were talking a good deal over the 
 colonel and his doings, and I assure yoit 
 my lady did not take precisely your view 
 of that officer. But as we talked, I sud- 
 denly, by a sort of Providence, recollected 
 all about him. He was Gore v. Gore and 
 another, do you know. You see that 
 makes all the difference ; it being quite a 
 serious thing then, as Lady Boreena said. 
 I remember perfectly, no divorce could 
 be got. 
 
 " We were turning back, afraid of being 
 late for dinner, and putting the horse to 
 
Old Dick Lumley/' 161 
 
 it, for we had a good seven miles to go, 
 when w^e came close to the station : and 
 at that moment a common outside car 
 passed us, with two people on it. ISTow 
 it was not very dark — only grey, you 
 know ; but I assure you I have the best 
 eyes in the world, and I said, aloud, — 
 
 ' My God ! why that's the Colonel and 
 that , the manufacturer-girl.' 
 
 I forget her name ; but so Lady Boree- 
 na always called her. She said to me, — 
 " ' Oh, impossible !' 
 
 ' There could be no mistake,' I said ; 
 and these were my very words — ^ and it 
 really has the look as if they were trying 
 to catch the train.' 
 
 I had stopped the car ; the same idea 
 was in both our minds. 
 
 I think. Lady Boreena,' I said, it is 
 almost a duty that we should see a little 
 
 VOL. I. M 
 
162 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 more of tins, as guests of our friend 
 Strachey.' 
 
 And so we turned back, I declare we 
 did ; and went towards the station. 
 
 " Now I really like getting on a track 
 of this sort, for, you see, it makes an 
 adventure. Things are generally a little 
 tame, you see. 
 
 So I got down, went into the station, 
 and there what do you think I saw — or 
 who do you think I saw standing on the 
 platform ? Why, my young lady. She 
 started, but then looked at me wildly. 
 
 " ' Not going away ?' I said; ' and with 
 that colonel ? Most singular !' I said. 
 
 '^^Why should you assume that?' she 
 said, coldly. 
 
 ^ Because it looks so strange,' I an- 
 swered ; ' the tableaux coming off to-night 
 you were to take a part in, and — ' 
 
 " ^ I am leaving that house/ she said, 
 
" Old Dick Lumleyr 163 
 
 ' where I have been insulted, putting up 
 with long insult from you all. I have met 
 genteel people who have been kind to me.' 
 
 '\ ' To be sure,' I said. ^ But really 
 you ought to reflect, our excellent friend, 
 Strachey, and Lady Emma, such a thing 
 taking place /rom their house, and all the 
 talking, and your friend a married man — ' 
 She gave a cry. ' Married ! no.' At 
 that moment he came up, and heard the 
 word. ' Now, what do you want ?' he 
 said, in a very rude way, I must confess. 
 But he was a bad style of fellow. 
 
 ' Is this true P' she asked, turning to 
 
 him. 
 
 ^ My good sir, you can't. We about 
 town know of Gore and Gore." It's 
 absurd. At this corner of Ireland, of 
 course, it was very natural it should not 
 have transpired.' 
 
 " ' You have deceived me, then,' she 
 
 M 2 
 
164 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 said, it is true ; I see. But 0 ! what 
 was I near doing ?' 
 
 " ' Nothing/ I said. ^ I have been taking 
 a drive with Lady Boreena; why should 
 you not have joined us, and why may we 
 not have picked up the Colonel on the 
 road, or better still, why could not he 
 have gone away on duty or sick leave ?' 
 
 On that he broke out in very abusive 
 language. But I always heard he was a 
 -low fellow, a man not to know exactly. 
 Bo I took no notice. We took our gay 
 lady up on the car, and jogged home most 
 comfortably, talking of the weather. And, 
 would you believe it ? she was the coolest, 
 best trained creature I ever met, and not 
 in the least grateful to me ; actually chal- 
 lenged us to tell it out if we dared — what 
 if she had driven on a car with an officer ? 
 other young ladies had ridden out with 
 gentlemen — that no one would believe it; 
 
Old Dick Lumley.^^ 
 
 165 
 
 and actually appeared this very night in 
 the charades, and brazened it out before 
 the company. I never told anyone then 
 or there — behaved with unnecessary 
 honour. So did Lady Boreena ; and she 
 may thank me if she's respectably married 
 to one of her own class, which no doubt 
 she has schemed out by this time. For 
 she was decidedly clever. ISTow there's a 
 story you wouldn't meet in a novel !" The 
 ladies were rising to go. 
 
 A most curious history," said Mrs. 
 Talbot, and very dramatically told. 
 But you never mentioned the name." 
 
 Oh, come, that would not be fair, 
 you know; honour." 
 
 Mr. Lumley was standing up, and hold- 
 ing the door open. Many gentlemen 
 make this effort with an air as if it was 
 the highest act of gallantry known. 
 
 " Oh, you must, really," said Mrs. 
 
166 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 Talbot decidedly, and stopping short in 
 the doorway. 
 
 Mr. Lumley looked at her from head to 
 foot in deep admiration. Olivia was gaz- 
 ing fondly at her mother, and thinking 
 how handsome in figure and brilliancy she 
 was. The light played on her fine hair, 
 complexion, and the graceful arch of her 
 neck. Even Mr. Lumley wondered at the 
 preservation." 
 
 ''Well," he said, shaking his head, 
 good-humouredly, someway the name 
 has slipped out of my memory. I know 
 so many people just merely met in that 
 fashion. But it will come back to me." 
 
 " I shall expect you to tell me," she 
 said, turning away. 
 
 Then the two gentlemen sat down, and 
 
 drew in " the chairs close to the fire, 
 and Old Dick Lumley unpacked a little 
 private and scandalous wallet of stories. 
 
Old Dick Lumleyr 167 
 
 such as these old fellows carry about with 
 them, and from the choiceness and rarity 
 of what they offer, keep up their credit with 
 the men, and old ladies not too nice. These 
 related to conquests and awkwardnesses," 
 and what is described in a newspaper as, 
 a most painful occurrence in a family of 
 distinction." In the middle of which Mr. 
 Lumley suddenly called out, Ah ! I have 
 the name ! I knew it would come back. 
 I never lose anything altogether. Well ! 
 Suppose we go upstairs." 
 
 Beauty Talbot felt that they were on a 
 subject in which he was an expert and 
 would have liked to add some old ex- 
 periences of his own, before he had gone 
 into paddock, as it were, and of more 
 innocent sort. He always grew melan- 
 choly as he thought of past glories, the 
 brilliant days of his life, the choice 
 annual, bound in silk, now closed fatally. 
 
16S 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 it would seem, for ever. He went up- 
 stairs a little depressed. 
 
 Mr. Lumley walked over briskly to Mrs. 
 Talbot, who was in her most graceful 
 sitting attitude, like the tinted Chalon 
 rival. I have got the name for you. 
 Memory must obey your directions ; there 
 is.no help for it. It was Hardman." 
 
 Mrs. Talbot half rose, from the start, a 
 light was in her eye, " What ! not 
 Rosa Hardman V 
 
 I declare, yes, though. How did 
 you know ? " 
 
 " Why, they are neighbours of ours." 
 My goodness, no said Mr. Lumley, 
 in a little alarm. " Then I must ask you 
 to be a little careful, it's so long ago, and 
 things get magnified ; and — really I am 
 not sure." 
 
 But Mrs. Talbot was scarcely attending 
 to him. She was in a reverie. When 
 
Old Dick Lumleyr 169 
 
 later, Mr. Lumley was taken up to the 
 snuggest of bed-chambers, she remained 
 up by her own fireside, looking really 
 brilliant, and like her picture. 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 K 0 s a's household. 
 
 It being now known that the little set- 
 tlement was to lose the agreeable — th 
 Eegiment and its colonel, who were or- 
 dered off to Malta, there was much regret 
 expressed. The local paper expressed the 
 conventional eulogium of " both officers 
 and men having endeared themselves to all 
 by their courteous bearing, soldier-like 
 steadiness/' &c. The ^'men" were of the 
 usual typS, getting drunk about as often 
 or as seldom as other regiments ; occa- 
 sionally using their belts in a public-house 
 row, and making themselves as acceptable 
 as they could to the maids and wives of the 
 
Bosa^s Household. 
 
 171 
 
 place. Colonel Laboucliere and his offi- 
 cers, however, deserved more commenda- 
 tion. They were really a nice " set ; 
 gentlemanly, and witli a simplicity and 
 good nature which sits so attractively on a 
 soldier. They had made many friends : 
 had taxed their purses handsomely to re- 
 turn all civilities by many dinners and 
 little entertainments. They were thus 
 really regretted. Regiments, indeed, have 
 quite as distinct dispositions as indi- 
 viduals ; and in the service there are 
 corps which are overbearing, empty-pated, 
 and ungracious ; extravagant, dissipated, 
 and good-for-nothing; selfish, getting all 
 they can and returning nothing ; with not 
 a few that are open-handed and amiable, 
 and of the pattern of Colonel Labouchere's 
 — th. 
 
 The commander himself often gives the 
 tone. Sometimes he is a hardened old 
 
172 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 campaigner — a modern Dalgetty — whose 
 life in love, war, money, and everything 
 has been one steady forage party, in 
 which he has made everything turn to 
 
 provend." To hear him at the head of 
 his mess-table, giving sound advice to his 
 children, — cautioning them, instructing 
 them how to get all they can, and smiling 
 over anything that seems like ''a do " of 
 a civilian, is scarcely wholesome training. 
 It is when he hears of some honest attach- 
 ment in a young fellow that his fatal in- 
 fluence most prevails ; and he grows brutal 
 almost in his ridicule, and even threatens. 
 
 Leave her there," he says, ''it's her own 
 look out, a scheming lot they all are. I 
 know 'em well. I wonder you can be such 
 
 a d d fool ! Come, sir ; I'll have no 
 
 pauper marriages in my regiment, wo- 
 men hoisted on the bao-o-ao-e-carts coming^ 
 after us. Leave her ! and serve her right." 
 
Bosas Household. 173 
 
 The others, well trained by these ex- 
 cellent lectures, join in the contemptuous 
 cry. The youth grows abashed, and the 
 victim generally is left. " Bless . your 
 lucky stars in your prayers, if you say 
 'em, that I saved you, my boy, from that 
 parson's daughter. She's gone off by 
 this time with some attorney's clerk." 
 
 Of quite a different sort was Colonel La- 
 bouchere — a man more like an agreeable 
 country gentleman than stern chief of a 
 regiment. In unmarried men of his time 
 of life and of his character, and in that ser- 
 vice, there is a certain charm. Indeed, a 
 certain famous and witty lady has said 
 that no man ever could begin to be agree- 
 able until forty-five years old. So have 
 young ladies been heard to declare that 
 they admire this class of man — something 
 grave enough to look up to, and yet quite 
 familiar enough to associate with and 
 
174 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 love. The colonel's age was not so mucli 
 as this; lie was liked by all, thougli there 
 were but faint hopes of his being secured 
 in the honourable tie of marriage. It was 
 understood that there had been some 
 early disappointment, which had driven 
 him from the plan of entering the church 
 into the army, where he had, perhaps, 
 hoped — so the young ladies arranged it — 
 for an early death. 
 
 He had been foremost in encourage- 
 ment of the hospitality of his corps, and 
 stimulated those drawings on their mo- 
 dest resources which furnished forth — not 
 coldly, by any means — their repeated lun- 
 cheon tables and balls. His subscription 
 was always the handsomest. The good 
 people of the country, seeing him always 
 with the Talbot family, arranged, as the 
 manner of such is, that he had designs on 
 Miss Livy. In such a society the presence 
 
Rosa's Household. 
 
 175 
 
 of motive is always insisted on for the 
 most indifferent action — as well dance a 
 valse without a partner, as do an act 
 without a motive. 
 
 When news of this farewell entertain- 
 ment was spread abroad there was sincere 
 regret. At The Towers, Mrs. Hardman 
 received the card, and brought it in to her 
 husband in his gilt study, as it really might 
 be called. There he affected a ministerial 
 air of office : answering my letters," re- 
 ceiving interviews with my servants," 
 and, very often, with the duke's coachman, 
 who had become very exacting and ex- 
 orbitant in his demands, and, on the 
 slightest demur, would present his re- 
 signation, like a pistol, at the head of his 
 employer. How that employer longed 
 and prayed that he could have genuine 
 work of the real something official, or 
 quasi official, membership — the most 
 
176 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 trifling office ! But, then, a contest was 
 fearful to think of ; and, it being known 
 that he had money, his very presence at 
 any borough was a challenge. He was 
 willing to give a certain sum, but actually 
 hesitated at a thousand or so more ; for 
 meanness, avarice, and the foolish im- 
 providence which will lose the thousand 
 pounds already spent, rather than try 
 and save it by two hundred more, all sat 
 side by side in his miserable soul. He 
 spent, and then grew unhappy and saved. 
 His house was really only a theatre : at 
 most times dark, cold, mean, shabby, and, 
 on a few occasions, lit up with a false 
 and tinsel splendour, and the public ad- 
 mitted. 
 
 Yet he was romantic in a certain sense, 
 and lived in quite a world of dreams. He 
 was always picturing himself as his portrait 
 in the dining-room. He would sit hours 
 
Bosas Household. 177 
 
 in his study, besides having nothing else 
 to do, with his elbows on the arms of his 
 chair and his fingers touching : seeing 
 himself in his official room: ^'I regret, 
 gentlemen," he would say to the deputa- 
 tion, "it will be out of my power to 
 recommend Grovernment to do anything 
 for you in this matter. Irrigation is, no 
 doubt, a great matter ; and the state can 
 never be indifferent to tlie claims of waste 
 lands. But I should deceive you, and 
 deceive myself, were I to hold out any 
 hopes," &c. He had a hundred various 
 attitudes of this sort; and would as it 
 were, wake up wearied and disheartened. 
 He had, however, an old mercantile per- 
 tinacity — an obtrusive offering of his good 
 offices and services, which sometimes ex- 
 tracted, even for shame's sake, some re- 
 turn from those he so obliged. There 
 was a certain lord " whom he had met 
 
 VOL. T. N 
 
178 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 at some board, who liad a son in Parlia- 
 ment and some influence himself, and on 
 whom he had quite fastened. His per- 
 severance was long-continued, without 
 result ; but at last he contrived to be of 
 some practical use, by a sort of fluke," 
 as it is called, and succeeded in laying 
 Lord Bindley under a positive obligation. 
 
 On this very morning we are speaking 
 of, a letter had come from that nobleman, 
 asking him to Bindley, the first house of 
 genuine condition he had succeeded in 
 breaking into. He held counsel in his 
 room : his hand under his waistcoat, as 
 in the famous picture. The lord — his 
 lord — would now do everything for him ; 
 would get Jiim office — a seat, perhaps — 
 anything. This was all he asked; one 
 foot on the first round of the ladder — once 
 that established, others should draw him 
 up. With a really powerful mind such a 
 
Rosa's Household. 
 
 179 
 
 first round " is the first step to suc- 
 cess, and not the victory itself ; but with 
 minds of this gentleman's pattern it seems 
 the last round of the ladder. Their stupid 
 vision confounds means with the ends. 
 And thus Mr. Hardman sat in his pom- 
 pous throne of an arm-chair, looking at 
 space with an official scorn, refusing 
 places, and dismissing deputations. Every- 
 thing would follow as a matter of course. 
 Bindley was seriously embarrassed ; he 
 had a younger son, Reginald, the Honour- 
 able Reginald Bindley, who should marry 
 her. 
 
 He sent for his daughter. It would be 
 impossible to give an idea of his inflated 
 reception of her. It was as one who 
 should say, What would you all be 
 without me ; I plan everything." Yet, on 
 more ordinary occasions it was believed 
 that he stood in awe of her. She had a 
 
 N 2 
 
180 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 quiet and superior manner, in presence of 
 which he was abashed. 
 
 Well, papa ?" she said. 
 
 " I have sent for you," he answered, 
 ^' to tell you of a very important matter. 
 I have received a letter from my friend 
 Lord Bindley, asking us to his house 
 — to stay — to stop with him for a 
 week. I expected this, and I knew he 
 would. There will, of course, be all sorts 
 of influential people there." 
 
 " Well, I suppose you will go and stay 
 the week. Is there anything else ?" 
 
 " Of course, you can't understand these 
 things ; it can hardly be expected, as you 
 have taken no trouble in bringing it about, 
 either leading up to, or planning — " 
 
 Leading up to a visit — planning it?" 
 she repeated, as if in astonishment. 
 
 ''Yes. All seems quite smooth, of 
 course, to you. You only enjoy the 
 
Bosas Household. 181 
 
 fruits. I have the labour. However, you 
 and your mother will get ready to go." 
 
 " Of course/' said she. " But I shall 
 find no pleasure in such things ; nor will 
 you, papa. We shall be out of our sphere; 
 these people will look down on us. No 
 expenditure of money, no time or labour 
 can ever triumph over that. I know it — 
 see it in a thousand little things that 
 escape you. With all that forcing our 
 way and struggling, they are sure to turn 
 at last, if we at all interfere with them ; 
 and a word or a look is enough to drive 
 us down again. Ah ! you know it is so, 
 papa ; for I have seen you suffer from it." 
 
 Oh, I don't follow this at all; you 
 are talking of what you cannot under- 
 stand. You are a fool !" 
 
 " I have always said," she went on, as 
 if talking to herself, " that it would be a 
 far more honourable, and a far more sue- 
 
182 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 cessful, way of getting on, to try and rise 
 in our own sphere ; to try and cope with 
 our set, and compete with them. These 
 lords don't suit us, and are of no use." 
 
 Mr.. Hardman trembled with rage. We 
 shall go to Lord Bindley' s on Monday 
 next ; so you will be ready. I did not 
 send for you to hear your views, but to 
 state mine. If you are a fool, I am not 
 one." 
 
 I could not go on Monday next," she 
 said, quite calmly, her round eyes fixed 
 on him passively, and without any de- 
 fiance. You know we have promised 
 Colonel Labouchere for Wednesday." 
 
 "I don't care about that. Do you dare 
 to oppose me in this way?" he said, 
 rising up. What is this coming to? 
 What is the meaning of it ?" 
 
 " I would not disoblige him for a thou- 
 sand lords. He is going away the next 
 
Rosa^s Household. 
 
 183 
 
 week, and he is giving it for us — for 
 
 Yes ; that is another thing," said her 
 father, very red and excited, and walking 
 about. A fine person you are taking up. 
 But don't begin thwarting me, I warn 
 you. I have put up with that game long- 
 enough in my own house." 
 
 I don't want to thwart you, papa. 
 But I am determined not to expose our- 
 selves to stupid insults." 
 
 "I don't want this at all. I don't 
 choose to enter on it. If you like to take 
 up with beggarly fellows of this sort you 
 may ; but you pack out of this, ma'am, and 
 without a farthing ; and we shall see what 
 he will say then. Ah !" he saw her colour- 
 ing, '^I have you there, I think. That 
 brings it to a focus." 
 
 Yes ; in the usual way," she repeated 
 with scorn. But 1 do not know what 
 
1S4 Beauhj Talbot 
 
 Colonel Labouchere's views are. I have 
 no idea of ' taking up,' as you call it, 
 with anyone. But I am determined that 
 we must not appear ungracious or unkind, 
 or give them cause to say that people of 
 our condition are as vulgar in mind as 
 they think us in other directions." 
 
 This settles it!" he said in a fury. 
 Things are coming to a nice pass, indeed. 
 Then, 1 tell you, I mean to have my way. 
 It was I who made my money and my 
 house, and you would be a beggar but for 
 me. You shall do as I bid you, or take 
 your own way ; and if I wish you to marry 
 anyone — to Lord Bindley's son, the Hon. 
 Reginald — you shall do it, or be a 
 beggar." 
 
 She smiled. " The Honourable Regi- 
 nald ! When has he come on the scene ? 
 Where is he ?" 
 
 " Nothing to you, or to anyone but 
 
Bosa^s Household. 
 
 185 
 
 me. You shall go with me to Bindley, 
 and no bones about it." 
 
 Not until Thursday morning, papa, 
 I am sorry to go against your wishes in 
 so trifling a point, but you will be glad 
 of it yourself later." 
 
 He was speechless now. He had not 
 a strong will, no force in bearing down 
 opposition. He had only bluster, which 
 is a brush of feathers. 
 
 So the matter ended — as she knew it 
 would, and, as he^ had an uneasy feeling 
 all through, it must — in his giving way. 
 His poor pride would not let him do so 
 openly, so he was mean enough to invent 
 the arrival of a put ofl* " from Lord 
 Bindley until Thursday or Friday morn- 
 ing, whichever was most convenient." 
 This he affected to read out. He might 
 have seen in his daughter's face, only he 
 had not courage to look there, how well 
 
186 BeauUj Talbot. 
 
 slie knew the untrutli of this subterfuge. 
 No wonder she was considered a strange 
 girl/' or that the duke's coachman" 
 pronounced her an " etarnal jibber." IsTo 
 one understood the secret of her singular 
 mind, or what thoughts and theories 
 were working within her — how sensitive 
 she was on the score of the very thing 
 she affected to make little account of, 
 namely, their rise and their having " made 
 their money." Not but that she would 
 have accepted and adorned a poorer 
 position ; but it was the mean, paltry 
 strain, the really vulgar " aping of 
 what was above, which had attended their 
 family all through — from the very earliest 
 days of her childhood — that had worked 
 into her very inmost soul. 
 
 This never-failing spectacle — this ogre, 
 which never deserted them — was to her 
 one of positive horror. It had embittered 
 
Bosa^s Household. 187 
 
 everything. Figuratively, as it were, 
 she had seen her father struggling, suffer- 
 ing, agonising, crawling on all-fours, to 
 win a shake-hands," or a shake-finger" 
 even, from a person only two rounds on 
 the ladder above him. When he was the 
 small partner, with a small house, he was 
 crawling and agonising to be noticed by 
 his gentleman neighbour. It took him 
 a whole year of labour and meannesses 
 to get this gentleman to dine with him — 
 a person who would have been glad, on 
 a week's acquaintance, to have a plain, 
 honest man, who had made his own 
 money, sitting at his table. The gentle- 
 man was disgusted with the mixed servility 
 and arrogance of his host, and never 
 dined with him, or had him to dine, again. 
 When he grew wealthier, and had plate, 
 there was the baronet, whom he worked 
 as hard to gain, and almost failed as 
 
188 Beauty Talbot 
 
 egregiously in that case, except that the 
 baronet had some object in view, and 
 stomached 'Hhe offensive vulgarity of the 
 fellow, thrusting his staring, silver Bir- 
 mingham stuff on a gentleman in that 
 way !" 
 
 In that household there were no soft 
 pleasures, no tranquil currents of smooth 
 life, drifting onwards ; and the young 
 girl, as she moved upward, lived as on a 
 stage, with deception and trickeries all 
 about her — meanness and bitterness and 
 sourness (carefully concealed from the 
 audience), hollo wness, jealousies, and 
 quarrelling. Had she started under other 
 conditions, she would have been a warm, 
 even romantic, girl, with prodigious sense, 
 and even genius ; and had her dull, low, 
 boor of a father wit enough to learn 
 something and forget a good deal, he 
 would have found her a better auxiliary 
 
Bosa^s Household. 189 
 
 v., 
 
 than all his plate, and daubed gilding, and 
 powdered servants. She might have led 
 him gently and successfully on to those 
 charming and select parterres^ for the 
 entree to which he would almost have 
 given one of his eyes. She would have 
 done a thousand times more for him than 
 his duke's coachman, and the wretched 
 machinery which that figure represented. 
 The vulgar pride of the fellow," for 
 such he was, prevented him seeing any- 
 thing ; and the truth was, he had a 
 jealous suspicion of this power of hers, 
 and he would have almost preferred to 
 have remained as he was, than be indebted 
 to her. From her childhood, then, at 
 every turn, she was thus met; every 
 honest impulse turned back, turned in 
 upon herself, — just as a painstaking 
 gardener would lop and clip a luxuriant 
 shrub. Every hour almost of her life had 
 
190 Beauty Talbot 
 
 been marked by some such cbeck. There 
 was no kindly and genial cultivation ; 
 everything was dry, cold, hard, miserable, 
 uninteresting. The only breaks were the 
 victorious acquisition of ^' a shake-hands," 
 or a call even, from some of the illustrious 
 above; and the coarse jubilation, the 
 arrogant exultation was as bad. 
 
 With surprisingly quick eyes she looked 
 on, and like the blind, whose sense of 
 touch is preter naturally sharpened, her 
 vision, before which there was a cloud at 
 home, became sharpened as she looked 
 abroad; and it was like a revelation, as 
 every moment she saw, or guessed at, the 
 looks of contempt, of meaning, of amuse- 
 ment, as her father made his fruitless and 
 contemptible efforts. And this feeling of 
 being quite degraded produced in her a 
 hostility, a bitter rage against the world, 
 a wish to punish, to idemnify herself for 
 
Bosa^s Household. 
 
 191 
 
 what she felt was deserved^ yet what she 
 resented. This was the secret of her 
 character, of her manner, of a slow and 
 ever-burning resentment, and what also 
 made people say she was a strange sort 
 of girl;" and it is for this reason that so 
 much time has been given to her descrip- 
 tion. 
 
 Therefore it was that to the family of 
 Beauty Talbot," and for the Lady " 
 of Beauty Talbot, she had a special re- 
 pulsion. The clear eyes of the well- 
 trained lady of fashion seemed to read off 
 the whole story of their life, as from a 
 well-printed book. 
 
 No one knew what agony this process 
 was to her, no one could guess it. The 
 quick eyes and quick ears saw and heard 
 the revealed piece of vulgarity, the burst 
 of low " nature gushing forth, the grave 
 face with the smile of amusement and 
 
192 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 contempt, scarcely concealed, nay, even 
 the sense of enjoyment in these esca- 
 pades ; all tortured the heart of the 
 manufacturer's daughter. She grew at 
 last to regard the other as a dreadful 
 devilish enemy, because associated with 
 such refined tortures. Nor was it sur- 
 prising that the other lady, conscious of 
 this power, should amuse herself by the 
 exhibition, and find in the exercise of 
 this Indian-like torture, an assertion of 
 her superiority in those country districts, 
 
 4 
 
 and reflection of old, old triumphs. The 
 son had much of this sensitiveness rubbed 
 off by mess, or military life. He was 
 very little at home, and did not see much 
 of the ways of his father. 
 
 Had the brother and sister joined 
 forces, the rebellion would not, perhaps, 
 have overpowered her state ; but would 
 certainly have led to a break-up of the 
 
Bosa^s Household. 
 
 193 
 
 whole. For her father had no decency 
 in his resentments, and, to carry some 
 petty household point, would not scruple 
 to exhibit his animosity before the whole 
 public, and shamelessly '^gird" at his 
 daughter in alow, brutal way, with gills" 
 glowing, and fishy eyes flaming. Sooner 
 than give in, on some wretched point, 
 where his dignity — this with his child ! — 
 was concerned, he would have had a 
 scandal — a turninsf out of doors. He did 
 not know the refined art of hiding the 
 wolf of a domestic quarrel under one's 
 coat or cloak ; nor could he, with smiles, 
 allow the brute to gnaw his entrails out, 
 sooner than reveal to others the discredit. 
 This Spartan self-sacrifice is the highest 
 the world can expect ; and though in this 
 matter of the ball he would have pushed 
 affairs to extremity, the sacrifice of her 
 visit altogether aff^ected his selfishness too 
 VOL. I. , 0 
 
194 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 nearly, and he consented to the compro- 
 mise. This, then, was the atmosphere, 
 malaria rather, of that household. With 
 all their wealth they were poor, with all 
 this struggling to rise, they remained low, 
 with all their luxuries they had no enjoy- 
 ment of comforts, though the minds of 
 some of the household often possessed 
 the idea that it was something like that 
 conventional Hell upon earth." 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 AD MISERICOEDIAM." 
 
 The morning of this ball, which even 
 for persons in the district who had long 
 ceased to care for snch entertainments, 
 had an interest, from the very rarity, 
 Old Dick Lumley went out for a walk, 
 to keep himself in health and tone. He 
 did not mind going by himself, as he 
 could walk with an extraordinary and un- 
 natural rapidity. This process he fancied 
 kept that dreadful enemy of his, '^Old Time" 
 — the thought of a worse one he never 
 let near him — effectually at a distance. 
 People were amused to see his brisk, jerk- 
 ing figure rattling along at express speed. 
 
 0 2 
 
196 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 Here he went by, quite blown with his 
 exertion, in a young man's wide-awake, a 
 light lounging suit, and his gaudy tie. 
 He always said that you can wear 
 what would be considered staring vulgar 
 colours, if you make it a habit, part of 
 yourself, as it were." He, too, was look- 
 ing forward to the ball. As he was re- 
 turning home, very wheezy indeed after 
 his exercise, he noted the great coach, 
 gaudy and heavy, which seemed to quite 
 fill up the little enclosure, and whose 
 wheels had torn absolute trenches in the 
 soft gravel. The great horses looked 
 embarrassed, as if they had got into 
 some little inconvenient cage or stall. 
 The duke's coachman was on the box. 
 Miss Hardman had come to pay a visit 
 of state to Mrs. Talbot. She had been 
 there about a quarter of an hour. 
 
 Mrs. Talbot had a grim look, quite 
 
^ ^ Ad Misericordiam. " 197 
 
 unlike the elegant vacuity of the Chalon 
 picture, as she went in. She assumed 
 she was going to battle. Yet she was 
 surprised at being met with quite a 
 deferential and submissive air. The look 
 on Mrs. Talbot's face seemed to say. 
 What an extraordinary visitor ! you 
 have paid your formal visit already, and 
 it has been duly returned; we honoured 
 you by going to your dinner. You are 
 not going to encroach now ?" The ac- 
 companiment to this was an air of cold 
 insolence in which, as mentioned, she was 
 unrivalled. The other, for a moment, 
 returned it, and seemed inclined to join 
 battle — Mrs. Talbot, waiting for her to 
 explain the object that had brought her 
 there. In a cold way that showed that 
 her heart was not in the subject, though 
 she was trying to make herself agreeable, 
 Rose Hardman spoke of the event of the 
 
198 
 
 Beauty Talbot, 
 
 time, the military ball. You, of course, 
 are going?" she asked. Colonel La- 
 bouchere told me so." 
 
 There was a proprietorship in her tone 
 that Mrs. Talbot did not like. 
 
 '^I suppose so," she said; it seems 
 to be an event of vast importance. It 
 convulses the country far and near. So 
 he is leaving.? The old story, ' They love 
 and they ride away !' From the little 
 drummer, even, up to the field officer. 
 What grief, what tears there will be !" 
 
 The other was listening abstractedly. 
 
 Our maid," she said, quite seriously and 
 naturally, is sighing after a faithless 
 corporal lover." 
 
 ^' Then your father, who is so rich, 
 would do a charitable act in buying his 
 discharge, and setting them up. But it 
 is always the poor people who do such 
 acts of generosity, not your millionaires. 
 
Ad Misericordiam.^^ 199 
 
 Though 1 should not blame him after that 
 funny expedition he made here the other 
 day. It was so goodnatured of him ; but 
 there was a simplicity about the proceed- 
 iug that has amused us ever since. The 
 great carriage and the picture carried out ; 
 we did not know what was coming next." 
 
 Rosa's eyes flashed. Goodnature seems 
 always ridiculous. It was meant well, I 
 know." Then she seemed to put a re- 
 straint on herself. 
 
 " It was so droll," went on Mrs. Talbot 
 in pohte enjoyment. ''I did not know 
 what to make of it. It was very kind and 
 all that ; but I am surprised your father 
 would not have known I could not have 
 accepted such a present after a few hours' 
 acquaintance." 
 
 *^My father," said the girl calmly, is 
 a simple, rough man, and you know by 
 honourable ways he has become what he 
 
200 Beauty Talbot 
 
 is. To raise himself as he has done re- 
 quires virtues and gifts that are honour- 
 able, and rare, and must be respected. 
 Now, what I would ask you, and what I 
 have come to ask you for, is this. You 
 have seen what is called fashionable life, 
 and know all the refinements of cere- 
 monial. They are, as far as I can see, 
 merely on the surface ; but be that as it 
 may, T am sure you will not refuse me this." 
 
 It was strange the instinctive dislike 
 Mrs. Talbot had to this girl. That cold 
 superior gaze challenged her. She felt 
 her lip curling, and something prompted 
 her to exercise her tongue. 
 
 What is coming ?" she went on. 
 " Good gracious ! this solemnity is quite 
 alarming. You are not going to ask me 
 to accept a picture, are you ?" 
 
 Rosa coloured; but again restrained 
 herself. 
 
Ad Misericordiam.^^ 201 
 
 I say/' she went on, " we are of the 
 'Newly rich class/ as the French say; 
 and we have not had experience of many 
 things, with which those more fortunate 
 in their birth and education have been 
 gifted. They may be advantages or not — 
 I cannot tell. But there are redeeming 
 things, and in this district, this little 
 place, I would ask you to be forbearing 
 and generous to my father and to our 
 household. For these things are felt 
 acutely, trifling as they are.*' 
 
 Dear me !" said Mrs. Talbot, growing 
 nettled at ''being preached to" by the 
 girl. " This is growing quite melodra- 
 matic ! I really don't follow you, for of - 
 course you have learned, or at least your 
 father has, that everyone in this world 
 must take their chance, and not be too 
 sensitive." 
 
 '* It is for Mm^ not for us ! There can 
 
202 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 be no pleasure in telling things about, 
 and holding honest people up as ridicu- 
 lous, and," she added, earnestly and sig- 
 nificantly, ^^I could repay you in a way 
 that you might like." 
 
 " Repay me !" repeated the lady of the 
 house, hanghtily ; repay m^. Miss Hard- 
 man ? I am at a loss to understand you. 
 This is nearly as amusing as Mr. Hard- 
 man's picture." 
 
 Rosa looked at her with scorn. Sud- 
 denly was announced at the door, " Mr. 
 Lumley !" and in fluttered and bustled 
 that cheerful gentleman. As Rose Hard- 
 man turned pale and half rose, Mrs. Talbot 
 looked with smiling triumph on the situa- 
 tion. She really had instinctive dislike 
 to the girl. Mr. Lumley, Miss Hard- 
 man," she said. 
 
 It was hard to surprise Old Dick 
 Lumley, or, at least, make him show 
 
Ad Misericordiamy 203 
 
 surprise. He had great tact, too, and at 
 once fell into a neutral tone which might 
 express that he had known her well, or 
 had just met her in a crowd. It was in- 
 different, and no one could decide. Dick 
 Lumley was rattling on about his walk, 
 and the fine air, and about all he saw, and 
 the clergyman who asked him in to have 
 a glass of wine," and how the clergyman's 
 wife was curiously connected with his 
 dear old Lady Hubbard — so we got on 
 famously." The truth was, we might set 
 Mr. Lumley down in any district of the 
 kingdom, and he would be certain to 
 '^root out" someone connected with a 
 dear Lady Hubbard." This amazing 
 charm is given to few, and is worth vast 
 sums of money ; while there are many who 
 might be in the same hotel with their own 
 father and mother, and not find it out. 
 He was too adroit to recal their acquaint- 
 
204 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 ance; but Mrs. Talbot did. "You told 
 us, you know, you had met this lady 
 in Ireland, I think." 
 
 Yes ; long ago, though," said Dick 
 Lumley, bowing to Miss Hardman with a 
 confidential air, that said, " Ah ! Traitor ! 
 you are safe." " The quantities of young 
 ladies I meet with is amazing. The mam- 
 mas now bring them out in flocks, five at 
 a time. Like old Lady Annible. It con- 
 fuses a man, and it's not fair." 
 
 " Yes — you told us of Mr. Strachey's 
 house in Ireland," she went on, pitilessly. 
 
 Dick Lumley was quite a match for her. 
 In his walk he had seen The Towers, and 
 respected it as an establishment. He had 
 asked and learned a good deal about it 
 also. The carriage and horses spoke for 
 themselves. So did the Duke's coach- 
 man, with whom, had he chosen, he 
 
 could have found out some mysterious 
 
Ad Misericordiam.^^ 205 
 
 rapport. He was mucli provoked tie had 
 been betrayed into that foolish, story. He 
 would be more careful in future : though 
 alas, during these months he was wagging 
 on to eighty. My dear Mrs. Talbot I was 
 a devoted slave of a certain young lady at 
 that time, and she certainly recals to me. 
 
 Miss Hardman — a cousin ?" he asked, in 
 an insinuating way. 
 
 Rosa tossed her head ; then rose to go. 
 ''I thought," said Mrs. Talbot, "Miss 
 Hardman had come to offer me a picture 
 which Mr. Hardman was good enough to 
 surprise me with " 
 
 Rosa, as she said Good morning," gave 
 her a look there was no mistranslating, 
 which meant, You shall repent this, you 
 have made me humble myself in vain !" 
 then swept out, and was borne away in 
 her great carriage. Mr. Lumley said, 
 gravely, 0 come ; I say, that wasn't 
 
206 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 fair on me. A fine girl, too ! I tell you 
 it can't be tlie same, now that I think of 
 it. You oblige me, my dear Mrs. Talbot, 
 to find that out. But I tell you what, 
 don't offend that girl, if you have not 
 done so already — eh ?" 
 
 '^0 !" said Mrs. Talbot, contemptuously 
 rustling her dress, these low creatures! 
 Why, I could have them brushed off, as 
 I could get my maid to brush the dust off 
 my boots. I should like nothing better 
 than to put the whole set down ; it would 
 be like my going-out days, when I put 
 down so many !" 
 
 But Old Lumley was pettish. Any risk 
 of annoyance, any possible loss of dinners, 
 stopping in houses, &c., was so disagree- 
 able, and as he thought, chopped a bit 
 out of his life." Such a childish thiog, 
 going about repeating things, and to the 
 very girl herself ! Dragging me into such 
 
" Ad Misericordiamy 207 
 
 a business ; quite a want of taste and 
 tact !" Thus Old Lumley afterwards 
 grumbled to himself as he dressed for the 
 ball. But with all the satisfaction of a 
 little malice, he hinted to Mrs. Talbot. 
 
 That's a clever and dangerous woman, 
 that, trader's daughter as she is. I'd be 
 rather afraid of her, and if I was you I 
 would give her the right hand of fellow- 
 ship, or even, ha ! ha ! the tip of the little 
 finger of toleration, ha ! ha !" 
 
 Nonsense," said Mrs. Talbot. " She 
 only wants to be kept in her place. And 
 I think I have given these people a lesson 
 that will keep them in their place all the 
 time they are in the parish," and Mrs. 
 Talbot, smiling complacently at herself in 
 the glass, and leaning on her arched wrist, 
 felt not a little the flush of a triumph. 
 She had the true training, after all ; she 
 looked and was a high-bred, handsome, 
 elegant woman still. 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE BALL. 
 
 The oflB-cers were quartered in the little 
 town, in an old institution — Poor-house, 
 most likely — which had been converted, 
 like some of their arms, after a new 
 pattern, into barracks. Additional build- 
 ings had made it very comfortable and 
 convenient. The centre building, now 
 seen at a distance, about nine o'clock of 
 this night, was lighted up cheerfully, and 
 seemed to hold out a far-off and encourag- 
 ing invitation to the rustics standing 
 about, and to the guests presently to be 
 expected. Such an entertainment is ex- 
 citing, in its way, even for those outsiders 
 
The Ball 
 
 209 
 
 not privileged with admission. For them 
 the cheaper entertainment of standing in a 
 crowd at the door, about the awning which 
 the clever handy man " of the regiment 
 had put np ; for in every corps there are 
 plenty of these skilful craftsmen, who 
 are delighted to find such an opportunity. 
 That excitement of seeing the ladies 
 descend in their fairy -land dresses — lovely, 
 brilliant, seraphic almost — in gold and 
 tulle, and costly fabrics, is a treat for the 
 poor girls who must walk this earth along 
 rude and rough roads. For them the 
 warm and glittering blaze of light within, 
 into which are absorbed the seraphic 
 figures, the brilliant and sometimes lovely 
 faces, revelations of another world. 
 
 Now drove up, in a pushing, elbowing 
 way — just as the owner himself might 
 have strode through a crowd, looking' 
 round for the police, and saying " it 
 
 VOL. I. p 
 
210 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 was unbearable " — the great coach of 
 the Hardmans, the Duke's coachman, 
 shrouded in his capes, driving. Out got 
 the rich man, and walked in through the 
 lane, as if the whole show was for him, 
 and the audience his. He was but- 
 toned up tightly in his thin, short, 
 blue coat, and gave his orders to Miller 
 in a loud tone, very different from the 
 one in which he addressed that officer in 
 private ; but this concession was well 
 charged for in the wages, and the coach- 
 man tolerated it as addressed to his ofiice, 
 not to him. 
 
 And see here. Miller, be here at two, 
 will you ? And come up promptly when 
 I call you !" 
 
 The mob listened with awe ; but still, 
 with the instinct of a mob, they saw the 
 Acting ; the duke's coachman seemed 
 almost a greater man. 
 
The Ball. 
 
 211 
 
 Inside there was a blaze of splendour — 
 a tent-like robing room and boudoir for 
 the ladies, that seemed their own room 
 almost, with laces, and muslins, and 
 maids, and a true feminine air. In the 
 passages the deft sergeant-major and pri- 
 vates with a turn for handicraft had done 
 wonders in disposing flags and cannon, 
 and grouping bayonets and swords into 
 stars and other figures, an exercise in 
 which they take infinite delight, " beating," 
 as one remarked, Sou' Kensington 
 itself." 
 
 There was a soft rustle and flut- 
 ter of silk and satin and muslin drawn 
 gently over carpet, as the innumerable 
 little processions, Captain Mamma, rank- 
 and-file daughters, trailed into the ball 
 room, where Colonel Labouchere, C.B., 
 and his Majors and leading supporters 
 were grouped as hosts. There was even 
 
 p 2 
 
212 . Beauty Talbot. 
 
 a bashfulness and a little shyness in these 
 
 ft/ 
 
 good-natured warriors as they went 
 througli the function, which was no dis- 
 credit to them, and if they could be 
 persuaded of it, would become them vastly 
 on more important occasions. The room 
 was handsomely decorated — mirrors, scar- 
 let sofas, little effective, pet alcoves, 
 on which a world of pains had been 
 expended, and which the fond contri- 
 vers secretly expected would be the 
 admired feature of the night ; but which, 
 like so many other things upon which a 
 world of pains has been expended, were 
 quite overlooked — submerged, as it were, 
 in the general effect. 
 
 Mrs. Talbot and her party had already 
 arrived, and were standing close to the 
 
 military hosts, watching the guests make 
 their entry, an occupation not at all devoid 
 of humour or entertainment. The uncon- 
 
The Ball. 
 
 213 
 
 sciousness, the nervousness of some pro- 
 vincials, to whom the situation was new, 
 was the kind of amusement that quite 
 suited the former helle. Mrs. Talbot, in 
 right of her old service and the station she 
 claimed socially, seemed to be the only 
 one favoured with this privilege ; her eye- 
 glass travelling up and down, not with an 
 open stare^ — she was too well bred for 
 that, but conveying, as it were, that her 
 sight was near," and that she was 
 looking for expected friends, yet at the • 
 same time planting a little tiny barb of a 
 suspicion in the breasts of the more awk- 
 ward that they were ridiculous. 
 
 This is the true and refined art, which 
 may seem to have all the worth of rude- 
 ness, and at the same time keeps within 
 the reserved pleasure grounds of good 
 breeding. On that night she looked very 
 distinguished — the bloom of the old ele- 
 
 • 
 
214 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 gance floated about her — the ungenerous 
 old man seemed ashamed, and gave his 
 scythe rest from its eternal clipping, and 
 the kindly and laborious arts of the un- 
 tiring Livy had their reward. Among 
 that crowd of rude and crude dressers, 
 these ill-mannered, ill-kept, ill-clothed, 
 ill-carried wives and maids, she looked the 
 woman of elegance, who had fought and 
 bled under the best soldiers of fashion. 
 Her blooming child, excited, bright-eyed, 
 and filled with delight and enjoyment at all 
 she saw, was not unworthy of such a 
 leader; but she, of course, wanted her 
 mother's training. Even Phoebe, the sis- 
 ter, by the joint labours of every woman in 
 the household, had been turned out with 
 real effect and splendour ; but the effort 
 had been prodigious. Beauty Talbot him- 
 self, shedding sweet clouds of perfume as 
 he walked — he, indeed, always deluged 
 
The Ball. 
 
 215 
 
 himself, and his bill to Messrs. Piesse was 
 really like his wine merchant's, comprising 
 so many dozens " of various bouquet 
 vintages — was drawing on gloves of a 
 matchless fit, and which, so far as impor- 
 tation and dozens " and choiceness, were 
 also like another wine bill. But these 
 little luxuries, relics of the old Beauty " 
 life, were allowed to him with delight. 
 They were overjoyed at such tastes, costly 
 as they were, it, perhaps, being under- 
 stood that they were rather extravagant 
 safety valves. He was now scanning the 
 battle field, eagerly buttoning the said 
 gloves, looking out for the censers, which 
 were, of course, to swing. 
 
 Such pains, by the whole party, had not 
 been thrown away. The Colonel was at 
 the ladies' feet. In every speech of his 
 they seemed to gather, that everything 
 they admired had been done for them. At 
 
216 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 that stage of the night, for her,'' was un- 
 reasonable ; that would come later, as 
 things warmed up. There was a gentleness, 
 a softness, an almost tenderness, in his 
 manner, that promised the best. He 
 left the reception of succeeding provincials 
 to his Major and other deputies. Mrs. 
 Talbot herself laid the first gun. 
 
 My dear Colonel Labouchere, we are 
 all in such tribulation; and your going 
 away spoils all our enjoyment in this 
 charming ball. As for poor Phoebe, our 
 poor Phoebe, she was not coming at all !" 
 
 Not coming !" said the Colonel. I 
 can tell you that would have been an 
 offence I never could have forgiven. I 
 should have gone on board uncomfortable, 
 thinking I had done something dreadful." 
 
 I assure you it is the case. She is 
 leaving us, too, poor girl ! She has en- 
 joyed herself greatly, and I can tell you is 
 
The Ball. 
 
 217 
 
 very sorry for Colonel Laboucliere's de- 
 parture, as we all are." 
 
 Mrs. Talbot was not one of those who lay 
 an hints coarsely and streaky, like scene- 
 painters ; yet the process was not less 
 effective. 
 
 The poor girl goes back to a dreadful 
 place, near to a country town, quite un- 
 suited to her. This has all been a little 
 glimpse of Elysium to her." 
 
 I have been very happy here also," 
 said the Colonel, absently. " I have 
 knocked about the world a great deal, and 
 visited all sorts of places, and have never 
 met such kindness, or persons I so like. 
 We soldiers sometimes speak in an odiously 
 patronising way, as if the kingdom was 
 nothing but quarters, and to be viewed in 
 reference to barracks only. I am grateful, 
 I assure you; and deeply pained to go 
 away." 
 
218 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 A fresh arrival — one that made Mrs. 
 Talbot's lip curl and her refined head 
 jerk back. Enters now the Hardman 
 party. Mamma, all afire in crimson satin, 
 ^^old Vesuvius/' one of the young ofl&cers 
 said, who was called on to take her into 
 supper ; the calm, serious daughter — in her 
 
 eyes cold embers of thought, yet holding 
 conversation with Mrs. Talbot, and an- 
 swering that lady's impatient toss as who 
 should say, We are asked as well as you. 
 A great ball room, surely, is like the open 
 street." 
 
 The Colonel, coming forward within the 
 scorching glare of the crimson, shook 
 hands with the party, and was returning 
 to Mrs. Talbot, when he was arrested by 
 Mr. Hardman. 
 
 Very well done, all this ; uncommonly 
 well, Colonel. I suppose you'll have 'em 
 dancing here till all hours ?" 
 
The Ball. 
 
 219 
 
 The Colonel never made any secret of 
 his '^imperfect sympathy" for the manu- 
 facturer, and always maintained a most 
 distantly polite address to him. 
 
 " We shall be very glad if it amuses 
 them ; and shall be delighted to see them 
 until morning." 
 
 O5 that's all very well ; but I must 
 think of my horses. My coachman. Miller, 
 I can tell you — I had him, you know, 
 
 from the Duke -." 
 
 You told me, I think," said the 
 Colonel, gravely, " before. Will you ex- 
 cuse me now ?" 
 
 The son, young Dick, has come up 
 straight to Livy, and has borne her off 
 into the waves of the enchanting waltz. 
 The father looks vulgarly impatient and 
 buttons his coat. It was only a necessary 
 civility, but still there was a member's 
 daughter, with many other desirable 
 
220 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 investments for captalists/' as some of 
 the prospectuses he read, would say. The 
 first quadrille is then to be formed, and 
 the Colonel leads out the Honourable Mrs. 
 Talbot. Beauty, now very happy, and 
 after beating many a covert, lights on 
 little adoring leveret " in her form, and 
 complacently leads her to the van. 
 
 The host finds a major to take Miss 
 Phoebe, and tells him " to come into our 
 set," which he does. The happy girl 
 could literally bound on the boards, as she 
 had seen her sex do at the opera. He 
 was looking at her with such interest — an 
 affectionate interest, it seemed to her — and 
 he engaged her for the next dance. 
 Lancers, was it ? She looked round, and 
 there was the cold face, the thoughtful 
 eyes expanding a good deal, and no doubt 
 putting a number of questions : What 
 is the meaning of this neglect ? Why is 
 
The Ball. 
 
 221 
 
 this ? Why is the preference given to 
 her?" But wait until those Lancers 
 come round, then her cup would be full, 
 and drink it she should — ^dregs and alh 
 
 This young lady had learned some 
 speeches by heart, as if for a play, 
 "coached" by her eager sister — speeches 
 of an enticing sort. She had others in 
 reserve, of a more direct and challenging 
 kind. Finally, she had a couple in reserve, 
 to which the ingenuity of no man deli- 
 berating on escape, could find an answer, 
 save one. She had been duly prompted 
 in these artful measures. When then the 
 last " shuffle " of the Lancers should be 
 done, and Colonel Labouchere had led her 
 enchanting form to those ball-room-glades 
 and bosquets made for dalliance, there he 
 should find himself at the worst, in an 
 agreeable cul-de-sac. 
 
 During the present performance, Mrs. 
 
222 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 Talbot judiciously left the matter where 
 it was. It would glide down the incline 
 of itself. He still maintained that entente 
 which springs up in a quadrille when 
 friends are all in the one set, though in- 
 deed a snarling guest remarked upon it, 
 who had no partner — 
 
 So ridiculous ; as if they were all 
 doing something so wonderful !" 
 
 But this was a mere glowering, dis- 
 appointed outsider," who knew no one, 
 and had found all the girls " engaged 
 many, many deep. 
 
 That quadrille was over at last. Then 
 came the eager, headlong galop, in which, 
 as a coarse warrior remarked, they ''put 
 their ^ mounts ' well at it, and didn't spare 
 whip or spur." The fine band in the 
 gallery, far aloft, where its braying and 
 blasting was inoffensive, was literally in- 
 spiring. Round and round, up and down, 
 
The Ball 
 
 223 
 
 rustled, jogged, stumbled, staggered, 
 crushed, raced, and flew even, the excited 
 couples. Then came the smoother and 
 more entrancing motion of the valse, the 
 more winged movement, the floating on 
 sweet waves of a sad and plaintive music. 
 Then the wished for quadrille. 
 
 » 
 
CHAPTER XI. 
 
 WAE, TO THE KNIFE, 
 
 Never was there so attentive and 
 gracious a host. He passed over no 
 one, and was not absorbed in too obse- 
 quious attention to the leading persons 
 of rank; or, to use the more intelhgible 
 regimental vernacular, the swells." 
 What dehghted, however, the neighbours, 
 was the utter shipwreck of any hopes 
 that their low, purse-proud, stuck-up 
 Hardmans might have entertained. Where 
 were their dinners now ? — their outlay in 
 state, their note- writing, driving to the 
 barracks, their persecutions, in short, of 
 that true gentleman^ the Colonel, connected 
 
Tfar to the Knife. ■\ 225 
 
 with one of the first families, and who 
 showed his real breeding and tact by the 
 perfect way in which he had foiled their 
 schemes. 
 
 Here was the end now, and the man," 
 as a dowager remarked, " was walking off 
 clean and clear." As for our poor Phoebe, 
 she was a mere bird-of-passage, and her 
 claims had not attracted much pubhc 
 notice, or her efforts were too puny to be 
 seriously dangerous. The great Hardman 
 family sat up together — a small battalion, 
 a row of idols, but wdth no worshippers. 
 Mrs. Hardman, still in conflagration, con- 
 spicuous from afar — her husband — his 
 head tightened back, and face showing his 
 favourite mixture of arrogance, discontent, 
 and mortification. 
 
 A most ill-managed thing ; most im- 
 properly arranged ; no attention, &c.," he 
 was saying to his lady. An undeserved 
 
 VOL. I. Q 
 
226 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 slander upon their host, who had been 
 strictly impartial. But to the former 
 manufacturer, attention to him must be 
 in exact proportion to neglect of others. 
 The daughter sat placid, and, better 
 trained than her family, showed no dis- 
 content — rather seemed utterly indiflferent 
 to the neglect. The rustics little knew 
 her, or how Spartan she could be under 
 public mortification. They watched her 
 still more, as, at the end of the Lancers," 
 the Colonel passed by, the ecstatic Phoebe 
 on his arm, transported with rapture at 
 the coming proposal which, as she learned 
 from certain meaning words " of his, 
 was now at hand. 
 
 As she passed by her sister, she stopped 
 for an enthusiastic whisper, under pretext 
 of a settling of her necklace, or something 
 as important. Mrs. Talbot thought the 
 words were all right " — that happy 
 
War to the Knife. 227 
 
 speech which, a thousand times used, has 
 brought joy and comfort. Has Rosicru- 
 cian won? "All right !" — Have the jury 
 found? "All right!"— What did the 
 doctor say ? " All right !" — Well, you 
 were late ; I knew you would be. All 
 right!" — Does he agree? "All right!" 
 And finally — well, what did she say? 
 " All right !" Happiest talisman in the 
 language, and which the French have now 
 borrowed from us. 
 
 Mrs. Talbot was approaching the flame. 
 The fickle and stout lady bridled among 
 her many laces. The old belle's eyes 
 lighted as she saw her cold enemy sitting 
 neglected. 
 
 The daughter regarded her, with what 
 seemed to the other a look of mixed 
 dislike and discomfiture. In the large 
 round eyes there was uneasiaess, and a 
 direct challenge. Mrs. Talbot's reply was 
 
 Q 2 
 
228 Beauhj Talbot. 
 
 a quiet look towards a far-oflf doorway, 
 towards whicli the Colonel and his partner 
 were hurrying. She began the contest 
 again. 
 
 ^•You seem not to be enjoying the 
 night," she said, with a smile. 
 
 That smile had lain by many years, 
 a little dusty, among other fashionable 
 properties. With it, and that simulated 
 commiseration and sympathy, how many 
 rivals had she pricked and stabbed. 
 
 ''Most ill-managed thing as ever I 
 saw," said Mr. Hardman. " No introduc- 
 tions — no looking after the people. Posi- 
 tively, but that I ordered my coachman 
 for two o'clock — " 
 
 Said Mrs. Talbot, calmly, ''Well, we 
 were thinking they were so attentive — 
 such charming hosts, and all that. You 
 must have been unfortunate." 
 
 " My father," said his daughter, " does 
 
War to the Knife. 229 
 
 not come often to balls, and expects an 
 attention whicli may now perhaps be con- 
 sidered old-fashioned." ^ . 
 
 Mr. Hardman turned on her in his most 
 arrogant way, — 
 
 " Old-fashioned ! What are you talking 
 about ? Did you ever hear such speeches ! 
 There's Sir Thomas Rumbold ! a man I 
 could buy and sell ten times over, and to see 
 the slavish toadying of him that has been 
 going on the whole night is disgusting !" 
 
 "My dear Mr. Hardman," said Mrs. 
 Talbot, as if she was paying him some 
 sweet compliment, ^Hhis is one of the 
 hard shifts of our present social arrange- 
 ments. Rank and that sort of thing are 
 
 somehow unfairly destined to have prece- 
 dence." 
 
 This pierced even the horny skin of the 
 monied man, about as thin as that of a 
 rhinoceros. 
 
230 Beauty Talbot 
 
 " I see what you mean/' he said ; "but 
 let me tell you that sort of thing is going 
 by, and will go by, yet more." 
 
 Just at that moment she heard the 
 cheery clatter of the friendly voice 
 swinging away behind her, and Old 
 Dick Lumley " came up talking away as 
 fast as he walked. He was never strange 
 in a strange place, and had the art of 
 either knowing people everywhere, or of 
 appearing to know them. To mere ob- 
 servers of the surface, that is to average 
 worldlings, this came to the same thing. 
 Wherever he went, Dick Lumley took 
 care he should fall upon his old legs. He 
 made absent people do the work for him. 
 It was his animated interview with Sir 
 Thomas Rumbold that had so inflamed Mr. 
 Hardman ; yet the name of some friend, 
 at least three hundred miles away, had per- 
 formed the friendly offices of introduction. 
 
War to the Knife. 
 
 231 
 
 " Well, we are all carrying it on hard 
 and fast, not losing a moment. See how 
 exhausted I am ! By the by, just heard 
 about poor old Lady Towler. Not left a 
 sixpence after all her drudgery. But, my 
 dear Mrs. Talbot, you must come off with 
 me. There is a supper-room, or a tray of 
 something, somewhere." 
 
 Now there was a flutter among the 
 dowagers ; much as at the Zoological 
 Gardens, towards four o'clock, the wild • 
 animals grow excited if a keeper pass by 
 with even a basket. Supper was indeed 
 announced. Everyone was trooping in, 
 and there was even seen what Old Dick 
 Lumley called the indelicate spectacle of 
 droves of women hurrying in companion- 
 less." Colonel Labouchere was busy with 
 his duties of host. He actually came for 
 Mr. Hardman to take in Lady Rumbold, 
 thereby overwhelming that gentleman 
 
232 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 with an obsequious gratitude. It was 
 when both were away on this errand that 
 Miss Hardman turned to Mrs. Talbot, and 
 said in her calm way, as though she was 
 remarking How cold it was" — 
 
 " All warning is thrown away on you." 
 
 But here was Colonel Labouchere back 
 again, eager, hurried, with a gentleman 
 in custody for Mrs. Hardman. He could 
 hardly escape the streams of molten lava 
 that flowed down the sides of that volcano. 
 Then he turned to Mrs. Talbot. 
 
 Now I am free," he said, ^^you must 
 come into supper with me." 
 
 Then it was that she thought of answer- 
 ing the speech the manufacturer's daughter 
 had made her. 
 
 All warning ! Eeally, now ! Well, we 
 shall see ;" and she swept on. 
 
 The supper was in the best taste, and 
 the messman had done it sumptuously. 
 
War to the Knife. 
 
 233 
 
 To do honour to tlie occasion, he had 
 exhausted himself in all the pictorial but 
 uninviting emblems which his brethren 
 delight in when they want to be more 
 than equal to the occasion. Old Dick 
 Lumley, whose old stomach had been 
 kept working for some seventy-five years, 
 protested loudly against these devices. 
 
 I hate," he said, '^to see harps, and 
 birds, and coats of arms sprawling over a 
 fine Yorkshire ham. You cannot cut it 
 with comfort." Mrs. Talbot merely went 
 to look at the table. 
 
 ^' You see that wonderful old man ? 
 Old Dick Lumley they call him. Such 
 energy, such unflagging spirit ; it is really 
 charming. I feel quite obliged to him ; 
 I quite love him for it. All the amusing 
 stories, too, the curious histories he has 
 ferreted out." 
 
 The Colonel was abstracted, and look- 
 
234 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 ing over at the other side of the table. 
 
 ^^Yes/' went on Mrs. Talbot, quickly; 
 " and the oddest thing he gave us to-day 
 at dinner; such a strange account of a 
 particular friend of yours. Volunteered 
 it, I assure you ; for we have no interest 
 in the people." 
 
 What," said the Colonel, about her ? 
 Was it bad, good, or indifferent ?" 
 
 Well, I am afraid I should have to 
 call it something like one of the three ; but 
 really I am indifferent about the matter." 
 
 But you have made me curious. No 
 food for the gossips, I trust — no scandal ?" 
 
 About your Queen Elizabeth? Well, 
 I am not accountable. I told you it was 
 volunteered." 
 
 He looked at Mrs. Talbot with a curious 
 intelligence. That lady became disturbed. 
 
 " Tell me, what do you think of Miss 
 Hardman ?" asked the Colonel, abruptly. 
 
War to the Knife. 
 
 235 
 
 This was the opening Mrs. Talbot was 
 longing for. 
 
 "You would not thank me/' she said, 
 " if I were to give you a candid opinion. 
 I do not like her. You ask me, and I 
 tell you the truth candidly. Another 
 might smile, and insinuate all sorts of 
 wicked accusations." 
 
 "No," he said, "I am sure it is all 
 perfectly above board, as they say, with 
 you ; but simply for curiosity's sake, what 
 do you think of her ?" 
 
 " Well, then," said she, " first, what 
 do I think of her relations ? With m^, the 
 fruit is always to be known by its tree. 
 She is not to blame for coming of a set 
 whose gentility, dehcacy, sympathy, and 
 refinement, and every nice feeling have 
 been hackled and torn to shreds by the 
 carders of their factory. Look at the 
 coarse father, the odious mother, and ask 
 
236 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 yourself if any good could come out of 
 that Nazareth?" 
 
 Well," he answered, quietly, I did 
 put that very question to myself some 
 months ago, and have tested the matter 
 very carefully." 
 
 " Why on earth should you do that?" 
 she said, with a surprise almost natural. 
 
 "Well," he answered, when I first 
 saw her, I think on the very first day we 
 arrived here — and here we are at the very 
 last night — there was something about 
 her that seemed to challenge inquiry, and 
 to be worth inquiring about. You know 
 these sorts of faces and figures. We see 
 them even in a crowd ; the rest make a 
 mere back-ground for her. I knew she 
 had a history, a history that meant strug- 
 gling straight upwards, struggling against 
 something at home, something that would 
 bear itself, home and all and everything, 
 
War to the Knife. 
 
 237 
 
 to tlie surface. Of course, I had nothing 
 to suggest this to me ; but still you 
 know how irresistible such an impression 
 is." 
 
 There was something like amazement in 
 Mrs. Talbot's face. She was surprised 
 into actually staring at him ; but these 
 light vapours of expression drifted away 
 to the right and to the left, and gave 
 place to one of her ball-room masks. 
 
 Shall I tell you ?" she said, and she 
 was very unlike the Chalon picture. " I 
 have an irresistible impression also. You 
 know I am a woman of the world, just 
 as you are a soldier of the world, and I 
 can pretty well see behind all this poetising 
 about faces that challenge and struggle 
 upwards, carrying their entire homes with 
 them upon their fairy-like shoulders. I 
 could tell you, Colonel Labouchere, what 
 all this means, in what they call plain 
 
238 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 English ; and what is more," she added, 
 her lips struggling between the tightness 
 of spitefulness and an ordinary smile, I 
 could unfold for you some incidents in the 
 process of that ' struggle upwards, which 
 have been mysteriously revealed to me; 
 for I see where you are hurrying to, and 
 you may thank me for it later." 
 
 "Would not that be real charity and 
 good nature of you ?" he said, quite 
 gravely. In a friend, certainly." 
 
 JSTo. You do not thank a person," 
 she said, " who puts out his hand to stop 
 your going over a precipice. It is a mere 
 instinct. But does it not look like a pro- 
 vidence that a pleasant old gossip was 
 sent here to us with his usual bag of 
 stories on his back, and at our dinner- 
 table should have pulled out this very one ; 
 the moment he heard the name he began 
 — names, dates, everything exact. Mind 
 
War to the Knife. 
 
 239 
 
 you ask me. There I stop, unless you 
 wish me to go on." 
 
 There was great elation in Mrs. Talbot's 
 eyes. She w^as playing her trumps one 
 upon the other, in the hasty triumph of 
 her success. It seemed like one of the old 
 games, long, long ago. 
 
 He smiled. " You know there is always 
 some sort of scandalous story about every- 
 one that rises in life." 
 
 " Yes," she answered, quickly ; and 
 the absent, questioning face of Phoebe, 
 who passed by them on the arm of a 
 gorgeous partner, stirred her ; but not 
 a true scandalous story. There is the 
 difference.'' 
 
 ^^Well, yours — I mean Mr. Lumley's — 
 may not be a true one." 
 
 She looked excited at the contradiction. 
 You shall see and know that it is. 
 I have gone too far, or you have made 
 
240 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 me go too far, not to go on furtter. 
 Surely no one could be justified in think- 
 ing so highly of a woman who by the tact 
 and promptitude of some mere acquaint- 
 ances was saved from the discredit of an 
 elopement. That's plain speaking !" 
 
 She paused to see the effect of this 
 astounding revelation, for she had now 
 surely beaten both the opposite players. 
 The rude old claymore of the manufac- 
 turer's daughter was no match after all 
 for the small rapier of the elegant 
 woman of fashion. She was a little 
 ashamed of the means which she had 
 used ; rather coarser than the ones to 
 which she was accustomed. The enemy 
 had lost and Phoebe might win yet ; and 
 if there was a bold charge while the 
 squares were in confusion, might win too 
 before the morning came. The Colonel 
 seemed taken aback. 
 
War to the Knife. 
 
 241 
 
 Ireland is a long way off/' at length 
 he said, slowly. 
 
 Ireland ?" she repeated. 
 
 Stories that come across in the 
 packets with the mails," he said, ''get 
 knocked about or distorted during the 
 passage, and with old Lumley in 
 
 charge " 
 
 '' Oh, I see. So it is notorious — and 
 you, going about from garrison to garrison 
 — 'if you wish to learn details, then, ask our 
 
 old gossip, Lumley, and he will pour them 
 out for you. Well, I had thought more 
 highly of Colonel Labouchere." 
 
 "I could tell you all the details. I 
 heard them long ago — Lady Boreena and 
 all." 
 
 ''Who from, pray?" 
 " From herself." 
 
 " From herself?" she repeated, slowly. 
 '^ Yes, from herself ; and with .the 
 
 VOL. I. II 
 
242 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 greatest candour. She is a fine, open 
 character, though with faults." 
 
 " Oh, I see. I begin to see now." 
 
 Yes, I know w^hat you are going to 
 say. She tells me everything noiD^ There is 
 a wonderful confidence established between 
 us, Mrs. Talbot. That wicked story did 
 not affect me in the least. It has added 
 to my high opinion of her." 
 
 '*^You are deliciously credulous. And 
 that confidence was not provoked by the 
 fear of its reaching you in some other 
 way. It is nothing to me, of course ; but 
 as we are balancing evidence like a 
 court " 
 
 I can satisfy the court on that also. 
 She told me long ago : Mr. Lumley has 
 been here only a day or two." 
 
 It is no matter in the world," said 
 Mrs. Talbot, now her old self again. 
 " You must settle the matter between 
 
War to the Knife. 
 
 243 
 
 yourself and the lady. I could not de- 
 termine, I am sure. Now, shall we go 
 back ?" 
 
 They went back. The rueful Phoebe 
 received them with a sort of distraught 
 look ; it seemed, at last, to have burst on 
 her that all was over, A curious tempest 
 was in Mrs. Talbot's breast : it was, as 
 she felt, a ridiculous craze in her ; for 
 with a person of that sort — raised from 
 the very scum" — how on earth could her 
 proceedings affect a lady of Mrs. Talbot's 
 quality? But she was mortified; and 
 perhaps this " low " soldier wished to 
 mortify her. 
 
 So the ball went into the small hours 
 dramatically. For some there, it was the 
 usual enchanting thing ; for certain 
 votaries, for whom time ghded on, alas ! 
 too exquisitely. It was all Hghts and 
 flowers, and sweet faces, and waves of 
 
 R 2 
 
244 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 music, and whirl-whirl ! On this earth, and 
 in those early days, before the novelty 
 has worn away, there is nothing half so 
 sweet in life — no, not a fiftieth part so 
 delicious — as the progress of a ball : the 
 dance after dance, the too exquisite and 
 endless turning, the rings of soft light 
 eddying round and round. This, indeed, 
 is what approaches nearest to a dream for 
 the young. They hear the chimes, not at 
 midnight, but at three, four, five, and six, 
 and a sweet and excited face wonders at 
 the obtrusive daylight coming in so cold, 
 and wonders that papa or mamma think 
 of going home. 
 
 It was strange, the coming out on the 
 steps, and seeing the streaks of daylight, 
 the clustering of white-cloaked maids and 
 matrons. 
 
 Beauty Talbot had had a pleasant night ; 
 his wife had been lax in her duty — so had 
 
War to the Knife. 
 
 245 
 
 his daughter. The young girls were good- 
 natured, and did not snub " him. 
 
 Mrs. Talbot was moving to the door ; 
 the rich man's daughter going away also. 
 The latter came up straight to her, and 
 said in a low voice — 
 
 " That was a worthy act of yours ; it 
 now passes out of mere polite hostiUty. 
 It was an unworthy stab in the darhT 
 
 **Miss Hardman !" said the other with 
 dignity. 
 
 With all your animosity against me, 
 I could not have believed a lady of your 
 rank and birth capable of it." Her eyes 
 were glowing, her cheek flushed ; she 
 seemed moved, for once, to anger. I 
 shall never forget it, even though it has 
 failed so signally, as it deserved to do. I 
 was reluctant to go, and, I own it, to 
 accept Colonel Labouchere's generous 
 proposals — " 
 
246 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 What !" faltered Mrs. Talbot, in spite 
 of herself. 
 
 ''His proposal of his hand. But this 
 has determined me ; for it has shown that 
 you and your class can have no quarter, 
 no heart or toleration for us. Now, I tell 
 you, Mrs. Talbot, there shall be none for 
 you. Here he comes now," she added, 
 with a change of voice. Good night ! 
 Everything will be very sudden ; and I 
 may never meet you again — but I w^arn 
 you, should I do so " 
 
 She took Colonel Labouchere's arm, and 
 passed away. 
 
 Mrs. Talbot, first mortified, then hurt 
 and angry, ended by being contemptuous. 
 
 ''A low, intriguing girl. How she 
 spoke according to her class ! I should 
 never have known them ; and this is only 
 what we expose ourselves to." 
 
 The party of four came home very 
 
War to the Knife. 
 
 247 
 
 silent and even out of humour. The 
 Beauty, because no one was inclined to 
 talk and ''rally" him on his successes; 
 and old Dick Lumley, because he had 
 been kept up late, had eaten something 
 at supper, which he now knew would by- 
 and-by disagree with him ; and because he 
 felt sore and broken. He looked very 
 shattered, and '' parting in pieces " in 
 that ghastly daylight. Miss Phoebe's dis- 
 comfiture spoke for itself ; while in Mrs. 
 Talbot there was rankling the sense of 
 defeat in many ways. All these four were 
 to remember that night well. But Mrs. 
 Talbot, as she laid her refined head on 
 the pillow, consoled herself — 
 
 '' A low girl, whom I ought to have had 
 nothing to do with !" 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 PE0GRES8 OF EVENTS. 
 
 Many months went by, droning on. 
 No regiment had come to fill the place of 
 
 the th ; but the neighbours had plenty 
 
 to talk of — victualled, as it were, for six 
 months with gossip in details of Miss 
 Hardman's rather hurried marriage at the 
 Towers. It was considered a wonderful 
 thing for the man of money. A fresh 
 proof of shrewdness combined with wealth. 
 
 A long-headed fellow, Hardman ; sure to 
 do !" though in truth, as we have seen, 
 he had nothing to do with the matter. 
 Mere outsiders supposed he had given her 
 a great fortune, forty or fifty thousand 
 
Progress of Events. 249 
 
 pounds. But here was more of his 
 shrewdness. Why should he do so ? it 
 would be gratuitous surplusage, would it 
 not ? The tone he took was this : 
 
 Colonel Labouchere, sir, you do my 
 family an honour ; and you have won the 
 affections of my daugher. Now I tell you 
 frankly, she did not consult me, neither 
 did you. Observe, I find no fault ; but I 
 merely make the statement. I may have 
 my own ideas as to the part a father 
 should play in these matters ; but that is 
 neither here nor there. You are a gentle- 
 man and a soldier, and of good family." 
 
 Yes, Mr. Hardman," said the Colonel, 
 quietly. ^^Well?" 
 
 " Well, it comes to this ; I always in- 
 tended to give my daughter eight thous- 
 and pounds. Had I chosen for her, I tell 
 you frankly, it should have been eight times 
 eight thousand ; but now you must only 
 
250 Beauty Talbot 
 
 wait till my deatli. I can't help it. Co- 
 lonel Labouchere. That's my way now." 
 
 "Mr. Hardman, you mistake me ; it is 
 really nothing to me. I have not thought 
 of fortune ; if I had, I tell you frankly, I 
 could have done far better, as it is called." 
 
 A pang went through Mr. Hardman's 
 heart. He had made a blunder ; he might 
 have given little or nothing. However, 
 having taken this tone, he kept it up — a 
 little wounded, yet not angry ; aggrieved 
 from duty merely, but full of goodwill to 
 the pair. One of these days, he meant 
 that his son should really " do " splendid- 
 ly ; for him he should bring a girl of title 
 — a real, genuine, good thing, and with 
 money, too, — none of your beggarly, hun- 
 gry, fine people, ''who bring nothing 
 with them but a few gowns." He should 
 go into the market, and take care to choose 
 the goods himself. '' See here, sir," he 
 
Progress of Events. 251 
 
 said to his son, " you must look to what 
 you are about. You have had a noble 
 allowance, sir, from me ; every whim of 
 yours gratified, provided you spend your 
 money in cultivating really nice well-born 
 friends, whom it is a credit to know. I 
 tell you, sir, you don't exert yourself ; 
 you don't push and cultivate people, 
 and I am not going to be wasting my 
 substance gratifying your low tastes. 
 Why, another fellow with your means 
 would hold up his head, and know half 
 the peerage. Damn it, sir, I won't go on 
 with this sort of thing for any helpless 
 log like you." 
 
 " I can't help it, father," said the son, 
 it's not in my way. I haven't the art of 
 it, and it appears to me so degrading. I 
 can see they don't want us. Surely you 
 see that yourself, father ; money alone will 
 not get us on." 
 
252 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 His father glared at him. You have 
 the low drop in you, sir; a cur's blood; 
 and, sir, don't preach to me. I had to put 
 up with enough from your sister, in her 
 day." 
 
 I tell you, father, I have tried it, and 
 it only brings me a cold air of insolence, 
 which is intolerable. Let me make my 
 friends in my own way, and I promise 
 they shall be nice ones, and I am sure 
 more useful than any of these people." 
 
 " I won't listen to this stuff," said his 
 father, swelling and growing red; 'Mt 
 must all come to a point ! You shall go 
 my way, or I shan't go yours; and you 
 may starve on your way if you like. I'll 
 find people who will be glad to do what I 
 want." 
 
 This was but a repetition of a scene that 
 had often occurred and really meant 
 nothing serious. The father was one of 
 
Progress of Events. 
 
 253 
 
 those foolish men who prodigally waste all 
 their engines of attack on some trivial oc- 
 casion. A son after his heart would have 
 been one who followed his own snobbish 
 gospel of the duke's coachman/' and who 
 laid himself out to get on in life: i.e., to 
 try to know lords and ladies, or the sods 
 of distinguished persons. Should such 
 a lad have written home to him from 
 school, " My great friend and chum is 
 young Pollard. He is ^ an honourable ' 
 and his father is a lord, and please I want 
 ten pounds ; he showed us ten which his 
 father sent him," the sum would have 
 been despatched by return of post, and 
 with exceeding pride. Friends would have 
 been stopped that day in the street, and 
 the letter taken out pompously. My son 
 is at Bagley, under Dr. "Webber. He 
 makes very nice friends- — young Pollard, 
 son of Lord Pollard, who was lord in 
 
254 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 waiting." Had that son proposed an 
 arrangement with his father, ten pounds 
 down for every acquaintance thus made, 
 with " refreshers/' he would have gladly 
 agreed. Had he brought home young 
 Pollard on a visit during vacation, thus 
 indirectly bringing his lordship in rapport 
 with himself, he would have gladly paid a 
 very handsome sum. For that lord must 
 have acknowledged that kind hospitality, 
 sent messages, perhaps written, hoped 
 that they would see Mr. Hardman at Pol- 
 lardstown next month, when they were 
 having a few friends, &c. But what could 
 be done with the dullard, for whose educa- 
 tion he was paying at Bagley, and who 
 did propose one vacation to bring back a 
 friend — a country clergyman's son ! 
 
 It was the same when the young man 
 was put into the army. He showed incura- 
 bly low tastes. The regiment had been 
 
Progress of Events. 
 
 255 
 
 chosen expressly, for it held Robert Hod- 
 der, the Duke of Bullington's third son, 
 the Honourable Algernon Dalkey, Lord 
 Blackrock's eldest son, people about the 
 queen," a beautiful rich ground, well 
 worth the gardening ; and yet the fellow 
 did nothing. That set " kept together, 
 and would be glad, Mr. Hardman well 
 knew, to take up a young man with such 
 a back. How rejoiced, how proud he 
 would have been to receive a letter, I 
 am bringing down Hodder, and Dalkey, 
 and three or four of their friends, on 
 Monday, so have everything of the best ; 
 but I want cash sadly, and you must 
 ^ stump down ' [or ' book up,' whatever 
 was the correct slang] handsomely." Why, 
 a cheque for £500 would have been under 
 payment for such a blessing. In many a 
 reverie in his gaudy baronial study, he 
 saw himself receiving these fine young 
 
256 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 nobles, graciously permitting their free- 
 doms and eccentricities, abasing himself 
 before them, fooling them to the top of 
 their, or rather his^ bent. But such could 
 be only a dream, though he clung to its 
 realization for a long time. 
 
 With rage and disappointment he found 
 what a hopeless dull career his son was 
 pursuing, who was turning out an utter 
 failure ; he was steady and " low," never 
 would do anything. Once he was over- 
 whelmed with mortification on being intro- 
 duced to one of the regiment, son to the 
 
 people about the queen," and who told 
 him, 0, he keeps a good deal to himself, 
 you know, no one is more respected by 
 the men." More respected by the men ! 
 What a character ! And my Lord Ro- 
 bert Hodder, and young Dalkey ? (Mr. 
 Hardman was one of that class who always 
 say " My lord this ") " 0, they don't 
 
Progress of Events. 
 
 257 
 
 speak. He set Dalkey down before the 
 whole mess for telling some queer story." 
 This was the way he was served — was 
 treated ! Was there ever so unhappy a 
 father, with a son and daughter so hope-' 
 less, helpless, idiotic, purposeless, and 
 *'low" in their tastes. 
 
 However, here was the daughter es- 
 tablished in life, and fairly. It was some- 
 thing; the Laboucheres had a good name, 
 and there was a remote lord, a little be- 
 hind, seen through some misty clouds of 
 relationship. This, however, furnished 
 him with some lofty illustrations, and 
 ^^my son-in-law Labouchere" was often 
 introduced. Longhampton was the family 
 seat of the misty lord, whom he called the 
 head of the family, and through some 
 agency he procured a photograph of that 
 seat, and, suited with a gorgeous golden 
 frame, it stood on the drawing-room 
 
 VOL. I. s 
 
258 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 table supported on an easel, and not fail- 
 ing to catch the eye of every guest. 
 Whether it did or no, he was certain to 
 give his short lecture in the panorama 
 manner. " That is Longhampton, the 
 seat of my son-in-law Labouchere's family. 
 One of the English show places, you 
 know. They were to have gone there for 
 the honeymoon ; but the regiment was 
 ordered away." 
 
 He gave dinners, it would seem, for 
 the very purpose of exhibiting this distant 
 son-in-law, who really figured more con- 
 spicuously at such banquets than if he 
 had been there in the jiesh. But having 
 gone up to London, and after labour al- 
 most Herculean, having got within range 
 of that lord himself, either at club, or 
 party, and having made my son-in-law 
 Labouchere " introduce him, he found 
 himself congealed and frozen up by the 
 
Progress of Events. 
 
 259 
 
 treatment lie experienced. No men are so 
 liable to this sort of painful ague, under the 
 variable and capricious temperature of aris- 
 tocratic treament : none are so servile and 
 timorous in their approach, so Altering in 
 their address, or so easily repulsed. There 
 is something indeed that invites, ''repulse 
 us, and trample on us, do." The truth 
 was, the lord was one of the most refined 
 of his class, full of a haughty exclusive- 
 ness, and had bitterly resented this al- 
 liance between one of his connections and 
 a '' trader." The stare he gave, the re- 
 sentful expression in his face, that '' this 
 was a liberty," seemed to burn into the 
 very marrow of the sensitive Mr. Hardman. 
 The faltering invitation on his lips care- 
 fully conned, died away. " Our little place 
 in the country, if your lordship would so 
 far honour it. Near Longhampton, of 
 course— of which a little picture stands on 
 
 s 2 
 
260 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 our drawing-room table — it will seem a 
 hovel." 
 
 Colonel Labouchere ? I know very- 
 little of his movements. Did you wish to 
 speak to me about him ?" 
 
 " 0 dear no ! my lord, except, that is, 
 he is now my relation, my son-in-law, I 
 may call him — I thought " 
 
 The lord shrugged his shoulders and 
 turned away. Mr. Hardman tried a for- 
 lorn hope. If you were coming down 
 our way, my lord, at any time, I do trust 
 you might honour our little place." 
 
 Out of the question, much obliged to 
 you," said his lordship, in a tone that 
 meant as plainly low intrusive fellow," 
 as words would sound it. Then turned 
 his back on the other. 
 
 Mr. Hardman saw amused faces at this 
 rebuff ; saw also the lord plainly describing 
 the matter to a small group afar off ; he 
 
Progress of Events. 
 
 261 
 
 had the too quick instinct of pushing 
 sensitiveness. He was, besides, one of 
 those gauche men, who, when snubbed, 
 exhibit the marks of it like a beating, and 
 knew not how to withdraw himself. From 
 that hour he could not forgive his 
 daughter this mortification. On a charac- 
 ter of this sort there is some satisfaction 
 in dwelling thus minutely ; the stores are 
 inexhaustible, the clods of meanness 
 turning up are fresh, and ever new. 
 Character thus exhibited in various shapes 
 and turnings is, in fact, story. 
 
 In this humour he was in no mood to 
 be indulgent to his son, or to the family 
 where the son was now visiting very fre- 
 quently. Many were the delightful morn- 
 ings the latter spent over in Miss Livy's 
 company, and in that of her mother ; for the 
 young man, whose instinct was quickened 
 by love, saw what was the daily and nightly 
 
262 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 filial task of tliat daughter, and tliat ii 
 lie must slowly draw himself into any 
 appreciation, it must be by sympathy 
 with what she was so steadily working 
 out. The little drama that was being 
 acted so perseveringly, by one of the 
 actors at least, with such never-flagging 
 labour, was for him a subject of wonder 
 and admiration. 
 
 Accustomed to the selfishness of "men" 
 at mess, and of men in army life gener- 
 ally, that utter unselfishness, that never- 
 wearying and wakeful purpose, that 
 organised deception that never slept, 
 absolutely confounded him. After that, 
 he could only lend his own small service, 
 and do his best to aid the two women 
 in what was the reasonable scheme of the 
 one, and the pious one of the other. The 
 routed Phoebe had retreated to her own 
 dominions, and with elasticity, which is 
 
Progress of Events. 
 
 263 
 
 the happy consolation of all such Cossack 
 cavalry, would presently be preparing 
 an attack on some other outpost. 
 
 Thus it was that the Beauty found 
 himself of a sudden treated with a defer- 
 ence and a graciousness rarely accorded 
 to him by men. There was ordinarily 
 a tendency to be "free," to banter him, 
 or indulge in exaggerated praises of his 
 gifts, and of his accomplishments, which 
 always left him uneasy and doubtful of 
 their genuineness. This feeling would 
 make him turn away fretfully, with a 
 " you are always going on with some 
 folly or nonsense ! I wish you'd have a 
 little more sense !" Nor was Dick Hard- 
 man's attention, or rather manner, founded 
 on much more than an unconscious sym- 
 pathy with the purpose of her he so 
 admired. He was not inclined, as his 
 father had discovered, to pay court to 
 
264 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 any one ; but the spectacle was so praise- 
 worthy and interesting, that he was drawn 
 unconsciously to take an earnest part in 
 the little play. Very soon the Beauty 
 was speaking of him with complacent 
 approbation, as though he had found out 
 that he was a very nice, well-bred, plea- 
 sant fellow." And this criticism of good 
 breeding and agreeability seemed based on 
 the attention with which He gave one 
 smile," that plaintive ballad, was listened 
 to and applauded. 
 
 There was a new lyric on the stocks," 
 not yet ''got into shape," but which he 
 was '' composing," sitting at the 
 
 piano, his face turned to the ceiling, while 
 his delicate lady's fingers, whitened care- 
 fully by art, spelled out a little accom- 
 paniment. The new effusion was to be 
 " about one of the best things I have ever 
 done ; and I tell you what, I'll sing it the 
 
Progress of Events. 
 
 265 
 
 next time we go to your house." To this 
 new friend he imparted snatches of 
 his old life, when he was going out 
 among the countesses and young ladies. 
 " I don't want to brag, Hardman/' he 
 said ; but with all the boasting of these 
 men about me, I needn't be shy. If I 
 were to show you letters that were written 
 to me by certain ladies, with all the love, 
 flattering things, and so forth, you would 
 stare. These fellows, now, if a woman 
 looks at them over her fan, or says a bit 
 of nonsense, make such a fuss. Now I'm 
 a married man, of course, and have done 
 with all that. Though there are married 
 men enough about us going in for foolish 
 flirtation, quite forgetting that women 
 don't one quarter mean all the folly they 
 say. Bless you, I know pretty well what 
 that sort of thing means, and what it is 
 worth. I have had half-a-dozen of 'em 
 
266 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 sitting round me at a time, saying 
 things that would make a man bhisli ; 
 of course, it was all their fun. I took 
 it at its worth. Not but that they really 
 liked me. You know, I suppose, what 
 they used to call me ?" 
 
 Dick smiled. " Some of the donkeys 
 thought themselves very funny in making a 
 joke of it, and all that, in their low way. 
 But I tell you the truth, I think it was 
 much more of a compliment, and one that 
 would never be paid to them, if they 
 lived for a hundred years. I'd like to see 
 Bolton, or long N^apier, or Singleton pick 
 up such a name. Not one of them, sir. 
 It would be a different sort of name they 
 would have got. You know I understood 
 the world pretty well, and all that sort 
 of thing : I served my apprenticeship 
 under more advantages than most men ; 
 and because I live down here, in this out- 
 
Progress of Events. 267 
 
 of-the-way place, because it suits me to 
 do so, as a married man with a young 
 child growing up," here young Hardman 
 winced a little, you don't suppose I 
 have grown rusty, or out of date, or 
 couldn't hold my own with the best 
 of them, if I chose ? God bless me, 
 yes!" 
 
 In this sort of monologue the Beauty 
 ran on. He delighted in this viewing of 
 himself in the past, as a lovely and en- 
 gaging figure ; but it was under the re- 
 serve that it was a past he had quite 
 finished with. So young Hardman took 
 care to impress on him, thinking of the 
 two women. 
 
 '^0 yes," he said, ''once a man is 
 married, of course these sort of atten- 
 tions can have no interest for Mm. He 
 would not care for them, in fact. 
 
 0, plenty would care for them, and a 
 
268 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 few would get them, too, if they wanted 
 them, I assure you." 
 
 0, but not the nice, refined, con- 
 siderate husband, who has good sense. 
 Why should he?" said young Hardman, 
 rather anxiously. If I were married, I 
 should consider myself finished for ever 
 and aye, with all that. I should be en- 
 tering on a new life. And you, with so 
 charming a person as Mrs. Talbot, a 
 famous belle, that was more admired, 
 as they told me — " 
 
 The Beauty smiled complacently. " Yes, 
 she was at the top of them all, no one 
 was so run after ; but I cut them all 
 out. It was a good deal talked of at 
 the time, I can tell you; made a stir;" 
 and thus the Beauty got back into his 
 dreams again, looking fondly and sweetly 
 to those old days of triumph — not, it must 
 be owned, thinking of her, but of his 
 
Progress of Events. 269 
 
 own prestige, in carrying off that rather 
 Waning Belle, after no very warm compe- 
 tition. His own exquisite complacency 
 thus helped the good work of that untir- 
 ing lady and her daughter, and prevented 
 him seeing the true state of things. It 
 w^as happy, therefore, for all. It had 
 gone on now so long, he had become 
 quite accustomed to his lot, contented and 
 " resigned," as some of his old sneering 
 friends would say, or much as some one 
 sentenced for " long terms " would gra- 
 dually grow accustomed to prison life. 
 
 Mrs. Talbot did not relish these visits 
 of the young man. She had still the same 
 morbid feeling towards that house, and 
 which seemed even to increase by dwelling 
 on. Her retrospect took the shape of 
 triumph, and she soothed herself by the 
 notion of even a victory. I drove her 
 from the place. I drove her from the 
 
270 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 place !" she said very often ; and by 
 that curious process well known to us, by 
 dwelling on it frequently, and on its details, 
 she became gradually all but convinced of 
 this little delusion. And though her sweet 
 daughter would not descend, even for 
 the sacred purpose of her life, to any 
 deceit, still, she too, from sheer sympathy, 
 worked herself into a tranquil belief that 
 the superior power of her mother, and the 
 old charm, had become intolerable, un- 
 endurable, to that cold and free-tongued 
 woman, and that she fairly turned and 
 fled. In her favourite fashionable portrait 
 attitude Mrs. Talbot sat, her still beautiful 
 hand under her chin, in a delightful 
 reverie, and thus soothing herself with 
 the thought that the old charm was still 
 left, and would be left. Still, though 
 she thus disliked the whole family, '^root 
 and branch," her instinct showed her that 
 
Progress of Events. 
 
 271 
 
 this young man was on her side of their 
 party in the house. The same instinct 
 told her that he was deeply in love with 
 her daughter, and of this she warned her. 
 
 Livy laughed. The idea, mamma ! 
 Love ! why he is only a friend — just comes 
 over here to amuse himself, and me." 
 
 Well, that is, or used to be, love," 
 said her mother. " But to marry into 
 that dreadful family, that terrible man 
 and woman always before you ! my poor 
 child, why you would die of it. Though, 
 indeed, the worst is gone — we defeated 
 herr 
 
 " I could not leave you, dearest," said 
 her daughter, kissing her fondly. No, 
 never ! No, nor dear Beauty. What 
 would become of me without you both? 
 Dick is very nice and good, and I have 
 seen no one hke him as yet. But the 
 other is a dijfferent thing. We three are 
 
272 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 so happy together, I could not endure 
 thinkiDg of a change. No, sweet, sweet 
 mamma ; that must never be !" 
 
 The graceful arms of the fine lady so 
 admired in the portrait wound softly 
 about her. 
 
 What do you live for, darling ? What 
 is a girl's aim of life ? No, dear ; these 
 are foolish notions. In time we shall 
 think of what is suitable for you. I shall 
 manage that, as I have managed so much. 
 I wonder, dear" — and here she closed her 
 eyes and smiled. — if I were to go out 
 of this weary world, would — your father 
 marry again ?" 
 
 The gentle girl's eyes lit, then she hid 
 her colouring cheeks in her mother's neck. 
 
 " Don't speak so, dear ; you must not. 
 Such a thought ! Our poor Beauty ! he 
 is so happy and good, and so content. 
 There he is !" 
 
Progress of Events. 
 
 273 
 
 And there floated up to them from be- 
 low the sounds of the piano, and the 
 sweet voice of the Beauty, who was " com- 
 posing " one of his little things." 
 
 " And how good he has been all this 
 time — no running up to town by himself; 
 no clubs even. It is wonderful, dearest, 
 when we think of it." 
 
 Mrs. Talbot sighed a little wearily. 
 Yes, but it has been wearv work : so 
 long, and never ceasing. It has been 
 hard labour. But we may rest now, I 
 think, my pet." 
 
 ^^Rest, dear. Poor Beauty! if he had 
 been only left to himself all this time, you 
 would have had no trouble. There are 
 such unkind people. But he is so happy 
 now. 
 
 The mother looked at her fondly, 
 smoothing her hair languidly. 
 
 Yes, I think we may think of you 
 
 VOL. T. T 
 
274 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 now, dear. I must turn my thoughts to 
 you. No, we could not send you into 
 that hon's den — that low, coarse, manu- 
 facturing mother-in-law would make you 
 pine away. You would die, dear, in that 
 vulgar Brummagem prison. Ah ! what 
 would you say to my Cousin Robert, who 
 is coming on Monday — a rising man, as 
 they call it, certain to be an under-se- 
 cretary, shrewd and careful ? I know I 
 could make him do a good deal. He was 
 in love with me when he was a boy and I 
 a young lady." 
 
 No ! no ! no ! mamma," she repeated. 
 ''You, I, and Beauty! we were made for 
 each other. Let Lord Robert be under- 
 secretary, or what he likes." 
 
 We must ask these vulgar people, for 
 we are in debt to them ; and must pay, 
 or they will sue us. before the parish. It 
 will amuse us, though. I know he will 
 
Progress of Events. 
 
 275 
 
 be grovelling before Robert. I wish some 
 one else was coming, though ; a little 
 battle and victory is so exciting." 
 
 " She has had enough dearest ; and will 
 keep the seas between her and you, if she 
 can." 
 
 Now the voice of the Beauty was heard 
 in peevish tones, demanding some one 
 to aid him at the piano, and some one also 
 to stimulate him with applause, and say, 
 
 How original ! How pretty !" 
 
 He aflfected on these occasions to hear 
 the effect of what he had " composed," as 
 it were, for the first time, and to be 
 pleased or displeased. He would remodel, 
 or let it stand. So Mrs. Talbot herself went 
 down — her toilette being correct, gauzy 
 and floating — to undertake the ofl&ce, and 
 was kept for an hour and more receiving 
 directions and corrections in her perform- 
 ance of the amateur and illegal harmonies 
 
 T 2 
 
276 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 which he had written, being herself made 
 responsible for their defects. He was not 
 very well pleased with the result ; she was 
 not as enthusiastic as she ought to have 
 been, and he was out of humour. How- 
 ever, the reserve came up in the shape of 
 his daughter, whose warm and genuine 
 praises restored the day. 
 
CHAPTER XITI. 
 
 ME. AND MRS. TALBOT EEQURST TEE HONOR." 
 
 When a delicate little note^ with a deli- 
 cate and refined monogram — the Hard- 
 mans had a monogram all ablaze with the 
 lettering of a City shop-board, gold and 
 colours, and a perfect tangle of gorgeous 
 characters — was brought to the owner of 
 " The Towers/' he read it with great 
 complacency. Very proper ! Very suit- 
 able !" He was pleased because he saw, 
 from the formal character of the invitation, 
 it was to be none of the dull, domestic 
 affairs which they professed to like, sans 
 ceremonie, and to consider far more pleas- 
 ant than the great^ dull, state dinners. 
 
278 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 This was a very poor, low view to take ; 
 and, for aristocratic people, a most singu- 
 lar one. A state dinner, twenty-four or 
 eighteen strong, was to him the perfection 
 of elegance, civilization, and refinement. 
 There true happiness and enjoyment was 
 to be found, if you had been " given " 
 some well-born person to take down. He 
 had been afraid that the return compliment 
 would have taken the shape of one of the 
 foolish solemnities which he so dreaded ; 
 but he knew now they were certain of a 
 choice culling of two or three flowers of 
 rank, which was what the Talbots affected 
 when they wished to be in state. There 
 was more opportunity here, and he de- 
 lightedly sent an acceptance, on the 
 monogramed paper, which seemed like a 
 bad imitation of some old MS. illumination, 
 and which he sometimes boasted cost him 
 sixpence a sheet. 
 
Mrs. Talbot requests the honor J' 279 
 
 The great coacli of state had set them 
 down — Mr. and Mrs. Hardman and their 
 son — and they had entered in the usual 
 single file. Mr. Hardman coming last, a 
 little uneasy and hot, into that refined 
 atmosphere, where all was elegant and 
 subdued beside the hot glare of his own 
 decoration, saw that there was a grey, 
 large-headed gentleman with his wife, a 
 young man with a beard, who was 
 at home, and Old Dick Lumley over 
 again. 
 
 He felt assured that these were some- 
 bodies," though the society was scarcely 
 of sufficiently flattering dimensions to 
 suit him. He and his party seemed, in- 
 deed, both to themselves and every one 
 else, utterly out of place. They were 
 out of keeping and did not match. The 
 resplendent Joss, the huge mass of human 
 flesh, stuck over with gold and diamonds. 
 
280 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 and set upon cushions, was the worst. 
 Mr. Hardman — keeping back — hung un- 
 easily on the outskirts. He wondered at 
 the vast quantity the others had to say. 
 How little they minded him ! The round- 
 headed gentleman proved to be Mr. Raw- 
 linson, one of the Foreign Office secre- 
 taries, an important person, who knew 
 every particular most valuable to know. 
 The other was the Lord Robert, Mrs. 
 Talbot's relation, a good-looking, bearded 
 fellow, who was credited with an amount 
 of wisdom vastly beyond his years, and, 
 it must be said, still more vastly beyond 
 what he really possessed, but which he 
 utilized and put out to interest in a manner 
 that was the envy of many. He had that 
 admirable gift, which is the pride and 
 despair of stupid people, of appearing to 
 be full of things to tell, or to comment 
 on, and which from such a person acquires 
 
" Mrs. Talbot requests the honor 281 
 
 an extra value and importance. He was 
 not afraid of his own voice. 
 
 Mr. Hardman hovered uneasily on the 
 outskirts, smiling as if he understood, 
 his hands behind him. .Even when Old 
 Dick Lumley and the Foreign Office 
 secretarv and Mrs. Talbot were all in a 
 tumult of talk and excitement, laughing, 
 clattering, interrupting, he was still out- 
 side the enclosure, and every one knew 
 that he was. He knew that they knew 
 this. Mrs. Talbot directed her husband 
 to introduce him, compassionating his 
 situation, and he was relieved at finding 
 himself bowing humbly to a Lord Robert 
 — -something that he could not catch. 
 Henceforth through the night it was, 
 
 You were saying. Lord Robert" — ^^As 
 Lord Robert remarked" — ''Tour view, 
 Lord Robert and that young man, 
 strange to say, known to be full of what 
 
282 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 is called chaff," was strangely defer- 
 ential to him. But Bob was known to 
 be deuced long-headed " — never to let 
 go a chance " — and a few whispers from 
 his relation that this was a shrewd, vulgar, 
 clever man of business, who had made 
 himself, and could help a man, may be 
 supposed to have much to do with it. 
 
 The little dinner was delightful. The 
 sauce about that round table was a never- 
 flagging vivacity and good spirits, worth 
 all the dishes in FrancatelH. Old Dick 
 Lumley, at such banquets, drank out of 
 his first glass some of the precious 
 fountain of youth — ^just enough, at least, 
 to carry him through the dinner. How 
 his ancient jaws moved in both directions ; 
 how the stories and commentaries poured 
 out, and the choice wines poured in ! The 
 ruined teeth played on their restored 
 fellows underneath, and the wonderful 
 
Mrs. Talbot requests the honor 283 
 
 vital strength which was within that old 
 man of society gave light to his eyes, 
 colour to his cheeks, inflexion to his voice, 
 gesture to his arms. Mr. Rawlinson, 
 without revealing secrets, gave curious 
 little details of his office, which showed 
 that he was intimate with ministers, — little 
 points that could not be found in the 
 newspapers. 
 
 Lord Manley came down himself four 
 times during the day to see that the des- 
 patches were ready. I never saw a man 
 so nervous. Of course I knew what the 
 office could do, and guaranteed him that 
 all would be in time ; but I give you my 
 honour, at eight o'clock, just as other 
 people were going to their dinner, down 
 he drove again in his brougham. Most 
 remarkable man, that. Must see every- 
 thing done himself." 
 
 He had no such devoted hstener as Mr. 
 
284 
 
 Beauty Talbot, 
 
 Hardraan, who bent his thin chest across 
 the table to catch every word. It was 
 impossible to ignore such a listener ; and 
 when Mr. Hardman repeated that it was 
 wonderful, astounding — ''What, in his 
 own brougham?" — that he had never 
 heard anything to approach it in all his life, 
 the narrator was naturally impressed. Old 
 Dick Lumley capped it with another trait. 
 
 Just like him. He came in the other 
 morning to one of Milkton Monsey's 
 breakfasts, and made such a fuss about 
 his egg being boiled properly; I never 
 knew anything like it. It was too hard, 
 too soft, a shade less, a shade more : 
 and this man with a portfolio ! Yery 
 curious !" 
 
 " Lord bless you/' said the Lord 
 Robert, impetuously, and putting them 
 all down together, '' there's nothing in 
 that. That's part of the game. One of 
 
Mrs. Talbot requests the honor.^' 285 
 
 the best actors going. I know it as a fact 
 that he hates eggs.^^ 
 
 Mr. Hardman was outside the whole — 
 kept away by a scrub fence and wall, over 
 which he could only smile adhesion. He 
 knew nothing of Manley, nor of the crowd 
 of people who were made to pass across 
 that dinner-table. Even when some one 
 or something that he did know turned up, 
 he could not get in any contribution. 
 He was like a log on the neck of the 
 party ; that dead weight of the two 
 seemed to press on all, and eyes of dis- 
 trust were bent on them. Mr. Hardman 
 was very uncomfortable ; Mrs. Hardman 
 found a refuge in steady eating. At last 
 a soldier's name was mentioned, who was 
 in a regiment out at Gibraltar. Here was 
 a conversational hen-coop flung to him, 
 and the Beauty put in for him. 
 
 Oh, you ought to know something 
 
286 
 
 Beauty Talbot, 
 
 about that. Isn't that Labouchere's regi- 
 ment ?" 
 
 ^'Yes, my son-in-law," answered the 
 other, with an indescribable pomposity, 
 which he did his best to avoid. He 
 commands it — commands the regiment." 
 
 Very good fellow, Labouchere," the 
 young Lord Eobert said, in a patronising 
 way. Keeps his men rather stiff, but a 
 good officer." 
 
 You know him, then. Lord Robert ?" 
 Mr. Hardrnan said, with delight and im- 
 portance mixed. 
 
 Know him ! To be sure — all my life. 
 He has his faults, as every man has ; but 
 there is a tone of chivalry about him — old 
 fashion, plenty would call it — which I like. 
 That's a thing you can't get in the shops 
 now. So he is married?" 
 
 Yes, Lord Robert. He holds quite a 
 distinguished position out there, such as 
 
''Mrs. Talbot requests the Jionor.^' 287 
 
 we have no idea of here. The governor 
 can do nothing without him." 
 
 The young man laughed boisterously. 
 
 " What, old Fazakerly ? He never could 
 do anything without somebody. Ha, ha! 
 Yes, Labouchere would shine out there. 
 And near old Lady Fazakerly, Mrs. La- 
 bouchere — whom I've not had the honour 
 of knowing as yet — would shine without 
 much exertion. Poor old Tow-Row Faz ! 
 She was high comedy, or rather farce." 
 
 The Beauty struck in complacently, 
 
 " Oh, Mrs. Labouchere, I can tell you, 
 will come out brilliantly wherever she is. 
 She will have quite a court of her own 
 there. In fact, certain to be queen wher- 
 ever she is." 
 
 At this praise, uneasiness came in the 
 faces of the company, so marked, that the 
 gay young man looked at them with a 
 little surprise. 
 
288 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 But the Beauty, who was in high satis- 
 faction with himself, went on to Mr. 
 Hardman, — 
 
 " Yes, she will be greatly admired, you 
 know ; for she has a style about her you 
 don't see in most women." 
 
 Again fresh pain in the two faces ; Mrs. 
 Talbot talking away rather nervously to 
 Old Dick Lumley. 
 
 Sir," says Mr. Hardman, as if he 
 was returning thanks at a public dinner, 
 ''I am sure Mrs. Labouchere, if she knew 
 of your kind opinion, would feel it very 
 much. Yes, she has a great deal of 
 cleverness, and tact above all things, with 
 a surprising knowledge of the world. You 
 know that, Mrs. Talbot." 
 
 Mrs. Talbot's lip curled. 
 I believe Mrs. Labouchere to be clever 
 — very clever, from the slight acquaint- 
 ance I had with her ; but tact is so rare 
 
Mrs. Talbot requests the honor 289 
 
 a virtue, and I am sure slie has so many 
 others — " 
 
 To be sure," the young man said ; 
 you are right there. Not one man in 
 fifty has tact; and, certainly, not one 
 woman in two hundred.'' 
 
 Mr. Hardman at once gave up his 
 daughter. 
 
 ^^Yes, Lord Robert, there is a great 
 deal of truth in what you say." In a 
 lower voice he went on, to Mrs. Talbot, 
 She is peculiar in some things, my 
 daughter Rose. She takes things into her 
 head, and at times was quite too fond 
 of her own way. Really I was quite sorry 
 to hear, Mrs. Talbot, that one evening, 
 at our house, she had been rather — you 
 know — to you, and — " 
 
 Rather I know, to me!" repeated 
 . Mrs. Talbot. "What sort of behaviour 
 was that, pray ?" 
 
 VOL. T. u 
 
290 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 " I mean " (growing red), that she 
 said some things — if I had been there, I 
 assure you — " 
 
 Mrs. Talbot drew herself up. 
 
 I must assure you that you are under 
 some delusion. In the houses that I have 
 been in the habit of going to, no one 
 speaks to me in the way you describe. I 
 scarcely know Mrs. Labouchere." 
 
 No, no ; I don't mean that," he said 
 in great alarm. " But she is kasty, you 
 know ; and I have great difl&culty myself 
 at home — " 
 
 Possibly. I never enter into the do- 
 mestic life ; it would be far too compli- 
 cated a matter. I must beg you will 
 not be under tkat strange impression any 
 longer." 
 
 " Dear me, no, Mrs. Talbot. I really 
 never dreamt of it a moment." 
 
 Then the pleasant medley of general 
 
Mrs. Talbot requests the honor 291 
 
 talk set in briskly. Dick Lumley had a 
 choice morsel or so of something which 
 it would be ungenerous to call scandal, 
 and still of so curious and delicate a 
 flavour that a child miQ;ht almost taste of 
 it. Cooked in this way, and by a cordon 
 bleu who knows his work, nothing is so 
 interesting; and we can see even the 
 professional devote ex officio^ the serious 
 one, raising her demure eyes with interest. 
 Old Dick Lumley was an artist at this 
 work, and the sauce in which he served 
 such morsels was a kind of deep sympathy, 
 conveying that it was with deep pain that 
 he entered on the matter at all. 
 
 Such a sad business, that ! Baker, 
 who used to dine there twice a week, told 
 me that the poor, gentle husband used to 
 force money on him. When he came 
 home from the club it was like that 
 mountebank in the play, Belphegor — wife's 
 
 u 2 
 
292 
 
 Bemitii Talbot. 
 
 lace shawl on the ctair. Five children 
 left behind, I'm told. Shocking ! What 
 is to become of the poor things P" 
 
 " Two, I heard/' said Lord Robert. 
 Yes. Rest were at school. I have it 
 all from Baker." 
 
 Even our Livy listened to this story 
 with tearful sympathy." 
 
 After dinner Mr. Hardman came more 
 to the front, helped by the young Lord 
 Robert, who now asked about Bidgood, 
 the financial gentleman. 
 
 ^^ I suspect you know him, Mr. Hard- 
 man, throuo'h and throuo^h ? I am sure 
 you do." 
 
 Instantlv Mr. Hardman became, as it 
 were, seated in his study chair, his hand 
 rested under his waistcoat, and he sipped 
 his claret wath importance. 
 
 You could not have come to anyone 
 who know^s more about Bidgood. I have 
 
''Mrs. Talbot requests the honor.^^ 293 
 
 known him since lie began, when he sat 
 at a desk, great man as he is now." 
 
 '•^More power to him, as the Irish say," 
 said Old Dick Lumley, cheerfully. 
 
 '' See here. Lord Robert, I may know 
 this thing and that, or I may not. A 
 man in my position, and with my oppor- 
 tunities, is bound to be careful in what 
 he says. We must be guarded ; you 
 understand. But I can put it this way. 
 If I had ten thousand pounds to invest 
 in a strictly sound though not showy 
 security^ Bidgood is not the man I would 
 go to, or even consult." 
 
 " Neither would Bidgood be the man 
 to whom vou would write, enclosino: 
 cheque to that amount, leaving it to his 
 discretion ?" said the young man, with a 
 loud laugh. 
 
 '' Uncommonly good — 0, very good. 
 You put it, Lord Robert, far more 
 
294 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 forcibly than I should dream of doing. 
 Yes. I must own, as to the cheque, I 
 think I should prefer my own broker," 
 
 When the gentlemen came up. Lord 
 Robert and Mr. Hardman were seen, in a 
 corner close to the door, busy in council. 
 The latter, in a flush of intimacy, was, 
 with slow gesticulation, impressing some 
 information on his companion — warning, 
 hinting, something with excessive know- 
 ingness ; the other, listening with coyness, 
 and yet with wariness. Mr. Hardman 
 was, no doubt, " putting him up to a 
 thing or two " in his own department, 
 with many a familiar — 
 
 '^N^ow, my dear Lord Robert! See 
 here, Lord Robert ; just take a hint from 
 me. Don't trust Bidgood an inch farther 
 than you can see — not an inch !" 
 
 Mrs. Talbot sat back in the empress- 
 like attitude of her picture, and with 
 
''Mrs. Talbot requests the Jionor'^ 295 
 
 much scorn was talking to Old Dick 
 Lumley, standing before her in a young 
 man's attitude, of one of the few subjects 
 that could rouse her into excitement. 
 
 You saw her," she was saying, and she 
 spoke to Old Dick Lumley as confidenti- 
 ally as she might to a favourite maid ; 
 " and what she was ; a forward, self- 
 sufficient person in the worst style and 
 manner — with that hard tone of mind 
 which women of her class take for well- 
 bred repose. Her style, she must have 
 picked up from the accountants in her 
 father's offices — a sort of pertness and 
 flippancy. She was good enough to 
 honour me with a sort of challenge, in her 
 own house, which I reluctantly accepted, 
 and gave her a setting down, which I 
 believe she will remember. I saw some 
 time ago that she was a drawback to our 
 
296 Beauty Talbot 
 
 neiglibourliood, and that she must leave 
 it, and — she has left it." 
 
 A fine girl, though/' said Mr. Lum- 
 ley, and, I should say, would suit 
 Labouchere well." 
 
 Suit him well!" she repeated, with 
 infinite scorn. Don't you know that he 
 is a gentleman ! I confess I enjoyed it all. 
 It brought back my old days, when I 
 could use my j^attes de velours.^^ 
 
 I think," said Old Dick, with a know- 
 ing look, she was even trying to keep 
 her hand in with our friend, the Beauty. 
 
 I give you my honour, I heard her praising 
 his singing, fixing her big eyes on him in a 
 searching way." 
 
 Mrs. Talbot changed her position with 
 a noisy start. It is really amusing," 
 she said ; but I have no doubt you are 
 right. I should not have been surprised, 
 she would have ventured on something of 
 
''Mrs. Talbot requests the honor'' 297 
 
 the kind ; just her vulgar conception of 
 something that might annoy. It was not 
 worth rousing oneself ; but I did so^ and 
 she has taken a lesson with her to the 
 colonies which she did not much like^, and 
 will not soon forget." 
 
 Hallo, what's this?" said Old Dick 
 Lumley, growing a little fatigued with this 
 talk, which had little interest for him. 
 '' See, is not that like our friend ? You 
 remember the doctor in the novel who 
 paid a man to call him out of church ?" 
 
 A servant had come in and handed Mr. 
 Hardman a telegram. That gentleman 
 made it into a sort of ministerial dispatch, 
 as though it came from some cabinet, at 
 the same time surveying it leisurely, 
 taking his gold glasses out, as though 
 these irregular communications were 
 ordinary enough in his case. But before 
 he had read a line or two he gave a 
 
298 Beauty Talbot 
 
 genuine start, with a "God bless me!" 
 which drew the attention of all in the little 
 room. Very awkward ! very sudden !" 
 he murmured ; then putting the paper into 
 his new friend's hand, left the room. 
 The eager Dick Ijumley was looking over 
 his shoulder in a moment, and reading the 
 following : — 
 
 " Gibraltar, 
 
 Colonel Labouchere died this morning, 
 suddenly. Mrs. Labouchere sails by the 
 next packet. I will do all that is necessary. 
 If you have any directions, telegraph at 
 once." 
 
 It was from the major of the regiment, 
 the fortunate officer who now succeeded 
 
 without purchase." Dick Lumley, with 
 great presence of mind, said aloud, " 0 
 ah ! a business thing !" not from any 
 compassion for the wife; but simply in 
 homage to the decencies of the little 
 
Mrs. Talbot requests the honor'' 299 
 
 party, and the fuss and discomfort it 
 would cause him personally. Mrs. Talbot 
 alone was disquieted, and it was with 
 something like malice, but of which he 
 was unconscious, that he told her. It 
 seems that poor Labouchere is dead, and 
 the widow coming over by the next 
 packet." 
 
 " Coming over ! " she repeated, starting 
 up. Coming back here !" 
 
 Mr. Hardman re-entered ; he had been 
 himself to see about the duke's coachman, 
 and also the messenger. He returned 
 with a mysterious importance. He was, 
 at all events, now the centre figure. Tele- 
 grams, dispatches, brought in, always 
 impart a factitious dignity, or, at least, 
 an air of fuss. He bade his wife come 
 away, wrung Lord Robert by the hand 
 affectionately. "I shall not forget," he 
 said, depend on me, and if you want 
 
300 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 advice on any point, command me. This 
 blow will interfere for a time, and, indeed, 
 I was hoping we would have had you over 
 few days at ' The Towers.' But by-and- 
 by, by-and-by !" Mr. Hardman threw a 
 plaintiveness in his voice, as though he 
 were now crushed, and the wind might be 
 tempered to such a shorn lamb as he was. 
 Then they drove away. 
 
 The party remained laughing and chatt- 
 ing, and Old Lumley quite excelled in . his 
 cheerful touchings and recollections of the 
 pompously bereaved gentleman. Lord 
 Robert was specially merry on " my 
 son-in-law Labouchere," and with a social 
 disloyalty which is not at all uncommon, 
 presented a series of comic etchings of the 
 absent guest, more creditable to his me- 
 mory than to his gratitude. This, indeed, 
 is always the most tempting and irresisti- 
 ble season for another renewed party ; the 
 
^' Mrs, Talbot requeds the hoiior'' 301 
 
 sense of relief from stiffness, witli a joy- 
 ous laissez faire sets in, and a guest with 
 some gifts must be of more than early 
 Christian asceticism who can resist 
 such a tempting opportunity. Every one 
 stretches his arms and breathes freely ; 
 the buckram has passed away ; here are 
 a few precious minutes, we are all happy, 
 and so — a live animal is sacrificed. So it 
 was with Mr. Hardman ; and while the 
 duke's coachman was driving his great 
 horses homeward at a pace that suited 
 himself, the little cheerful circle was 
 laughing in intense enjoyment at the com- 
 peting histrionics of Old Dick Lumley and 
 young Lord Robert — all, save Mrs. Talbot, 
 who sat in her Chalon attitude, reflecting, 
 and with a distrustful and disquieted face. 
 
 END OF VOL I. 
 
BEAUTY TALBOT. 
 
 BY 
 
 PERCY FITZGERALD, M.A. 
 
 AUTHOR OP " BELLA DONNA," " NETE7? FORGOTTEN," &C. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. II. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 EICHARD BENTLEY, NEW BURLINGTON STREET. 
 
 1870. 
 
 The right of Translation is reserAed. 
 
BEAUTY TALBOT. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 AN INVITATION. 
 
 For the miniature household there was 
 still the same tranquil existence. It might 
 have been almost called domestic, — the 
 very essence of domestic. And yet this 
 effect might seem strange, with such mun^ 
 dane elements as a veteran belle, (veteran 
 in the sense of one who has served her ten 
 years), and an Exquisite who has sold out 
 of that regiment prematurely, and thinks 
 he has made a mistake. But there was in 
 the household one binding and purifying 
 element, the watchful, loviog daughter, 
 
 VOL. II. B 
 
2 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 whose very labour aDd energy and appli- 
 cation that never tired or slept, performed 
 miraculous prodigies, as it always will do. 
 The strange charm of that earnestness and 
 affection, seen to be so utterly unselfish, 
 never failed, or, rather, was increasing 
 in power every day. The fragile soul of 
 Beauty Talbot would have been iielpless 
 before even a weaker mind : and he was, 
 in truth, being kept like some of those 
 youths, brought up in fairy valle3^s, 
 jealously guarded from the knowledge of 
 men and women and the world, an at- 
 tempt which even in the fairy tales, alas ! 
 invariably broke down ! 
 
 Even had the mind of her father been 
 nourishing any thoughts of enfranchise- 
 ment, any longing looks backwards to- 
 wards the fairy gardens he had been taken 
 from, he was soon to see what difficulties 
 
An Invitation. 
 
 3 
 
 there were in the way of his emancipation. 
 He was kept in by a succession of bar- 
 riers of soft wood and moss, endless in 
 number, and likely to take up too much 
 time and trouble to break through. Thus 
 the task of education went on ; a drive 
 three times a week, and the greater ex- 
 pedition to town from Pengley Station, 
 and the solemn dinner-party at distant 
 gorgeous palaces, wdiither the whole party 
 set out in grand tenue, and returned more 
 or less prostrated — but still having done 
 their duty, as the country expects every 
 man and woman to do. Then there was 
 the working together, and the lightiug of 
 the lamp, with the applause for the 
 Beauty's last composition-, and the reading 
 out by Livy of novel or pDem, the former 
 carefully selected, as illustrating him and 
 his wife. This was in the hands of this 
 
 B 2 
 
4 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 geotle schoolmistress, their daughter. 
 They had their round of duties and little 
 pleasures. She read to them, him rather, 
 and amused him, was ever watchful and 
 ready at a moment to dart in to the place 
 when any of his squad of entertainers 
 flagged or dropped down in the ranks. 
 The round of life became as regular as 
 that of an institution. There was the little 
 box of a place and its green garden and 
 flowers, there was the walk after breakfast, 
 and the walk after lunch, there was the 
 village and the town, with the young- 
 happy husbands and happy circles, men 
 who ambled round the domestic circus 
 with a contented monotony. 
 
 Sometimes she- read out even such a 
 work as one of Mr. Froude's romances, 
 and her voice was so steady and musical 
 that she imparted to the rather dry pro- 
 
An Invitation. 
 
 5 
 
 ceedings of King Harry and Queen Mary, 
 glimpses of interest ; though at times the 
 Beauty flagged, and yawned, and wan- 
 dered to the piano to embody a thought " 
 by way of rehef. He became rather proud 
 of his historical knowledge thus refreshed, 
 and thus administered — he could never 
 have tackled the volumes themselves — and 
 rather bewildered some of his friends 
 whom he favoured with scraps, and made 
 them ask what on earth was Beauty put- 
 ting such things into his well oiled head 
 for. The efl^ect of all w^as discipline, and 
 the Beauty felt that in this little house, 
 and in these little tranquil pursuits life 
 would go on always, and he would grow 
 full, and stout, and heavy, and old, while 
 the old charms and attractions were to 
 become smaller and dimmer, and more 
 uninteresting, as their little waggonette 
 
6 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 rolled easily down the hill. Livv, the 
 genius of the household, might now halt. 
 Her work w^as almost done. 
 
 The people about Pengley naturally 
 fancied that the news of the death of his 
 son-in-law would take down Mr. Hardman's 
 airs a little. But, in truth, he was not 
 at all displeased at the turn matters had 
 taken/'" his own phrase. In the first 
 place, he missed — and woefully missed — 
 the invaluable aid of his daughter, though 
 not for a moment would he acknowledge 
 such a thing, even to himself. In his social 
 advances he found himself of a sudden as 
 powerless as the boy from whom Sir Wal- 
 ter Scott cut off the button. She had 
 taken herself off, as he put it, and had 
 thrown all the duties of the place on his 
 poor back. How^ could he find time to be 
 going to see ladies ? As for her — Mrs. 
 
An Invitation. 
 
 7 
 
 Hardman — as well might lie put one of 
 the sirloins hanging in Stubber's shop in 
 the carriage, and tell it to go paying visits. 
 Selfishly she had taken care of herself, 
 and left him there to manage as he could. 
 The relations, too, of the deceased Colonel 
 had behaved in execrable taste. They had 
 been cold and stand-off." It had been 
 conveyed to him that they did not approve 
 nor disapprove the connection. This he 
 laid entirely to the account of his daughter, 
 who." had no knowledge of the world," 
 and, at her age, was still as helpless as a 
 child. Indeed, when he came calmly to 
 consider the alliance^ — the brilliant smoke 
 having cleared away with the petards of 
 the wedding, &c. — he found it was a 
 poor and profitless business enough. " He 
 took nothing by it but expense." 
 
 Still, on this sudden demise of his son- 
 
8 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 in-law, it was wonderful the large amount 
 of discount that he got out of the trans- 
 action. His favourite and often-Quoted 
 
 J. 
 
 domestic sank into the second place, beside 
 the death of my son-in-law," the " great 
 blow we have all sustained," &c. The 
 worst was, the very nature of the dis- 
 tinction cut him off from all public oppor- 
 tunity of celebrating it. He could not 
 dine out, or have people to dine ; and yet 
 without these occasions how was he to 
 impress on the public the loss he had 
 sustained ? He might pay visits, but that 
 would be scarcely decent; and very few 
 came to visit him. Still he could make 
 his servants exhibit the most poignant and 
 conspicuous grief ; and the London tailor 
 fitted Miller, who had driven the Duke, 
 with an inky garment, that seemed to 
 shine and reflect all things with the 
 
An Invitation. 
 
 9 
 
 glassiness of a deep well, and hung about 
 with festoons and hawsers of sepulchral 
 cordage. But the quiet contempt of the 
 wearer, his sarcastic smile as he appeared 
 in these sables, was a perfect protest, and 
 undid the whole effect. 
 
 If Mr. Hardman could have set up a 
 hatchment on the face of his house, he 
 would have done so ; but even the under- 
 taker, whom he consulted, said they could 
 scarcely go so far as that. He would not 
 even have objected to the expense and 
 trouble of " bringing the body over," and 
 some faint notion crossed his mind of con- 
 sulting the late Colonel's noble relations 
 on the matter ; but he shrank from the 
 cold snubbing which he had instinct 
 enough to perceive would be in store for 
 him. 
 
 Of the bereaved widow," as he de- 
 
10 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 lighted in styling her — " my daughter, 
 Mrs. Labouchere, her husband carried 
 off suddenly — a most unfortunate business, 
 sir," — he, strange to say, heard little. 
 She barely deigned to communicate her 
 movements to him. She went to a small 
 French port by herself and remained there. 
 Those who saw her privately — and there 
 was no better judge than her maid that had 
 "gone out" and returned with her — bore 
 testimony to her strong grief and desola- 
 tion after the husband she had lost. With 
 all the hard crystallization that had grown 
 round her heart in that household — the 
 damp, unwholesome, graveyard fungi, 
 which had so unhealthily crept over her 
 soul in defiance of her struggles — she had 
 learned to appreciate the honest, elderly 
 devotion of the man who had chosen her ; 
 and his death had been a great shock. 
 
An Invitation. 11 
 
 Their past life had been pleasant, though 
 disturbed by a few storms ; but it was 
 when he was gone that she discovered that 
 she could, as time went on, have been 
 supremely happy with him, had fate 
 allowed; and this deprivation she some- 
 how associated with those who had 
 thwarted and mortified her. As her liking 
 for him grew and opened, she seemed to 
 hold the idea that something was between 
 them " — that those who disliked her had 
 inspired him with the idea that she was 
 not his equal in rank and refinement — a 
 something which, if removed, their happi- 
 ness would have been great. On his 
 death-bed he thanked her in his chivalrous, 
 high-bred way. 
 
 "If I had lived, dearest," he said, I 
 could have shown you what I thought 
 of the great honour you did me ; and if 
 
12 
 
 Beauty Talbot, 
 
 I had been allowed to live, I would have 
 tried to prove it : still you have been the 
 best of w^ves, and if I had had time I 
 would have understood you better. A 
 good deal/' he added, with his soft, good- 
 natured smile, " was done to prevent me 
 from understanding you — indeed, to keep 
 me from you for ever; but, thank Grod, 
 that did not succeed. I never believed 
 that story, dearest, though ample proof 
 was offered." 
 
 What they said about what took place 
 in Ireland — " 
 
 ^' Not a word of it ! not a word ! Not 
 if they had sent me a dozen more letters. 
 I tore them up, and never read beyond 
 the line where their calumny began." 
 
 I know that. I believe it. Oh, if we 
 had but time, the best refutation would 
 be my life, and the love it would show 
 
An Invitation. 
 
 13 
 
 for you. I could tell you her name who 
 wrote these falsehoods to you." 
 
 Ah, women !" he said, smiling ; they 
 catch at all weapons in these cases; and 
 they are not so much to blame. It would 
 be different with them. But you will know 
 this, dearest : they had no effect on me." 
 
 What, not in those first days when 
 you possibly neglected me and looked 
 down on us ; and that woman's insidious 
 hints and stories never came back to 
 you ; that loving a low rich man's 
 daughter ? You were too noble, dearest 
 husband, to be conscious of it ; but that 
 was working in you — that was her work 
 — and, oh, if I but live, if I but get back 
 to England — " 
 
 She spoke so sternly, coldly, and 
 solemnly, that he half raised himself on 
 his elbow to look at her. 
 
14 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 " What woman ? Who is this ?" 
 
 She saw the dangerous coloiir mounting 
 on his cheek, and quietly floated the 
 subject away, as one might a log in the 
 water. Long months after it came drift- 
 ing up to her as she stood by the strand. 
 She had been expecting it wistfully, an- 
 xiously. What had restrained her was the 
 rigorous decencies of widowhood. She 
 must be sorrowful, secundum artem, before 
 she could think of other things. That 
 dismal quarantine of mourning must be 
 put in, else she dare not mingle with 
 her kind. Six, seven, eight months went 
 by. Then surely she might divert her 
 thoughts." Then people began to tell her 
 it was a duty to make an exertion." She 
 had another duty to her father; she 
 would go to him, who was glad now to 
 welcome ^' an honourable daughter," like 
 
An Invitation. 15 
 
 the wicked Sir Giles of the play. She 
 would be a glory and an ornament for 
 his household, like that Order of Merit 
 " the duke's coachman." She was com- 
 ing at an awkward time, for he was 
 going to Bindley." 
 
 At last ; for the first invitation had gone 
 off like the misfire of a pistol. The lord 
 had met with a severe domestic affliction, 
 which obliged him to put off his party. 
 Such a blow had not fallen on the low 
 rich man in his life. It kept him awake 
 for two or three nights — a malady about 
 as unknown to him as tears ; it made 
 him fume and rage like a madman. The 
 affliction being now happily softened, the 
 invitation was renewed. The lord had 
 clearly conveyed his wishes, — which Mr. 
 Hardman was not slow to understand — 
 that Mrs. Hardman should not attend the 
 
16 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 solemnities, though he had comphed with 
 the forms of society by seeming to press 
 her to attend. This she herself understood. 
 
 Livy and her mother, floating down the 
 pleasant but humdrum stream of their 
 domestic life, were talking together 
 one morning in that pleasant unanimity 
 which made it almost like the musings of 
 a single mind. There was the one usual 
 subject, the Beauty : " how good he was 
 getting; how happy their life was and 
 would be now ! Indeed, there vvas novvr 
 the long-promised, long-talked of foreign 
 tour — a charming and happy trio going 
 to see palaces and gardens and delightful 
 towns, dining together at cafes, supping, 
 sitting in the gardens, listening to the 
 music. They might, indeed, now have a 
 holiday, and a handsome sum had been 
 put by for the trip. It was in honour of 
 
An Invitation. 
 
 17 
 
 Mrs. Talbot's birthday. " Indeed, dear," 
 says Livy, as if to her sister, " indeed, 
 Beanty deserves it. It is wonderful, his 
 self-denial, and goodness, and content 
 with his life here. There is something 
 noble in it, dear, is it not ?" 
 
 Livy would scarcely have made this 
 statement on affidavit, but she wished to 
 impress her mother, who smiled. 
 
 " Yes, dear ; but it has cost us a deal 
 of pains. However, we have got our 
 pretty yacht in to port, dear, and may 
 now enjoy ourselves on shore." 
 
 At that moment the vacht itself sailed 
 in, the Beauty holding an open letter in 
 his hand. 
 
 " Very nice, indeed, and very kind of 
 them. A letter from the Bindleys. They 
 have not forgotten me, you see." 
 
 VOL. II. c 
 
18 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 '^What, Lord Bindley, Beauty dear? 
 An invitation ?" 
 
 " Yes. Many and many were tlae de- 
 liglitful weeks 1 spent there ! Some of the 
 happiest days, and, by Jove ! they made so 
 much of me and he kept looking wistfully 
 at the letter. But that's all over now !" 
 
 '^AU over now? No, dear Beauty; 
 why should you think that?" 
 
 ''Oh, there's such a fuss and pother 
 made, as if a man couldn't put a few 
 thiugs into a portmanteau, and go and 
 shoot a few bn*ds at a friend's house. 
 They all do it. There's Magnay, with his 
 six children, he's away half the year. 
 There's Thomas, and a heap more. But 
 I can't go without a fuss being made. 
 It's very unfair." 
 
 He went out, and it was assumed that 
 his last statement was quite correct ; i.e. 
 
An Invitation, 
 
 19 
 
 that he could not go without a fuss being 
 made — in fact, could not go at all. But 
 the gentle Livy, with brighteniug Qyes, 
 looked up at her mother. 
 
 Poor Beauty ! he deserves a holiday ; 
 he's been so good, and he seems to have 
 set his heart on this. He used to like 
 shootiug so." 
 
 '^Go without me, dear — without his 
 wife or daughter ? It is quite unusual." 
 
 ^^Only for a few days," pleaded his 
 daughter, " Think, dear ; it is pushing 
 it too far. After all, as he says, other 
 gentlemen do it, even the one with six 
 children." 
 
 " You don't know him, dear ; you can't 
 know what men are." 
 
 ''And after all, it is only three or four 
 hours from here, so we can have him back 
 at once, if you want him. He need only 
 
 c 2 
 
20 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 stay three or four days. Oh, let him go, 
 do ; and we shall have him back in time 
 for your birthday." 
 
 The mother smiled. The Beauty, who 
 had indeed given up his scheme as hope- 
 less, was agreeably surprised to be told 
 that he was given furlough. Not that he 
 admitted that any one had power to 
 prevent him ; but he knew that so many 
 difficulties would be thrown in his way 
 as to make the expedition impossible. 
 He could hardly believe his ears. More 
 wonderful still, he was to go alone. Not 
 that he allowed to himself for a moment 
 that any one in that house had power to 
 restrain his movements ; but he had fallen 
 so insensibly under the inflexible rules of 
 the house 
 
 That day, then, to his amazement, he 
 found that no objection was made to the 
 little scheme ; on the contrary, there was 
 
An Invitation, 
 
 21 
 
 a universal enjoyment and delight through 
 the house, as though a legacy had been 
 left, or Papa or Tom was coming home. 
 For with unselfish mothers, faithful wor- 
 shippers of their lordly king of brutes — 
 oftener the brute himself — this cheap 
 pleasure comes the most welcome. He 
 was delighted — was like a boy sent home 
 for a few days. He was the whole 
 morning over his gun. It would be dull 
 enough but for that pastime Only a 
 lot of men herded together." Never 
 mind," said the two ladies; " dear Beauty 
 must try to enjoy himself." There was 
 then Mrs. Talbot's birthday drawing on ; 
 he was to be home for that. And within 
 a couple of days he had gone away 
 triumphant and happy, leaving them com- 
 placently happy also. And he was to 
 be back, positively, in three days — by 
 Saturday. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 FESTIVITIES AT BINDLEY. 
 
 At Bindley, Lord and Lady Bindley 
 were entertaining a distinguished circle of 
 guests ; though there was not at any 
 period of the visit a circle ; for the house 
 was vast and rambling, and the guests 
 were nearly always scattered. Neither 
 were these latter ''distinguished;" for 
 they included a great many of those 
 curiously obscure persons and people who 
 are somehow necessary to the great and 
 noble. ''Hangers-on" would be too 
 familiar a term ; jackals would be offen- 
 sive ; and yet some such office they do 
 
23 
 
 filL They are generally people of slender 
 means, possibly of obscure birth, though 
 that is not inquired into ; but they are 
 infinitely useful, work hard, and when 
 not on the ground, which happens once 
 or twice, make their absence felt. 
 
 Thus at Bindley there filled these offices 
 *^ the Woods," wife and husband ; she a 
 bustling lady's-maid sort of woman, with 
 a sharp manner ; he a bushy yellow- 
 whiskered man, who had got to know 
 every one, who arranged everything at 
 Bindley. Again, there were two Malcolm 
 girls, who were fetched from some dis- 
 tance, and came with their aunt, and 
 were believed to be a half-pay officer's 
 daughters ; and there was Mr. Bolton, 
 who came from some strange garret about 
 St. James's, but who pastured and 
 browsed all the year round on the rich 
 
24 Beauty Talbot, 
 
 commons and lawns of " noblemen and 
 gentlemen," No one asked who he was. 
 He had a grave and quiet suflSciency which 
 carried him through, an assertion that 
 seemed to repel inquiry, an air and 
 carriage that is worth hundred pound 
 notes. Cork-like, this gentleman always 
 floated up to the surface among the best. 
 How he lived no one knew, but he was 
 always at the best houses. When Bindley, 
 therefore, and other places, opened their 
 gates for a fortnight's official visiting, all 
 these useful supernumeraries received 
 notice, much as a stage-manager would 
 send round to his subjects. Indeed it was 
 more like some of those amateur orchestral 
 societies where, though amateurs constitute 
 the body, a sprinkling of professionals 
 is necessary to make 'Hhe thing go." 
 These were the professionals who came 
 
Festivities at Bindley. 
 
 25 
 
 to dear Lord Bindley' s " regularly ; but 
 besides these there came the regular 
 guests, who arrived with all honours, 
 and whom the others contributed to en- 
 tertain. 
 
 Such were the colourless (morally 
 speaking) ladies of true breeding and 
 refinement, the Countess Seaman, and 
 her two daughters, the Ladies Mary 
 and Alice Mariner — elegant, tranquil, and 
 trained ; Mr. Bulfin, the Member ; the 
 Lord Robert we met before, who turned 
 up later, and all but invited himself, but 
 they were delighted to have him ; Mr. 
 Talbot, and Mr. Hardman. 
 
 Bindley was a stone fortress-like build- 
 ing, rising bluntly in a fine park. There 
 were noble trees, ponds, and a few deer 
 seen skipping away coquettishly as the 
 frequent carriage came rolling up the 
 
26 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 avenue, smooth as a skater, on the out- 
 side. There was a grand hall," " res- 
 tored" cleverly —i.e. 5 rebuilt — by Inigo 
 Robinson, the well-known fashionable 
 architect — a gentleman," be it under- 
 stood, and not a professional man ; and 
 the house was mounted " in the best 
 taste, as indeed it might be said, without 
 intention of jest, the guests were. The 
 stables were a show in themselves ; and 
 grim visitors, intending to be sarcastic, 
 used to wish they were horses. Every- 
 body was brought to see the stables," 
 even unequine visitors ; and there is no- 
 thing to the untechnical eye less likely 
 to impress. In the house was the usual 
 staff, high-sounding names, — groom of 
 the chambers, and the like. 
 
 This was the first night of the festival, 
 and though nearly the whole company 
 
Festivities at Bindley. 
 
 27 
 
 had then arrived, it was like the first 
 day's voyage out on board a steamer ; 
 no one had settled or shaken down into 
 their places, and all were looking at each 
 other askance. 
 
 The inauguration dinner was over. 
 Lord Bindley had sat on his throne, with 
 Louisa Mary, Countess Seaman, at his 
 side, — a tall and vast lady, with an im- 
 passive and monumental face, trained to 
 show neither joy nor sorrow, and yet by 
 some arrangement of her hair suggesting 
 the crest of a cockatoo. Her daughters 
 had camped lower down. The supernu- 
 meraries had arrived early, had got out 
 their properties and dresses, and were 
 working hard already. They had all 
 come up, or rather come in, to the 
 noble" drawing-room at Bindley, which, 
 as picnic parties know, is on the ground 
 
28 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 floor, and witli its eight great windows 
 gives upon the lawn. The lamps are 
 lit, balls of powder are bent over tea- 
 cups, the new orange liveries are on, 
 and Wood and wife are spurring about 
 like mounted orderlies. Every instant 
 they are beside the noble host and hostess 
 making a suggestion : 
 
 " I think, my lord, if Miss Georgina 
 Malcolm were to sing now." Ah, 
 very good idea, Wood. My lady will 
 go and ask her." Or Mrs. Wood draws 
 rein beside the hostess. She thinks If 
 they got the two old gentlemen down 
 to whist, Mrs. Toft and Miss Toft 
 would make up the party." Lady Bind- 
 ley smiles approbation ; a very good 
 idea. " Don't know what they should 
 do without the Woods ?" They have no 
 ideas their own property, and think this 
 
Festivities at Bindley. 29 
 
 rather cheap faculty of " hitting on ideas" 
 perfectly wonderful. 
 
 Mr. Bolton was present, browsing 
 quietly off Mr. Bulfin, the Member, and 
 the Lord Robert. Bolton knew nothing 
 of the topics kindred to these gentlemen, 
 yet with that valuable, weighty manner of 
 his, contrived that both should be listen- 
 ing to him with a deference and a delusion 
 that they were receiving real information 
 from a man well up in the subjects. 
 Yet on analysis his information resolved 
 itself into the quotation of aristocratic 
 authority. When I was at Plympton 
 last year the French minister was there, 
 and he said," &c. ; or, with grave cor- 
 rection across the table, " I think you 
 are misinformed. Chimper himself told 
 me the whole story, and complained bit- 
 terly of the man ;" " Clumper " being 
 
30 'Beauty Talbot. 
 
 the Yiscount with that title. Yet he 
 had an admirable gift, for these noble 
 names were introduced, not with con- 
 straint and even tremor, but with a calm 
 steadiness that was admirable. 
 
 The Malcolm girls were not put on," 
 but were wisely kept in hand, so as not 
 to exhaust all the attraction. They w^ere 
 in reserve, as it were. By and by all 
 w^ould see. 
 
 A delightful night for the Beauty. It 
 seemed like a dream, or rather as if he 
 was awake again, and all between had 
 been a dream. The dressing-table up- 
 stairs was covered with the silver-backed 
 brushes, now again on their travels, with 
 the essences, silver boxes, and general 
 display of Truefittism. That was like 
 the old days. Here he was himself, 
 beautiful to look at. Such linen, such 
 
Festivities at Bindley. 
 
 31 
 
 hair, sucli rings. He was like the morn- 
 ing star, and he was so happy. The old 
 little utterances came back uninvited ; 
 congealed, as it were, like the Mun- 
 chausen words, — even the old lisp. And 
 now Wood's wife, putting spurs to her 
 steed, is beside my lord whispering, and 
 nodding in the direction of the Beauty. 
 And my lord says, Ah, to be sure. A 
 capital idea !" And away the aide-de- 
 camp canters, and is beside the Beauty 
 in a second. " Oh, you must. His 
 lordship makes it a point." There is a 
 joke among the men about the Beauty's 
 singing, and great fun is looked for from 
 the sentimental chanting of the Beauty. 
 
 Oh, I say, you must now. You shan't 
 get off. Sit down, Talbot, and give us 
 that little thing of your own." 
 
 Reluctantly he agrees, but he is so 
 
32 
 
 Beauty Talbot, 
 
 liappy he would do anything. Yes, he 
 would give them a short thing he com- 
 posed — a mere trifle — One last and 
 lingering smile." He had not his faithful 
 accompanyist with him ; but he had 
 brought the music — by a sort of accident 
 he seemed to convey — and a young lady 
 was on the spot put to the duty. Then 
 he began plaintively and sweetly : — 
 
 "He stood beside me at the door," «. t. x. 
 
 The '^men" nudged each other at his 
 sweetest passages. They were intensely 
 amused, and chuckled at the Beauty's 
 pathos. As he rose, a hearty man said, — 
 Of course that was yourself, eh ? 
 Drawn from life, eh ?" 
 
 '^How?" 
 
 " Oh, the lingering smile, of course ; 
 and an uncommon lingering one it was, 
 
Festivities at Bindley. 
 
 33 
 
 I'm sure. They couldn't get rid of it." 
 
 The Beauty was coldly repelling this 
 familiarity, when a soft but firm voice 
 tingled in his ear,— 
 
 Whether founded on fact or no, it is 
 a good song, Mr. Talbot. Not forgotten 
 me, I hope ?" 
 
 Who was this ? 
 
 At the other end of the room there was 
 a commotion. A tall, pink-faced, wiry 
 man was pompously offering greetings 
 and excuses mixed with many a my lord, 
 my lord." 
 
 The Beauty started when he saw the 
 face from which the voice had issued. It 
 was Mrs. Labouchere, dressed in velvet 
 and jewels ; from a girl become a matron, 
 with a tone of majesty and stateliness, her 
 features firm, grown more hardened and 
 classical, and with an interest of grief in 
 
 VOL. II. D 
 
o4 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 Ler face. The fire in her eyes had inten- 
 sified. She was surprisingly handsome, 
 assured, and dangerous. 
 
 She had found the seaport unendurable ; 
 and, moreover, she wanted some action^ 
 some doing, to take her thoughts off. A 
 sou of this Lord Bindley had been in 
 Colonel Labouchere's corps — Harry Bind- 
 ley — and admired her cleverness, her 
 " talk," her wit ; in short, it would seem, 
 everything but herself^ which he could 
 not admit. After his glowing description, 
 she was included in Mr. Hardman's in- 
 vitations. That gentleman had been par- 
 ticularly confounded and put out by it. 
 
 " I am sorry, Rosa," he said apologis- 
 ing solemnly, when she met him in 
 London, that I shall have to leave you 
 here ; I have been asked to Bindley, to 
 Lord Bindley's, a friend of mine. You 
 
Festivities at Bindley. 
 
 36 
 
 know this place, and are welcome to en- 
 tertain yourself here. I have told my 
 coachman he is to hold himself at your 
 service ; my carriage and horses you can 
 use." 
 
 ''Dear father," she said, calmly, they 
 have asked me also ; and you will think it 
 strange, but I must go." 
 
 Mr, Hardman grew red and hot. His 
 weak soul looked to the monopoly of the 
 invitation — to his royalty, as it were, in 
 the favour of the lord. 
 
 " Going to Bindley ! 0, folly ! What 
 w^ould you do there ?" 
 
 ''I have led such a life ever since — cha- 
 fing, and fretting, and mourning — with 
 the iron entering into my very heart. I 
 want to fly from myself — for a time." 
 
 ''Iron nonsense! You are left pretty 
 well off. But 1 really can't have you 
 
 D 2 
 
36 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 there. I have reasons of my own ; and, to 
 tell you the truth, I don't think my Lord 
 Bindley would be anxious to have you. 
 In your present spirits, you would not be 
 an addition to the company." 
 
 " Father, pray don't weary me further 
 by discussion ; but I must go there. I 
 have told you the reason." 
 
 ^^Ah, I know," sneered the man of 
 business ; to look about and pick up a 
 husband. Very soon though ; ain't it ?" 
 
 She gave him a look of warning — a 
 wicked one ; yet he felt there was as much 
 contempt as danger in it. He stalked 
 away, and she could allow^ him the in- 
 demnity of grumbling and stamping. 
 
 Remarkable looking as she was before 
 she married Colonel Labouchere, she was 
 now greatly changed. Whether from his 
 training, or the odd, adventurous, social 
 
Festivities at Bindley. 
 
 37 
 
 life out in Gibraltar, she had acquired a 
 style and character of manner, which she 
 wanted ; something akin to the change 
 which turns the country lad into the 
 smart soldier. Besides, grief and some 
 other trials had given a firmness to her 
 face ; and from the time, on her entering 
 the room, her ear caught the plaintive 
 sound of the Beauty's notes, a sparkle came 
 into her eyes, as though the fires of the 
 brain and soul within had been stirred 
 into a crackling blaze. Powerful eyes 
 they seemed ; and perhaps it occurred to 
 her as a strange omen, received with 
 exultation, that she should have entered 
 exactly as the Beauty was commencing 
 his simple lay. 
 
 The appearance of this stately woman 
 caused a sensation. Mr. Bolton, busy in 
 corners, telling, softly, anecdotes which 
 
38 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 might have been commentated on by refer- 
 ences to particular pages of the Peerage 
 (as thus — see ' Combermere/ p. 50 ; see 
 ^ Duke of Manchester/ p. 100, kc.)^ raised 
 his head slowly. Of course he knew all 
 about her;" at least she was like "Lady 
 Jane Minton." 
 
 The Woods, spurring over the plain, 
 drew the reins of their respective chargers, 
 to reflect in what way she could be 
 turned to account for the sports and 
 pastimes of Bindley. The Malcolm girls 
 looked at her from afar distrustfully ; 
 while the host, a well-known connoisseur 
 of that article of virtu known as " a fine 
 woman," was greatly pleased with the 
 sensation produced by his new guest, and 
 for the first time spoke warmly to Mr. 
 Hardman. 
 
 I am so glad you brought Mrs. Labou- 
 
Festivities at Bindley. 39 
 
 chere ; we are greatly indebted to you, 
 indeed." 
 
 His lordship was presently improving 
 his acquaintance. 
 
 '^Hope you are not tired with your 
 journey, Mrs. Labouchere. So kind of 
 you to come to us in this way ; and I as- 
 sure you we shall be as quiet as possible. 
 This is just one of our little yearly 
 domestic gatherings. No fuss or publi- 
 city ; only a little enjoyment among our- 
 selves." 
 
 But the eyes into which he looked were 
 travelling away over to the Beauty, who, 
 unaccustomed to such generous compli- 
 ments outside his own family, was rather 
 wistfully looking towards the new figure, 
 who had shown such an unexpected en- 
 thusiasm. In a few moments she was 
 beside him. 
 
40 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 You have not forgotten an old friend, 
 I see," she said, in a low voice ; " and 
 one who wants friends sadly noiD. When 
 I was near the door, as I came up-stairs, 
 and heard your voice, and that song, it 
 so touched me — it went home to me here." 
 
 0 you remember my little song !" he 
 said, pleased. I know I only sang it for 
 you once." 
 
 It is really strange," she said, reflec- 
 tively ; " I heard it just as I left, as 1 
 was going away to happiness ; and now, 
 as I enter, I hear it again." 
 
 " Well, we may hope you are coming 
 back to happiness." 
 
 Not if some people can help it," she 
 said — not to him. There are those 
 here who do not like me, who would 
 humiliate and undermine me, if they could. 
 They would not care how I sufiered." 
 
Festivities at Bindley. 41 
 
 The Beauty did not take a deep or tragic 
 view of things. 
 
 " 0, I know/' he said, carelessly. 
 " You and Mrs. Talbot did not hit it off 
 very well ; but there was nothing in it 
 really. That T am positive of." 
 
 She looked at him with a sort of curi- 
 osity, but more with contempt. 
 
 " Ah ! of course. I suppose I magnify 
 things. And how are they ? That gentle 
 girl, too ?" 
 
 The Beauty never liked people to say 
 
 your daughter." That gentle girl was 
 a much more suitable phrase, and he was 
 grateful for it. 
 
 0 they are famous," he said. ^' They 
 are both at home. I have promised to be 
 back there on Saturday, to keep her birth- 
 day." 
 
 *^Her !— whose ?" 
 
42 
 
 Beauty Talbot, 
 
 '^Mrs. Talbot's. Livy always likes to 
 make a sort of festival of the business. 
 Last year I composed a song specially. 
 A very pretty girl, a neighbour of ours, 
 wrote the words for me. Cramer published 
 it. It was called ^ Her Natal Day and 
 
 the Band" said it was flowing and melo- 
 dious." 
 
 ^'If it be flowing and melodious, I 
 should give the world to hear it." 
 
 " 0 dear, I'd sing it for you with plea- 
 sure ; they'll be asking me again presently. 
 And you really like my songs ? They are 
 not ambitious, you know ; and I don't 
 pretend to be a regular master, and all 
 that ; but they are fairly good, you know, 
 in their way ; and Challope, a man that 
 sings in the royal choir, told me he had 
 seen things of the regular fellows far 
 worse." 
 
'Festivities at Bindley, 
 
 43 
 
 Ah, that was praise indeed. But you 
 leave here to be home on Saturday ?" 
 
 0 yes ; I have promised solemnly. 
 I suppose the best part of the aflfair here 
 will be over by then ?" 
 
 " No ; beginning, tliey told me. And 
 
 your that amiable girl is anxious for 
 
 this " 
 
 0, I suppose so/' he said, impatiently. 
 " Both of 'em have settled it. You know 
 they look on it as something sacred, and 
 all that. We've never missed it once." 
 
 Oh, I am sorry ; the real amusement 
 will begin here by then. The best people 
 will be dropping in by that time ; but — 
 Master Talbot must go home to school." 
 He looked put out " at this speech. 
 
 School ! I hope have done with all 
 that." 
 
 Mrs. Wood here caracoled up, as 
 
44 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 it were throwing lier horse upon his 
 haunches. 
 
 " Another song, Mr Talbot ; his lord- 
 ship is most anxious. Any little thing 
 you may have off by heart." 
 
 '^0," said Mrs. Labouchere, ^'you will, 
 I know. That thing you told me of — 
 ' The Natal Day.' " 
 
 The Beauty got through his little 
 melody, the marked attention and interest 
 of the newly arrived securing him the 
 best audience he had had as yet. She 
 explained to his lordship that she felt Mr. 
 Talbot was quite an old friend, or rather, 
 he was associated with some very happy 
 days. People, at the end, cried, so in- 
 fluenced is the herd, Well done, Talbot, 
 you gave that out well." The Woods, feel- 
 ing how matters were going, were spurring 
 wildly about the field, and casting about 
 
Festivities at Bindley. 
 
 45 
 
 for a new venture. The Beauty took all 
 this as so much homage to himself ; already 
 he felt the bands of the late bondage 
 slipping slowly down to his feet. His 
 voice rose into a louder key, 0, I have 
 written a quantity of things. I have 
 volumes by me. I have always something 
 on the stocks, just to take up when I 
 have a moment. That thing I sang first, 
 ^ One last and lingering smile ' has always 
 been a hit." 
 
 Mr. Bolton, selfish in his generation, 
 had hitherto rather " pooh-poohed " the 
 Beauty; but had tact enough to see that 
 his glass was rising, and would rise faster 
 imder patronage. He now struck in. 
 
 I saw a copy of that song on the 
 pianoforte at Mantower when I was staying 
 there." 
 
 0 yes, Lady Jane sings it," (She 
 
46 
 
 Beauty Talbot, 
 
 ought to have paid it that courtesy, as the 
 Beauty had sent it to her.) 
 
 And how the deuce do you do it, Tal- 
 bot ? " another asked. Now how does 
 the idea strike you first ? " 
 
 The Beauty smiled with compassion. 
 These things a man can't teach. It 
 comes by nature. TsTow that ^ Lingering 
 smile ' I could no more tell how, or when, 
 it came into my head, than I could that — 
 that candlestick," added the Beauty get- 
 tinof rather confused in his illustration. " It 
 comes to you, and there it is." 
 
 And you catch him and keep him." 
 
 You must explain all this to me, Mr. 
 Talbot," said Mrs. Labouchere, who had 
 come up and listened. It is very in- 
 teresting ; other composers will not con- 
 descend to let us know how they work. 
 They think they are betraying secrets." 
 
Festivities at Bindley. 
 
 47 
 
 Other composers ! Her tone was so firm 
 and bold and genuine, that tliis compli- 
 ment produced no smile ; tlie public 
 standing round and confirming it. That 
 night went on very pleasantly. The Beau- 
 ty went to his room with a feeling that he 
 had taken one huge stride backwards some 
 ten or fifteen years, and was enjoying his 
 old life once more 
 
 The breakfast table at Bindley was an 
 enlivening scene, a pleasant and gay 
 expectation of an enjoyable day, shooting, 
 driving, what not, eddying down the 
 table. The Beauty came in late, an 
 Adonis of the morning, in the old mauve 
 stockings, — sweet-scented and curled. He 
 had on a sort of velvet jacket, which made 
 the effect rich and ^' Titianesque." His 
 irreverent friends nudged each other, and 
 complimented him ironically; but there 
 
48 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 was a quiet self-sufficieney about the 
 Beauty which was nearly as defensive as 
 real dignity. Mrs. Labouchere heard 
 these remarks ; 
 
 Hallo, Talbot, what time is the flower 
 show? When does the ball begin?" and 
 goodnaturedly, as it seemed to the host, 
 sheltered him. 
 
 '^Mr. Talbot has an artist's eye for 
 colour." She was now quite at home, 
 the centre of a sort of curiosity and attrac- 
 tion ; and the Woods, like managers, 
 congratulated themselves on having en- 
 gaged " such a star." 
 
 " I'll tell you what we have been plan- 
 ning," — said his lordship, and Wood 
 here says he will arrange it all without any 
 trouble — give a little concert and recep- 
 tion on Saturday night in the new hall. 
 We are so strong in musical talent, that 
 
Festivities at Bindley. 
 
 49 
 
 really it would be a shame not to avail 
 ourselves of the opportunity. What do 
 you think, Mrs. Labouchere ?" 
 
 She had come down cold and abstracted 
 once more. The chatter of voices about 
 her seemed to annoy her. " I suppose 
 so/' she said abstractedly, one must 
 amuse the herd." 
 
 " Yes, so we must. You hear, Talbot, 
 Wood will be offering you an engagement, 
 and you must sing that song of yours — 
 this, ^ Give us another smile.' " 
 
 ' The last and lingering smile ' is the 
 proper name, I think," said Mrs. La- 
 bouchere, smiling. Mr. Talbot will set 
 me right." 
 
 " The eminent tenor, Mr Talbot. For 
 one night only ! Great attraction !" said 
 one of the clowns of that social circus ; 
 and did produce a laugh. 
 
 VOL. II. E 
 
50 
 
 Beauty Talbot, 
 
 Mr. Talbot here — Talbot there ! It was 
 wonderful. His song, his voice, to make 
 such an effect ! His cheek literally glowed 
 as the lady recalled the correct name of 
 his song. Surely, this was a change. 
 The glow of old times came back into his 
 cheeks. 
 
 I should be delighted," he said, to 
 do what I could. It is an excellent idea — 
 a regular concert. 0, but unfortu- 
 nately " 
 
 He stopped ; he recalled the festival at 
 home, to which he was bound to present 
 himself. 
 
 This roused Mrs. Labouchere. 
 
 " What is unfortunate ?" 
 0, I have to be back — an engage- 
 ment." 
 
 ''0 nonsense," said Lord Bindley; 
 we are not to lose our tenor. You must 
 
Festivities at Bindley. 51 
 
 write and tell them that I and Mrs. La- 
 bouchere, and the company here, cannot 
 spare yon. We want to bring down the 
 house with your ' lingering smile.' Ha ! 
 ha!" 
 
 Wonderful again ! A delicious feeling 
 at his heart — one unknown to him for 
 years, during this state of cipherhood. 
 
 Mrs. Labouchere was now alive — all 
 eager. 
 
 " Mr. Talbot must tell us of this prior 
 claim. Is it another country house ?" 
 
 ''Well— no/' he said, confusedly. 
 
 '*What, a home one! 0, I see; we 
 must respect that — a promise to Mrs. 
 Talbot !" 
 
 ''Why, yes; exactly," the Beauty 
 said, hardly knowing what he was saying. 
 "Her birthday is on Saturday, you 
 know." 
 
 E 2 
 
62 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 His eye appealed to Mrs. Laboucliere, 
 for he was a little confused — unaccustomed 
 to this publicity. 
 
 ^'Jknow!" said that lady, in her hard 
 manner. "I! Not at all, I assure you. 
 What could I know about Mrs. Talbot ? I 
 only met her once or twice." 
 
 Every one looked at her : there was 
 something so hard and pointed in the way 
 she spoke these words. Her face seemed 
 to change as they looked. 
 
 (After breakfast, several, talking to- 
 gether, agreed there was something odd 
 about that woman.") 
 
 Mr. Hardman, up to this .quite over- 
 looked and smothered by his neighbours, 
 conceived that his daughter was adding to 
 his unpopularity. 
 
 ''I have had the pleasure of meeting 
 Mrs. Talbot, my lord. She has been at 
 
Festivities at Bindley o 
 
 53 
 
 our house ; a most charmiug person to 
 meet; of the — er — highest— er fashion — 
 and connection." 
 
 0, indeed !" said the host, with a 
 pohte stare. 
 
 Mr. Hardman felt that, with the best 
 intentions, he had said too much. His 
 daughter came to the rescue. 
 
 And it is the more generous in 
 my father to praise this lady so hand- 
 somely, as we did not get on so 
 well, you will recollect, Mr. Talbot. 
 Our families did not exactly coal- 
 esce." 
 
 0, nonsense," said her father, colour- 
 ing. Really this is absurd !" 
 
 " No," she said, firmly, and at the 
 same time smiling ; she did not like us. 
 She looked down on us — a foolish thing 
 now-a-days. On that account she and I 
 
54 
 
 Beauty Talbot, 
 
 are sworn foes. You will forgive me, Mr. 
 Talbot?" 
 
 Every one again said, after breakfast, 
 that there was something curious about 
 that Mrs Labouchere." 
 
 You must talk to our friend Talbot, 
 Mrs. Labouchere," the host said. ^'We 
 can't have our concert all spoiled by the 
 absence of the tenor. You will find him 
 an excuse. If it is properly put before 
 the lady, it will be all right. 0, you must 
 ^ stay, Talbot." 
 
 The Beauty thought of the solemn 
 obligations — the sweet face of Livy— the 
 expectant w^omen. He felt it was im- 
 possible — about as impossible as that the 
 sun should not rise. 
 
 ''0, they expect me," he said. ^^I'm 
 so sorry. And" — he added, wistfully — 
 
 I should like it so. You see, it's her 
 
Festivities at Bindley, 55 
 
 birthday; and I'm to give her presents, 
 and she's to have one for me ; and it's 
 never been omitted since we were married. 
 0," added the Beanty, with a wistful air 
 of doubt, that was almost comic, I Imoiv 
 it would be quite out of the question." 
 
 The men looked one to the other. 
 Not an hour's grace?" said one. 
 ^' Must go back to the minute ? Come, 
 don't be selfish, Talbot. Think of tis 
 
 We must not make a rebel of him," 
 said Mrs. Labouchere, excitedly. " No, 
 Mr. Talbot ; you shall go back to your 
 school, and be a good boy." 
 
 The Beauty had an instinct that the 
 company was laughing at him, but was 
 not quite sure. 
 
 The breakfast party then broke up. 
 
 Mr. Hardman was not reaping all the 
 glory and distinction he had counted on. 
 
56 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 His lordship was by no means as attentive 
 as he had expected. He had counted on 
 a certain homage to his long-headedness" 
 — not intimacy, which might come later. 
 But he would have liked consultation — e.g,^ 
 Here is Mr. Hardman, who knows more 
 than any of us ; Mr. Bolton here was 
 asking about the gold question, Mr. Hard- 
 man ; just give me your opinion on this 
 point. We are putting out some moneys 
 at interest." — This he would have liked, 
 though it rather pointed at 'Hhe shop." 
 But Lord Bindley seemed to pass him by, 
 and " not to have time " to consult him. 
 He was, indeed, utterly out of place in 
 the great house, among the great people, 
 and roamed about shy, and purposeless. 
 Ladies in the little scattered morning 
 rooms, as he prowled in and faded out, 
 said, — Here's this dreadful manufactur- 
 
Festivities at Bindley. 57 
 
 ing man again !" However, lie had one 
 satisfaction, a long morning in the library, 
 where he wrote many letters to people to 
 whom he would not otherwise have 
 written, all for the sake of the glorified 
 heading, '' Bindley^ near Ghester^^^ and also 
 for the postscript — " Be good enough to 
 direct to me here, where I shall be for a 
 few days — under cover to Lord Bindley.'^ 
 Most pleasant of all was it to write in 
 this strain to some of his business 
 friends ; after which, as he could not shoot, 
 nor walk far, and as his host did not think 
 fit to devote himself to showing the 
 grounds, gardens, &c., he became a sort 
 of wanderer, finally establishing himself, 
 in his gold glasses, in the library, over a 
 great and statesmanlike work. Somehow it 
 did not seem that his approach to the min- 
 isterial character was at all hastening on* 
 
58 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 The Beauty, in a sort of dream, had 
 wandered into the drawiug-room, bringing 
 with him all the savours of Araby. It 
 was a pleasure to the eye to see this 
 ' dainty man, or rather half man, among 
 the gilded appointments and bright stuffs 
 of that room. The ladies tolerated him, 
 and even the stately Louisa Mary, Coun- 
 tess of Seaman approved and pronounced 
 him an elegant creature." The Ladies 
 Mariner quite snubbed him, and literally 
 did not waste more than a couple of 
 
 no's " and yes's " on him, during their 
 whole stay. 
 
 A married man, forsooth ! One other 
 reason for the Countess's approba- 
 tion might have been her sudden dis- 
 like to that widow who had come among 
 them, and before whom she would almost 
 have paid money to have a red danger 
 
Festivities at Bindley. 
 
 59 
 
 signal carried, to warn off the men, or 
 have employed a spare daughter to nurse 
 her," as rival omnibus companies do. 
 She had called him to her side, and was 
 pleasantly chatting with him over some 
 
 dear Lady Minton," when Mrs. Labou- 
 chere appeared at the door in all the 
 coquetry of widowhood, and standing 
 there said, calmly, — 
 
 Oh, Mr. Talbot, about your song. 
 Will you come to the music-room?" 
 
 By that desertion, the Beauty lost for 
 ever the patronage of the Countess. 
 
 Mrs. Labouchere, without waiting for 
 his decision, had walked on down the 
 corridor, her face looking on the ground, 
 her hands joined behind. As she turned 
 the angle, she said, aloud and quite care- 
 less who heard her, — 
 
 Yes, that is my mission. It is too 
 
60 
 
 Beauty Talbot^ 
 
 tempting, and she herself has put him 
 into my hands." 
 
 There was no one in the music-room. 
 Would you redeem your promise," 
 she said, and sing me your song, calmly 
 and without the fuss of people listening 
 and talking ?" 
 
 The Beauty, enchanted, sat down and 
 sang, a little nervously, his favourite, 
 
 He gave one last and lingering smile." 
 She was not rapturous in praise, but 
 judicious. 
 
 It is good music, and I like it better 
 each time. Just one more, Mr. Talbot." 
 
 He gratified her with the one "now 
 on the stocks." 
 
 This," he said, " I am now compos- 
 ing. It is in rather a raw state ; but I 
 assure you no one else has heard it." 
 He also gave her " ideas " of others, 
 
Festivities at Bindley, 
 
 61 
 
 and, in short, spent a most delightful half- 
 hour. Suddenly she said, — 
 
 What a pity ! It is like a fatality, 
 and so hard on that good-natured Lord 
 Bindley. It is most unfortunate !" 
 
 ^^What, about the concert? 0, yes, 
 so provoking ! But you know I couldn't 
 
 well 0, they'd never forgive it, — 
 
 she and Livy. 0, out of the ques- 
 tion !" 
 
 How would any one think of asking 
 you ? Alas ! I once could put myself 
 in their place ; now I cannot. But we 
 owe something to Lord Bindley. Could 
 you not write to them ? Birthdays are 
 often postponed — kept on the day fol- 
 lowing ; and if you said you'd be at home 
 by the first train on Sunday morning, no 
 reasonable people " 
 
 Oh, I declare, yes !" cried the Beauty, 
 
62 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 in delight, on whom the dreadful sacrifice 
 had been weighing. 
 
 You must think it over," she said, 
 coldly ; and find some way of managing 
 it. In a house like this we are all bound 
 to make a few sacrifices, and at least, 
 an exertion. Would you mind singing 
 another song ? I have not heard a note 
 of music for months." So the Beauty 
 sang again. Such a happy morning it 
 proved for him. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 A DOUBT. 
 
 While the Beauty sings, we look across 
 the country to his pleasant home, through 
 the glasses of that little cabinet, where 
 are enshrined the two gentle female hearts. 
 Their eyes would pierce, if they could, all 
 the plantations, the hills, and mountains, 
 and towns that lay between them and 
 their darling. As it was, they filled up 
 many an hour, speculating as to what the 
 Beauty was busy with, how he was amus- 
 ing himself. They had a full and accurate 
 list of the company, as they thought, and 
 they knew there could be no danger. He 
 
64 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 was sure to be good friends with tliat old 
 Lady Seaman. The Woods were fussy, 
 but safe people. The Mariner girls would 
 not look at him." They were very happy 
 together, and could enjoy themselves, for, 
 to say the truth, the Beauty was rather 
 a heavy strain and responsibility. They 
 were not alone, for that good fellow, young 
 Hardman, was over with them morning, 
 noon, and night. He, too, had a great 
 deal off his mind ; for he had got leave 
 from his colonel, and had returned as soon 
 as the Towers was free. His honest ofood 
 will, his open devotion to Livy, increasing 
 every hour, made him a welcome visitor, 
 and before long, Mrs. Talbot saw what 
 was coming, just as the careless lounger, 
 standing by the water's edge, sees two 
 blocks of wood slowly, but surely, drifting 
 together. Livy was human, was a girl — 
 
A. Doubt 
 
 65 
 
 a tender, impulsive girl — though there 
 seemed to be an impression that she was 
 bound by a vow of almost conventual 
 celibacy. 
 
 Mrs. Talbot soon saw with a sigh that 
 her inclination to the young man could 
 not now be checked without much suffer- 
 ing and misery to both. There was also 
 her own enmity to that house ; but that 
 had gone into the past. The woman had 
 been routed. She was, besides, a widow", 
 and had bitterly atoned for any offences 
 in that way. So she could justly tolerate, 
 if not afford to look back with pity and 
 contempt. Livy herself, knowing towards 
 what a forbidden country she was straying, 
 yet to her so delightful and attractive, 
 kept her eyes turned away as she walked 
 on. It was so new and pleasant, if she 
 but dared. But her vocation seemed to 
 
 VOL. II. P 
 
6^ 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 lead her in another direction. How noble, 
 how generous, how " ofF-hand" and manly 
 he was, so tender and delicate, and yet 
 so bold and generous. He had that 
 natural simplicity, so charming in a man, 
 which to some has the air of egotism, from 
 teUing personal experiences ; but which, 
 indeed, only arises from a wish to please. 
 Now that he was relieved from the Upas 
 tree at home, that dreadful tree whose 
 branches were of Brummagem " metal, 
 and kept the bright sunlight from falling, 
 he seemed as happy as a child. 
 
 He was full of plans for their entertain- 
 ment, and it was he who suggested that 
 special journey to London, when all the 
 shops of the Mechi exploitation were to 
 be ransacked to choose a dressing-case 
 for the Beauty — a surprise for him on his 
 return. There were to be new ivory 
 
A Doubt. 
 
 67 
 
 brushes ; the others had, indeed, served 
 their full time, veterans that might go 
 into hospital. It was properly Mrs. 
 Talbot's office to receive such an offering ; 
 but transactions with the Beauty of this 
 description generally took the shape of 
 some trifle to her, to be compensated for 
 by something of ten times its worth to 
 him. The giving a present to her 
 amounted, in fact, to the giving one to 
 him. 
 
 They had some delightful days in 
 London, engaged in these exploring 
 parties, and at last a small ''chest" was 
 selected, stored with costly vessels for 
 holding all sorts of scented and greasy 
 things, with the Beauty's crest and 
 monogram^ peering out of an ambuscade 
 at every corner. The cost of this 
 sumptuous present was defrayed out of 
 
 F 2 
 
68 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 certain little savings put by for many 
 years, but which were not half so valuable 
 as the anticipated delight and surprise of 
 their Beauty. 
 
 During these days the young man has 
 been growing more and more sensible of 
 the sweet nature of Livy — more drawn to 
 her every hour. Mrs. Talbot had seen, and 
 seen again, and one night, when the 
 Beauty had been gone but three or four 
 days — her old fashionable heart seemed 
 to soften — the memory of the dear child's 
 devotion and unwearied labours in her 
 cause came back on her, and it seemed to 
 her it might now be time for all this to 
 
 ♦ 
 
 end ; so when she had sent Livy away on 
 some pretence she led the young man on 
 to speak of his attachment, which he did 
 with a delighted openness, enlarging on 
 his prospects and difficulties. 
 
A Doubt. 
 
 69 
 
 " My father will, of course, never agree 
 to it ; lie wishes me to buy — that is his 
 own word — some young girl who belongs 
 to some noble family. But I could not do 
 it, even if I had never seen your daughter. 
 It seems to me so mean, so base — 
 this trafficking in love and riches and 
 titles." 
 
 A faint tint came into her face ; for this 
 had been her old trade." He did not see 
 it, and went on — 
 
 Not that my father is to blame, as 
 that is the fashion after which he has 
 lived, and in which he was born. But I 
 have great friends who will push me on. 
 I know, too, that my sister was foolish 
 enough to offend you, but a heavy chas- 
 tisement has overtaken her, and she has 
 trials enough to punish her. You are too 
 generous to think any more of that,'' 
 
70 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 Mrs. Talbot was pleased. She liked 
 this boy ; she would not be sorry to 
 snatch him from among that corrupt set. 
 She spoke her mind frankly. 
 
 Our ideas change so strangely, I 
 cannot account for it. But still it will be 
 for the best, though I thought we never 
 could bring ourselves to part with her. 
 But still she has done so much for us — 
 she has been a joy in the house — that I 
 must not be too selfish, but must at last 
 think of her." 
 
 0, how good and kind of you," the 
 young man cried in a rapture. But 
 you shall not lose her. We shall always 
 be with, or near, you. I shall get some 
 place close by, and we shall be so 
 happy." 
 
 The colour came into our Livy's face 
 when she was told of this proposal. 
 
A Doubt 
 
 71 
 
 She could hardly believe her senses. It 
 seemed to her so natural that the old 
 arrangement — the old watch-dog " ar- 
 rangement — should go on until she 
 became old or died. Such a sacrifice 
 seemed to her but the natural order. 
 Within that same order it seemed unac- 
 countable that her dream of such things 
 should be accepted. 
 
 This news was to be a surprise for the 
 Beauty when he returned. Of course his 
 consent would have to be asked in a 
 formal way — a courtesy that was due ; 
 but his ways " were so well known by 
 this time that, as conjurors can extract 
 any wine named from the wonderful bottle, 
 so could they extract any answer they 
 pleased from their Beauty. He would, 
 indeed, find an inconvenience in the loss 
 of that indefatigably affectionate girl. 
 
72 
 
 Beauty Talbot, 
 
 They had now all but planned the 
 wedding ; for a kind of soft anticipation, 
 and even romance, seemed to fill Mrs. 
 Talbot. She spoke a great deal of being 
 ''unselfish;" and, indeed, it seemed to 
 have flashed on her suddenly that, after 
 all, it was only fitting that her daughter 
 should enter on the same course as she 
 herself had done. As for Livy, this 
 gracious enfranchisement was something 
 too charming. She would otherwise have 
 never let either thought enter her gentle 
 brains. It was as though she was a child 
 enlarged into a garden, among the flowers. 
 It was so with her young lover, though 
 he trembled as he thought of his rough 
 and rude father. Indeed, if a strict 
 analysis had been made of Mrs. Talbot's 
 motives, some such earthy sediment as 
 this — a satisfaction in frustrating his 
 
A Doubt. 
 
 73 
 
 schemes — would liave been found precipi- 
 tated at the bottom. 
 
 One evening Dick had dined with them, 
 as usual, when the carrier arrived with 
 a small chest. This was the Mechian 
 present, sent down from London, all 
 furnished and glorious. There was great 
 delight in opening and laying out these 
 noble trophies — brushes, pots, &c. — each 
 of which was splendid with a most compli- 
 cated monogram. 
 
 There were actual cries of joy ; but 
 louder than the cries were the anticipations 
 — how delighted the Beauty would be ! 
 how enchanted ! for he had not the re- 
 motest conception that so costly a present 
 was in store for him. Usually it took the 
 shape of a little two-guinea jewel case for 
 his studs, rings, &c. ; now that of studs 
 and rings themselves ; but this was some- 
 
74 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 thing gigantic— as the resources of the 
 two women were somewhat strained — and 
 was in the nature of a premium for a good 
 boy, which Mr. Talbot had exhibited him- 
 self to be for so many years ^ 
 
 Just as the treasure had been put by, 
 and the raptures were over, the postman's 
 ring was heard ; and Livy, starting up, 
 as was her custom, flew to take in the 
 letter. She came back holding it up in 
 triumph. It was from the Beauty — his first 
 letter. 
 
 " And to me, mamma ; and such a long 
 one." 
 
 To you V repeated the mother. " How 
 very strange !" 
 
 The daughter's pleasure made it seem 
 only delightful to her. It was opened, and 
 found to be amazingly long for the 
 Beauty. It ran : — 
 
A Doubt. 
 
 75 
 
 " Deaeest L1VY5 
 
 I got your letter, and was glad to 
 hear that you and mamma are so well. 
 We are all very pleasant in this house, 
 which is full of people, and very nice 
 people too. They are all so civil to me, 
 asking me to sing ; and Lord Bindley 
 has got quite fond of The Last and 
 Lingering Smile," and asks for it every 
 night. They are delighted, too, with my 
 new song, and want me to publish it at 
 once ; so I think I shall, as soon as I can 
 get a moment of time to put it in shape. 
 There is to be a grand event upon Satur- 
 day next — a great concert, given to the 
 people round. Over one hundred and 
 fifty invited. Only think ! I have had 
 depidations coming to me to ask me to be 
 the leading tenor, and Lord Bindley is 
 quite serious about it, and will be out 
 
76 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 with us for ever. He says I will spoil his 
 concert, and he will have to give it up. I 
 really hardly know what to do, there is 
 such pressure brought to bear on one. 
 They think it so childish and unmeaning, 
 as it would only make the difference of a 
 day ; and they say I could get the first 
 train next morning, and be with you early. 
 Of course I told them I was pledged to 
 you, that I had never missed it once, 
 and could not do it for anything. So I 
 told them ; but they say that all the great 
 people — the queen, &c. — change about 
 their birthdays, according to convenience 
 — that is, the keeping of them. Of course 
 I shall go to you, as I said so ; but I am 
 in a most disagreeable fix, as Lord Bindley 
 thinks it ^ unmeaning' and ' ungracious.' 
 So a lady here said it had quite that air. 
 Of course it was not her view ; but she 
 
A Doubt. 
 
 77 
 
 said people would say that. However, I 
 am quite ready to do whatever you wish ; 
 and, of course, keep to what I said, at all 
 risks. 
 
 Ever, my dear Livy, yours, &c., 
 
 There was a silence after this letter was 
 finished ; and, indeed, Livy's voice grew 
 unsteady as she went on. She did not 
 give the latter part with quite the dramatic 
 enthusiasm and spirit with which she had 
 started. 
 
 "What does he mean?" said Mrs. Tal- 
 bot, looking about her. 
 
 " 0, mamma, dear ! to give up your 
 birthday — and the beautiful present you 
 got for him ! But," she added, seeing her 
 mother's hopeless face, "you see he is 
 coming ; yes, mamma, and with all that 
 
78 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 pleasure, as he says. 0, it is noble of 
 him !" 
 
 But he wishes to stay ! — he means to 
 stay. That is, he would think of it — of 
 abandoning us, who are always thinking 
 of him. 0, but it was folly — sheer folly ! 
 — and I deserve it." 
 
 Livy knew what her mother meant, and 
 was silent. 
 
 " This is always the way," Mrs. Talbot 
 went on, with characters of his sort. 
 Give them liberty but for a day, and they 
 lose their heads. So unkind, too, to give 
 us up for anything — for a song !" 
 
 " He will do nothing of the kind," Livy 
 said. " You see it is not dear Beauty who 
 speaks, but some of those people. They 
 have some object in keeping him. He 
 does sing that song so nicely !" 
 
 " Some object in keeping him ?" Mrs. 
 
A Doubt. 
 
 79 
 
 Talbot repeated, mecliaiiically, looking at 
 her daughter. ^' No doubt ; some foolish 
 girl has been flattering him. Well, he 
 must come back in spite of all his Lord 
 Bindleys." 
 
 Mrs. Talbot wrote an answer herself 
 that night. It ran : — 
 
 My deaeest Beauty, 
 We are delighted you are enjoying 
 yourself so much. We long to see you, and 
 we know that you are anxious to be with 
 us. Of course, when they know it is my 
 birthday, they will see you could not stay. 
 Livy and the ponies will be at the station 
 at nine, p.m. We have got a little pre- 
 sent, which we know you will be pleased 
 with ; and, besides, we have a bit of news to 
 surprise you with. So come quickly, dear, 
 and even before my birthday if you can." 
 
80 
 
 Beauty Talbot, 
 
 After this letter had been despatched, 
 Livy somehow felt that her mother was 
 very grave and troubled. The mother 
 and daughter had a longer talk that night 
 than usual, and the mother's last words 
 were, "It was a folly for him to go at 
 all. Some foolish girl has been flattering 
 him." 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 " THE PEOPER THING TO DO." 
 
 Everyone at Bindley pronounced it was 
 a most delightful " time- — that nothing 
 could be more charming than Lord Bind- 
 ley himself. That concert, too ! It was 
 such a capital notion, that of giving a 
 concert. The versatile Miss Malcolms — 
 who had what is called a hearty will " 
 for anything, and if necessary would have 
 gone in for prizes at a gymnastic festival ; 
 anything, in short, so as to keep up " 
 matters — were contributing themselves 
 in the most ingenious variety of shapes, 
 
 A Duett (Scotch)," by the Sisters Mai- 
 
 VOL. II. G 
 
82 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 colm; ^'A Solo/' by the elder Sister 
 Malcolm; Ditto/' by the younger; 
 
 Duett (English)/' by the Sisters Mal^ 
 colm. They were, in theatrical parlance, 
 
 general utility " girls, and would take 
 any part in social life, from a singing, 
 flirting girl, to a demure maiden. Another 
 gentleman had consented to take a part " 
 
 — one Mr. X , as the French call one 
 
 of the insignificants, and who indeed has 
 no more need to have a name to trouble 
 others to remember him by, than one of 
 the stage soldiers who carries a banner 
 need be known to the leading player. 
 What was a little thing at first, had grown 
 by a sort of consent into something of 
 great anxiety and interest. The Con- 
 cert " was on all minds. They had all 
 set their souls on the hazard of the die. 
 The Woods were on horseback — socially 
 
The Proper Thing to doJ^ 
 
 83 
 
 speaking — day and night. The invitations 
 had gone out, and the rehearsals were in 
 progress. There was Mr. Talbot — but 
 the Woods, inspired, we may suppose, 
 by Mrs. Labouchere, had given out that 
 he was not to be asked or worried ; it 
 was to be assumed that he could not re- 
 main. With a curiously meaning " man- 
 ner, Lord Bindley adopted this tone, and 
 gave it to be understood that " he did not 
 wish Talbot to be pressed and the servile 
 crowd carried out the instruction with 
 delight — nay, rather bettered it ; for 
 they felt they were admitted to a sort of 
 companionship in mystery — a thing in 
 which weak natures hug themselves. 
 
 The concert was in every mouth. The 
 invitations were out, and even the local 
 paper had a paragraph about the dis- 
 
 G 2 
 
84 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 tinguished galaxy of talent now assembled 
 at Bindley." 
 
 The Beauty alone did not share in the 
 general enthusiasm. He went moping " 
 about — gloomy, uncomfortable, and much 
 troubled in mind. 
 
 The post brought him Mrs. Talbot's 
 letter, and he read it with fresh discom- 
 fort. 
 
 I knew it," he said to himself. " Just 
 like them. Think of nothing hut themselves 
 —so selfish !" 
 
 This from him to those two faithful, 
 hard-working women, whose hands had 
 been under his feet ! 
 
 '^All my little enjoyments interfered 
 with in this way. Of course, I'll have 
 to give it up. It's always the way — al- 
 ways !" 
 
 Never was man so treated, never did 
 
" The Proper Thing to do^ 
 
 85: 
 
 schoolboy so pout and glower ; and in 
 this mood did Mrs. Labonchere find him. 
 He told her, reluctantly. 
 
 What, they won't let you off?" 
 ^^0, no. She expects me; — that is, 
 she doesn't seem to see any need of my 
 staying. I'm sure I don't understand 
 why." 
 
 0, if you don't, we can't," she said, 
 laughing, Your case is a very hard one, 
 Mr. Talbot. You should get up an agita- 
 tion, and lay it all before the public, who, 
 I am sure, would support you." 
 
 " I am sure they would," the Beauty 
 answered, with perfect gravity. The 
 only thing I have set my heart on — that 
 I would give mj eyes for !" 
 
 " It is very unfortunate ; but they can't 
 be so hard-hearted. Did you put it well 
 before^them ?" 
 
86 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 Tliere was a sort of scoflB.ng tone in 
 all this ; but it led him on. 
 
 "Yes, of course I did. Any one else 
 would have agreed." 
 
 " And they won't allow you ? — won't 
 give their consent ? I don't know which 
 to wonder at most — their stern despotism, 
 or your unswerving obedience. Why, 
 such a husband as you should reside at 
 the British Museum, to be shown to the 
 good rustics from the country." 
 
 The Beauty coloured. 
 
 " 0, it is very easy to turn anything 
 into ridicule — very." 
 
 " Turn into ridicule ?" she said, with 
 a sharp, stern look, from which he shrank. 
 " Pray, what do you mean ? I would 
 only do that to an enemy. Do you mean 
 that I have been turning you into ridi- 
 cule ?" 
 
The Proper Thing to do'' 87 
 
 The Beauty stammered, 0, not ex- 
 actly." 
 
 ^^ISTot exactly!" she repeated. "But 
 yes, exactly. Then let me explain, Mr. 
 Talbot, since you do not understand. What 
 I meant was, that it seemed a great contrast 
 to the behaviour of our habitual lords 
 and masters, who do not submit so im- 
 plicitly to the rule of a wife and daughter. 
 It seems a sort of phenomenon. Even at 
 a distance their authority seems to extend. 
 It is quite interesting to see it." 
 
 " 0, there is no authority, and that sort 
 of thing," said the Beauty, colouring. 
 "You are so clever, you know, and you 
 like hitting at people." 
 
 " Like hitting at people ! Well, you 
 should not say that ! What I said was 
 all in your own interest, to save you 
 from remarks and speeches, and from 
 
88 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 furnishing amusement. However, I meet 
 the usual return. That stroke was a 
 little unkind of you, Mr. Talbot." 
 
 "I didn't mean — indeed no/' he said, 
 in confusion. But what I wanted to 
 say was, I could do as I liked — like every 
 man. As to their laughing — ^" 
 
 Laughing ! — oh, no, I did not say 
 that. But I merely meant a friendly 
 part. However, I shall give no more 
 advice now to any one." 
 
 Why do you speak in that way ?" said 
 the Beauty, pettishly. I am sure 1 can't 
 please every one. 0, I should so like to 
 stay ! But then they will make such a fuss 
 and worry. They take things so seriously, 
 really a man doesn't know what to do." 
 
 ^^Oh, a man could know," said Mrs. 
 Labouchere, seriously ; " if he only thought 
 a little, he would not need anyone's 
 
The Proper Tiling to do.'' 89 
 
 advice. In the present instance you are 
 Lord Bindley's guest. He is your host — 
 lie is a man of rank, and he asks this 
 trifle. I tell you freely you are bound 
 to put aside any litfcle domestic matters 
 about birthdays, and the like. It seems 
 childish and old-fashioned. You asked me ; 
 so I speak plainly." 
 
 The Beauty had some very miserable 
 thoughts, saying to himself it was cruel 
 and scandalous, and that he wouldn't 
 put up with it. 
 
 Mr. Wood now came dashing up, and 
 flung himself from his foaming steed — that 
 fanciful one we have spoken of. 
 
 Here, Talbot," he said, I am send- 
 ing to the printers. Here, will you sing 
 or not ? Yes or no." 
 
 0, I am sure I should so like — but I 
 can't say at — " 
 
90 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 " O5 then, you won't. We can't keep 
 the bills waiting. And by the way I must 
 tell you, Talbot, his Lordship thinks he 
 has not been treated fairly in this matter. 
 Every one else helps cheerfully and makes 
 sacrifices, but vou are makino; all this fuss. 
 Best go to him openly, and tell him your 
 wife won't allow it — " 
 
 There is nothing of the kind," said 
 the Beautv, ready to crv almost. ''That 
 is some story they have got up. I am not 
 such a fool, I could stay at any mo- 
 ment." 
 
 " Then show that you can stay ; and 
 that will dispose of all such ill-natured 
 remarks," said she. 
 
 The Beauty was quite put out." He 
 had a gfood deal of the ill-nature of a 
 monkey, or of the spoiled child 
 
 " You say that rather spitefully, as if 
 
" The Proper Thing to ch:' 91 
 
 you wanted to annoy me ; but I could 
 give a reason for it, Mrs. Labouchere." 
 
 Her haughty, cold stare, accompanied 
 with a drawing up of the figure, he did 
 not soon forget. 
 
 Go on," she said ; explain what you 
 mean." 
 
 ^'0 nothing," he faltered almost; in- 
 deed, nothing," 
 
 ^' That is, you would withdraw your 
 speech. As you please, Mr. Talbot. There 
 are some who would not quite like that 
 story to be revived. However, the m- 
 tention was not generous on your side, Mr. 
 Talbot — a little unkind, as return for my 
 taking interest in your concerns. Sing 
 and compose your ballads for the future. 
 Give a thousand Mast and lingering 
 smiles.' I shall never interfere." 
 
 With this she passed on, leaving the 
 
92 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 Beauty dreadfully ashamed of himself, and 
 full of compunction. Up comes Lord 
 Bindley. 
 
 Oh, Talbot, sorry you're leaving us ; 
 can't get leave, eh ? Never mind these 
 fellows laughing a bit. You're quite right 
 to be a decent husband ; and don't mind 
 us now, — for, what do you say. Miss 
 Malcolms have found us out a tenor, and 
 they are going to telegraph for him ?" 
 
 A thousand emotions rushed on the 
 Beauty. He felt himself called on to act. 
 It was absurd, ridiculous — putting him 
 into such a position ; he could hardly 
 forgive himself for having put himself into 
 such a position. All doubt was gone, 
 and, without hesitation, he answered, — 
 
 " 0, I intend to stay, if you will 
 allow me ; and do my best for the con- 
 cert." 
 
" The Proper Thing to do,'' 93 
 
 ''Capital!" said Lord Bindley. ''Now 
 everything is going well. Ah, here's 
 Wood, just in time. Well, he'll stay, 
 Wood." 
 
 Wood had his hand full of papers. 
 
 " Ah, I knew he would. Then come 
 this way, Talbot, and give me the exact 
 titles of your songs for the printers. His 
 lordship will excuse you." 
 
 " Yes, go with Wood." 
 
 It was delightful — too exciting. Going 
 with Wood, he set down the " ' Last and 
 Lingering Smile,' ballad; music by A. 
 Talbot, Esq.," his pulse fluttering. 
 
 There was a sensation through the 
 house — a kind of difl*used joy. (So it 
 seemed to the Beauty.) 
 
 " We hear you have consented to stay, 
 Talbot. His lordship feels quite indebted 
 to you," said one, coming up to him 
 
94 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 later. Then, dropping his voice, — We 
 shan't forget it to you; and you have 
 done the proper thing. I said it to him." 
 
 The Beauty began to consider himself 
 quite a hero. He was in a tumult of 
 delight. Everybody was so good, so 
 kind, so charming. This dandified Rip 
 Van Winkle had awakened from his long 
 sleep, and was walking through the village 
 - — wondering, and delighted at all he saw. 
 Here was Mendelssohn Jackson, organist 
 and local teacher, to whom his lordship 
 had entrusted the direction of the concert, 
 looking for him. Mendelssohn Jackson 
 was a composer himself, and had written 
 ^^The Soldier's Grave," with other ballads 
 well-known- — among his pupils. Would 
 Mr. Talbot favour him with half an hour, 
 to try over his song ? 
 
 Mendelssohn Jackson was a character 
 
The Proper Thing to do^ 95 
 
 in his way, whose aim in hfe was to strike 
 out some obsequious compromise between 
 the gentleman and the music-master— that 
 odiously low designation. He drew the 
 line between himself and the common 
 fellows of the profession, " grinders," 
 as he pleasantly called the men that 
 carry the hod, you know." Had he been 
 willing to carry the hod, he might have 
 made a good deal of money; but his 
 wish to be considered an equal of genteel 
 people made him submit to some heavy 
 sacrifices, and to a system of heavy sacri- 
 fices — these persons having condescension 
 enough to avail themselves of his gra- 
 tuitous services. He had been delighted 
 when Lord Bindley had placed the whole 
 affair under his direction, as so many of 
 his pupils learned, when he looked hur- 
 riedly at his watch. 
 
96 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 " Bless me — must be off to Bindley — 
 take a fly — pay the man double — some 
 good talent there — a voice that I could 
 make something of. Clever girls, those 
 Malcolms." 
 
 His demeanour to Mr. Talbot was 
 characteristic. 
 
 " What is this ?" he said, at the piano, 
 opening the music leisurely. ' Give him 
 a lingering smile.' Tum-tum-ti — nice, 
 and pretty — melody flows. You should 
 have a diminished seventh there, that 
 would have brought you back again. 
 Very nice ! There, of course, you l;ave 
 the burden. I can tell you, there are 
 some of the hod men, in the big village 
 yonder, get their twenty guineas — for — 
 queer stuff*, compared with this. Mortar, 
 eh ? — and bad mortar, too. As for that 
 woman, Florizel — not music — not a note 
 
The Proper Thing to do^ 
 
 97 
 
 of music in all she writes. Well, let us 
 see. Suppose we begin now." 
 
 And tlie Beauty went through his ditty, 
 to a sotto voce accompaniment. 
 
 Fairly done. Open your mouth." 
 Then Mendelssohn Jackson got out his 
 gold pencil-case. 
 
 Think we could do a little macadamis- 
 ing here. There, that turn would be 
 more the thing, more singable, you know. 
 There again, there seems to be something 
 short. We must make sense, you know. 
 Let me see — hm — that will be better." 
 
 0 but, you know, that spoils the 
 whole effect. I didn't mean that^^ said 
 the Beauty, much hurt. 
 
 Well, as you like ; you know it must 
 balance. However, I dare say it won't be 
 noticed. The rustics haven't wit enough 
 to find it out." 
 
 VOL. II. H 
 
98 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 The director of the concert, later, spoke 
 with different voices of this production. 
 It was fair and singable," without pre- 
 tension, and Talbot was a gentlemanly 
 fellow. To others of his friends, he in- 
 veighed against the scandal of setting 
 him down — him, Mendelssohn Jackson — 
 to play that fellow's trash. The tw^addle 
 that he had strummed out on his piano." 
 To his lordship he spoke in high com- 
 mendation, especially when his lordship 
 praised himself. Yes, I think I know 
 a good thing ; the moment I heard his 
 voice I picked him out. I said, that 
 will take, that will hit with the public. 
 Yet I have never gone to school in music, 
 eh, Jackson ! What I want is to show 
 'em that I can get up the best music in 
 the country when I like !" 
 
 After this excitement, the responsibility 
 
The Proper Thing to do^ 99 
 
 of the heavy step he had taken began to 
 weigh on the Beauty. At all events, he 
 would dismiss it for that day. That night 
 there was the rehearsal. Greater excite- 
 ment still in the Grrand Hall when a few 
 of the tenants' wives and daughters, and 
 all the servants were admitted. It went 
 off admirably. Our Beauty was in Para- 
 dise — soft light, softer clouds seemed to 
 be floating about him ; everybody was 
 kind, good, charming, and romantic. He 
 was the old self back again, the same 
 figure of his youth, which he had often 
 looked back on, and which he thought 
 had faded out like an old photograph. 
 He sang his song "splendidly" to mut- 
 tered accompaniment from Mendelssohn 
 Jackson! take time — now collect your- 
 self, softer, softer, &c." Sometimes the 
 eminent director stopped a piece in the 
 
 H 2 
 
100 Beauty Talbot 
 
 middle, " Never do, never do. Try back 
 to — let me see — to five, six, seven bars, 
 to where the tempo primo comes in." 
 
 Thus interrupted in the Scotch duet, 
 the sisters Malcolm began to show signs 
 of ill blood. " Now, hurry on. Won't 
 do, excuse me. Not the thing at all. I 
 heard those Bosioni girls sing it at Exeter 
 Hall ; a little more of the ' setting one's 
 cap ' style, you know. Now try again." 
 Again were the sisters pursuing a tortuous 
 path in thirds " like two performers on 
 velocipedes, twisting and winding in 
 parallel lines. Again Mr. Jackson jerked 
 the rein. " Won't do, still." One of the 
 young ladies' cheeks began to glow — the 
 vouno'er's nose. " We had better not 
 sing it at all," one said ; " or please let us 
 sing it our way." 
 
 ''With all my heart," and thereupon 
 
" The Proper Thing to do." 101 
 
 — i 
 
 Mr. Jackson allowed his bands to stray 
 very wildly over the keys, now taking a 
 spasm forward like a shying horse, and 
 dragging the young ladies with him; now 
 "jibbing" unaccountably, and not to be 
 got on at all. It was always a foolish 
 thing to offend Mendelssohn Jackson, 
 people said, he had so much in his 
 power." 
 
 Lord Bindley took great credit for the 
 proceedings, and with a wise air, " though 
 he hadn't a note of music in him," de- 
 clared that he was determined to have 
 good music at that house. But our 
 Beauty, thrilled and fluttered like a young 
 debutante — he was the new tenor " whom 
 Lord Bindley had found out. 
 
 After it was over, Mrs. Labouchere was 
 the first to come up and congratulate the 
 blushing performer. ''You were angry 
 
102 Beauty Talbot 
 
 — • — 
 
 with me, to-day, because I spoke candidly, 
 and in your interest. You set me doivn, 
 too." 
 
 ''ir said the delighted Beauty. ''1 
 set you down ! No, indeed." 
 
 No, indeed. How many years was it 
 since the Beauty had been accused of 
 setting any one down ? Most acceptable 
 flattery. 
 
 •'^ But you liked the song — it was your 
 choosing." 
 
 Liked it!" repeated Mrs. Labouchere, 
 without adding a word more ; perhaps 
 the briefest, as the most satisfactory, 
 shape of commendation known. It is all 
 in the inflection, and does admirably for 
 the common chroniclers of small beer, 
 though the woman of intelligence coldly 
 asks, Well, but what did vou think of 
 it ?" 
 
The Proyer Thing to do^ 103 
 
 T knew you would not be sorry to 
 stay. 0, you could hardly have done 
 anything else." 
 
 " You think so ?" said the Beauty. 
 0, not J, but everyone. Lord Bind- 
 ley seems to think you have laid him 
 under an obligation. Of course, something 
 must be put to his vanity ; for he boasts 
 that he has discovered a new tenor, which 
 he could not have done had you gone 
 away. You sang well to-night." 
 
 The delighted Beauty looked at her with 
 great interest and gratitude. 
 
 How kind of you to say this, to en- 
 couraoje me !" 
 
 " We know, too, what a little sacrifice 
 you have made," she added, smiling ; 
 
 not only in giving up your treat at 
 home, but in boldly facing a certain sort 
 of greeting that awaits you there." 
 
104 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 Uneasiness came into his face. 
 I am sure I don't care/' he said ; it 
 is nothing to me." 
 She shook her head. 
 I am a woman, and know what I 
 should think of such treatment. But 
 were I a man, I know what I should do." 
 
 This Beauty could be played upon like 
 a fiddle. 
 
 ^^What? Tell me — do," he said, 
 eagerly. 
 
 "What all men of the world — states- 
 men, soldiers — do when they have some- 
 thing awkward or disagreeable before 
 them — do it boldly, as if it was a matter 
 of course. I naturally do not understand 
 what special relations you may have to 
 your family, but I may assume that 
 you enjoy average liberty ; that you do 
 not live a Polish husband under a 
 
" The Prosper Thing to do.^^ 105 
 
 Russian wife ; that in this nineteenth 
 century there is not in England to be 
 found so comic a state of things as that 
 the head of a house could not outstay his 
 
 leave a day " 
 
 Again the Beauty was blushing and 
 getting flustered. 
 
 No," she went on ; " you have shown 
 that this cannot be said. Some might have 
 yielded to avoid feminine reproaches — 
 things to be always deprecated. Shall I 
 tell you a little passage from my own 
 history ? My husband was a soldier, and 
 when I was first married I thought he 
 loved me so, that I could make him do 
 what I pleased. One day he was absent 
 from dinner. I waited and waited until it 
 came to ten o'clock at night, and then he 
 returned. I burst out with a storm, of 
 reproaches and upbraidings, which he 
 
106 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 took most good-humouredly. This only 
 inflamed me more, and I reproached him 
 haughtily and bitterly. Then he looked 
 at me sternly. ' And what was the 
 reason ?' I said. ' A good one/ he said 
 bluntly ; ^ my will and pleasure. That 
 must do you now. Had you let me speak 
 at first, I should have told you every- 
 thing, and made you all apologies.' Prom 
 that moment he was my master. You 
 may smile at my telling you this ; but I 
 should like you to think me your friend. 
 And as you have saved us from a difficulty 
 here, we should not like you to have any 
 difficulty in return — though it is an 
 imaginary one." 
 
 The Beauty was touched by this sym- 
 pathy. 
 
 You see," he said, " I was only 
 thinking of the fuss they might make. 
 
 4^ 
 
The Proper Thing to do.'' 107 
 
 Every man hates fuss. Bat as for doing 
 
 as I like " 
 
 0 dear, no/' she said ; don't twist 
 my words that way. Do as you like, and 
 then T desert you. Savages, Hottentots, 
 do as they like, and a certain sort of hus- 
 band. No, don't do as you like. But Mr. 
 Talbot knows well the juste milieu.'' 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE GREAT CONCEET. 
 
 When she had gone, the Beauty went 
 to his room, and entering with great im- 
 portance, said aloud, " Really, most un- 
 reasonable !" On the table was a letter — 
 a letter from his Livy. 
 
 " My darltng Beauty, 
 This is a private letter from your own 
 Livy, and of which dear mamma knows 
 nothing. I fear those people may not let 
 you go, and indeed I do not wonder, as 
 our dear Beauty can make himself so 
 
The Great Concert. 109 
 
 agreeable. But she has set her heart on 
 your being back ; and 0 ! it would so mor- 
 tify her if you were not with her on her 
 birthday. She ouly thinks of you, and if 
 you but saw the lovely present she has got, 
 as a surprise ! It will delight you to see it. 
 But I know my dear papa will do what is 
 right, and heep to his promise, and he will 
 recollect that this was a sort of condition, 
 and I have just told mamma I would stake 
 my poor life on dear papa's keeping to his 
 word. 
 
 Your own, 
 
 " LlVY." 
 
 The Beauty tossed this down fretfully. 
 They will worry me to death !" 
 
 Alas ! the indiscreet little Livy had set 
 down a very foolish expression. Made it 
 a condition ! The little boy would not 
 
no 
 
 Beauty Talbot, 
 
 have been alloived out for his hohday if 
 they had thought this ! 
 
 This is rather too good.. I am not 
 quite a child. As Mrs. Labouchere says, 
 this is getting a little too much." 
 He sat down and wrote promptly: — 
 
 Deaeest L1YY5 
 I have just come from the rehearsal. 
 It went off* magnificently. I am afraid 
 . you and your mother do not exactly see 
 how I stand. Lord Bindley is my host, 
 and there is a certain courtesy due to him 
 when he makes a request. If you were 
 here, you would see this quite clearly. It 
 surely would be ridiculous, and it looks 
 absurd, that I should be ordered home to 
 the day, like a schoolboy. It is really 
 very unfortunate, and I have done my 
 best ; but I am not called on to appear 
 
The Great Concert. Ill 
 
 boorish or churlish^ or to spoil the whole 
 thing. My song at the rehearsal was the 
 great success of the night. Lord Bindley 
 calls me his tenor^ and says he found me 
 out. Everybody is so nice and kind, and 
 seems to take such an interest in me. 
 If I were to put my eyes upon sticks, 
 my dear Livy, I could not leave this ; 
 so this is final, and there is no use 
 writing me any ivorrying letters. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 He thought this an uncommon good 
 letter," and went down again to post it. 
 
 Mr. Hardman, who still led his pariah 
 life, and, in truth, never had spent so 
 dismal a time, came to him obsequiously.-— 
 
 You sing admirably, Mr. Talbot. His 
 lordship is quite pleased. I tell you what. 
 
112 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 you must come and stop with us at the 
 The Towers, and — er — we should try and 
 get up some music. We could ask those 
 Miss Malcolms." The Beauty was too 
 happy not to promise all and everything. 
 He was actually "getting engagements," 
 and there are people among the amateurs 
 who go about the country with their little 
 songs, quite delighted when their services 
 are secured. But the musical amateur 
 world is a microcosm in itself. 
 
 Mr. Hardman's tactics were highly 
 characteristic, and most people, after a few 
 minutes' conversation found it get round 
 rather to '^The Towers," on which the 
 owner would expatiate — then, trapped into 
 a conventional expression of praise, would 
 be surprised by an invitation — " We must 
 have you down at The Towers, if you 
 will do me that honour. We shall find 
 
The Great Concert. 
 
 113 
 
 means to amuse you, or rather, give you 
 the means, and let you amuse yourself. 
 That's my way." As for the host, he 
 openly expressed his dislike ^'What on 
 earth made me ask that dreadful man — he 
 is making life a burden. He sticks to me 
 like a burr." It was after dinner, how- 
 ever, when the ladies were gone, that Mr. 
 Hardman was unavoidable. Fixed in his 
 chair, a wooden figure, a white metal 
 cravat about his throat, he dealt in strange 
 pedantic discourse ; extracts from news- 
 papers. " I see in the Tirnes^ my lord ;" 
 — The Times, says, my lord," until at 
 last Lord Robert christened him Old 
 Times," by a happy flight of humour. 
 
 At home they were in a flutter of ex- 
 pectation. Mrs. Talbot was nervous and 
 ''put out." ''He will come, of course, 
 dearest," Livv said. 
 
 VOL. IT. I 
 
114 
 
 Beauty Talbot, 
 
 "Of course he will/' said her mother 
 haughtily ; " have I not required him. 
 He must." 
 
 It was a restless day, dragging its slow 
 length along, when towards evening a 
 strange instinct, which with affection 
 amounts almost to forecast, made her go 
 down to the post-office just before the post 
 came in. There she found her father's 
 letter. It came like a shock upon her. 
 " Then he will stay," she said. Oh ! what 
 dreadful thing is coming !" 
 
 A spectator might have smiled ; but in 
 their little world every little mist became 
 a cloud. His little flower for the prisoner 
 was more precious than the gardens of a 
 palace. She determined not to tell her 
 mother of the news, and this not tell- 
 ing" is the favourite resource of gentle 
 minds ; some shift or device — anything 
 
The Great Concert. 
 
 115 
 
 that will put off evil news, even a day — - 
 the bill- drawer's resource. All that even- 
 ing the mother made no remark; but 
 when they were going to bed, she said, 
 w^ith a deep sigh, He will not come. I 
 know he will not." 
 
 0, he will, dearest. I am sure he will. 
 At the last moment he will change, and — " 
 
 The mother turned on her. You know 
 something. What is he to change from ? 
 Tell me. You have heard." 
 
 Livy, poor little domestic hare, driven 
 to her form, had to give up her letter. 
 Her mother read it, returned it to her 
 calmly, and after a pause, said : 
 
 This is not his doing, some wretched 
 girl has been flattering him. His singing, 
 indeed!" but she checked herself; even 
 between the two she felt that old afi'ection- 
 ate deception must be carried out. 
 
 I 2 
 
116 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 Meanwhile, at Bindley, the great night 
 came round. Workmen had been turned 
 into the large dining-room, who had 
 erected a platform at the farther end. 
 The large auditorium, " so Mendelssohn 
 Jackson had christened it, was filled up 
 with rows upon rows of chairs. Flowers 
 had been arranged in front by his lord- 
 ship's gardener," and the whole had quite 
 a theatrical air. Lord Robert, who was 
 inclined to be merry with the whole, 
 remarked, — ^' I declare," he reported, 
 
 such a set of human steers ; such agri- 
 cultural broadbacks ! I was looking at 
 eyery man's shoulder to see the brand." 
 
 About Bindley there was rather a cattle 
 country. At eight punctually, his lordship 
 and party entered the hall, and took their 
 places in the " reserved seats " to a round 
 of applause. Then the programmes were 
 
The Great Concert 117 
 
 distributed^ of which we are enabled ta 
 subjoin a copy. 
 
 ETNDLEY CONCERT HALL 
 
 PATRON-THE LORD BINDLEY. 
 
 PARTE PRIMA. 
 
 " Blacksmith's Choeus," " II Trovatore," Verdi, 
 (Compressed by Mendelssohn Jackson.) 
 
 Duett. — Scotch. " Cam Lame wi' the Kye." 
 
 The Misses Malcolm. 
 
 Solo. "IlBalen" Verdi. 
 
 Me Bakee. 
 (Accompanied by Me. Mendelssohn Jackson.) 
 
 Solo. "Bindlina Yalse" . . Mendelssohn JacJcson- 
 (Aria con variazione, composta e dedicata al S. E. il 
 Conde di Bindley.) 
 
 CoRO. " Dal tuo Stellato" Rossini, 
 
 PARTE SECONDA, 
 
 CoEO. "Blow, G-entle Gales" .... Bishop, 
 Soli by the Misses Malcolm, Me. Talbot, Me. Bakee, 
 and Me. Mendelssohn Jackson. 
 
 Solo. G-ood bve, Sweetheart" .... Bishop, 
 Miss Geoegina Malcolm. 
 
 Solo. — Piano. " Caprice e Ricambole." 
 
 Dedie a son eleve, L' Honorable Giudetta Bindley, 
 par Mendelssohn Jackson. 
 
 Solo. " He Gave one Last and Lingering Smile" Talbot. 
 
 Me. Talbot. 
 
 Duett. " Now Glides Our Pretty Bark" . K. FreUes. 
 The Misses Malcolm. 
 
 Solo. " Let me Like a Soldier Fall." . . . Wallace. 
 (Transposed by Mendelssohn Jackson.) 
 Miss Malcolm. 
 
 Geande Einale. — " God Save the Queen." 
 
118 Beauty Talbot 
 
 Sucli was the bill of fare fluttering in 
 everyone's fingers. No wonder it was 
 said, You could hardly know it from a 
 real concert." From it might be gathered 
 the kind and unsparing way in which Mr. 
 Mendelssohn Jackson had thrown his 
 whole soul into the performance. He car- 
 ried it all through, arranging, compress- 
 ing, transposing, fitting everything to 
 everybody. How graceful, too, the little 
 compliments to the noble host and hostess : 
 things " just struck off" at a heat. And 
 after he had remarked at one of the last 
 rehearsals, Won't do, this; a want of go 
 and rattle. The thing drags somehow :" 
 he then went home, and knocked ofi* the 
 little effects in question. 
 
 Talking of the likeness to real concerts, 
 it was the more remarkable when the 
 singing ladies and gentlemen came in a 
 
The Great Goncert 
 
 119 
 
 sort of procession, " exactly like the pro- 
 fessionals/' rustling in silks, and sat in 
 a row. In this they were carefully drilled 
 by Mr. Mendelssohn Jackson, who made 
 them copy the precedent of the " Norwich 
 Festival" concerts, where he had once 
 assisted as " counter tenor." Thus it is, 
 and by exercise of a little thought, that 
 a sort of realism is imparted to what 
 w^ould otherwise be a loose and incoherent 
 performance. Well might Mr. Jackson 
 say afterwards, that "not for five times 
 five guineas" would he go through the 
 harrassing wear and tear of soul and body 
 undergone during that week. 
 
 That sneerer, Lord Robert, was almost 
 ungentlemanly in his remarks on the large 
 share which the director took in the per- 
 mance. " He is the concert. Take it up 
 and down, cross wise, any way, it is all 
 one tun<^ — Jackson." And indeed during 
 
120 Beauty Talbot 
 
 the performance Jackson was everywhere ; 
 now beating time ; now making a sudden 
 dart from the piano at a piece of mnsic ; 
 setting all going, setting all right. Next 
 to this indefatigable actor came the Misses 
 Malcolm, who laboured in the heats and 
 dews, and worked like horses." Amaz- 
 ing was it to see their self-possession 
 before that audience, their boldness in 
 standing up well to the front, their perfect 
 coolness and aplomb. The courage of 
 women is indeed truer courage than that 
 of men. The two sisters came forward 
 smiUng, clad the same, each with a pink 
 scarf garterwise across their chests, to 
 sing their piquant Scotch duett. Who did 
 not recal the words ? — 
 
 " The night is braw and bonnie, 
 The moon is shining clear, 
 And I gae forth sae gaily. 
 For my laddie is near. 
 For my laddie is near." 
 
The Great Concert. 
 
 121 
 
 The arcli way in which they nodded and 
 looked over their shoulders was truly 
 piquant, and led to a rapturous encore. 
 The spirit, too, with which Miss Malcolm 
 gave her dashing song, Let me like a 
 Soldier fall," at the end waving her music 
 as if it was a sword, led to a deserved 
 recal. As for Mendelssohn Jackson's own 
 little things," how he set down the 
 music stand, threw open the piano, 
 wheeled it to an angle, drew in his 
 chair, looked up to the ceiling a moment 
 in thought, as if to recover lost inspira- 
 tion ; such tokens of genius were all 
 noted and admired. But we all know how 
 Mendelssohn Jackson and his brethren 
 behave on such occasions. 
 
 The first chord ''dug" vigorously into 
 the clay of the piano ; the gay canter to 
 the top ; the pause ; the gentle riding 
 
122 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 motion of the figure ; the sweetly smiling 
 and bowing in pleasant recognition to the 
 back of his hands as they go through 
 their labour ; their leaps into the air ; their 
 clearing of each other, like clowns on all 
 fours, who are fond of going over each 
 other in this way : have we not seen this 
 at a hundred concerts of more pretension 
 than the Bindley one ? But we are ap- 
 proaching the event of the night. 
 
 Pleased as they had been, that rustic 
 audience had been instructed that the 
 noble host had something in reserve, with 
 which he desired they should be far more 
 pleased. The new tenor !" How that 
 sound fluttered about. 
 
 They are asking which is the new 
 tenor ; to point him out ; and of course I 
 did," said Mrs. Labouchere, coming up to 
 him about five minutes before his song. 
 
The Great Concert. 
 
 123 
 
 He was sitting in 'Hlae green room" 
 — so called — not nervous, but in a dream- 
 ing state of excitement. 
 
 You will do it admirably, I see," she 
 went on; ^^and if you bring tlie house 
 down, I shall claim some share in the 
 credit. I think it was I who urged you- — 
 urged you — well, on your wild career." 
 
 '^Indeed, yes," said the Beauty, warmly. 
 
 But for you I should not be here now." 
 
 A curious smile answered and encour- 
 aged him, 
 
 " You have been very kind and good, 
 and taken much trouble with me. Indeed^ 
 Mrs. Labouchere, I shall not forget it." 
 
 At such and at kindred moments — as 
 during an amateur play — we can take the 
 whole world to our bosom. Every one 
 is my dear boy " or girl, and a certain 
 epanchemerit de coeur is pardonable. There 
 
124 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 was even a tremble in the Beauty's voice 
 as lie spoke. She looked majestic and 
 splendid, in velvet and diamonds; haughty 
 as Grisi in ''Norma;" despising the whole 
 thing, save the one solitary portion in 
 which she had interested herself. 
 
 '' I have come from my room solely to 
 hear you sing/' she went on, '' I feel such 
 a restless interest in it. There, here comes 
 that man to tell you all is ready. Now, 
 courage. Think of me at your first bar." 
 
 It was Mr. Jackson tramping in, 
 ''Where's Mr. Talbot? Where's your 
 song ? Audience is waiting. Come." 
 And taking it up, he led the way. 
 
 When the Bindley audience saw the soft 
 features, the divided black hair, and the 
 glossy, oiled moustache of the Beauty, 
 his faultless and lady-like linen, and even 
 inhaled the cloud of perfume that floated be 
 
The Great Concert. 
 
 125 
 
 fore him, they were filled with enthusiasm, 
 and greeted the interesting performer 
 with a round of enthusiastic applause. 
 It was really the same as when, after town 
 profusely " billed " and newspaper-para- 
 graphed, and a shower of puffs, and talk 
 and whispers, and suggested disappoint- 
 ment, we have seen, and often seen, the 
 well-heralded artist enter on the platform. 
 Then we see, as it were, bills and puffs 
 and whispers all concentrated in the 
 bowing figure before us, and it becomes 
 heroic. So was it with the Beauty. He 
 was the hero of the night. 
 
 Mendelssohn Jackson, after a few care- 
 less chords, struck into the symphony, 
 playing the air with intense expression, 
 only drawing it out to a degree that made 
 the Beauty uncomfortable. Then the 
 Beauty began, faltering a little at first, 
 
126 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 but getting courage. His voice was clear 
 and tender, though, like that of con- 
 science, a still, small one." The teach- 
 ing and tutoring of Mendelssohn Jackson, 
 half contemptuous, had not been thrown 
 away. He really gave a gentlemanlike, 
 inoffensive, and in parts, effective render- 
 ing of the famous ballad ; and when, after 
 hovering suspended over the edge, for the 
 prescribed time — 
 
 " One last and lin-G'EiNG . . . ." 
 
 he finally leaped and lighted on his feet, 
 in the word " smile," on which he died 
 off" softly and sadly, down came a volley 
 of applause, with an irresistible demand 
 for an encore ; for which, indeed, the 
 signal came from his lordship, who was 
 seen smiling, pleased, and delighted, and 
 lieard to whisper to his neighbour, 
 
The Great Concert 127 
 
 knew he'd do." Club friends in town 
 wondered afterwards as tliey heard Bind- 
 ley laying down the law on musical 
 matters, with a very critical air ; a per- 
 son who np to that had about as much 
 music in him as a carpenter's saw in 
 good work." It was a sweet and most 
 delightful moment ! — paradisal ! — some- 
 thing to have dreams of, something that 
 might never come back again. 
 
 So it seemed to him that night when 
 the concert was over, when he was 
 receiving the gentle spray of compliments 
 showered on him, figure succeeding figure. 
 '^Such a treat, Mr. Talbot." Such a 
 charming voice." One such note kept 
 pouring into his ear. 
 
 I cannot tell you the eflfect produced ; 
 everybody is talking of it. They should 
 give me a testimonial, * surely. Ah, if I 
 
128 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 had only known you long ago ! What 
 time wasted, what glories lost ! Here 
 you are a public man. A change, indeed, 
 from the hermit-like life you have been 
 leading. How many years now ?" 
 
 ^'Indeed, it is a long, longtime," said 
 the Beauty. 
 
 " I often think how many men of genius 
 are thus forced to live a mole-like ex- 
 istence—underground, as it were. It is 
 not rio-ht — it should not be — it is wastins: 
 the precious blessings of heaven. Be a 
 monk, if you please ; but then do it 
 regularly : choose your convent, and get 
 professed. But do not act after this lay 
 fashion," said Mrs. Labouchere. 
 
 Strange thoughts were flitting through 
 the Beauty's mind. Yes, he had led a 
 curious, unsatisfactory life. How was it 
 that he was so misunderstood at home ? 
 
The Great Concert. 
 
 129 
 
 Here, the very first opportunity of his 
 enlargement, he was raised to the pinnacle 
 of social celebrity. 
 
 Now comes up Lord Bindley, rather 
 excited. 
 
 My dear Talbot, a word with you ; 
 we must not let this drop. Having found 
 a mine — ha. ha ! — I am not ^oino^ to let 
 it go unworked. I have a royalty in you, 
 my dear fellow — ha, ha ! See, we are 
 going to repeat this concert ; it has been 
 really such a great success, and you 
 are re-engaged for Wednesday. So no 
 thouo-hts of o'oing: home." 
 
 The Beauty's cheeks flushed with plea- 
 sure. 
 
 See what it is to become a public 
 man," said Mrs. Labouchere. Publicity 
 has its duties as well as its rio-hts. There 
 will be no escaping from this." 
 
 VOL. IT. K 
 
180 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 The Beauty began excuses, but they 
 would not be listened to. It was charm- 
 ing — delightful • — too exquisite. Kindly 
 faces on all sides crowding round ; all 
 pressing, entreating — imploring, was it ? 
 — that he should remain. What could he 
 do, a public man ? In his place, what 
 would any one do ? It was wrung from 
 him : he would see in the morning. He 
 would do what he could. Sweet, sweetest 
 night ! 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 UNDECIDED. 
 
 A WEARY day, though, for the two 
 ladies far away. It drew on heavily from 
 morn till midday, from midday till dusk, 
 still with hopes that he would at last 
 return. They clung to that hope, as 
 everyone does in that wonderful way for 
 which there is no analoofv — from the 
 sentenced criminal downwards. At last it 
 grew dark, and drew oh to the hour when 
 the concert was beginning. They did not 
 venture on the step of sending the carriage 
 to the station, for they knew a porter 
 could be sent up to the house for it. But 
 
 iv 2 
 
132 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 the long night dragged on ; all Livy's 
 little shifts and devices in the way of ex- 
 cuse or defence of the culprit, broke down. 
 
 You don't think," said her mother, 
 almost passionately, that I mind his 
 staying a day, or days even, at any 
 country house ? I am not such a foolish 
 creature. But I know what this means — 
 of what it is the certain beginning. His 
 poor head has been turned by some girl's 
 praise. You see how he spoke of his 
 song." 
 
 Indeed, no," said Livy, warmly ; he 
 will tell the whole thing to us to-morrow 
 morning. You will see, dear. Oh, it is 
 a trifle — not worth thinking of ; fifty gen- 
 tlemen would do the same. When he 
 comes in the morning — " 
 
 Come ! Oh, yes, he must come in 
 the morning. But who knows?" 
 
Undecided. 
 
 133 
 
 Livy looked a little wild at this supposi- 
 tion, and it attended Iter to her room that 
 night, and waited on her during the night, 
 like an ugly sight. What if he should 
 not come in the morning ? 
 
 This may all seem ludicrous enough — 
 a social puddle in a storm ; but from these 
 two hearts proceeded two fibres that joined 
 the Beauty's noble figure, and which any 
 motion of his caused to vibrate, and almost 
 to jangle. 
 
 In the morning — a Sunday morning — 
 there was but the one train by which - he 
 could arrive, about noon. It was an 
 imeasy church time, and when it was over 
 Livy's ponies were got out, and trotted 
 her down to the station. But the train 
 came, and the Beauty, as we know, was 
 not in it. From her seat, with fluttering 
 heart, she saw the doors open and flap. 
 
^134 
 
 Beauty Talbot, 
 
 and give up their passenger or two, and 
 the train move on. She saw it was not 
 the Beauty that was left, and her soul 
 sank. This was alarming; and, half terri- 
 fied, she turned her ponies away from the 
 house, for she bad not courage to face 
 her mother. On the road she saw her 
 lover and worshipper coming gaily along. 
 His face fell also. 
 
 I was certain he would come to-day. 
 What can be over him ?" 
 
 (He, too, had been drawn into the little 
 microcosm ) 
 
 " But what are we to do r" she cried. 
 
 I cannot go back with this news." 
 
 The young man paused a few seconds. 
 
 ''I was going to propose something, 
 only he might not like it. Here is rather 
 an important letter come in for my father, 
 which he ought to see at once. I was 
 
Undecided. 
 
 135 
 
 about sending a special messenger; 
 but—" 
 
 ''0, if you would — the very thing !" 
 she cried eagerly, leaping to his meaning. 
 
 Do go quick, and speak to him. Tell 
 him he must return to us — or find out the 
 reason. But don't — don't hurt his pride^ 
 or let him think — " 
 
 I understand ; leave it to me." 
 
 " She is not well, and is so nervous 
 alwavs, that this is certain — " 
 
 " I understand," he said again. ''You 
 will find me a willing and clever am- 
 bassador. Leave it to me. I am just 
 going to the train, and shall be home late 
 to-night." 
 
 At Bindley that morning, there was 
 quite a clatter of delighted talk and con- 
 gratulation. Bindley had, indeed, up to 
 this time been a kind of old-fashioned 
 
136 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 house — behind the time/' and with a bad 
 name through the country, as being the 
 most stupid place going and the gala 
 was a sort of surprise and delight. This 
 feeling was duly quickened by the inde- 
 fatigable Wood's, who had been, as it were, 
 in the saddle for four and twenty hours. 
 They were like the man in the French 
 theatre, who gets up a claque for his wife, 
 appears on the first tier at the back of 
 a box, with an obstreperous " Bravo !" 
 and vigorous fusilade of clapping, then 
 hurries away higher, and repeats his 
 applause. It was impossible to resist 
 the zeal of these Woods ; and every one was 
 convinced that this had been an almost 
 national success, and should be in the 
 Times. 
 
 Mr. Talbot came down from the de- 
 lightful seventh heaven. Already the hum- 
 
Undecided. 
 
 137 
 
 drums of domestic life, the poor rusticity 
 of the women — seemed very tedious and 
 fretting. People ought to take a larger 
 and wholesome view. He seemed to re- 
 gard them more as a statesman might a 
 nursery and its little commotions, such 
 as Master Jackey's having stolen a pot 
 of jam. But what came back on him 
 offcenest was that speech of his true 
 friend, Mrs. Labouchere, whose kindness 
 and encouragement he should never forget. 
 A generous, clever woman : clever, be- 
 cause she had seized on his true character ; 
 generous, because she had the magnani- 
 mity to forget the past. It is surprising 
 once a bad step has been taken, how the 
 next impulse is not to palliate its effect, 
 but, with a sort of desperation, to widen 
 the breach. 
 
 The feeling is, in vulgar phrase, In 
 
138 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 for a penny, in for a pound and so tlie 
 Beauty, shutting his eyes, as it were, 
 found it impossible to resist the sweet 
 pressure put upon him, and thought it 
 best to leave things as they were. Time 
 enough to-morrow to write to ' them.' " 
 For, alas ! such was the shape they were 
 taking for him — a sort of party," 
 
 they," — those w^ho were keeping him 
 down in obscurity. 
 
 It was a sunshiny winter's morning, 
 and these thoughts came floating on him 
 as he sat in the church, with the whole 
 distinguished party from Bindley. Did he 
 fancy that the soft glances of the young 
 girls were stealing over the edges of their 
 books to have a secret gaze at the hero 
 of last night? He felt as if it was his 
 home. When he returned, he found his 
 way to the ''concert hall," still in the 
 
Undecided. 
 
 139 
 
 pleasant disorder of last night — chairs dis- 
 arranged, bills strewn about, music all 
 scattered. There was where he stood and 
 sang. Someone fluttering by, stopped and 
 looked in. 
 
 It was a very pleasant night — some- 
 thing to think of," said she — it was Mrs. 
 Labouchere. 
 
 • He answered, with enthusiasm, — 
 " 0, was it not charming ?" 
 But you must stay for Wednesday. 
 There is to be a new programme. You 
 will have to practise. Will you be once 
 more advised by me ? Though, indeed, I 
 have no reason to advise. I daresay you 
 think poorly of me for being so forgetful. " 
 
 "How?" he asked. ^^0, Mrs. Tal- 
 bot !" 
 
 I have lost my poor husband : she 
 had nearly made me lose him once before. 
 
140 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 Did she ever toll you the device which she 
 used to shipwreck my happiness ? Not 
 likely, I should think." 
 
 " No, indeed/' said the Beauty, looking 
 at her with interest ; but we must forget 
 all that. We must be very intimate in 
 future. Leave it to me. She is very 
 sensible; or even if she is not inclined, 
 you and I are great friends. 0 yes, We 
 must see a great deal of you." 
 
 She laughed. 
 0, lue must, must we ? Are you cer- 
 tain of that ? Take care you are not 
 going beyond your powers. You know 
 you can only speak for one ; and as for 
 me, she has reasons for not liking me. 
 She cannot easily forget that, and she will 
 not let you forget it. You must obey, 
 Mr. Talbot." 
 
 She left him with a sort of scornful smile. 
 
Undecided. 
 
 141 
 
 The Beauty, much put out, determined 
 he would not write that day. 
 
 In the evening, just before dinner, a 
 carriage drove up, and his lordship came 
 to look for Mr. Hardman. 
 
 Mr. Hardman," — 0, that he would 
 say Hardman !" but he never would — 
 "your son has come with some papers, 
 and wishes to see yon. He seems a nice 
 young fellow. I have asked him to dine 
 with us." 
 
 " 0 dear, no, my lord, no need," said 
 the other, never relishing the distribution 
 of common blessings to his own family ; 
 a protest of which his host took no notice. 
 
 The father and son met and transacted 
 the business. 
 
 ''Here, you," said the father, jou 
 need not be hanging on here. You can't 
 stay on that sort of invitation." 
 
142 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 " But he has made it such a point, 
 father — and I have agreed." 
 
 Overrunning the place in this way ! 
 Better send for all the servants, and quar- 
 ter my family here at once." 
 
 There was other business, too, the youth 
 would like to have introduced, but he saw^ 
 that the humour his father was in would 
 not admit of it. However, this was a rea- 
 son to make him yield to what was wished. 
 
 He at once sought Mr. Talbot, and 
 found* him at the piano by himself com- 
 posing." A brilliant idea had struck him : 
 he would like to put it into shape. How 
 charming would it be to have an entirely 
 new song, ^'composed for the occasion" 
 —and again, words selected by Mrs. La- 
 bouchere " — the whole ''respectfully in- 
 scribed to the Lord Bindley." He Avas in 
 a fever till he put it in execution. "What 
 
Undecided. 
 
 143 
 
 a surprise and delight for the crowd ! 
 Mrs. Labouchere, in her languid con- 
 temptuous way, did select : that is, took 
 down one of the old rose-silk-bound 
 annuals for which our grandfathers paid 
 their guinea cheerfully — Amulet," 
 Charm," " Bijou," and the rest — and 
 laid her finger at random on one of Milk- 
 ton Mousey' s lyrics — then, alas ! a curly- 
 headed darling, writing with a jewelled 
 pen, 
 
 " Yes, his was love sincere and true." 
 
 Young Hardman approached him with 
 an almost tender reverence. He saw him 
 now in quite a different light. He was 
 awe-stricken at the important labours of 
 his future father. 
 
 " 0, how d'j^e do," the Beauty said, 
 fretfully. Beg pardon, I must finish 
 
144 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 this phrase." And he wrote it down on 
 the music paper, first trying the chords. 
 This was the Beauty's fashion of composi- 
 tion. 
 
 I saw them," said the young man, 
 nervously, this morning." 
 
 They ? — who ? 0, yes," said the 
 Beauty, turning to his music paper. 
 
 " They were so dreadfully disappointed 
 yesterday ; and they had such a splendid 
 present waiting. Miss Olivia saved up 
 her money." 
 
 " 0, it couldn't be," said the other ; 
 
 out of the question. One has duties to 
 one's host. They can't understand the 
 thing. One must give and take." 
 
 " Ah, yes, to be sure. But, now, Mr. 
 Talbot, I can go back and tell them you 
 shall be home to-morrow." 
 
 Indeed you cannot. Never was any 
 
Undecided, 
 
 145 
 
 one so worried. There is another concert 
 on Wednesday, and I must wait." 
 
 0, you could not ! They will be so 
 hurt. I know she will be so anxious — and 
 you promised them, and it will look so like 
 a slight. You love them, as I know, and 
 would not wound them. I assure you 
 Mrs. Talbot feels very acutely, and," ad- 
 ded young Mr. Hardman, artfully, seeing 
 the other's hesitation, I don't know what 
 she may do." 
 
 A vision rose before the alarmed Beauty 
 of her driving up to fetch him. In that 
 case he knew he could make no resistance : 
 not all the Mrs. Laboucheres and Lord 
 Bindleys in the world could save him. 
 But then came the vision of the delightful 
 and entrancing night to be repeated. 
 It was too seductive, and he could not 
 
 VOL. II. L 
 
146 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 give it up. It was unfair, unreasonable 
 to ask him. He said, suddenly — 
 
 0, I can't do it, really ; and I am glad 
 you have come, as you will see yourself 
 how things stand here. Ladies can't un- 
 derstand. I'm really not a child, to come 
 back to the day and hour, and all that 
 sort of thing. So tell them, please, I'll 
 be back on Thursday. And see here, now, 
 Hardman, you are a reasonable fellow, 
 and see that the thing can't be done — 
 don't you ?" 
 
 It was a temptation for the young man. 
 A little adhesion here would have for- 
 warded his interests. But he answered — 
 Of course, I have no business to inter- 
 fere; but I do think they will be much 
 hurt if you do not go back." 
 
 Going out to see after his carriage, he 
 met Lord Bindley. That nobleman, who 
 
Undecided. 147 
 
 thouglit him a cheerful, pleasant fellow, 
 and a strange contrast to his father, took 
 him to show him the place. Towards 
 dinner time, when the young fellow had 
 gone, his lordship was heard asking for 
 Talbot." Aide-de-camp Wood found 
 him speedily. 
 
 See here, Talbot," said his lordship, 
 we must try and get on without you. 
 It isn't fair to keep you here, and it 
 mustn't be." 
 
 The Beauty was so confounded that he 
 knew not what to answer. 
 
 "Mustn't be," he repeated. "Yes, we 
 must turn you out — send you home to 
 Mrs. Talbot. I'm not about to come be- 
 tween man and wife. And, indeed, if I 
 had known, I shouldn't have kept you 
 even for the other night." 
 
 The Beauty was a gentleman born and 
 
 L 2 
 
148 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 bred, and with all his folly had a certain 
 tact. 
 
 ^'By all means. Lord Bindley, since 
 you wish. I was only staying to help 
 your concert. I shall go to-morrow." 
 
 " 0, I don't mean that, my dear Talbot, 
 and we are all so much obliged to you. 
 But I think, you know, it would be better 
 on. the whole. A great disappointment to 
 us all." 
 
 Lord Bindley was himself rather a weak 
 nobleman, as, indeed, his violent taking 
 up of that music might imply. That 
 evening Mrs. Labouchere came to him. 
 " My dear lord," she said ; what is this 
 we hear ? You are letting our Beauty 
 go." 
 
 0 yes," said he, with mystery, it is 
 quite proper, and all that. You see, his 
 wife does not quite like it, and he has 
 
Undecided. 
 
 149 
 
 been playing truant. It is not right, you 
 know, to keep a husband from his wife." 
 
 " Out of France. Yes. But the poor 
 concert. What a fiasco r 
 
 ''A fiasco^ eh? No. We shall do 
 famously. Mendelssohn Jackson says he 
 knows of another tenor, far better." 
 
 " Of course, a thousand far better. By- 
 the-way, I suppose it was that boy who 
 came with the story ; he is in love with 
 our Beauty's daughter. Now, don't you 
 see, my lord ? Wheels within wheels. 
 He knew what he was about, that artless, 
 ingenuous youth." 
 
 Even the hint of being taken in is not 
 agreeable. Lord Bindley was put out. 
 Then the concert — " she went on ; 
 
 it is most unfortunate. The country 
 people, the second relay who are coming, 
 will, of course, have the notion that they 
 
150 Beauty Talbot 
 
 were to hear a prodigy — a human dying 
 swan — a Rubini for nothing. Their dis- 
 appointment will be great. He has a nice 
 voice; but they will magnify him." 
 
 His lordship looked irresolute. It is 
 very annoying and provoking/' he said. 
 
 Mrs. Labouchere went on. 
 He is dying to stay. It is rather 
 absurd the poor creature cannot amuse 
 himself for two or three days, and in this 
 harmless way. It is all very innocent. 
 Bindley vvill not corrupt him." 
 
 Lord Bindley laughed. The other was 
 but a spasmodic emotion ; he was sorry 
 afterwards that he had given wa}^ to it. The 
 concert, in his mind, had assumed the 
 dimensions of something grand, and even 
 exhibition-like. The cares of dinner then 
 supervened. After that meal had been 
 transacted, he came up to lier and said. 
 
Undecided. 
 
 15] 
 
 I have a little plan of my own. We 
 shall keep Talbot, and make him sing at 
 the concert." 
 
 The lady wondered. Lord Bindley was 
 not accounted a very bright nobleman. 
 This was probably what the Americans 
 would call some " foolish scare," and she 
 dismissed it. The Beauty was very gloomy 
 and depressed all that night, as if ordered 
 for execution. His dream was over, his 
 happy furlough gone for ever. He was 
 oppressed and ill-treated. He was under 
 sentence, as it were. Lord Bindley had 
 always made it a point to be ecclesiastical 
 when he had company, and read prayers 
 on Sunday mellifluously, as though he 
 had been ordained. He took the Beauty 
 aside after these evening offices, and said : 
 
 " My dear Talbot, T hope you will stay 
 with us. I make it a point. I tell you 
 
152 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 what, I am going up to town to-morrow, 
 and shall take Mrs. Talbot on my way, 
 and arrange the whole with her. I know 
 she will be reasonable, and a few words 
 with her will settle the whole busi- 
 ness." 
 
 A sparkle came into the Beauty's eye. 
 That was indeed like business. That 
 would compose matters. She could not, 
 as he expected, resist that aristocratic 
 influence. Later, he met Mrs. Labou- 
 chere : but she said not a word, looking 
 at him with a sort of amused glance, 
 which made him feel quite uncomfortable. 
 Perhaps he had fallen low in her estimation. 
 When he met her again, he said : 
 
 You have heard how happily every- 
 thinor has been arrano-ed." 
 
 " No," she said, indifferently, 1 hear 
 so much." 
 
Undecided 
 
 153 
 
 I mean about Lord Bindley's going 
 to town." 
 
 " 0, and see your people, and get you 
 leave. Well, it sounds strangely." 
 
 Not that, you always say that ; no, 
 just to speak to them." 
 
 There was a look of contempt on her 
 face. I would rather anything than 
 that. It is too humiliating. But of 
 course it sounds strange, my interfering. 
 Still, I am sorry for the whole thing. If 
 you had been advised by me — even if yon 
 felt bound to be so nice about staying a 
 day or two — there was a different plan of 
 going about it, which even my poor wits 
 could have helped you to." 
 
 The Beauty looked at her eagerly. 0 
 tell me, tell me !" he said. 
 
 Would you follow it, if I told you?" 
 she said. No. Besides, really it would 
 
154 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 sound strange, supplying you with a plan 
 against your wife, in the face of all law 
 and morals." 
 
 " Yes/' he said ; but when they turn 
 against me — and so many years as I 
 have — — " 
 
 " Ah, there it is ; so many years you 
 have been good and obedient and docile, 
 and here, at the eleventh hour, or rather, 
 at five minutes to twelve, you wish to 
 throw off the yoke. It is only reasonable 
 they should be astonished. No, no ; you 
 have put yourself into Lord Bindley's 
 hands, and we had best leave you 
 there." 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 UNEXPECTED VISITORS. 
 
 Never were people so surprised as Mrs. 
 Talbot and our Livy, when a card was 
 brought iuj with his lordship's name upon 
 it. The affectionate creatures first thought 
 that something dreadful had happened fco 
 their dear Beauty, and that this ambassa- 
 dor had come to break the news to them. 
 His smiling face reassured them, and he 
 at once opened his business. 
 
 I want you, Mrs. Talbot," he said, to 
 come to us — you and your daughter. It 
 will give us the greatest pleasure. Your 
 father and I were great friends. I can 
 
156 Beauty Talbot, 
 
 promise you music, the like of which, 
 they tell me, cannot be matched by 
 amateurs in the three kingdoms. I assure 
 you the concert has made quite a sensa- 
 tion ; and, I am told, a critique will be in 
 the Court Journal. 0, you must come." 
 
 The artful peer, it will be seen, said 
 nothing of the motive for this invitation, 
 or of the end to which it was to be the 
 means. 
 
 Livy was enchanted at the notion, es- 
 pecially as she was told that he hoped to 
 have a very nice, off-hand young fellow — 
 son of that Hardman over there, but a 
 very different sort of character." 
 
 His lordship was very pressing indeed : 
 Mrs. Talbot listened coldly. She was en- 
 gaged — she was busy — she could do 
 nothing. " And, indeed. Lord Bindley, 
 I wish you would send me home my 
 
Unexpected Visitors, 157 
 
 foolish husband. I am not well, and you 
 are demoralising him there. Surely Lord 
 Bindley does not believe he has found a 
 Mario in our poor Beauty, who has never 
 learned a note ?" 
 
 Well — er — -I don't know ; but they all 
 say so. And a lady there, who is one of 
 the most accomplished musicians of the 
 day — you must have heard of her, a 
 daughter of that Hardman " 
 
 " Daughter of that Hardman !" she re- 
 peated, half rising. " Do you mean to tell 
 me that she is there ?" 
 
 " Yes ; Mrs. Labouchere. Very great 
 gifts ! But what is the matter ?" 
 
 Mrs. Talbot remained, her eyes fixed on 
 the ground, while his lordship expatiated 
 on the charms and attractions of his guest. 
 Mrs. Talbot had not forgotten her old 
 training. A rush of ideas was pouring in 
 
158 Beauty Talbot, 
 
 upon her; and slie was only thinking 
 what she could do, and, without abrupt- 
 ness change her front. The news over- 
 whelmed her ; but no one could see any 
 change in her face. 
 
 It is so tempting," she said ; and it 
 is very hard to resist such inducements. 
 Our poor girl, too, gets so little amuse- 
 ment. I should like to go." 
 
 She was irresolute. The lord thought 
 this was due to his skilful way of putting 
 the matter, and pressed it warmly. A 
 reluctant consent was wrung from her, on 
 one condition. It must be kept a secret. 
 She had a reason. This was agreed to, 
 and his lordship departed. 
 
 When he was gone, Livy was con- 
 founded by the wild and tragic look that 
 had come into her mother's face. 
 
 " I knew it would come to this. I had 
 
JJnexjjected Visitors. 
 
 159 
 
 an instinct that that vile woman was at 
 tne bottom of it. The poor creature had 
 not wit enough to corapafss such a thing 
 himself. 0 Heavens ! This is too much !" 
 
 But who, dearest ?" said the daughter. 
 
 Who ? That woman — that Hardman 
 woman ! The mill hand ! Born in a mill, 
 as I believe she was ! How dare she do 
 it ? I knew it ; I had a presentiment. 
 This low, mean soul, has treasured up 
 the grudge ; and she is determined to 
 spite me in this way. Yes, I see it all. 
 It is nothing new : and you are a child, 
 Livy, and can't understand to what lengths 
 women of this sort will go." 
 
 Livy was aghast at this vaticination. 
 
 What are we to do?" she said. 
 
 Do !" said her mother. ^''Why meet, 
 defeat her, crush her, as you will see me 
 do. Though I have left off that for years, 
 
160 Beauty Talbot, 
 
 I liave not forgotten my old ways. I have 
 met others before her, and twice as 
 spiteful and clever, and left them to rue 
 the day they thought of hurting me !" 
 
 That night Livy's sleep was troubled, 
 and for the first time she had a sort of 
 glimpse of what a cold, cruel, terrible 
 place the world was. 
 
 On the Tuesday evening there was to 
 be a fresh rehearsal for this wonderful 
 concert, which really, from the treatment 
 it is receiving, seems magnifying into an 
 almost Homeric event. Again the Hall 
 was crowded with obsequious retainers, 
 who, in truth, were growing a little 
 wearied with an Entertainment that was 
 above their level, as it might be thought 
 by the performers. 
 
 Even the farm labourers — the men 
 about the stables — were required to 
 
TJnexjpected Visitors. 161 
 
 attend, in Sunday suit, by special fa- 
 vour " of his lordship. 
 
 " I think/' he said, benevolently, we 
 should not draw the line too close ; and 
 I am determined to give those poor 
 fellows about the farmyard a chance of 
 hearing some good music. No, I am none 
 of your feudal tyrants." 
 
 Hodge and his friends had a miserable 
 night — thought very poorly of the singing, 
 and had often heard better at the ale- 
 house. 
 
 It was about the beginning of the 
 second part that the gate bell was heard 
 to clang afar off, and Lord Bindley seen 
 to hurry out to ''meet guests," The 
 singers looked at each other with com- 
 placency. Here were fresh witnesses, 
 hurrying to admire. It was all fish to 
 their vain net. The Beauty felt the same 
 
 VOL. 11. M 
 
162 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 excitement, and, after an interval, was 
 getting ready for his new song, composed 
 specially for the occasion. These poor 
 vocal ostriches, who have their bill 
 firmly in the sand, actually endow the 
 more vulgar with intellect, criticism, 
 and a relish, far above even their own 
 level. 
 
 The previous song was finishing — " a 
 poor thing, which should never have been 
 allowed into the programme " — and Mr. 
 Talbot was looking down the crowded 
 room, when he noticed a rustle and con- 
 fusion at the door. It was the host 
 ushering in the new guests. Could he 
 believe his eyes — his senses ? What ! Mrs. 
 Talbot, and his daughter Olivia ! 
 
 They to come, too ! And what did it 
 mean ? He was bewildered, confounded ; 
 and when he went out to get his music. 
 
Unexpected Visitors. 
 
 163 
 
 he met Mrs. Labouchere, with a flushed 
 cheek, stern eye, and lip of scorn. 
 
 The naughty boy would not go home 
 to school, so mamma had to come 
 and fetch him ! It is rather hard on 
 
 you." 
 
 It vjas^ he felt, going too far : and he 
 \yent out with Mendelssohn Jackson, to 
 sing the new song, composed in honour 
 of the occasion. Down below, among the 
 faces, he saw his wife's — cold, and but 
 half interested ; but Livy's was fixed on 
 his with an absorbed interest and adora- 
 tion. That devoted face attracted the 
 attention of many more besides her father, 
 and interested them, too. He was put 
 out." He felt it as an intolerable slavery, 
 so degrading, so mean ; what must they 
 all think of him ? Even Mrs. Labouchere 
 pitj/ing his subjection ! There was some- 
 
 M 2 
 
164 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 thing ludicrous in it. They were fools, 
 and wicked, and deserved a lesson. Alas ! 
 for the new song ; under such conditions 
 it was an utter failure. Mendelssohn 
 Jackson '^putting him in" largely, add- 
 ing ridiculous accompaniments" and 
 flourishes and comments, sotto voce, run- 
 ning wild," keep yourself in," — steady 
 there !" It was quite a fiasco; in fact, he 
 ''broke down," and Lord Bindley was 
 much annoyed. 
 
 " I think," said Mendelssohn Jackson, 
 in the " green room " " we had better go 
 back to the ' Long-drawn Smile.' It's 
 safer, of the two. If you consulted me, 
 I'd take ^ My Pretty Jane ' or something 
 of that kidney ; but this last business — no. 
 Rather too loose and rambling — ground 
 gives under us here and there, you see." 
 Mr. Jackson knew perfectly well the name 
 
Unexpected Visitors. 
 
 165 
 
 of our Beauty's song ; but lie chose thus 
 to misdescribe it. 
 
 The Beauty met his relations with that 
 " put out " manner which he could not 
 disguise before company. So you are 
 come !" he said, according to the un- 
 meaning formula of people who know not 
 what to say. He really did not know 
 what to say or to think ; but a sort of 
 hopelessness and despair of defending him- 
 self took possession of him. 
 
 *^You are not in voice to-night/' she 
 said, gaily. You will sing better at the 
 concert, dear. We have come some dis- 
 tance to hear you." 
 
 This seemed to say he was to be allowed 
 to remain. 
 
 Great curiosity was among the guests 
 as to these new arrivals. Louisa Mary, 
 Countess of Seaman, knew all about her, 
 
166 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 in that wonderful way in whicli certain 
 women of rank ''make up," and make 
 out, about any one connected with their 
 order. It is Hke a book collector, and the 
 books he has never read. Mrs. Talbot 
 was a veteran in fields in which she her- 
 self had fought. The Ladies Mariner came 
 about Livy with very much the cold ap- 
 proaches of fishes. 
 
 The meeting of the two ladies conveyed 
 nothing to any one present. Do what she 
 . would, Mrs. Labouchere found that it 
 would take the shape of her being brought 
 to Mrs. Talbot. The latter had become 
 her old self again ; one of the stately 
 band, with a commanding and assured 
 manner there was no resisting. The host 
 at once gave her this place ; at once she 
 seemed to combine with the other great 
 dames in a sort of " House of Ladies " in 
 
Unexpected Visitors. 167 
 
 tlie place. Her manner was haughty, and 
 even genteelly scoffing, and Mrs. Labou- 
 chere fancied she heard the words of 
 depreciation. 
 
 "Neighbours, you know," and the 
 tone seemed to convey that that local 
 relation obliged a certain sort of acquaint- 
 ance. 
 
 "You are going to stay in this country, 
 I suppose ?" she said ; " or were you 
 stopping in France ? I forget. I did hear 
 something." 
 
 " My brother knows everything about 
 me. I believe he has been with you every 
 day during this last week." This was a 
 thrust back. 
 
 " All the officers make their way to our 
 house," said Mrs. Talbot, to " Louisa 
 Mary," as if explaining. "Mr. Talbot 
 likes to see them. By the way, I hear 
 
168 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 they have been pressing him to sing — 
 exhibit himself before the whole country. 
 Why, it's not fair to him ; he has only a 
 small drawing-room voice." 
 
 Lord Bindley grew uneasy. He was 
 always impressed by the last speaker, or 
 last comer. 
 
 " He did very well, though ; very fairly, 
 so they said." 
 
 0 ! a rustic audience is not difficile.^'' 
 It is curious," said Mrs. Labouchere, 
 smiling ; " that those who heard the con- 
 cert should have been pleased : while those 
 who were absent, and heard nothing, con- 
 demn the performance. Poor Mr. Talbot ! 
 It is very hard on him." 
 
 She looked round with a smile, for 
 support. But her faithful backers, " the 
 men," were not there ; the cold, haughty 
 stare of the great ladies, understanding 
 
Unexpected Visitors. 169 
 
 nothing, wondering coldly, shut off 
 sympathy. The expression was reflected 
 on to Lord Bindley's face who looked only 
 half pleased. Louisa Mary " then says 
 calmly, as if wishing to change the sub- 
 ject, " Have you heard of the Longs of 
 Eaton, lately ?" It will not do ; no bold- 
 ness, courage, wit, sarcasm, can ever 
 fight against such combination. Most 
 curious, too, was the attitude taken by 
 Mrs. Talbot, the calm air of superiority 
 and contempt, so that Lord Bindley at 
 once invested her with the ensign of 
 musical criticism, and began to say, You 
 think so ? Now, tell me, do you think 
 we are right in that ?" 
 
 It was impossible, too, not to notice 
 the change in the Beauty since this un- 
 lucky arrival — as one of the men said. 
 
 It was as though he had had his ears 
 
170 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 cropped." He seemed to have lost his 
 independent way, and appeared to shnk 
 about in a very abject manner, indeed. 
 It had all the look as if he had been fetched 
 away, and having presumed on the in- 
 dulgence allowed him, was now to be 
 punished. His wife still pursued her 
 fashion of being amused at the Beauty's 
 coming before the public. So it 
 is to be that new composition. Better 
 keep to your old friend, the ^ Lingering 
 Smile.' " 
 
 " Yes, yes," said one of the gentlemen, 
 ^'ashe has lingered so long, he may as' 
 well finish with it." 
 
 Ha, ha !" the host said, innocently. 
 Very good ; but I think it wasn't fair of 
 Mrs. Talbot to come for you in this way. 
 Eh, Mrs. Labouchere ?" 
 
 It certainly has an odd look," that 
 
Unexpected Visitors. 171 
 
 lady answered. But, Mr. Talbot is, of 
 course, tlie proper judge of that." 
 
 "0, we are not going to turn Lord 
 Bindley's little joke into a serious matter : 
 but tliat new song, or composition, will 
 not do. If you must be a public singer, 
 dear, let us have what you know some- 
 thing about. I could not bear to see 
 you break down, dear." 
 
 " There is no talk of breaking down," 
 he said, pettishly. " You weren't here ; 
 you didn't hear me, and how well it went 
 off. There is no use making a fuss about 
 the thing. They say it's the best thing I 
 have ever done." 
 
 "They say! What, the press — the 
 critics ? Who, dear ?" 
 
 "Nonsense; you know what I mean. 
 Here's Mrs. Labouchere thinks so, and 
 she's an excellent judge." 
 
172 
 
 Beauty TaJhot. 
 
 You Trill have to submit to tlie real 
 judge, dear — the public. Seriously, you 
 must not think of it, even if you get 
 a testimonial in ^vriting as to its 
 merits." 
 
 "No, no, Talbot," said his lordship, 
 firmlv ; ''we can run no risks. We shall 
 have the lino-erino- — what-do-ve call it? — 
 in the bills." 
 
 Mrs. Talbot looked with calm triumph 
 at her enemy. 
 
 ''Come, Mr. Talbot," said the latter; 
 " come, at all events, and practise. I am 
 ready for my duty, and believe in the new 
 song." 
 
 She went out, and the Beauty followed 
 her with alacrity. 
 
 " This is very sad," she said to him, 
 as thev went alono; the corridor: "and 
 seems to be a sort of change. I am very 
 
TJnexjpected Visitors. 173 
 
 sorry for it, and that our pleasant little 
 relations are to be at an end." 
 
 " 0, no ! I hope not. It is very hard. 
 Everything was going on so nicely." 
 
 0, yes/' she said; ^^it won't do now. 
 Somehow it seems we have all lost the old 
 spirit ; there is a sort of restraint come on 
 us." 
 
 " 0, it is such nonsense and folly. 
 Everything turned into a fuss, and to 
 be made ridiculous, too, in this way. You 
 heard Lord Bindley — ^ fetched away,' in- 
 deed !" 
 
 " Yes, I felt for you. It is foolish, 
 magnifying things into undue importance. 
 A little song, too ! I am sure it has 
 lessened all your confidence, and that you 
 will fail before the audience, as you did 
 the other night." 
 
 " Exactly — exactly what I feel. It has 
 
174 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 taken away the pleasant spirit I had. I 
 declare, I am quite put out." 
 
 ^^Yes, I felt for you," she repeated, 
 slowly. And you know — that is, I 
 would wish you to think — that I am your 
 friend, and take an interest in you. I did 
 not know you before this visit. I own I 
 mistook you. I now see that you have 
 real gifts, real talent ; and I think it is a 
 pity that you should not use them for the 
 amusement of your friends." 
 
 The Beauty coloured ; it was long since 
 he had been spoken to in words of such 
 genuine compliment. 
 
 0, I am so glad you think that, and I 
 feel your kindness so much." 
 
 Not at all — and for that reason I 
 should feel for you if you were humiliated 
 before people. It is unnecessary. Where 
 is the use of it?" she went on, warmly. 
 
Unexpected Visitors. 
 
 175 
 
 " My husband. Colonel Labonchere, was 
 the most generous and upright of men — 
 though I felt that I had more cleverness, 
 as it was called, and could have com- 
 manded him, still I had such a pride and 
 respect for him, that I could only think of 
 making him respected by every one elsQ. 
 I could not think that levelUng him, or 
 making him cheap before people, was rais- 
 ing myself The more I looked up to 
 him, and made others look up to him, the 
 more I was adding to my own prestige. 
 This is the sensible view, and the only 
 affectionate view." 
 
 He was about to answer, when they 
 heard a voice at the door. 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 A SKIRMISH. 
 
 " 0, THERE you are, Beauty dear ! I 
 want to speak to you." 
 
 Mrs. Laboucliere looked round from the 
 piano, and laughed. That is a female 
 name. I declare I was near answering to 
 it." 
 
 "It is absurd!" he said, angrily; 
 " calling a man such ridiculous names. 
 What is it, now ? I am practising." 
 
 " Never mind ; I have something more 
 important than the singing. Come, dear, 
 don't keep me, please." 
 
A Skirmish. 
 
 177 
 
 The Beauty could not resist, and moved 
 towards the door. 
 
 " Charming, charming !" said Mrs. 
 Labouchere ; there is docihty, there is 
 obedience ! You should publish your re- 
 ceipt, Mrs. Talbot." 
 
 The Beauty stopped, irresolute and 
 pettish. " Obedience, indeed ! it is ridicu- 
 lous. See what is thought of it by other 
 people — really making me so ridiculous. 
 Just let me finish, and do go away." 
 
 Mrs. Talbot came forward steadily, put 
 her arm in his, secured him, and looking 
 up into his face with a most coquettish 
 air, said, 
 
 '^0, you will come with me, I know, 
 dear. Really, something important — let- 
 ters to show you. Come !" 
 
 This bait attracted him, and he went 
 with her. 
 
 VOL. II. N 
 
Beauty Talhot. 
 
 I shall be back in a moment, Mrs. 
 Laboucliere," he said. 
 
 Along the corridor Mrs. Talbot said not 
 a word. Once in her own room, she 
 closed the door sharply, left him standing, 
 and drawing back to the window ; gazed 
 at him with a steady look of scorn, that 
 made him quail. 
 
 " So this is what you are about I" she 
 said, with contempt. 0, you child ! 
 Once away from your mamma and 
 nurses, these are the follies you go 
 after !" 
 
 'No follies," he said, heatedly. " Just 
 what other men do. It's getting too bad ; 
 Fm not a child, and won't be. Nurses, 
 indeed !" 
 
 There, dear. What sensible man ever 
 had to protest that he was not a child ? 
 But I see I have just come in time to 
 
A Skirmish. 
 
 179 
 
 save you from more follies. Your poor 
 head is turned, I believe, witli this little 
 song of yours. Do behave properly. Think 
 of any married man that you know. They 
 consider they have retired. What do they 
 care for a little foolish applause ? Why, 
 one would think from your writings you 
 had made a successful speech in parlia- 
 ment."— Alas, Mrs. Talbot I—" But I 
 would advise you to reflect whether you 
 will not make some failure very mortifying 
 to us all. You know. Lord Bindley would 
 never forgive us, to say nothing of the 
 criticism, and the ridicule." 
 
 The Beauty glowed and fumed. " Yes, 
 and whose fault is it ? I sang beautifully 
 the other night, and every one was de- 
 lighted, and enchanted, until you came 
 after me — to fetch me to school — as they 
 say—" 
 
 N 2 
 
180 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 " Who say ?" 
 
 " They all say it ; I might as well be 
 a little child. How can I sing ?— it has 
 made me all nervous and uncertain, and 
 you know the least thing that way affects 
 it. And I can see that you have been 
 going on to Lord Bindley, too, for his 
 manner is quite changed to me. And I 
 tell you what," said the Beauty, with the 
 tone and manner of a child that was 
 smashing its toys to spite its parents, 
 I'll just throw the whole thing up. 
 There ! I will." 
 
 That would be foolish, dear ; but any- 
 thing is better than a fiasco — " 
 
 0, it is very fine talking," went on 
 the Beauty, glowing with excitement; 
 " it is very well. I am putting up with 
 too much, and they all say it's becoming 
 ridiculous, and it musn't go on." 
 
A Sldrmisli, 
 
 181 
 
 Musn't go on ! Well, sing- with all 
 my heart, and we shall see." 
 
 "Yes, I know you would like to see. 
 I'm not quite a Russian what-d'ye-call it, 
 under your thumb, as Mrs. Labouchere 
 said." 
 
 " 0, she said that, did she ? I am sure, 
 dear, it was a wonderful sentiment." 
 
 " No, I know you don't like her," he 
 went on, spitefully longing to revenge 
 himself somehow. There are reasons for 
 that — she's a clever woman. She knows 
 another reason for your coming here, 
 though one would think you had enough 
 of meddling with her." 
 
 The fine lady's Chalon cheek coloured. 
 She felt that she must strike with vigour, 
 and she knew his nature well enough. 
 It was like going to a cupboard for a 
 birch. 
 
182 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 " Don't speak to me in that way," she 
 said, looking at him steadily, and above 
 all, don't forget your invariably gentle- 
 manly manners. You are whining like a 
 child. Yon, a married man with a grown- 
 up daughter, and yonr head overset on 
 account of your little song ! Why, if you 
 had been in parliament and made a bril- 
 liant speech, like Mr. Horner, or carried 
 a case at the bar — but instead, you have 
 
 sung a little ballad before a few villagers ! 
 And this emboldens you to insult me. 
 Stay on here as long as you please — sing 
 until you tire them out. I shall certainly 
 wait, as I intended, to hear the result." 
 
 I shan't sing a note of it. You've 
 settled that. Not a note, if I was to die 
 for it ! If I did, you would make me 
 break down." 
 
 Do just as you like, dear. I only 
 
A Skirmish. 
 
 183 
 
 think of yourself ; I can see even the men 
 here are amused, and have their joke about 
 the new tenor." 
 
 FooHsh woman ! The weak mind of 
 the Beauty treasured up all these words ; 
 they scared his very heart. He knew 
 there was truth in them ; but he could not 
 forget the mortification. A hundred little 
 womanish projects of revenge entered his 
 brain — a longing to mortify her in some 
 way. The other hints of Mrs. Labouchere 
 seemed now to gain confirmation. This 
 was mere ^'treatment of him as a child." 
 Long after, when certain events had taken 
 place, which added many a line to the 
 delicate Chalon face — lines that defied all 
 the smooth trowellings of art- — when she 
 was thinking herself the most wretched 
 creature on the face of the earth, she 
 ought to have turned her eyes backward 
 
184 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 to this day, and to that poor and unfruitful 
 triumph over him. 
 
 He left the room. Then her face fell. 
 
 I must get him away from this at once. 
 He quoted some of that low woman's 
 speeches. The mean artful creature she 
 is, she has not forgotten the way in which 
 I set her down. No wonder ; for I do 
 hate her ; and, if I could send him away, 
 would like nothing more than to stay on 
 here, and trample on her every day and 
 every hour." 
 
 She could do that, however. Mr. Hard- 
 man was still there, but going away on 
 the morrow, having at last found the un- 
 welcome truth forced upon him that he 
 was not to be of that company. Yet he 
 thought he saw a glimpse of sunshine. 
 The gre^t ladies were talking eagerly 
 together at lunch over a plan they were 
 
A Skirmish. 
 
 185 
 
 planning. " Louisa Mary," tlie Countess, 
 meagre and stingy for all her rank, was 
 engaged in some bazaar — their share of 
 which was to be carried out on the most 
 thrifty principles, involving, also, preda- 
 tory calls upon their neighbours. 
 
 It was to be down at Seaman — a charity 
 for a certain orphanage, into which a 
 deal of worsted and anti-macassars entered, 
 the Ladies Mariner doing a vast deal of 
 captaincy over the unhappy little orphans 
 before visitors, making them redound to 
 their own honour and glory. The coun- 
 tess introduced this subject as a sort of 
 great public duty, and made a kind of 
 charity sermon, dwelling on the meri- 
 toriousness of the good object. It was 
 duly enlarged on, as if it was some political 
 measure ; and the august lady described 
 her hopes and chances. 
 
186 
 
 Beauty Talhot. 
 
 Mrs. Talbot seemed to have entered 
 into it already witli spirit, and was en- 
 gaged for contributions, co-operation, &c. 
 The other guests listened, awed, as these 
 plans were shadowed forth ; and Lord 
 Robert volunteered to be auctioneer at 
 the close of the performance, and knock 
 down all the lots to the highest bidder of 
 the young ladies. 
 
 Mr. Hardman had been listening rest- 
 lessly, his cold, hard face lighting up 
 with eager look. At last he cleared his 
 throat— 
 
 "I think, my lady," he said, after 
 lunch was over, we should all be glad to 
 give some help to such good work. 
 There's my daughter, Mrs. Labouchere, 
 had these sort of things out at Malta." 
 
 Lady Seaman, who had scarcely 
 spoken three words to the man " since she 
 
A SJcirmish. 
 
 187 
 
 was in the liouse, was turning on him 
 with a scarcely poHte stare, when Mrs. 
 Talbot, his " old friend," interposed. 
 
 " How do you mean, Mr. Hardman ?" 
 Mrs. Labouchere was watching warily, 
 and was at hand. 
 
 " He means the general principle of 
 charity, which nobody can dispute. You 
 remember, papa, the picture you offered 
 to Mrs. Talbot?" 
 
 I mean," said her father, in a loud 
 voice, that her ladyship might be very 
 glad to have a person like Mrs. Labouchere, 
 who understands these matters, to help 
 her. We could guarantee as handsome a 
 table as could be seen in the place ; and, 
 as far as a large subscription goes, a 
 
 cheque on my bankers " 
 
 It is very good of Mr. Hardman to 
 offer Mrs. Labouchere's services," said 
 
188 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 Mrs. Talbot, with an exquisite expression 
 of malice ; but I fear Lady Seaman 
 seems to have made tier arrangements." 
 
 ^^My father mistakes," said Mrs. La- 
 bouchere, warmly ; ^' I would not hold a 
 table for anything. Pray understand, it 
 is not I who wish it." 
 
 We are obliged to keep it to our own 
 set," said Lady Seaman, haughtily. We 
 have had offers of money, and that sort 
 of thing, if we chose to take them ; but 
 it could not be done." 
 
 ^'Hardly, I think," said Mrs. Talbot. 
 This was very sweet revenge. Though 
 the great ladies thought a little wistfully 
 of Mr. Hardman's guineas thus lost to 
 them. 
 
 " Of course the bazaar is for all-comers, 
 and any one with charitable intentions can 
 walk in, and lay out what they please, and 
 
A Skirmish. 
 
 189 
 
 thus help a most deserving charity. But 
 the organization must be kept to one set." 
 
 The almost insolence of this speech, 
 which was spoken to Mrs. Labouchere, 
 whose cheek became pale, Mr. Hardman 
 felt indistinctly. There was something 
 like a hint administered to him. But he 
 went on in his floundering way. 
 
 I am sure. Lady Seaman, I should 
 be delighted to give my mite to such a 
 good institution, as Mrs. Talbot says, 
 and if a cheque on my bankers " 
 
 ^^Papa!" broke in Mrs. Labouchere, 
 in a deep tone of scorn. For Heaven's 
 sake do not be offering this assistance 
 where you see it is not desired. Surely, 
 it is said, as plain as words can say it, 
 that your aid is not wanted. Mine need 
 not have been declined, as it was never 
 offered." 
 
190 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 0, I'm sure not," said Lady Seaman. 
 
 You would see how diflficult it must be. 
 All sorts of people have been asking us, 
 and we are obliged to refuse.". 
 
 " I repeat. Lady Seaman, you may 
 have refused me, but I never sought the 
 honour of assisting in your bazaar." 
 
 " But I did," said her father, pompously 
 drawing himself up to resent this repu- 
 diation ; " for you. I like to see these 
 sort of things supported. And if Lady 
 
 Seaman had allowed you " 
 
 This is intolerable," said his daughter, 
 half turning round to leave the room. 
 " Do — do leave the matter as it is." 
 
 It was exquisite for the other ladies to 
 see the victim writhing in this fashion on 
 the hook. Mrs. Talbot smiled over at 
 her august acquaintance. She seemed, 
 to herself, to have obtained a handsome 
 
A Skirmish. 
 
 191 
 
 indemnity for all she had suffered at the 
 hands of her enemy. Yet she was only 
 laying up accumulated injuries, for she 
 must surely pay a heavy reckoning. 
 These little vindictive punishments were 
 but shortlived pitiful triumphs. What 
 they would be met by, would be far more 
 deadly and lasting. Even as she smiled, 
 came a significant check, for at that 
 moment the Beauty entering, Mrs. La- 
 bouchere said suddenly : — 
 
 But here would be a useful friend. 
 Mr. Talbot would go about the rooms 
 bringing recruits, helping the young ladies 
 to sell; or, best of all, he would sing for 
 the charity." 
 
 A charming idea ; would you help us, 
 Mr. Talbot ? They often get up music at 
 these things." 
 
 " Or he might be an auctioneer, and sell 
 
192 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 off the articles. Mr. Talbot is sucli a pub- 
 lic man now " 
 
 The Beauty was still in the sulks," 
 and much aggrieved. He had a little of 
 the French malice about him, and saw 
 very plainly there was an opportunity here 
 for mischief, and with much cordiality said 
 he would be delighted. ^' When was their 
 bazaar ? " 
 
 ''Next month." 
 
 Mrs. Labouchere cried, '' 0 he could 
 manage to go then." They were so sorry 
 they could not offer him a room. 
 
 " But that was no matter," he said. 
 '' There was Bagshaw close by, who would 
 put him up." 
 
 '' You see, there is quite a run on you, 
 Mr. Talbot," Mrs. Labouchere went on ; 
 '' every one wishes to make an engagement 
 with you. By-and-by the demands will 
 
A Shirinish. 
 
 193 
 
 come from London and all parts of the 
 provinces. Ah ! in London you looiild be 
 appreciated /" 
 
 The Beauty almost blushed. This was 
 all very sweet, 1 should like to contri- 
 bute my humble quota, if it amuses : but 
 whatever honour comes, I owe to you, 
 Mrs. Labouchere." 
 
 Again Mrs. Talbot felt that some moves 
 in the little game had gone against her, 
 though it was only a pawn or two. She 
 had not yet put out her strength ; though 
 with a sort of nervousness she felt that 
 the time might soon come when she must 
 fight with every weapon. Every hour she 
 was seeing that this woman was not to be 
 despised, and might have a depth of power 
 in reserve, which she dared not think of. 
 This, after all, was but the stinging of the 
 gad-fly, and would be but for a short time, 
 
 VOL. II. 0 
 
194 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 as Mr. Hardman had announced slie was 
 to live for the future in Paris, and she 
 hated England." 
 
 During the rest of their visit the Beauty 
 — ^still under a sense of wrong — indulged 
 himself in many petty acts of indemnity, 
 all which Mrs. Talbot bore with a smiling 
 calm, as she would the pettishness of a 
 boy. On the night before, he had been out 
 late in the garden, and came in with 
 something like a beginning of a cold, and 
 she said, ^'You should have taken care, 
 dear, if you do mean to sing " 
 
 " Yes, I knew I'd be unfortunate, and 
 have something to interfere. Everything 
 spoiled; and here am I worried and 
 bothered, and we were all going on so 
 nicely " 
 
 " Until I came ? But I did not give 
 you the cold, did I ? I would do some- 
 
A Skirmish. 
 
 195 
 
 tiling for it — a mustard plaster, or, your 
 feet in water " 
 
 ^^Yes, as if I was a child," — it* was 
 wonderful how that little bit of iron had 
 entered into his soul ! to be put to bed 
 with gruel and flannels, and have them all 
 laughing at me." 
 
 '^Well, you must do one thing or the 
 other, dear. Sing or not sing. Livy and 
 I are dying with curiosity, after the rap- 
 turous accounts you wrote us. Though I 
 hear that envious music-master, Jackson, 
 or whatever his name is, is not so cordial 
 iu his , applause, and says you should get 
 lessons before coming out before the 
 public." 
 
 Foolish Mrs. Talbot ! again must the 
 chorus of this drama call out. Every one 
 of these little pin thrusts will be registered 
 against you by that childish mind, and 
 
 0 2 
 
196 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 possibly be revenged. He was speechless, 
 and turned away, then went to seek his 
 friend and counsellor. 
 
 The night came round, the concert hall 
 was crowded again. The rustics this time 
 had to be driven," much as his lordship's 
 Irish tenants were, at an election. The 
 old programme was gone through ; the 
 sisters warbled and thrilled their Cam 
 hame wi' the Kye," which they nodded and 
 wagged and spoke, and even danced — 
 everything but sang. The elder had a 
 red plaid scarf, crosswise ; the younger a 
 green one, to add to the dramatic , effect, 
 and both had one arm a-kimbo, like real 
 Scotch lassies, defiant, coquettish, enticing ; 
 in fact so carried away by the enthusiasm, 
 that had the Theatre Royal Drury been 
 
 convenient " and the manager suggested 
 stepping on those boards for a repetition 
 
A SJdrmish. 
 
 197 
 
 of tlie performaiice, they would have gone 
 on without hesitation. It must be said this 
 was the performance that most delighted 
 the rustics, who were charmed with its 
 abandon. Mr. Jackson, however, wore a 
 smile of good-humoured contempt, as he 
 strummed the few ex officio chords, as he 
 called them. 
 
 " Hardly singing," he said, later. 
 " That ^ Scotch thirds ' business was the 
 regular thing for sisters. Papa likes it 
 after dinner. Costa," he added, as if a 
 bosom intimate of that eminent conductor, 
 would give a hundred pounds to hear 
 that." A donation which might be ac- 
 cepted as a compliment, or the reverse. 
 
 They were looking forward with some 
 interest to the re-appearance of the 
 Beauty ; for, to say the truth, his Adonis- 
 like air, his sweet and conscious modesty, 
 
198 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 whicli was mere pride, lent a sort of 
 piquancy and amusement. The gentlemen 
 visitors looked at each other with a quiet 
 enjoyment as he passed by in all his 
 primo tenore glory. For he had battled 
 with the cold, and was burning, not so 
 much to delight the crowd as to put down 
 those two ladies who were waiting to hear 
 him, and who really seemed to him like 
 enemies, or persons to whom he had a 
 spite. He, most unreasonably, laid to 
 this account a fresh mortification that he 
 had received, namely, an abrupt summons 
 from that new-born eminent connoisseur. 
 Lord Bindley. 
 
 Come, Talbot, I want to hear these 
 two songs of yours together. We can't 
 run any risks, you know. I have my 
 doubts about the new one — at least, Jack- 
 son doesn't seem to think it safe." 
 
A Shirmish, 199 
 
 Thus put on his trial, he had to give 
 them in a rather uncertain and faltering 
 way. Mr. Mendelssohn Jackson did not cer- 
 tainly aid in his department of the venture, 
 — spelUng it out with a curious air, as if 
 it were some Japanese system of notation. 
 
 " Seems strained and irregular. Ah ! 
 we must keep to the a, b, o in these things. 
 You should go to a grinder, and pick up a 
 little harmony. I don't know; we seem 
 getting into the jungle here." 
 
 Much alarmed at these forebodings. 
 Lord Bindley said decisively, — 
 
 I beg, Talbot, you will run no risk ; 
 and I must request you will sing your first 
 song." 
 
 He was out now before the audience. 
 He saw the faces ranged below, and saw 
 his wife's close to him. How he would 
 confound her suspicions and doubts. Yes, 
 
200 Beauty Talbot 
 
 Mrs. Labouchere was right. It Avas only 
 at home that a man was never appreciated. 
 He had a note in reserve at the end of 
 each verse— a high a " — which he had 
 kept in ambush, which he would bring 
 out at the close, make the welkin ring — 
 that is, the beams in the ceiling, — and 
 cause them all to look at each other with 
 wonder and amazement. Not even Men- 
 delssohn Jackson knew of it. From that 
 envious practitioner should be wrung unex- 
 torted praise. Only to Mrs. Labouchere, 
 just as he went on, had he confided what 
 he had in store. That he could not resist. 
 " They will see what is in me ! " he said, 
 triumphantly. 
 
 He went through his first lines rather 
 doubtfully, for he felt nervous, and, with 
 all his preparation, rather hoarse. But 
 energy and purpose have done greater 
 
A Skirmish. 
 
 201 
 
 wonders. He was warming to the work ; 
 he was at the last line ; he was entering on 
 the '^last and lingering smile." He was 
 lifting himself slowly, gathering himself for 
 the effort — 
 
 One last and ling'ring smile. 
 
 When, alas ! just as with a desperate effort 
 he hoisted himself up on that fatal A, it 
 gave way under him like some frail lath — 
 it snapped ; in short, a strange unearthly 
 sound, something like the crow of a 
 cock," as one of his enemies remarked, 
 filled the hall. Worse still, a sort of titter 
 fluttered over the seats ; every one looked 
 at each other and smiled ; the gentlemen, 
 standing together, laughed. The Beauty 
 had broken down ! How he got through 
 the next verse he knew not. He heard 
 
206 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 Mendelssolin Jackson ostentatiously advis- 
 ing him — pointing to the notes with one 
 hand, while he played with the other — 
 Stick to your text ; I'll play it with 
 you." And the " wretch " noisily pounded 
 out the air during the whole of the next 
 verse, looking up in his face, to show 
 that he was guiding and keeping him from 
 going astray. The voice of the Beauty 
 grew fainter and fainter. He would have 
 given the world to have fled away, and 
 hid his head in the earth. At the end 
 Mendelssohn Jackson crashed down some 
 hasty chords and closed the unhappy per- 
 formance. The Beauty retired hurriedly 
 to scarcely a hand — a good-natured few 
 applauding — Lord Bindley saying, almost 
 angrily, Eeally, he ought to have known. 
 Spoiled my whole concert." A coarse, 
 funny man even called out from the back. 
 
A Skirmish. 
 
 207 
 
 Encore !" — then dipped his head down 
 to escape observation. This produced a 
 laugh : a crowd will laugh at anything. 
 
 The jests of the men became unen- 
 durable, so coarse and rude. Gye won't 
 engage you now, when he hears this : 
 give him ever so many lingering smiles, 
 ha ! ha 1" Another said, " I'd have been 
 content with my crown of laurel ; I would, 
 indeed !" While some one said, before 
 Mrs. Talbot, and the circle, Mrs. Tal- 
 bot's advice was wise enough, and I would 
 have taken it. I heard her say, that you 
 ought to be content with your glory." 
 
 " He will be wiser another time," she 
 said, smiling. 
 
 Mrs. Labouchere was at hand ; they 
 were just going up to bed. That would 
 be an unsafe rule," she said. We never 
 hear of a successful amateur contented 
 
208 Beauty Talhot. 
 
 witli one performance. No, he tries 
 again. The world would, otherwise, stand 
 still. There would be no success. There 
 is my moral, my advice." 
 
 Some of the more sharp-witted had be- 
 gun to perceive this sort of hostility be- 
 tween the ladies, and were watching with 
 interest. Mrs. Talbot's eyes began to 
 glitter. Good advice, I fear, is quite 
 thrown away on him." 
 
 Not mine, I know. Mr. Talbot has 
 consulted me so much lately. Now, 
 what I say is — and I am sure I shall be 
 supported — Mr. Talbot has made a great 
 success. He was nervous to-night, and 
 there was a reason for that. You should 
 go on and not be discouraged. Go to 
 London, put yourself under some famous 
 master who will bring out your voice. Go 
 about to parties, and see the world, and 
 
A Shirrrdsh. 
 
 209 
 
 do not be buried in that dismal quarter of 
 the country, where both our houses are. 
 Life is very sweet, and, alas, as short as 
 it is sweet. There is the good woman's 
 charm, and I make him a present of it." 
 
 It had effect on the crowd, who went with 
 her^ and applauded. The Beauty, more 
 rebelHous than ever, vows it to be most 
 sensible ; his wife can only act scorn and 
 indifference. She longed for her wretched 
 visit to be at an end, and the more 
 wretched woman to be expatriated to 
 France. Only a few hours more, and she 
 would be away, out of it. 
 
 It seemed, certainly, as though she had 
 been worsted in this little series of en- 
 counters. She dared not own it to herself ; 
 but she had. The Beauty hneiv it^ too, as 
 she saw in his malevolent eye ; but she 
 said not a word. Alas ! as with the in- 
 
210 Beauty Talbot, 
 
 genious monkey who goes round in the 
 circus, if the training be suspended but 
 for a day, it is all blank, and has to be 
 recommenced ; so she saw that much hard 
 toil was in store for her, and for her 
 alone. 
 
 The morning came. The guests gather 
 to see guests go away. The carriage was 
 at the door, and trunks were coming 
 down. Mr. and Mrs. and Miss Talbot 
 were going away. 
 
 So much obliged to you, Talbot," 
 says the host ; mind we see you here 
 again soon." 
 
 The ladies were shaking hands, and 
 Mrs. Talbot and her enemy went through 
 the same ceremony. Mr. Hardman stood 
 by. " We shall soon meet again, ma'am. 
 We are neighbours, and as my daughter 
 and Talbot seem such firm allies in the 
 
A Skirmish. 
 
 211 
 
 singing way, I mean to get up a great 
 deal of music " 
 
 A restless trouble and curiosity made 
 her hazard the answer, "0, when she 
 comes back from France 
 
 " 0, we have changed all that," said 
 Mrs. Labouchere, with a smile. I am 
 going to be filial, and always to live ivith 
 my father at the Towers. Bon voyage T 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 LADY SHIPLEY. 
 
 During the absence of Mr. Hardman 
 from tlie Towers, a new family had ar- 
 rived in the district. A rather decayed 
 road-side villa had been taken by them, 
 which had been long unletj and it was 
 presently known that a no less distin- 
 guished person than Lady Shipley and her 
 daughter were living there. Lady Ship- 
 ley was the Dowager Lady Shipley, her 
 daughter was Miss Honoria ; to speak the 
 whole truth about them in a single 
 sentence, they were neither more nor less 
 than a pair of marauders, who, like Mr. 
 
Ladij Shipley. 
 
 213 
 
 Carlyle's parson, had scoured the country 
 seeking for horse meat and man meat;" 
 in short, had settled down in fat and 
 flourishing districts, which they had 
 pillaged socially far and near, left waste, 
 and then moved on to another. They 
 were genteel, poor, and clever, a combina- 
 tion of attributes which almost amounted 
 to wealth, or, at least, to comfort. Her son, 
 the present Sir Thomas, was married, and 
 not particularly fond of his mother or 
 sister, who had about four hundred a 
 year to live on, eked out by the contri- 
 butions, in hindy of their friends and 
 neighbours. Lady Shipley, it was known, 
 would accept articles of dress and clothing 
 for her Honoria, in a pleasant, sensible 
 way that took the thing quite out of the 
 character of anything eleemosynary. 
 ''Here, Mony," so she called her 
 
 VOL. II. p 
 
214 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 daughter, " don't be a fool ; you won't 
 get a dress like that to suit you, if 
 you were to go round all the shops." 
 Or: 
 
 ^^My dear Mrs. , Mony is very 
 
 much obliged to you, and has no foolish 
 stuck-up notions about her, I can assure 
 you. She is too well born and well con- 
 nected to run any chance of being mis- 
 understood, and it will help to keep down 
 her pride a little." 
 
 The same lady would invite herself to 
 dinner — to your little bit of mutton," 
 which was just what she liked, she said, 
 and in this fashion had a most comfortable 
 and enjoyable life. She kept a wary eye 
 out for the sort of persons whom she knew 
 would serve her purpose ; and when people 
 were inveighing against rich and vulgar 
 people, her elderly ears quivered like a dog's 
 
Ladij Shipley. 215 
 
 when he hears his master approaching. 
 
 It was thus when the term of her cheap 
 mansion was expiring that she heard Mr. 
 Hardman described, with his style of 
 manner and of Hving ; and it occurred to 
 her that he was just the sort of person 
 to be near, and to know, i.e.^ to prey on. 
 ''These people, Mony, dear," she said 
 to her daughter, " will be worth a hundred 
 a year to us." She had mapped it all 
 out : a fortnight's visiting every two 
 months, a dinner at least every fortnight, 
 with other perquisites; and a pleasant 
 gentleman giving an agreeable description 
 of the duke's coachman," and the wav 
 that menial was introduced on all occa- 
 sions, the lady, instead of joining in the 
 laughter, resolved that she should be 
 driven many a time by a person of such 
 august antecedents. 
 
 P 2 
 
216 
 
 Beauty Talbot 
 
 The old villa was procured, a dead 
 bargain," and some old furniture, whicli 
 went about with her, was transferred to 
 
 Mr. Hardman had taken her precisely 
 as she had hoped; had searched his 
 heraldic red and blue books, and had 
 noted with surprise and delight where 
 her exceeding strength lay ; was con- 
 founded at the noble connections, cousin- 
 ships, &c., which spread oat from her in 
 all directions like the rays of a star-fish. 
 She was exactly what he wished ; and he 
 had an instinct that she would graciously 
 lend herself to his humour in a very 
 different fashion from those stuck-up " 
 Talbots. ' 
 
 The great coach and its still greater 
 coachman had already taken him there, 
 from the windows of which cards had duly 
 
Lady Shipley. 
 
 217 
 
 been handed to a mouldy old man-servant, 
 whom Mr. Hardman regarded with exceed- 
 ing reverence as an aristocratic retainer. 
 The visit had been returned. Lady Ship- 
 ley had gone in ; had sat a long time, and 
 had delighted him by her easy manners, 
 her wish to please, and to be pleased by 
 him. You have everything charming 
 about you, Mr. Hardman ; such taste, 
 such magnificence ! I warn you, you will 
 have me coming here very often. It re- 
 minds me of The Rams — my cousin Rams- 
 gate's place." 
 
 " I know ; Lord Ramsgate. Indeed ! 
 Ton my word ! Then, I hope you ivill 
 come very often. Lady Shipley. I hope 
 to see you whenever you find it convenient 
 to yourself." 
 
 And the pictures, and your flowers ! 
 I doat on both; I could live and die 
 
218 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 among pictures and flowers. Mony, dear, 
 you know tkat — " 
 
 You like flowers ? Here ! I say ! 
 Send for the gardener, and let him follow 
 us. I have got the finest gardener in the 
 whole shire. Lord Loveland tried to get 
 him from me ; but his lordship could not 
 conveniently manage the wages the man 
 asked, and is well worth. Now, Lady 
 Shipley, I request you will point out 
 what you like, and it shall be cut and 
 sent over to you. Fruit — care for fruit. 
 Lady Shipley?" 
 
 Ah ! why you know all my tastes ! I 
 could live and die in a hothouse, my dear 
 Mr. Hardman." 
 
 The marauder, in fact, could live and 
 die anywhere where there were any of the 
 good things of life. She had the odd gift 
 of announcing as her special taste, ^ liking 
 
Lady Shipley. 
 
 219 
 
 for wines, fruits, meats, or everything of 
 the best. Her heavily-built, dowdy 
 person was, indeed, excellent evidence 
 of this fancy. Before she left the garden 
 it was arranged that a great basket, con- 
 taining flowers and fruits, should be sent 
 over. A dinner, also, had been sketched 
 out. This was not a bad morning's work. 
 But she had not done yet. 
 
 " I have heard of Mrs. Labouchere," 
 she said, "and am dying to know her. 
 But you have some one else — a son ?" 
 
 *^Yes, yes," said Mr. Hardman, loftily, 
 as if owning to a luxury which every gen- 
 tleman ought to possess. " Oh certainly !" 
 
 "Oh, where is young Mr. Hardman?" 
 went on Lady Shipley. " I should so Hke 
 to know him." 
 
 Young Mr. Hardman was sent for and 
 produced; and Lady Shipley, after some 
 
220 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 expressions of implied gratification at the 
 exhibition of such, a treasure, adroitly 
 " shunted " herself on to a siding with Mr. 
 Hardman, leaving the two young carriages 
 coupled behind. The well-trained Honoria 
 lost not a moment, and in a very short 
 time had forced a sort of intimacy, founded 
 on volunteered confidences of her own 
 life, feelings, &c., and of questions as to 
 Ms. 
 
 In this artful way there can be es- 
 tablished a perfect intimacy and friendship 
 which, though all on one side, seems as 
 good to spectators as any other. The 
 young man, who had reasons for keeping 
 his father in good humour, did his best to 
 make himself agreeable. Then they went 
 away. 
 
 His father had been at home some three 
 days, and every morning the son had 
 
Lady Shipley. 221 
 
 intended walking straight into the study, 
 to speak with him on a very important 
 matter. The young man, since his father's 
 return, had been very nervous indeed with 
 the news which he had to break; and 
 after the ladies had gone, seeing that Mr. 
 Hardman was in excellent humour and 
 even spirits, thought it a good op- 
 portunity. He knocked at the study 
 door. 
 
 " Come in," said his father. " Well ! 
 What do you want ?" 
 
 Perhaps, sir, you are engaged ? If 
 so, I can come another time." 
 
 The father looked at him with a dark 
 mistrust. 
 
 " This is some damned concealed tailor's 
 bill, sir, or something of the sort. You 
 always come skulking in this way when 
 you have tJiat on hand." 
 
222 Beauhj Talbot. 
 
 No, no, sir ! indeed, nothing of the 
 kind." 
 
 Yet it iDas something of the kind, inas- 
 much as the communication was attended 
 with similar nervousness. 
 
 " Then, what is it, sir ?" 
 
 " What I wished to say, sir, is this : I 
 have always tried to be a good son — at 
 least, to do my best to please you. You, 
 sir, have been a kind father — on the whole 
 — that is, when I deserved it." 
 
 " Rubbish., sir ! What are you coming 
 to, with all this palaver ? You're driving 
 at something disagreeable ; and I tell you 
 what, I'll make it disagreeable to you. 
 What is it ? Don't waste my time." 
 
 Desperate, the young fellow brought it 
 — blurted it — out. His father was not in 
 a rage ; but took it quite coolly. 
 
 Well ! and what is this to me ? Are 
 
Lady Shipley. 223 
 
 you not in a free country ? Don't you know 
 I can't force you to do anything ? But I 
 can do tJiis^ my lad — let you be a beggar, 
 wbicli I will, as sure as tlie stocks rise 
 and fall in the market. Ah ! don't talk 
 folly ; don't come to me with such trash. 
 Are you a baby or a schoolboy ?" 
 
 The young man protested, very 
 earnestly, that he was serious. He was 
 pledged — engaged — and must go on. He 
 was bound by honour and duty and affec- 
 tion. 
 
 I won't have it," said Mr. Hardman. 
 You are a low whining cur. Do you 
 think I made all my money, that bought 
 you that rag of a red coat, and raised you 
 out of the puddle, all for this ? I won't 
 have it. I don't choose to have my name 
 connected with those infernal, stuck-up, 
 stiff-backed people. Ah ! I'll give 'em a 
 
224 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 lesson yet, and show tliem my money is 
 as good as their pride any day. Don't 
 bother me, sir," he said, vehemently, " any 
 more ! I won't put up with it ! I'm 
 ashamed of you, you sneak ! with your 
 love and your whine. You raise your 
 family ! Raise money is all you'll do, you 
 selfish cur, you ! — that won't do a hand's 
 turn to raise me, on whom you fatten. 
 You're no good, and as helpless as any 
 country oaf Another smart lad, with 
 your advantage and my banker's book at 
 your back, would have pushed forward 
 and made a splendid marriage. Don't 
 talk to me any more about such stuff ! 
 I don't see it, and won't see it. 
 There !" 
 
 Mrs. Labouchere was to arrive the 
 following morning from town ; and the 
 young man — though brother and sister, 
 
Lady Shipley. 
 
 225 
 
 tliey were not too affectionate — thouglit 
 liis best course would be to wait until she 
 came. He had noted that since the 
 marriage she had a sort of influence over 
 her father, the truth being that the mean 
 nature of Mr. Hardman grovelled a little 
 before her in her new position and good 
 connection. She came, and her brother 
 told her all. She started with a scornful 
 and bitter look. 
 
 Yes," he said, hastily ; I knew you 
 did not like them, and was afraid you 
 
 could not endure them " 
 
 "You quite mistake," she said, coldly. 
 "It is quite a wrong interpretation. I 
 can be just in such an important matter 
 as that. But have you considered what 
 you are about to do ? Enter into a family 
 that despise — look down on — you, 
 the manufacturer's son — that have in- 
 
226 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 suited your father, and whose treat- 
 ment of me — but that, of course, I put 
 aside." 
 
 But what am I to do ? I am pledged 
 to her." 
 
 " In that case, you must go on, I sup- 
 pose. I shall do what you wish to help 
 you. What must it be — speak to him ?" 
 
 ^^Oh, if you would!" 
 
 " If I do, then, this must be understood 
 — I do no more. I am not called on to 
 favour it in any way. I will not make any 
 approach to them, as it would be hypo- 
 critical ; and if my manner or ways even 
 hinder it, as I know it will, you must not 
 blame me. But, as far as our father is 
 
 concerned " 
 
 It is most kind and generous," said 
 the young man, eagerly ; and I can ask 
 no more." 
 
Lady Shipley. 
 
 227 
 
 That niglit Mrs. Labouchere went to 
 her father's study, and remained there 
 nearly an hour. He received her full of 
 bluster and indignation. 
 
 " Such work ! That fool's last notion ; 
 but I won't have it. He shall marry as I 
 wish, or go and carry his coat through the 
 streets. I shan't have it." 
 
 It is hard," said his daughter ; and 
 certainly, as money seems to be the grand 
 thing now-a-days, he ought to get a 
 good match and raise the family. But 
 these Talbots, father, are they not well 
 connected ?" 
 
 "A stuck-up, infernal lot; it's just some 
 trick of theirs. But why should you 
 mention them ? I'm sure they made you 
 swallow dirt enough." 
 
 The greater my magnanimity ! But I 
 believe you have got at the secret ; it must 
 
228 Beautij Talbot. 
 
 be some trick. Like that trap of the 
 picture into which, she led you." 
 
 Mr. Hardman coloured at this recoUec- 
 tion, which was really like some rankhng 
 sore. 
 
 " They shan't trick me. No ; not one 
 of them, if it was to cost me a thousand 
 pound ! No ; I'll pay 'em for that, yet. 
 Never ! I'll bring their noses to the grind- 
 stone !" 
 
 " Then, if you will let me advise you, 
 father, you will not oppose it." 
 
 " Not oppose it ! Do you take me for a 
 fool ?" 
 
 " Not oppose it noiu. It will be done, 
 in spite of you. If I was to manage it, I 
 could find a way of paying off that woman, 
 as you call it, in a more satisfactory way." 
 
 Oh, some scheming. I don't want it. 
 What do you mean?" 
 
Lady Shipley. 229 
 
 Let tlie thing go on. The girl's in 
 love with him; they must humour her. 
 They are ready to agree. Revenge, and 
 that sort of thing, is low, and not worth 
 the trouble ; but you are not bound to 
 be considerate in any way to those who 
 insult us as they have done. The true 
 dignity would be to let the ivhole come from 
 them. You will see how the matter will 
 go on, and you can interfere at any 
 time." 
 
 He looked at her steadily. 
 
 " I don't understand this finessing. My 
 way has always been straightforward. I 
 don't choose the business, and I won't 
 have it." 
 
 ''He might do far better. Even that 
 girl that was here to-day — people of won- 
 derful connection, and seeming even far 
 more like real ladies. But you, father, 
 
 VOL. II. Q 
 
230 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 know the world better, and have seen more 
 of it than I have ; so I only speak with 
 difl&dence." 
 
 This bit of deference only made Mr. 
 Hardman more pompous ; but it had the 
 effect intended. 
 
 I shall consider all these things, never 
 fear. I don't usually make mistakes. This 
 house and furniture, and the grounds 
 round it, and what I have in the funds 
 and securities, are not mistakes. I can 
 get on very well without advice. There ! 
 we may leave the matter so until morn- 
 ing." 
 
 But the prospect she had opened would 
 never have occurred to his thick brain ; 
 and he did see now that there was a 
 field before him. That slight of the picture 
 returned in so humiliating a fashion, was 
 always before him. Even the man who 
 
Lady SJdpley. 231 
 
 had gone off with some of his money long 
 ago had not hurt him so much. The 
 hint he had got he knew how to better 
 in his own clumsy way. 
 
 Q 2 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 A CLOUD IN THE HORIZON. 
 
 Meanwhile the Beauty and his family 
 were once more at home, the former in 
 very high dudgeon — a sort of settled sulk^ 
 in which he found great profit. There 
 was a sensible relief for the two ladies to 
 have him at home again, safe and secure, 
 removed to that pleasant retirement out 
 of the dangerous allurements of a disturb- 
 ing world. He might " vent " himself in 
 any way ; he met nothing but indulgence 
 and allowance. He had been recaptured 
 and brought back. On this ground they 
 thought it better to say nothing till to- 
 
A Cloud in the Horizon. 233 
 
 morrow," about the proposal made to his 
 daughter, from which, now, Mrs. Talbot 
 began to shrink as from a degradation ; 
 yet she was generous and unselfish enough 
 to think only of her daughter, who must 
 not suffer, and whose affections she saw 
 were seriously engaged. That was the 
 most unselfish sacrifice she had ever made 
 in her long career. 
 
 For a species of sword of Damocles 
 had been hanging over her head ever 
 since she returned; and the news she 
 had heard, as she left Lord Bindley's, 
 that the unscrupulous woman was to be 
 near her — for what end she could well 
 guess — had seemed some terrible blow. 
 As yet she believed that she had not 
 returned home. 
 
 About evening young Hardman himself 
 came riding up, and hurried in. 
 
234 Beauty Talbot 
 
 " I have told my fatlier," he said, in a 
 rather agitated way ; and he was very 
 angry at first, principally, I beheve, be- 
 cause I had not consulted hinio But now 
 he is much more moderate, and says I 
 must not be in a hurry in these matters, 
 and must consult his convenience." And 
 then he added — But you know what my 
 poor father would say, as to great people 
 condescending to him^ which of course is 
 all imagination. Of course we never 
 anticipated it would run smooth ; but Livy 
 will not visit it on me ?" 
 
 Livy's eyes visited on him the most 
 boundless sympathy and affection instead. 
 
 Mrs. Talbot saw this, and sighed. 
 You have told Mr. Talbot this plan ? 
 I did not the other day. I merely hinted — " 
 
 ^^No." 
 
 Shall he be told now ? There he is." 
 
A Cloud in the Horizon, 235 
 
 Mrs. Talbot thouglit it would be better 
 to delay this communication till they were 
 alone. 
 
 The Beauty entered, dull and aggrieved ; 
 but his face cleared and brightened when 
 he saw the young man. 
 
 "How are you, Hardman? How are 
 they at The Towers ? All home again ?' 
 
 " Thank you/' said the young man, 
 " quite well. My sister came back only 
 last night. By the way, here is a note I 
 was to give you." 
 
 He took it out and put it into the 
 Beauty's hand, who withdrew into the 
 next room to read it. Mrs. Talbot almost 
 writhed. 
 
 " A note from my sister," the youth said, 
 in explanation. 
 
 The Beauty went out, and after about 
 ten minutes the bells of Livy's ponies 
 
236 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 were heard. He came in dressed — a fresh 
 flower in his button-hole, a grey gossa- 
 mer" over his well-made coat. 
 
 I am going to drive over your way, 
 Hardman/' he said; "and could drop you. 
 No ? All right, then ; I can go by myself." 
 
 Again there was something of monkeyish 
 malice in the look he gave her. Then he 
 rattled away brilliantly on his course. 
 
 Young Hardman was at last gone, but 
 the Beauty did not return for two or three 
 hours. He arrived in a sort of complacent 
 excitement, the symptoms of which his 
 wife knew at once. As soon as he was in 
 the drawing-room, he began — 
 
 " So it seems there is a marriage being 
 arranged here, which it was not worth 
 while communicating to me ?" 
 
 We had a reason for not telling you. 
 Beauty dear." 
 
A Gloibd in the Horizon. 237 
 
 It sounds very respectable tliough for 
 me to be told of such, a thing outside. It 
 is enough to make every one think I am 
 a mere child and cipher in this house. 
 Yes, a mere cipher and child ! Who can 
 respect me, if my own family show they 
 do not?" 
 
 Mrs. Talbot listened with wonder to 
 this new language, which she knew was 
 not his own. 
 
 There was nothing to tell you," she 
 said. It was only last night that he 
 told his father." 
 
 If I am to have any voice in the 
 matter, I do not approve of it. There 
 will be always a sense of patronage on one 
 side, and an uneasy feeling of inferiority on 
 the other." 
 
 Again these were new words for the 
 Beauty — lent to him, as it were. 
 
238 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 " Go away, dearest Livy. I want to 
 talk to your father about this." 
 
 " Oh, nonsense. Why shouldn't she 
 stay. We are not going to talk treason 
 here ; and if we are, she would not betray 
 us. I don't like these private inter- 
 views." 
 
 " Gro away, dear." > 
 And Livy left the room. The Beauty 
 
 did not relish these secret hearings. 
 
 When they were alone his wife began, 
 
 calmly — 
 
 '^You must admit that our child has 
 been the sweetest, most amiable, and 
 devoted daughter that could be conceived. 
 She has had rather a severe apprentice- 
 ship." 
 
 " Oh, yes ; I am not saying anything 
 against her." 
 
 " We must not be too selfish. She has 
 
A Cloud in the Hgrizon. 239 
 
 set her heart, her affections on this. That 
 means, with one of her disposition — her 
 all. You must see this ?" 
 
 " Well, but I think it is not suitable 
 for her. There will be that sense of in- 
 feriority " 
 
 ^^Oh, I know — on one side. I would 
 rather hear your own views and not Mrs. 
 Labouchere's. You have them off by 
 heart. Speak your own opinions, and I 
 will pay them all respect." 
 
 The Beauty coloured, and grew con- 
 fused. 
 
 She went on — 
 
 "You know how that woman treated 
 me, how she dislikes me, how I despise 
 her. Now I think, even for one's self- 
 respect, it is scarcely decent of you to be- 
 come her partisan, or to be affecting to 
 be so intimate with her. It is not com- 
 
240 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 plimentary to me ; and I think it shows a 
 little bad taste in you." 
 
 Oh yes ; but I have been treated too 
 much as a child all along, and a cipher 
 in the house ; and I don't like it. If you 
 
 knew what things are said " 
 
 "By her?" 
 
 By every one. It is perfect nonsense, 
 and it can't go on. Why shouldn't I go 
 and see her ? Her kindness to me during 
 all that time I shall never forget; and 
 her sympathy and good-nature, too. Ah, 
 she understands me. I am sure it is not 
 unreasonable that a father should have a 
 voice in the matter. I don't want to 
 interfere with Livy and her happiness. 
 He is a very good fellow, and all that ; 
 but I should have been told of it, con- 
 sulted, and all that. It's only the pro- 
 per thing, you see." 
 
CHAPTER XI. 
 
 ME. HARDMAN PAYS A VISIT. 
 
 The next day he went about dissatisfied, 
 scarcely touching his piano. At dinner 
 his wife said — 
 
 Why don't you go out, dear, and 
 take a good walk with Livy? You will 
 get ill." 
 
 " 0, I can't be always walking. Really, 
 I'm not a school-boy quite — to be sent 
 out to take an airing. If I had a horse, 
 then I could ride — as every other man in 
 a place like this has ; but I can have 
 nothing like any one else." 
 
 But why not get a horse, dearest ? 
 
242 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 We should both be so glad to see you 
 riding about." 
 
 O5 the expense ! and you wouldn't 
 like it. It wouldn't suit the petticoat 
 government under which I live. 0, 
 no." 
 
 These, again, were words foreign to 
 him ; still they pointed merely at a little 
 domestic grievance, not at the one which 
 they so dreaded. It was a relief. Before 
 the day was over, it had been all planned, 
 and Mrs. Talbot came to him with a 
 scheme. 
 
 It is quite reasonable," she said; 
 
 and, indeed, I think you ought to have 
 your horse. Livy and I make you a little 
 present — this five-and-twenty pounds out 
 of our bank ; and you can make up the 
 rest yourself." 
 
 The Beauty was greatly pleased, but 
 
Mr, Harclman pays a Visit. 243 
 
 he was a gentleman, after all, and, would 
 not take their money. 
 
 " I am not so dependent as that," he 
 said ; but I know where I can get a 
 capital horse for forty pounds, and get 
 time to pay for him, without taking your 
 little money. No, no." 
 
 He was very proud of himself for this. 
 Perhaps, too, he wished not to lay himself 
 under any obligation which might hamper 
 his future movements ; perhaps he felt a 
 twinge of conscience. No matter, the 
 horse came home that very evening; 
 and the Beauty took to making long 
 rides. 
 
 Next day drove up the Hardman car- 
 riage, its owner seated back in it, with 
 quite a sheriff-like air. He got out in 
 a slow, solemn way ; stood on the steps 
 a few moments, giving orders to his ser- 
 
244 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 vants while the door was kept open ; then 
 entered slowly. 
 
 Tell Mrs. Talbot, please, that I would 
 be obliged to her to let me speak to her 
 privately. Privately ! — you understand ?" 
 
 It was wonderful the change in Mr. 
 Hardman as he appeared to Mrs. Talbot 
 when he entered. She understood it all, 
 and it was a deep humiliation. There was 
 a puffed importance, half medical, half 
 official ; and his chin was elevated some 
 more degrees. 
 
 have come," he said, ''to speak 
 about this matter, which concerns us both 
 so immediately." 
 
 '' 0, about the proposal your son made 
 my daughter. It was so unexpected — 
 such a surprise — that I thought it better 
 not even to mention it when you were 
 at Bindley." 
 
Mr. Hardman pays a Visit. 245 
 
 She could not resist taking this tone, 
 and it gave her her old superiority. 
 
 " Of course — of course," he said ; 
 " quite right. You see though, Mrs. 
 Talbot, I have been turning the matter 
 over a great deal; and, of course, it 
 comes to this ; I must look at it as a 
 pure matter of business." 
 
 A pure matter of business!" she re- 
 peated. "0, you are joking, surely?" 
 
 Not all, ma'am. Love, and all that, 
 is very well; but I, as a man of sense, 
 must consider it in other ways. Now, I 
 know you are people of good family and 
 connections, and all that, and very suit- 
 able ; but, then, our side has it corres- 
 ponding advantages, too. My son will 
 come into a very large income ; I may 
 naturally look for a very high and ad- 
 vantageous connection for him— very high, 
 
 VOL. II. II 
 
246 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 ma'am, as things go now ! Plenty of 
 girls in the market — ay, and that I know 
 of; people of rank, and all that." 
 
 Then we have no wish to interfere 
 with your market^ Mr. Hardman ; not for 
 a moment." 
 
 ^'Now," went on Mr. Hardman, I do 
 not know what sort of fortune Miss 
 Talbot will bring with her; but I may 
 assume it will be a very moderate one. 
 I am not saying there is any discredit in 
 that — far from it ; but -" 
 
 " Now once for all," said Mrs. Talbot, 
 with a calm contempt, under which he 
 became restless, " let us put this on its 
 proper footing. This all should come last, 
 instead of first. You seem to me to begin 
 in the Turkish fashion ; and I must tell 
 you simply, Mr. Hardman, that we cannot 
 treat, as you would call it, in this rather 
 
Mr, Hardman pays a Visit. 247 
 
 business-like way. We must pay some 
 little homage to the conventional usages, 
 after such things are arranged ; to a little 
 regard and affection in the matter — the 
 only things that would tempt us at all, 
 or certainly my daughter, into the busi- 
 ness. Let us speak frankly on the matter, 
 Mr. Hardman. There are many reasons 
 which should make this alliance unsuitable 
 to both families ; but the only one which 
 makes us favour it, is that our children 
 have set their hearts on it." 
 
 Very red and puffed, Mr. Hardman 
 replies — 
 
 Oh, I don't follow that at all, ma'am. 
 With my fortune and my house, and the 
 tone of the day, ma'am, I hold myself as 
 a good connection for any lord's family in 
 the kingdom ; and as for my son's fancy, 
 I don't value it that— not that^ ma'am, 
 
 R 2 
 
248 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 uuless it should fall in witli my 
 plans." 
 
 Mrs. Talbot could have come fortli witli 
 a contemptuous reply, tliat would have 
 crushed him — taking him at his word, and 
 leaving him there for ever. But the image 
 of her child came back on her, worldly 
 woman as she was. 
 
 ''Napoleon said we were a nation of 
 shopkeepers," she answered, with a smile ; 
 
 and if he heard your views, Mr. Hardman, 
 he niight think himself right. But I may 
 surely speak with the same frankness ? 
 Now this arrangement does fall in with 
 our — with my plans — for we do value our 
 daughter's fancy a great deal. You see 
 that is quite an opposite view. However, 
 there need be no hurry, surely, with such 
 views on both sides ? We may wait, I 
 suppose, a httle, while these young people 
 
# 
 
 Mr. Hardman pays a Visit. 249 
 
 learn to test their affection ? This was 
 what I had to go through myself. Let ns 
 say four or five months ; not a very long 
 probation.'^ • 
 
 At this idea of confidential arrangement, 
 the vulgarity of the man, swelling and 
 swelling, frog-like, had like to fairly burst 
 him. 
 
 I see," he said; ''well, we can wait, 
 ma'am. You and I understand each other. 
 All right !" 
 
 Vulgarity is, of course, used here after 
 Sir Walter's definition or explanation of 
 the word. His heart warmed at her tena- 
 city of purpose. 
 
 '' Hope to see you very often at the 
 Towers, and that we shall see each other 
 reciprocally. You mustn't mind," he 
 added, loftily, '' my daughter, Mrs. La- 
 bouchere. She has a putting-down way 
 
250. 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 with lier ; and at Bindley I know slie was 
 a little annoying. I told her so." 
 
 Mrs. Talbot writhed under this fami- 
 liarity, more than she had ever done be- 
 fore. He went on — 
 
 We like your husband very much ; he 
 is so pleasant and agreeable, and Mrs. 
 Labouchere makes quite a pet of him. 
 His voice is really getting very fine ; and 
 when he was lunching with us yesterday 
 I thought that he sang better than I ever 
 heard him." 
 
 The well trained lady showed no sur- 
 prise. Mr. Talbot had not mentioned this 
 visit. It flashed on her also — this was the 
 purpose for which the horse had been pur- 
 chased. It was growing serious indeed. 
 There was something here like planning, 
 and revolt. 
 
 It was a relief when Mr. Hardman went 
 
Mr. Hardman pays a Visit 251 
 
 away, going to call on Lady Shipley, and 
 engage her for a dinner or lunch. Long 
 after, Mrs. Talbot remained in a pensive, 
 thoughtful attitude, lines growing in her 
 forehead, searching out some plan. By din- 
 ner the Beauty was at home, in great spirits. 
 He had enjoyed his ride thoroughly. He 
 spoke of the visit of that morning. 
 
 " Mr. Hardman was here, was he not ?" 
 he said, with new respect, that was quite 
 evident to all. " A real, intelligent, long- 
 headed man. I can see he wishes to be 
 friendly with us, and meet us more than 
 half way ; and it is really foolish to stand 
 off now that he is to be connected with 
 us. We have quite misjudged him all 
 along; and I think his views on this 
 matter do him great honour. These self- 
 made men, you know, have a sensitiveness 
 that seems to us pride." 
 
252 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 These were wonderful distinctions for 
 a man like the Beauty ; but they were 
 clearly not his own. 
 
 ^' He is very willing and very good- 
 natured/' went on the Beauty, warming. 
 '^He has asked me to dine to-morrow, in 
 a friendly and family way. You know, as 
 we are to be connected, it is absurd stand- 
 ing on ceremony." 
 
 That is just the reason I would 
 stand on ceremony with a person of his 
 class. But you forget we have asked the 
 parson and his family." 
 
 "Parson — nonsense!" the Beauty said 
 pettishly. " So vexatious ! Then you 
 must put him off; I can't have my little 
 amusements, without being interfered 
 with in this way. Why can't I be like 
 other men, who are consulted in these 
 jnatters, before making my household 
 
Mr. Hardman pays a Visit. 253 
 
 arrangements ? I can't be here — indeed, 
 I cannot. I don't want to be a child — a 
 cipher — in my own house." 
 
 " He is a clergyman, and we 'must pay 
 him respect. It can't be thought of. 
 You must write and say you did not 
 know of our invitation." 
 
 ^' Then I can't do anything of the 
 kind. You must only entertain him your- 
 self." 
 
 No, no ; you must not give way to 
 such folly as that ! You are not going to 
 be ungentlemanly^ I suppose ?" 
 
 " Oh, that's a very smart way to put 
 it ! I am as gentlemanly as any other. 
 But that's neither here nor there ; and, I 
 don't mean to be made a cipher of in my 
 own house, and be laughed at. I can't do 
 it, really." 
 
 We shall see, dear," said Mrs. Talbot, 
 
254 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 unhappily for her, beginning to lose her 
 temper. 
 
 Very well ; we shall see/' the Beauty 
 answered, turning red. " This has gone 
 on too long — much too long. I don't 
 mean to make enemies, and lose my dinner 
 party ; and, if you were sensible, you 
 would put no obstacle in the way, and fall 
 in with my wishes." 
 
 These again were not his own words. 
 
 On this day the cheery figure of Mr. 
 Lumley was seen stamping along up to the 
 door, where he had not arrived for some 
 time ; he had had a bad fit of bronchitis, 
 which he had fought off in his usual Wid- 
 derington style — very much, as it was 
 certain he would cross swords with the 
 enemy he so dreaded. Here he was, 
 "pulled down" a good deal, but cheery, 
 as ever : in crimson tie, and pale trousers. 
 
Mr. Rardman pays a Visit. 255 
 
 . # 
 
 Just come down to hear all the news," 
 he said. Been ill, you know, in my 
 chambers ; and have been cut off from 
 that sort of nourishment — quite hungry 
 and thirsty for it now." 
 
 So he was, for the world had behaved 
 is its usual fashion to its dear worldlings 
 when they are ill, or past work. And all 
 his dear friends, when they heard that 
 " old Dick was ill," assumed he was as 
 good, or as bad, as dead. This was 
 rather a shock to him ; and it was natural 
 he should first turn to the house where he 
 had always received a friendly welcome, 
 and where nothing had been expected in 
 return. He must stay and spend the 
 night, and he was delighted to do so. 
 
 His quick eye, in a few hours, saw how 
 matters stood. With his old probe — a lit- 
 tle bent and rusty now — he got to the 
 
256 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 bottom of the Beauty's new weakness; 
 and his sense was suflSciently ahve to see 
 how Mrs. Talbot was affected. Walking 
 briskly round the garden, to get an appe- 
 tite for breakfast, he met Livy, fresh and 
 blooming as a rose, devouring, when she 
 thought no one saw her, one of the wel- 
 come notes on blue paper, which came to 
 her every morning from the Towers. 
 Her story he soon learned ; his pleasant 
 Eobin-redbreast manner," as one of his 
 friends called it, invited confidence, though 
 it did not hold out sympathy ; and he was 
 amused to see the faint crack, " the little 
 rift," which might make the music mute 
 which Mr. and Mrs. Talbot played to- 
 gether so harmoniously. He began, 
 almost at breakfast, with a comic story of 
 a certain Bob Lindsay — one of the best 
 things — married to one of the Termors — 
 
Mr. Hardman pays a Visit, 257 
 
 who got fifteen thousand, which stopped 
 some leaks in the ship." 
 
 " A shallow-pated fellow. The girl 
 threw herself away ; and the best was, I 
 told her so, plainly." 
 
 The Beauty knows him, too, and says, 
 contemptuously, he had nothing in him." 
 
 Old Dick Lumley was now getting into 
 one of his stories. 
 
 *^ Well, off they started ; and who should 
 they fall in with but that go-a-head Mrs. 
 Allington, nee Kitty Crowder, now se- 
 parated from her husband, and with 
 nothing to do. Well, no game would suit 
 her but to worry a new married pair ; and 
 she did it, That wretched, empty-pated 
 Bob Lindsay — you could not conceive the 
 donkey she turned him into : making him 
 fetch and carry ; lend her money ; pay her 
 debts ; in fact, do all those thiugs we 
 
258 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 might expect from Kitty. We, his friends, 
 were sore to see him making such a goose 
 of himself. I declare I was ashamed, and 
 went and spoke to him ; but was received 
 as might be expected. All the time the 
 woman was playing him off against a cap- 
 tain; and, when the opportunity came, 
 he was left there, making a very pitiable 
 show indeed. We had a good laugh at it, 
 at I don't know how many dinner-parties." 
 
 The Beauty listened with a very put-out 
 air, and moved restlessly on his chair. 
 
 " Oh, but he was always a fool. No- 
 thing in him. That makes all the differ- 
 ence." 
 
 " Makes the difference from what ?" said 
 Old Dick, with a comic twinkle. "My 
 dear fellow, you don't mean to justify mar- 
 ried men going on in that style ?" 
 
 " I didn't say so. Of course not. But 
 
Mr, Hardman pays a Visit. 259 
 
 I mean a man isn't to be tied to apron- 
 strings all his life. It makes him and his 
 wife ridiculous." 
 
 Not so ridiculous though," says Mrs. 
 Talbot, as that foolish philandering, as 
 it is called — always childish in even young 
 men, but, in men with a family, quite 
 laughable." 
 
 The Beauty turned red and hot. 
 
 " Some one said, the other day, that 
 those who were fondest of holding up 
 everything as laughable were themselves 
 the most laughable." 
 
 " A woman's speech, I'm sure, and a 
 clever woman's !" said Mr. Lumley. 
 
 "Exactly," said the Beauty, eagerly; 
 " a most clever woman, with quite a turn 
 for epigram. ' Touches off everything like 
 that." 
 
 " You are speaking of Mrs. Labouchere, 
 
260 Beauty Talbot 
 
 I suppose," said his wife, with a smile 
 of contempt. Your standard of epigram 
 cannot be very high." 
 
 " Oh ! what, the woman that married 
 poor Labouchere, the tinplate or ma- 
 chinery man's daughter? Oh, I beheve 
 there were some nice doings out at Malta, 
 or Gibraltar, or wherever they were. She 
 was a sort of professional flirt. What 
 was the story about some young fellow ? 
 Poor Lab had enough of his bargain, I 
 believe." 
 
 Old Dick Lumley, it is to be feared, 
 had neither chapter nor verse for these 
 scraps of scandal ; but his was not as 
 other men's scandal. He imagined that, 
 under certain conditions, there were things 
 that must happen, or else the world would 
 be turned upside down; and that a 
 woman^ — of the sort he had settled Mrs. 
 
Mr. Hardman pays a Visit, 261 
 
 Labouchere to be — must behave in a 
 corresponding way. He had no scruple, 
 therefore, in saying a thing of this 
 sort. 
 
 Mrs. Talbot tossed her head calmly. 
 
 Only what we might expect." 
 
 I am sure -it is not what we might 
 expect. She is a true, clever woman, full 
 of taste and accomplishments " 
 
 " What, because she gets you to sing, 
 dear, all because she thinks I don't like 
 your exhibiting yourself ?" 
 
 " Why, Talbot, you're not her cham- 
 pion, are you? For shame, sir. You 
 shock my morals. Depend upon it, the 
 woman wants to get something out of 
 
 you." 
 
 Miss Livy, it may be said, was not 
 present. 
 
 " Oh, yes !" said the Beauty, trying to 
 
 VOL. II. S 
 
262 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 sneer, tliat is all very well ! I assure 
 you, there are some really good-natured 
 and kind people in tlie world. As for 
 these stories, I simply say, I don't believe 
 a word of them. She is above that sort 
 of thing. And I think it is a shame to 
 have such tales circulated about people." 
 
 Oh, my dear friend, you are not 
 turning philosopher on us? There is 
 chapter and verse to be had for all these 
 sort of things ; and if you take a man of 
 the world's advice, you'd give her a wide 
 berth. That's all I have to say about it. 
 As for stories ; why, you remember 
 what I told you the last time I was 
 here ?" 
 
 The Beauty was quick enough to see an 
 advantao:e here. 
 
 ''If it was as true as that story, why, 
 it was your'' (to Mrs. Talbot) spreading 
 
Mr. Ilardman loays a Visit. 263 
 
 that calumny that made Colonel Labou- 
 chere marry her. 1 heard what he 
 
 said " 
 
 My spreading a calumny ! You cannot 
 know what you are talking about. You 
 should not make such speeches, even 
 before a friend like Mr. Lumley." 
 
 " Then ladies' characters should not be 
 taken away before him either." 
 
 "Come, now," says Old Dick, "don't 
 let us be magnifying things more than we 
 need. What have we to do with this 
 woman at all ? Let her be. Let her be, 
 and go on with her pranks. What do we 
 care?" 
 
 " She is to be connected with m}^ 
 family," says the Beauty, " to be Livy's 
 sister-in-law ; so I think we owe something 
 to our own respect." 
 
 Mr. Lumley was amazed and even 
 
 s 2 
 
264 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 silenced. It Avas wonderful liow the 
 Beauty bad picked up all these topics from 
 a certain quarter, and put them by for 
 use. He saw, too, that he had the best 
 of it, and quitted the room with a foolish 
 pride and heat. He got out his horse. 
 Mrs. Talbot fretted, beside herself with 
 forebodings, and mad with herself for 
 having lost the old buckler of patience 
 and indifference which she had so long 
 carried, now despised herself for her want 
 of restraint, and for having given this 
 weak soul such an advantage. The sound 
 of the horse riding away almost struck a 
 chill ; and, though she saw from the 
 window that he took another road, she 
 knew he was artful enough to take a 
 round, and then go in the direction of The 
 Towers. 
 
 Old Dick Lumley, with his spectacles 
 
Mr. Rardman pays a Visit. 265 
 
 on — never troublesome in a house — was 
 left in the drawing-room, reading the Court 
 Journal. 
 
 What is over our friend ?" he said, as 
 she entered. Foolish fellow ! But let 
 me give you a bit of advice, my dear — 
 and I heard old Lady Mantower give it 
 again to her daughter — laugh at every- 
 thing of the kind : show that you don't 
 care that for it. He'll soon tire of it. 
 Talbot is a little youngish still, though he 
 has a grown -np daughter — who, however, 
 looks about six years younger than her 
 mamma," added Old Dick, mending an 
 awkward inference. 
 
 She was not thinking of such things. 
 Oh, he is nothing ! But she is a dan- 
 gerous, wicked woman. What did you 
 hear about her ? Tell me — do." 
 
 " Oh, come," says Dick, taking off his 
 
266 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 spectacles, you nearly got me into a 
 scrape before. Now, do take care about 
 these things ; it is very incautious, and 
 with a low creature of that sort. Oh, I 
 can't give chapter and verse for all the 
 scraps I hear at this dinner and that, 
 no more than I can for all the scraps I 
 eat." 
 
 But you said you could give chapter 
 and verse. Do tell me; and you'll ever 
 oblige me." 
 
 Oh, my dear woman, nonsense ; I 
 really can't. And now, I must speak to 
 you about all this. You are making 
 mountains of mice, and will give yourself 
 a great deal of annoyance, yet, depend 
 upon it ; take an old friend's word for it. 
 Let our Beauty sing his little song, and 
 pay his little visits to this Labouchere, and 
 get what amusement he can out of it. 
 
Mr. Hardman pays a Visit. 267 
 
 She, or he, will soon tire of it. She'll find 
 it troublesome the first, and perhaps snub 
 him. And then, you see, there's this 
 marriage coming on, the connection be- 
 tween the families ; one must keep up a 
 decency. No, no ; take my advice and 
 leave it alone. At dinner, you'll see how 
 I'll laugh him out of it." 
 
 This was sound advice from a man who 
 knew a good deal. It had been well for 
 that lady had she followed it, for she 
 would have been spared many troubles. 
 During the day the veteran and Livy went 
 out for a short walk, when he enforced the 
 same doctrine. We must keep our 
 mamma a little in hand, or she will be 
 worried more than you could possibly 
 dream of. She must not be too sensitive 
 about these things. We all know papa, a 
 good and capital fellow in his way; but 
 
268 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 a very young and good-looking papa, and 
 rather inclined to be led by tlie last person 
 met — you understand." 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Lunaley !" said Livy, opening 
 her heart. This is what I am thinking 
 of, and it gives me such a deal of anxiety, 
 I hardly know what to do." 
 
 She must just show that she is utterly 
 indifferent to his little amusements. Why 
 shouldn't she? There's no harm in him. 
 And I think I know that lady a little, who 
 is to be your sister-in-law, and I can tell 
 you she is a person not to fall out with. 
 She has all the sensitiveness of inferior 
 caste, feeling herself at the mercy of one 
 in the position of your mother. It is like 
 a rankling sore. Take my advice, and 
 leave her alone." 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 FACE TO FACE. 
 
 The old gandin was fond of Livy in his 
 own way, and but for the horror he had of 
 the arch enemy, and of all its associations, 
 ceremonies, &c., which made him turn his 
 back on the idea of a will," he might 
 have put her down for a little legacy. She 
 came in very grave from that walk. Old 
 Dick had had a little quiet nap of a quarter 
 of an hour, with his handkerchief over his 
 head, and was reading his Court Journal 
 comfortably in the library, by himself, 
 when he heard the sound of wheels 
 crunching the gravel of the place. It was 
 
270 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 the great Hardman Berline, ploughing 
 its way up to the door. Mr. Lumley 
 peered round the edge of the curtain to see 
 who it was, and, seeing but indistinctly, 
 wondered who the showy dressed lady was 
 who got out. He wondered still more 
 when the servant came and told him that 
 Mrs. Labouchere wished to see him. Why 
 she wished to see him, at once flashed upon 
 Old Dick," and he employed the minute's 
 interval in marshalling his thoughts. 
 
 The lady swept in haughtily. Mr. Lum- 
 ley bustled about, as obsequious as any 
 young cavalier. 
 
 Bless me!" he said, "some time 
 since we last met, Mrs, Labouchere. I 
 am not a man for compliments, or I 
 would — " 
 
 " Nor do I care for them," she said, im- 
 patiently. " I have not come to this house 
 
Face to Face. 
 
 271 
 
 to receive them ; that you may be certain 
 of." 
 
 To be sure !" said he, a little put out. 
 Did I understand, though, you wished 
 
 to see me ? Mrs. Talbot, I am sure " 
 
 " She is coming — ah, here she is." 
 And Mrs. Talbot entered, with a ner- 
 vous flush on her cheeks ; but with her 
 lips compressed, as if ready to go through 
 anything. 
 
 " Now," said the visitor, in an icy mea- 
 sured tone. I have come to pay this 
 visit because I wished to see Mrs. Talbot 
 and Mr. Lumley both together. I am so 
 glad to have found you." 
 
 This seems a sort of mystery. Pray 
 explain, as quickly as you can." 
 
 " I have been informed that it was stated 
 in this house, that certain stories could be 
 told of my behaviour abroad, during the 
 
272 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 life-time of my husband. I may as well 
 mention that this escaped by a sort of 
 accident from Mr. Talbot. It was Mr. 
 Lumley who said he could bring forward 
 some racy anecdotes of this sort. Mrs. 
 Talbot seemed to say they would be of 
 such a character as she could expect. 
 Now, I ask Mr. Lumley distinctly, what 
 are these slanders ?" 
 
 Mute astonishment was in the faces of 
 both ; dismay in that of Mr. Lumley. He 
 almost trembled. 
 
 0 ! my dear lady !" he gasped. 
 Surely you don't attach importance to 
 any idle " 
 
 What are these slanders— these stories. 
 Do you know of any time or place ?" 
 
 Oh, really, if one were to remember 
 all the gossip — " 
 
 " Do you venture to say there is any ? 
 
Face to Face. 
 
 273 
 
 I, that was known in the place for my de- 
 votion to my husband — for my almost re- 
 cluse sort of life ! Do you dare, Mr. 
 Lumley, to say so ; or do you shrink from 
 substantiating your words ?" 
 
 ''My dear Mrs. Labouchere, I neither 
 substantiate, nor shrink from them : sim- 
 ply, because, there is nothing in the 
 matter. You know, I hear — going about 
 in my little way — such a quantity of stories, 
 odds and ends, and all that, that one con- 
 fuses names sometimes." 
 
 '' Then you heard nothing of me — yes 
 or no : recollect this is a question of 
 calumny, not of accuracy ?" 
 
 Well — er — no^ Mrs. Labouchere. I 
 am sure I confounded one name with 
 another." 
 
 ''Are you certain — yes or no again?" 
 "Well, yes." 
 
274 Beauty Talbot 
 
 There ! I thought so. Then I simply 
 say the whole is false — a fabrication. For 
 shame ! yon should be more careful. An 
 old man like you ! Are you satisfied, Mrs. 
 Talbot ?" 
 
 Am I satisfied ?" 
 
 ^'You are doubtful? What, after Mr. 
 Lumley withdrawing his statement ? I 
 suppose you do not doubt his words. I 
 should not take this trouble, only that I 
 am obliged to do it, from what happened 
 before. You recollect ?" 
 
 Mrs. Talbot, every time that she met 
 this lady, was more and more conscious 
 of a weakness in her presence — that she 
 was in presence of a mistress. Her little 
 sparkling waters of readiness seemed to 
 her all dried up. She felt she could not 
 answer, except with rudeness. 
 
 I do not think of the matter one way 
 
Face to Face, 275 
 
 or the other. It is new, certainly, that 
 we should be brought to account for what 
 is said at our private breakfast table." 
 
 You must make your husband account- 
 able for that, not me." 
 
 "Ah, poor Talbot ! make him account- 
 able, poor boy, for a few light words. 
 My dear Mrs. Labouchere, you won't take 
 an action against us, or put me in the 
 stocks for my little anecdotes ?" 
 
 You call them anecdotes ; I call 
 them " 
 
 " Exaggeration ? well. But, my dear 
 madam, you must consider this ; every- 
 body of note must be talked about, and 
 have things said about them. It's a 
 sort of compliment. No lady in society 
 minds it. It shows she's of importance. 
 Come, don't be too hard on me." 
 
 She gave this " poor, old creature," 
 
276 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 who was glancing nervously at her, a look 
 of contempt, then turned to Mrs. Talbot. 
 
 "We shall say no more about it. Is 
 Olivia, so I must call her, as she is to be 
 my future sister-in-law, at home ? I 
 should like to see her," 
 
 " She has gone out." 
 
 " I am so 'sorry. Everything seems to 
 combine to make our families intimate. 
 Your daughter marries my brother. I 
 discover Mr. Talbot's musical gifts, and 
 he comes over to get lessons. Almost the 
 first day of our acquaintance, my father 
 brings you the present of a picture." 
 
 Which I refused," adds Mrs. Talbot, 
 quickly. 
 
 "Which you refused, and mortified him. 
 In spite of that, we are all being drawn 
 closer together. I, myself, shall not be 
 here very long ; the country makes me 
 
Face to Face, 277 
 
 dismal, and I sigh for the rarefied social 
 air of London." 
 
 After this, she rose to go, Mrs. Talbot, 
 still under the spell, and not able to make 
 any battle. She felt herself overpowered. 
 Old Dick, going out with extra gallantry 
 to see the lady to the carriage, no hat on 
 his head. Then Mrs. Talbot stood up 
 hastily, with a wild and fierce look. 
 
 I cannot endure this longer — coming 
 into my own room to insult me ! I could 
 kill her!" 
 
 Soon after, the Beauty came riding 
 home in great spirits. He did not reckon 
 on what was in store for him. Mr. 
 Lumley was the first to enlighten him, 
 who fell on him with an old man's bitter- 
 ness. 
 
 I say, my friend, are you losing your 
 wits? That was a very shabby trick of 
 
 VOL. II. T 
 
278 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 yours; and, really, we'll have to talk 
 before you, as cautiously as before the 
 servants, if you go on this way. My 
 dear, good Beauty, what was over you, 
 that you should go and tell what we were 
 talking of here, your wife and I ?" 
 
 The Beauty coloured deeply. 
 I don't know what you mean." 
 Oh, but you do. She was here in 
 her coach, and there was the devil to pay, 
 and all that. Really you don't know 
 what has happened. You know, if we 
 lose confidence among gentlemen, why 
 we may as well give up." 
 
 " And she came here and told you ? 
 What a thing !" 
 
 Rather, what a thing of you, to de- 
 nounce your own wife and your guest. 
 I declare it looks like madness." 
 
 I never did it. She got it out of me. 
 
Face to Face. 
 
 279 
 
 She said she was sure that you and Mrs. 
 Talbot were cutting her up ; and then I 
 
 was so astonished " 
 
 What, now tell of her ! Here Mrs. 
 Talbot ! Here is the informer;'' 
 
 She looked at him with a contempt 
 which he shrank from. 
 
 " I do not believe it still," she said. 
 
 Can it be possible you should have done 
 this? I prefer to think it an inven- 
 tion." 
 
 "Oh, it's not fair, all this; both of 
 you setting on me. I tell you she is very 
 clever and puts things together ; and I 
 know " 
 
 " I wish to hear no more of it. We 
 must be onlv more careful in future. 
 There is dinner." 
 
 " I believe," said Old Dick Lumley to 
 her, privately, "it is as he says. That 
 
 T 2 
 
280 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 Labouchere enticed it all out of him. 
 Don't let us bother him any more about 
 it. Never fear, though/' added Old Dick, 
 looking as spiteful as a demon ; " Vll pay 
 her r And when he was going to his 
 own room he repeated the promise, 
 with an addition, — " By , Fll pay 
 
 This incident, how^ever, was very dis- 
 astrous for the Beauty, who felt he had 
 committed a most compromising blunder, 
 and placed himself at the mercy of the 
 family. Mr. Lumley, introducing some 
 of his good things, would say, — 
 
 " Now I must make it as a request, 
 Talbot, that you will not repeat this to 
 the parties concerned ; it would bring 
 about serious mischief." 
 
 On which Mrs. Talbot would add, — 
 I prefer to lose the story altogether. 
 
Face to Face. 
 
 281 
 
 I have BO wish to be drawn into the 
 matter, and have them invading^ our house 
 to call me to account." 
 
 But, in this matter of to-day, what 
 amuses me is to see the unkind return 
 you met with — the betrayer betrayed in 
 his turn. There is no faith in these 
 matters. It is always the way. Certainly 
 a most mortifying return for volunteeriog 
 a communication. But, my dear fellow, 
 whatever you do, let me off in future — 
 or, at least, tell me, and I'll keep a 
 regular padlock on my jaws in your 
 presence." 
 
 The Beauty was much mortified by this 
 lecture. He felt himself in the power of 
 these two people, and knew his own 
 weakness. Yet the iron, shaped like a 
 pin, had entered into his soul ; and he 
 longed to revenge himself. 
 
2S2 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 Old Dick Lumley, as he took his candle 
 tliat night, talked with the hostess in a 
 comfortable, self-satisfied way. 
 
 You have done him a world of good. 
 You see, I have met such a deal of 
 character, I know exactly what suits 
 each. A stiff, tight hand is the only 
 thing with our poor fellow — just a little 
 severity. You see how I brought him 
 up. Oh, it has done him a world of 
 good." 
 
 Mrs. Talbot thought so too; and when 
 they were alone, and the Beauty was look- 
 ing moodily into the fire, said, firmly, — 
 
 What made you do that to-day ? Are 
 you taking leave of your senses, or of the 
 common notions of a gentleman ?" 
 He did not answer. 
 Such a disgraceful, disreputable busi- 
 ness — like what a child in a nursery would 
 
Face to Face, 
 
 283 
 
 do. You must really reform all these boyish 
 ways. It is not respectful to me, and 
 you only expose yourself to such mortifi- 
 cation as you received to-day. If you do 
 not choose to keep up my respect, I shall 
 not take any trouble about yours. I don't 
 choose to hear your second-hand opinions, 
 and you need not bring any more of them 
 here. A pretty brains -carrier you have 
 chosen !" 
 
 The Beauty lifted his face, flushed with 
 anger. 
 
 " Ah, you are afraid of her ! No wonder. 
 She lectured you well to-day. Came off 
 to attack you in your own den ! Oh, yes ! 
 You'll not find she'll be put down in that 
 way. As she says, she is going to be 
 Olivia's sister-in-law, and the families to 
 be connected ; and yet we try and shut 
 our eyes, and affect to despise her. She 
 
284 
 
 Beauty Talbot, 
 
 says it's very poor pride, and that if we 
 liad real sense we would make as much 
 of their family as possible ; and that people 
 will only laugh at the contradiction. Oh, 
 yes !" — the only sort of sneer the Beauty 
 could manage — ^^And, I tell you, I 
 shouldn't be surprised, if she yet forced 
 you to receive her with the greatest cor- 
 diality." 
 
 Mrs. Talbot listened with wonder and 
 even terror. There was truth in this. 
 
 0 ! We shall see that ! Let her try it. 
 Let you both try it." 
 
 The foolish husband smiled with delight. 
 He had touched her. 
 
 " Oh, I think it only sensible ; when I 
 go so far as to connect myself with a 
 family who may not be in our station, I 
 would make the best of it ; and, I tell 
 you, I mean to be on as friendly terms 
 
Face to Face. 
 
 285 
 
 as possible with them. You can do as 
 you please, of course." 
 
 ''It matters very httle what you do," 
 said the hurt Mrs. Talbot, forgetting all 
 her old tactics, her labour of years, in a 
 moment. ''Mrs. Labouchere is not a 
 person that I should enter into any con- 
 test of the kind with ; and as for you, 
 you are not very dangerous. What would 
 you be without me, I should like to 
 know ? Who would care anything what 
 you say or do — you poor, foolish creature ! 
 What would you be thought of at all, but 
 for me ? It is like your foolish ingratitude 
 to forget all that you owe to me, who got 
 you the very place that helps to buy you 
 ivory brushes, and pomatums, and scents. 
 Who is it that prevents you being con- 
 sidered a mere cipher among men, and 
 keeps you from being laughed at ? Oh, it 
 
286 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 is time to speak plainly, and let you know 
 all this." 
 
 " It's all untrue, and you shouldn't 
 speak to me in that way. Yes ; if you 
 knew what is said, and how they laugh at 
 me for allowing it. Oh, yes ! I've kind 
 friends, who tell me for my good ; and 
 I'm really obliged to them, who have my 
 interest at heart, too. Yes, that's ex- 
 actly what I hear. They do laugh at me, 
 because I seem to be worried and ordered 
 about ; so it comes very badly from 
 you. But it musn't go on; and you'll see 
 it won't." 
 
 Mrs. Talbot's heart struck her as she 
 heard these words, and her lips trembled, 
 as she could only murmur, — 
 
 ^' What do you mean ? You are talking 
 folly." 
 
 That night she almost execrated the 
 
' Face to Face. 287 
 
 foolish advice of Old Dick Lumley ; for 
 the Beauty, with* all his folly, had gained 
 a substantial victory. 
 
 END OF VOL. 11. 
 
LONDON : 
 
 Printed by A. Schulze, 13, Poland Street 
 
BEAUTY TALBOT. 
 
 BY 
 
 PERCY FITZGERALD, M.A. 
 
 ATJTHOE OF " BELLA DONNA," " NETEE FORGOTTEN," &C. 
 
 IN THREE YOLUMES. 
 YOL. III. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 EICRAED BENTLEY, NEW BURLINGTON STREET. 
 
 1870. 
 
 The right of Translation is reserved. 
 
BEAUTY TALBOT. 
 
 CHAPTER L 
 
 OUT OF BOUNDS. 
 
 Next morning the Beauty went as 
 usual to work at the ofl&ce where he was 
 engaged, and Mr. Lumley went in with 
 him, for some shopping. Mrs. Talbot stood 
 out on the steps to see them off. She 
 had seen her mistake, and had this morn- 
 ing put on many extra charms, and much 
 sweetness. But there was a manner 
 about the Beauty, a spiteful air of self- 
 satisfaction and triumph, which really 
 struck a chill to her heart ; for he had 
 used w^eapons not his own, and she saw 
 
 VOL. in. B 
 
2 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 that he knew he had used them with 
 success. This gave her a terrible pre- 
 sentiment for the future. But now, on 
 this morning, she was all smiles and 
 spirits, seeing the two gentlemen off in 
 her little carriage, that was to take them 
 to the railwa3^ Just as they were driving 
 away, a groom drove up with a letter for 
 Mr. Talbot, which he took a look at 
 with a peculiar smile, and saying it was 
 " all right," drove off. She knew well 
 whose that groom was, and was disturbed 
 at the foolish look of pleasure on her 
 husband's face. When alone with her 
 daughter, the latter remarked the worn 
 look of anxiety that came upon her, and 
 putting her arm about her, tried hard, 
 by embraces and caresses, to soothe her. 
 The mother said : — 
 
 "Oh, I feel there is trouble coming, 
 
Out of Bounds. 
 
 3 
 
 dearest. Sometliing that will make the 
 rest of my life miserable, after you have 
 left me." 
 
 But how, dearest ? Poor Beauty " 
 
 That woman — this is her excitement, 
 her amusement. She thinks she has a 
 more powerful mind than mine : she has, 
 certainly, one more unscrupulous. She 
 
 will stick at nothing, as they say 
 
 " But, dearest, why not approach her, 
 meet her a quarter of the way, at least ; 
 make a friend of her ?" 
 
 Never, never. Let me die before I 
 come to that humiliation. You cannot 
 know what my life has been^^ — one of 
 victory and triumph. I am not going 
 to bend to a person of her stamp. If I 
 lose everything, I will not do it. And yet, 
 what must I do ? She has this fatal hold 
 on us — what she has taught him>^ your 
 
 B 2 
 
4 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 father, to say, that the families are to 
 be connected, and that we are bound to 
 them. Ah ! that cannot be helped now." 
 
 Livy looked at her with a strange 
 wonder, as if some new light had come 
 upon her, then hung her head and re- 
 mained silent. The day passed over in 
 their nsual occupation ; evening drew on, 
 and the hour of the train which was to 
 bring back both gentlemen. Mrs. Talbot, 
 in her own room, had thought over the 
 mistake she had committed, and deter- 
 mined to atone for it by quite a new 
 line of conduct. She had determined on 
 a fresh programme, soothing and gentler, 
 with due humouring. Some strange, un- 
 bending, stiflP-necked spirit within was 
 urging her not to yield to that wo- 
 man." Here were the bells of Livy's 
 ponies, here were the two ladies out 
 
Out of Bounds. 5 
 
 on the steps, and here was only Old 
 Dick Lnmley returned by himself. They 
 turned pale. No accident? Old Dick 
 was a little nervous. 
 
 " Well, he would stay, hang him. 1 
 did my best, I assure you. He is at 
 Starridge's Hotel for to-night. But here 
 is his letter. Some ball he is mad to go 
 to." 
 
 A ball !" repeated Mrs. Talbot. The 
 Beauty's letter ran as follows : — 
 
 I have been begged to stay for a 
 party to-night in Great Cumberland 
 Street. I will be down in the morning. 
 Please send my clothes back by the next 
 train, and I will have some one to meet 
 them in town." 
 
 This was the whole scrap. 
 It is very absurd," said Mr. Lumley ; 
 
t 
 
 6 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 as I told him, he ought to be done with 
 balls by this time. But she asked for the 
 invitation for him, and offered to take him 
 in their carriage." 
 
 She ! Oh, that Mrs. Labouchere," 
 
 Mr. Lumley gave her a curious look. 
 ^^He seems determined to set out on a 
 new life. I date it from that unlucky 
 ^ Last and Lingering Smile,' which we 
 made him sing, and sing too much of. 
 'Now to go to my room, and when I've 
 had m.y little nap, I'll come in and tell 
 you all my adventures." 
 
 But a very weary and distrait evening 
 followed. The old gentleman, with the 
 best will in the world, felt that too much 
 was cast upon him ; he was too selfish to 
 enjoy so much hodman's labour, which 
 was not at all encouraged with the applause 
 it deserved. And he went to bed rather 
 
Out of Bounds, 
 
 7 
 
 early, and grumbling at those two homely 
 women who had not much tact between 
 them. This sort of scholastic life would 
 not do, and, in fact, injured his health. 
 So he would get a letter next day or so, 
 obliging him to leave. How could he 
 waste time keeping these two foolish 
 people together, who hadn't the tacfc to 
 disguise their "bothering" troubles. In 
 truth, his sympathies were with that 
 clever woman, Mrs. Labouchere, who 
 seemed to hold a little of the precious 
 elixir vitce in her, and which he could 
 by mere contact inhale. Sprightly, dash- 
 ing people, full of spirits, seemed to fur- 
 nish his frame with ozone. But these 
 humdrum practices ! He often, in act, 
 described the whole scene, suppressing 
 the name, and with much admiration 
 pourtrayed her. " She took the bull by 
 
8 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 the horns, gallantly drove up to the door, 
 and faced her enemy !" No, it wouldn't 
 do. 
 
 We now shift the scene to a large house 
 in Great Cumberland Street, where a ball 
 was going on. It was given by people 
 Dick Lumley had never heard of ; but he 
 would have gladly gone there for an hour 
 or so on the chance of meeting a friend or 
 two. They were wealthy, semi-decent 
 people" — a favourite phrase of his — 
 moneyed and fat, with the garlic of trade 
 about them." Their name was Mannock 
 — the present Mr. Mannock's father had 
 been in Birmingham, but not the son, so 
 that they were of an order higher than 
 Mr. Hardman, and he looked up to them 
 accordingly. He determined to go in 
 state, as it were, and went up to town to 
 attend it. 
 
Out of Bounds. 9 
 
 The party arrived, and were announced 
 as Mr. Hardman, Mrs. Labouchere, Mr. 
 Talbot !" The latter gentleman was 
 brought/' an invitation having been 
 procured for him. It was " ages " since 
 he had been out in this fashion, and he 
 now felt happy. Indeed, it was fast 
 opening on him that he been misusing 
 precious years of his life, living down in 
 a mine, as it were, throwing away pre- 
 cious opportunities of enjoyment. The 
 dazzling lights, the inviting air of the 
 place,' the lovely houris^ so seemed to 
 him, flying round to the exquisite music 
 of the German Valse, all entranced him. 
 Mrs. Labouchere, sitting beside him, 
 pointed out all the queries," found 
 out their names, asked him his opinion 
 of the " pretty people " present, and 
 seemed eager to please and amuse him. 
 
10 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 One of the old passions of the Beauty 
 was valsing, a pastime lie liad not en- 
 joyed for many a year. 
 
 The musicians were playing one of those 
 new strains, so tender, so sad, so feverish, 
 so wild, soft and enticing, which Ger- 
 mans alone seem to have the gift of com- 
 posing for the dance, and in which, of 
 Germans, the charming Giingl, and the 
 almost divine Strauss, excel their country- 
 men. The exquisite art of such com- 
 positions is not on the surface. Those 
 who enjoy them most, and feel their many 
 twinkling feet floating on, obedient as to 
 a magician's call, only know the results. 
 In the beat and measure, the consummate 
 masters find their account : they know the 
 mysteries which that simple tempo holds 
 in itself ; they can make it lag, or struggle 
 to get forward, like a fiery horse champing 
 
« 
 
 Out of Bounds. 11 
 
 at his bit : then bring back their original 
 air, winding out sadly, like some beckon- 
 ing Undine, who must go home, and 
 touchingly wooes us on. In this trifling 
 
 only a Valse," there is enshrined a 
 world of true music, which, heard 
 on the grand orchestras for which they 
 were written, and led by a genius, is 
 something to dream of. " Yes," some 
 lisping child of vacuity will say, cordially 
 endorsing this view, a canter to the 
 Mabely or the Guards nothing approaches 
 that !" But these and their fellows are 
 mere tunes, and bear the same relation 
 to one of the German masters, that an 
 English ballad, say the Beauty's Linger- 
 ing Smile," would to one of Rossini's or 
 Mendelssohn's songs. 
 
 Some such bewitching strain began to 
 draw gently the Beauty's ladylike feet, as 
 
12 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 if with a magnet. It made him see him- 
 self as in some magic glass, as he used to 
 be years ago, floating round with some 
 Lady Mary, the hghts of the room in 
 parallel rings, clouds under his feet, and 
 .the sweet, dying fall inviting him on to 
 fly — fly, until he dropped. In those 
 days he knew not fatigue or exhaustion — 
 it was most sweet toil ; the night was too 
 short, though it began at eleven, and 
 glided on till four, half-past four, and 
 sometimes five : when he used to stand 
 out under the porch, the morning, fresh 
 and blue, his eyes blinking at the sun, the 
 keen air making him shrink, and his 
 throat feeling chill behind his white tie ; 
 while a glance upward showed him the 
 windows, with the yellow light of the ball 
 room behind — an almost absurd anachro- 
 nism. These thoughts all came pouring 
 
Out of Bounds, 
 
 13 
 
 back on Mr. Talbot ; and wben tbe lady 
 of the housGj Mrs. Mannock Mrs. John 
 Mannock at home"), stood bridling be- 
 fore him, asking would he not let her 
 ini^roduce him to a partner ? he looked 
 eagerly and wistfully at Mrs. Labou- 
 chere. 
 
 Do go and dance — you must not be 
 tied all night to an elderly woman like me. 
 Do go ; Mrs. Mannock will introduce you 
 to some charming girl." 
 
 He went, and was presently flying 
 round the room with some young girl, 
 from whom the fact had been concealed 
 that he was married — such an introduction 
 to a professional danseuse being an unpar- 
 donable sin. It is like a physician's valu- 
 able time — worth so many guineas an 
 hour to him — all thrown away ; and such 
 deceit is fruitful in tossing heads and 
 
14 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 scornful looks. How he enjoyed it, 
 revelled in it ! He seemed to be swim- 
 ming in tlie old sweet waters of bliss. 
 Foote and Kenney's band — a slender ex- 
 tract rather — was furnishing the music. 
 Flushed and ecstatic he returned to his 
 friend. 
 
 " Why, we do not know a tithe of your 
 accomplishments," she exclaimed, in what 
 seemed to the Beauty an uncontrollable 
 and extorted burst of admiration. You 
 are a charming dancer ; so easy, and 
 really graceful. I see there is none of the 
 cavalry trot in your style." 
 
 Much pleased, the Beauty said, " Oh, I 
 was frantic about dancing once. Tliey 
 used almost to eno^ao-e me. But that was 
 years ago." 
 
 " Scarcely wonderful," she said, smil- 
 ing. " But w^hy years ago ? It is a most 
 
Out of Bounds. 
 
 15 
 
 innocent and delightful recreation. You 
 are not old." 
 
 ^'Old? Oh, that is not the reason, I 
 hope." 
 
 But what other can there be ? Do tell 
 me." 
 
 Oh, you know — being married ; and 
 
 Mrs. Talbot does not like " 
 
 ^'I see. It always comes round, in the 
 strangest way, to that. Luckily I am 
 your real friend, and, as you know, ad- 
 mirer. But that reason would not do for 
 others — the wicked ones, I mean. Some 
 men of the world would say, raison de 
 plus. I know my plain speaking gives me 
 the air of hostility to your wife. But 
 what is the need of any hypocrisy with 
 you? You know that we dislike each 
 other." 
 
 The Beauty looked down. Of course 
 
16 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 I could dance as mucli as I pleased, 
 without consulting anybody ; but the 
 truth is, we have given up balls alto- 
 gether." 
 Why?" 
 
 Why ? I don't know. I thought it 
 was not the thing after we were married, 
 until our daughter came out." 
 
 How strange, how singular. Why, 
 look round us ; even here the room is filled 
 with married men. That good-looking 
 young man dancing is married ; so is that 
 other. But you know all this as well as 
 I do. No one knows the world better. 
 These are only ideas that have been 
 forced on you by your long seclusion in 
 the happy valley." 
 
 Oh, I don't know about the happy 
 valley. Of course it was all with my 
 own wish. Would you — Oh, if I thought 
 
Out of Bounds. 
 
 17 
 
 you would try a dance with me, Mrs. 
 Labouchere." 
 
 He saw an eagerness in her face ; her 
 eyes were following something at the 
 other end of the room. She was not 
 heeding the Beauty, who was mortified. 
 
 "Why it is — it must be/' she said. 
 
 VOL. III. 
 
 c 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 A QUAEEEL. 
 
 A SHOWY -LOOKING man, with well- 
 coloured ctieeks and good eyes, dressed 
 in velvet collar and white waistcoat, tall, 
 good-looking, and forward-looking too, 
 rushed across, with a warm " My dear 
 Mrs. Labouchere !" 
 
 Colonel Fotheringham ! The idea of 
 our meeting in this place ! When did 
 you come over ?" 
 
 ''A few weeks ago. I was trying to 
 find you. Do you recollect the passage 
 out ? How pleasant it was." 
 
 " It was all pleasant," she said, smiling. 
 
A Quarrel. 
 
 19 
 
 I shall have a great deal to talk to you 
 about, so mucli has happened since." 
 
 Take my arm, then, and let us go 
 down and get something ; we shall be 
 hours telling each other our adventures." 
 
 Delighted/' she said, rising. Then to 
 Mr. Talbot, " You must come to me 
 again, and we shall settle all that. Ask 
 me to go down to supper later. Don't 
 forget." 
 
 The new comer looked down contemp- 
 tuously at one so inferior in " build" and 
 
 chic," and physical strength. As he 
 moved away, he whispered something 
 and laughed : and an instinct that never 
 fails on such occasions, told the Beauty 
 that this man appearing so suddenly, dis- 
 liked and contemned him. He himself 
 was put out, annoyed at this interruption, 
 and then felt, for the first time, a curious 
 
 c 2 
 
/ • ■ : 
 
 20 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 sense — an uneasiness at the accustomed 
 attention and worship being directed to 
 any one else. Here was this lady, whose 
 speeches, whose interest in him, whose 
 encouragement had made up so much of 
 his life, just as eager and interested about 
 another ! The Beauty was not a pro- 
 found analyst of human motives, and 
 could not have discovered that this might 
 be the misty precursor of a passion known 
 as jealousy. As it was, he became rest- 
 less and uneasy ; and, after a short delay, 
 employed in prowling about, and looking 
 into this room and that, found himself 
 drawn down the stairs, seeking the friend 
 who had left him so unceremoniously. 
 She was hard to find, and at first he 
 thought she had gone away ; but at last 
 he stumbled awkwardly into a sort of 
 bower, a retired little room off* the return on 
 
A Quarrel. 
 
 21 
 
 the stairs, whose door was ajar, and there 
 were the parties he sought, in a deeply 
 confidential attitude, and an absorbed air. 
 The gentleman looked up angrily and con- 
 temptuously at the interruption. These 
 were evidently most near, dear, old, inti- 
 mate friends : and indeed the affection of 
 a life, and the demeanour that follows 
 from such an affection, have often been 
 mimicked by the delighted and exuberant 
 outpouring of soul and heart, between 
 some well ''hacked" young ballroom 
 maiden and her free and familiar mili- 
 tary cavalier. 
 
 '' You said you would dance or come 
 to supper. They are all down," the 
 Beauty said, pettishly. ''Do come now." 
 
 The Colonel looked at her with an 
 amused smile ; then at Mr. Talbot. " Oh, 
 don't think of going," he said, coolly, " I'll 
 
22 Beauty Talbot 
 
 take you down later myself. I won't let 
 you crush or fluster yourself." 
 
 ^^Yes, Mr. Talbot, by and by." 
 But you told me to come back." 
 This gentleman does not seem to 
 know what he wants exactly. He said 
 something of a dance. What an idea ! 
 Then a supper." 
 
 The Beauty had not forgotten his old 
 training. 
 
 "You will allow me to arrange this 
 with Mrs. Labouchere, who is better 
 acquainted with me than you are." 
 
 The other's eyes flashed ; his cheeks 
 grew red. 
 
 "As for acquaintance, I assure you I 
 have no wish of the kind. But I think 
 the not being able to take a hint is one 
 of the most unfortunate infirmities of our 
 nature." 
 
A Quarrel. 
 
 23 
 
 The Beauty made no reply, and sat 
 down next the lady, but on the other 
 side. 
 
 Do come," he whispered ; I shall 
 go away if you do not, and go home. 
 Why do you treat me in this way before 
 that man ? It is very unkind.'^ 
 
 Mrs. Labouchere looked from one to 
 the other, then whispered, You force 
 me to offend him — a most dangerous 
 man : to make him my enemy. But never- 
 theless " (she rose, and took the Beauty's 
 arm), I must keep my engage- 
 ments." 
 
 Ridiculous!" the Colonel said. Sit 
 down again. I won't have it. You are 
 not in earnest about this absurd dance, 
 or going down to the dishes below, 
 where the grunters are at work ? Well, 
 it is delightful to see such primitive rus- 
 
24 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 ticity. This gentleman lives in the 
 country, I am sure." 
 
 " It only concerns my friends where I 
 live," the Beauty said, leading off his 
 prey, flushed with triumph and excitement. 
 
 " You forced me to do that/' she said, 
 as they went away. " I must be a great 
 friend of yours. Some way, I would not 
 have done it for any one else ; at least I 
 thought so. But do you know I have a 
 strange feeling towards you, Mr. Talbot. 
 We like those whom we have advised, or 
 even helped in a little way. Now what shall 
 we do ? I do not care for supper, though 
 I would not say it to that man. Do you 
 kno^ who he is ? — a terrific Don Juan — a 
 dangerous Tartar in that way. He once 
 boasted that he had run away with four 
 married ladies. I am sure he secretly 
 thinks he can add me to the list. He did 
 
A Quarrel. 
 
 25 
 
 his best out at that place. But I do not 
 admire those rough desperadoes — -(swash- 
 bucklers they call them in the plays and 
 novels) — though many women do. He is 
 furious at the slightest opposition, and 
 will never forgive me for going away 
 with you, and leaving him." 
 
 You would not desert an old friend ?" 
 said the Beauty with devotion. 
 
 " I have very few, but I thinh you like 
 me." 
 
 " I like and admire you," said the 
 Beauty ; you are so clever. Everything 
 you have told me has come out so true ; 
 every piece of advice has turned out so 
 good for me. It fills me with wonder." 
 
 But how foolish for myself, and, you 
 must own, how disinterested. There are 
 people who will never forgive me ; but I 
 am not one of those who think one ought 
 
26 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 not to interfere. I know no such rule 
 where there is a person I respect and like." 
 
 " Respect !" repeated the Beauty, oh, 
 that of course — " 
 
 " I never knew a man," she said, smil- 
 ing, " that liked being told he was re- 
 spected. I may not do more than respect ; 
 but I do respect, and like you too, for 
 being here to-night ; and, what is more, 
 others will respect you also. Olivia, as I 
 may call her, will look to you with more 
 pride and also respect, now that she sees 
 you can think, and act a little for yourself. 
 Even my sworn enemy," she added, smil- 
 ing, " will feel greater respect for you 
 than she even does at present. So you see 
 how disinterested I am. As you are to 
 be connected with me, I feel I may take 
 this interest in you, and give you all good 
 advice. There is my father going away, 
 
A Quarrel. 27 
 
 very impaiient as usual; and there is a 
 partner for that divine valse, just begun. 
 Enjoy yourself, my dear Mr. Talbot, while 
 you have youth, and, I was going to say, 
 beauty. See how one forgets." 
 
 She went away. The Beauty remained 
 for one more entrancing valse„ Eound 
 and round he went with a charming light- 
 footed little girl, who never pierced 
 through his bachelor disguise. It was 
 delicious — rapturous ; the time about two 
 A.M. At last it was over: Mrs. Mannock's 
 guests were departing ; and Mr. Talbot, 
 who that night seemed to have drunk of 
 the fountain of youth, and to have got 
 back to the charming old days, had turned 
 into the supper room to refresh himself. 
 
 I was looking at you," said a voice 
 at his ear. " You seem a wonderful per- 
 former — fly round like a dervish." For 
 
28 Beauty Talbot 
 
 a moment the Beauty thought this was 
 a compliment, and smiled. The other was 
 helping himself. But when you are 
 awkward, and come in another man's way, 
 what does he do ? Gives you a push, and 
 elbows you off. I don't choose to have 
 people coming in my way," he added, 
 holding his glass in one hand, and looking 
 steadily at the Beauty. " If they do, I 
 give them a push, and tell them be- 
 sides, that I think them weak, empty- 
 headed puppies. And if they come in my 
 way again, I pull their noses." 
 
 " I don't see why you should tell me 
 this," the Beauty said, quietly. " I don't 
 know you, and I don't care whose nose 
 you pull." 
 
 The other laughed. 
 
 " No ? You don't ? Really, now ?" 
 No," the Beauty answered, with 
 
A Quarrel. 
 
 29 
 
 spirit, not if you boasted of running off 
 with fifty married ladies." 
 
 They were now out in the hall, getting 
 their coats, lighting cigars, and had then 
 reached the door. 
 
 What do you mean by that?" said the 
 other, following him, and seizing his arm. 
 
 They were now at the top of the house- 
 steps, with the usual confusion, boys 
 shouting, carriages coming up, and crowd- 
 ing on each other. The Colonel caught 
 the Beauty by his coat-sleeve. 
 
 " AVhat speech was that you made ? 
 Eepeat it." 
 
 A couple of other gentlemen, close by, 
 listened eagerly. 
 
 don't know you," repeated the 
 Beauty, a little agitated, '^and don't 
 want to. I'll not repeat anything for 
 you." 
 
30 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 You miserable little creature ! you 
 woman in man's clothes ! Get down 
 out of my way, or I'll give you a 
 lesson." 
 
 The Beauty was down out of his way, 
 and walking up the street, the other follow- 
 ing, as well as the two good-natured 
 gentlemen, who wished to see the fun. 
 These were men about town. One was 
 a great friend of Old Dick Lumley, and 
 told the whole story to that gentleman : — 
 how the Beauty had pushed away an 
 oflScer; how the latter struck at him; 
 how there had been an unseemly scuffle, 
 in which they had rushed up and parted 
 the combatants. Colonel Fotheringham 
 was a well-known figure ; and the story 
 flew about, how this dashing Lothario, 
 Don Giovanni, Faublas, Casanova, What- 
 not, had had a diflflculty about another 
 
A Quarrel. 
 
 31 
 
 lady — not a married one this time — with 
 a gentleman named Talbot — a married 
 gentleman. She was the widow of an 
 officer of rank, very handsome and 
 clever. 
 
 Mr. Talbot arrived by the evening train 
 with a complacency of having enjoyed 
 himself so much." With an audacity 
 that was wonderful in him, and which 
 comes with rebellion unchecked, he told 
 them boldlv how Mrs. Labouchere had 
 got him the card." On his wife's side 
 there was a forced air of indifference and 
 acquiescence. She had hardly recovered 
 the shock yet. 
 
 You might have let us known in time ; 
 it is only politeness." 
 
 The Beauty was quite hostile — primed 
 with a sort of pertness based on the ex- 
 ultation filling his little soul. 
 
32 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 Oh, I declare ! So I can't go to a party 
 without coming, out to beg leave. I had 
 a most delightful night of it — danced 
 nearly the whole time." 
 
 There was silence. All seemed to be 
 thunder-struck ; yet, after all, if he did, 
 it seemed magnifying matters rather too 
 much. 
 
 Well, you are coming out, Master 
 Talbot," said Mr. Lumley. He is cut- 
 ting the apron-strings." 
 
 An indifferent jest, which contributed, 
 in its little way, to the mischief already 
 existing. 
 
 " Strings, Lumley ! what . do you 
 mean by strings ? I enjoyed myself im- 
 mensely ; and everybody says it is absurd 
 shutting myself up at my age — it will be 
 time enough ten years hence." 
 
 His wife could hardly contain herself. 
 
A Quarrel. 
 
 33 
 
 " Everybody ! wlio is your everybody ? 
 There are mischievous people who say 
 things, and laugh at you all the time." 
 
 The Beauty smiled. This was all de- 
 lightful. 
 
 "I'll take care people shan't laugh at 
 me. There was a man there last night 
 to whom I had to give a lesson. It is all 
 over the town, I believe, by this." 
 
 " Tell us about that," said Mr. Lumley, 
 eagerly. " What ! a rencontre ! Well done, 
 Talbot. Nothing like that for giving you 
 prestige. I declare, you are going about 
 the thing well. Who was he ?" 
 
 " Oh, a man you will have heard of — 
 a Colonel Fotheringham." 
 
 " What ! Jack Fotheringham, the wife 
 killer!" 
 
 " The wife killer !" repeated Olivia, in 
 alarm. 
 
 VOL. III. n 
 
34 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 That is, other men's wives— dreadful 
 character; but with a certain ton. This 
 is better and better ; and our friend here 
 will be a lion. I am serious. To be talked 
 of in connection with Fotheringham is a 
 certainty — well, a certainty of being well 
 talked of. What was it about? Begin at 
 the beginning." 
 
 ^'Oh, it was only a misunderstanding 
 about taking some one down to supper/' 
 said the Beauty, embarrassed, and smiling 
 a foolish smile. 
 
 Yes ; but her name ! Can't you tell 
 us ?" said old Lumley, pettishly. These 
 things were meat and drink to 
 him. 
 
 Oh, some lady he was sitting with on 
 the stairs. Then he came out on the 
 steps, as we were all going away, and tried 
 to bully and hustle me ; but I gave him as 
 
A Quarrel. 
 
 35 
 
 much as lie gave, and sent him spinning 
 down the steps." 
 
 Livy looked at her father with great 
 admiration. He was something of a hero 
 to her. 
 
 But who was she ? Ah ! he won't tell, 
 sly fellow. This is what comes of letting 
 him out by himself." 
 
 " No; I am not going to tell," said the 
 Beauty, delighted. " I keep my secrets 
 to myself. She was a very charming, 
 clever person ; and, I assure you, when it 
 came to a question of choosing between 
 this desperate lady-killer and the very 
 unworthy person now addressing you, she 
 paid me the compliment of not hesitating 
 a moment, and coolly left him there. You 
 never saw a man so taken aback. How- 
 ever, I gave him a lesson which he will 
 remember." 
 
 D 2 
 
36 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 Almost at that moment came in the 
 post, and Old Dick Lumley had his mail 
 of frivolous answers to frivolous questions 
 before him — rambling communications 
 from dear Lady Buckstone," or even 
 from "Old Tow Row Gunter," veteran 
 campaigner, who was glad to tell her 
 gaffer some scraps of news. Suddenly he 
 called out, " Here we have it all ! Hallo, 
 Talbot ; they are talking of you every- 
 where !" 
 
 That gentleman almost blushed. 
 
 " Ah, and you wouldn't tell us the name 
 of the heroine. Here we have her." 
 
 Oh, I say!" in much agitation; 
 
 don't, please. Why, you want to make 
 a row. Just leave it." 
 
 Oh, I understand," said Mrs. Talbot, 
 with a trembling voice. " You need not 
 be at the trouble of these subterfuges. 
 
A Quarrel. 
 
 37 
 
 You see, with all your attempts at con- 
 cealment, these things come out. I knew 
 all the time it was that Mr. Hardman's 
 daughter. You are very clumsy." 
 
 "Well, if it was," said the Beauty, 
 pertly, I suppose I can behave like a 
 gentleman to her, as to any other lady ? 
 Yes, it was Mrs. Labouchere. I am most 
 grateful to her, and am glad I was there 
 to get the credit of the thing. She will 
 never forget it to me, she says." 
 
 My dear fellow," said Old Dick, " you 
 are getting unblushing. Not going to 
 turn out a Lothario on one's hands, I 
 hope ?" 
 
 This maUadroit compliment made the 
 Beauty simper, and move impatiently in 
 his chair. 
 
 Mr. Lumley went away that evening, 
 and had a sheaf of capital sketches and 
 
38 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 anecdotes for dear Lady Buckstone" 
 and other friends — in return for their 
 dinners — about ^^a house where I was 
 stopping, and where a baby-faced husband 
 was growing restive ; the wife, a retired 
 beautv, makino^ frantic efforts to hold him. 
 Altogether, it was growing too hot for 
 me," said the old marauder ; and I took 
 myself off as quick as I could." 
 
 It would have been too hot for him, or 
 for anyone. For the foolish Mrs. Talbot, 
 at this discovery, had lost all control and 
 discipline. Forgetting the tactics of 
 years, she opened on him with a bitter 
 contempt and vituperation, speaking with 
 a scorn and personality. 
 
 "You poor, vain, blinded creature. 
 You don't see through all this, and take 
 it all to yourself. You are being made a 
 mere tool of, and, if I were to speak for 
 
A Qiiarrel, 
 
 39 
 
 an hour here, would not believe that you 
 are being treated as a mere foolish child. 
 A bit of jflattery about these little songs of 
 yours would make you do anything. They 
 have found out your weak part." 
 
 " I don't care what you say," the 
 Beauty replied, trembling with rage ; it 
 is all spite. And, what is more, it's not 
 true." 
 
 You are being taught manners, I see, 
 in your new school." 
 
 ^^I have learnt some other things, too : 
 that I have put up with all this too long ; 
 that it is very improper of you to address 
 me in that style. I a child, indeed ! You 
 are angry that I don't remain one, as 1 
 have been. As if I couldn't go to a ball, 
 indeed ! I'll go to as many as 1 please, 
 and not be brought to book by anyone 
 for it !" 
 
40 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 " I shall put a stop to it, then," said she. 
 '^A pretty apprenticeship I have had of 
 it ! But it has gone on too long ; the best 
 years of my life wasted away in humour- 
 ing you. But you'll find a change, I tell 
 you plainly." 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 KBTREATING INCH BY INCH. 
 
 An enforced truce was brouglit about 
 by the arrival of a visitor — young Hard- 
 man — who entered eagerly. 
 
 " I came to tell you they are getting 
 up a party at the Towers, and will be 
 asking you. You will be able to come, 
 won't you ? Oh, you must !" 
 
 " I !" repeated Mrs. Talbot, scornfully. 
 
 I know we cannot ; we are engaged." 
 I am not, and Livy is not," said the 
 Beauty. " How absurd all this is !" 
 
 Here Livy entered, and the young man 
 took her aside into the window. 
 
42 
 
 Beauty Talbot, 
 
 I shall have to go away for a month, 
 at least. They want yon to go to them 
 at the Towers, and I want you, too. I 
 make a point of it. Get them to go ; a 
 great deal depends on it — more than you 
 think, for me. You know, dearest, they 
 must be conciliated ; and yet my sister 
 has a whole catalogue of offences, and 
 seems to think that your family are all 
 bound to some vendetta." 
 
 ''We have no vendetta," said Mrs. 
 Talbot, in excitement. '' I would not 
 condescend to it." 
 
 '' You see," went on the young man, 
 '' all this is very painful for me ; and 
 makes my position at home most difficult. 
 Latterly I have noticed that both my 
 father and sister are turning against the 
 marriage ; and certainly, unless they are 
 conciliated in some way, it is only natural." 
 
Retreating Inch by Inch. 43 
 
 " I shall not stoop to conciliate tliem in 
 any way. Surely you know, as well as 
 I do, what my views liave been all 
 through. I neither courted nor desired 
 this connection. In fact, I may speak 
 the truth to you — nothing could be more 
 painful or odious." 
 
 This is really getting ridiculous," the 
 Beauty said. It is quite proper what 
 he says. Surely the thing is agreed to ; 
 and we must treat them with civility. 
 I shall go, and so shall Livy. She 
 not to dine at her future husband's 
 house !" 
 
 Livy will do what I wish," said her 
 mother, with a trembling voice; "and 
 what I think good for her. So will you, 
 if you are wise." 
 
 The young man became very earnest. 
 
 " Now, do give way, Mrs. Talbot. I 
 
44 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 assure you more depends on this than you 
 think." 
 
 " I repeat it is nothing to me, or to 
 Livy. My child has no need to be re- 
 ceived on sufferance at any house. The 
 time has come to speak plainly. I have 
 discovered the plans of Mrs. Labouchere ; 
 she wishes to sow dissension in this family. 
 She has done her best already, and suc- 
 ceeded, too ; and " 
 
 Oh, mamma !" cried Livy, covering 
 her face with her hands. 
 
 " Yes, I know it ; and the world shall 
 know it, if she doesn't take care. How 
 dare any woman attempt to set my hus- 
 band against me ? Does she think I 
 cannot see the object of her tricks and 
 manoeuvres Does she fancy " 
 
 The Beauty drew himself up, with a 
 very good attempt at loftiness and dignity. 
 
Retreating Inch by Inch. 45 
 
 This is not the way to speak before 
 people, and before Livy. It is not good 
 taste, to say the least. Don't bring in 
 my name, at all events." 
 
 I am sure I don't understand all 
 this," the young man said, confused. I 
 only tell you my ideas on the matter ; and 
 I really feel that something serious will 
 happen for Livy and me, if it goes 
 on." 
 
 Half-an-hour after he had left, arrived 
 one of the Hardman great cards of invi- 
 tation — a vast screen of pasteboard, splen- 
 didly engrossed. 
 
 "I shall not go, I repeat," said Mrs. 
 Talbot. 
 
 And I shall go ; and I require that 
 Livy goes too, as her father. Why should 
 you not, after insulting that high-minded, 
 generous woman before her own brother ? 
 
46 
 
 Beauty Talbot, 
 
 I am ashamed of it, and I will not have 
 it ; I am not going to be a cipher in my 
 own house. Can't dine out, indeed, with- 
 out leave — or take my own daughter with 
 me!" 
 
 That miserable recrimination went on 
 for a long time. The mother had taken 
 up a weak position, which she could not 
 hold; even from her daughter came an 
 opposition, if such it could be called — 
 an imploring of her to give way, for her 
 sake. 
 
 Indeed he is right, dearest, — a great 
 deal may depend on this. And as for 
 poor papa, surely you know it is nothing 
 but his little amusement ? I would stake 
 my life he means nothing — it just amuses 
 him, and makes liim so happy ^ dearest 
 mother. ]N"o, do not mind him. And 
 what I fear, is, dearest, by opposing 
 
Retreating Inch by Inch. 47 
 
 him, you will make the thing of much 
 more consequence than it really is. I 
 was greatly struck by what Mr. Lumley 
 said when he warned us of this ; and 
 he knows the world so well." 
 
 So you turn against me ! Well, go ; 
 do whatever you please. You and your 
 father settle it between you. I give it 
 all up !" 
 
 This was but a prologue to that faithful 
 daughter's flinging her arms about the 
 mother she so loved. 
 
 Oh ! this is dreadful !" she cried. 
 ''It is making me wretched to see you 
 and papa going on this way ! Oh, if we 
 could only get back to our happy ways ! 
 I would die — make any sacrifice — only to 
 see you both as you were before." 
 
 '' That you will never see. I wish I 
 could die here, rather than live in this 
 
48 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 degradation — -to be under the feet of that 
 woman. But she holds a scourge over 
 me. She knows what a power she has. 
 Oh, heaven help me! That I should 
 have lived to sink so low as this ! Yes, 
 dear, never mind ; it is not your fault. 
 Yes, I think you had better go. I give 
 it up, and only accept it all. I am 
 beaten !" 
 
 Livy left her, with a despairing face; ' 
 but with something resolved in her heart. 
 
 The Beauty — who was rather a childish 
 Beauty, after all — all but crowed with 
 triumph at his victory. He was asserting 
 himself — showing that he was master in 
 his own house." Then, as usual in such 
 cases, came self-justification. It couldn't 
 go on : he was not a child ; not to be made a 
 cipher of in his own house. Absurd that he 
 couldn't go out and dine where he liked." 
 
Retreating Inch by Inch. 49 
 
 That evening again arrived the Hard- 
 man livery with a letter for Mr. Talbot ; 
 as usual, solemnly delivered before the 
 family, and causing a miserable disquiet- 
 ude. It ran : — 
 
 " I assume that you are coming to us, 
 and am so delighted. Mind you bring 
 your song — or 7ny song, rather, for I 
 invented it, and deserve some of the glory. 
 But there is another reason for which we 
 wish you here. ' Will you forgive me for 
 what I have done ?' asked the poor van- 
 quished Colonel Fotheringham. I want 
 you to be reconciled ; he too is wilhng, 
 and you must be generous. He is a friend 
 of mine, and really good ; and I daresay you 
 have guessed the reason of his temper the 
 other night. So we must have indulgence. 
 It will be such a pleasant reconciliation 
 
 VOL. III. E 
 
50 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 dinner ; and we shall have the pleasure of 
 seeing conqueror and conquered, in the 
 same room. We hope that Mrs. Talbot is 
 coming, and dearest Livy." 
 
 The Beauty so simpered and smiled over 
 this flattering testimonial, and so glowed 
 with honest blushes, as to attract the 
 attention of his wife and daughter. 
 
 Mrs. Talbot, beside herself, again for- 
 got her dignity and reserve. 
 
 Some more of that ridiculous letter- 
 writing — to hold yourself in readiness to 
 be exhibited as a jackal — and run of some 
 errand !" 
 
 This was a happy opening for the 
 Beauty. It was with an almost exquisite 
 feeling of pleasure that he handed it over. 
 
 " You can read it, if you like." 
 
 Her first impulse was to push it back : 
 
Retreating Inch by Inch. 51 
 
 then to take it, and glance over it con- 
 temptuously. Her face grew serious as 
 slie read. She stopped before finishing 
 it, and said passionately, What gross 
 and transparent flattery ! I never saw 
 such an attempt to make a fool of a person 
 — without even taking the trouble of con- 
 cealing the attempt. Certainly you are 
 not much complimented. I congratulate 
 you on your letter ; and if I was you, I 
 would show it to every one, as you have 
 shown it to us." 
 
 The Beauty started up furiously. 
 You must not speak this way to me. 
 I won't have it. It's too impertinent alto- 
 gether. You're very ready with your ' fools' 
 and names, as some one said the other 
 day. When people are fond of using it 
 too much, they speak about what they 
 know best." 
 
 E 2 
 
52 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 ''It is easy to guess who primes you 
 with fine speeches ; they cannot come from 
 yourself. You have quite a parrot way 
 with you." ^ 
 
 '' I tell you again, I won't have this." 
 
 '' Oh, papa, mamma dear," said Livy, 
 wringing her hands, '' if this goes on it 
 will kill me. What am I to do — what is to 
 become of us ?" 
 
 '' Don't, Olivia. I request you will not 
 speak in that way," said Mr. Talbot, with 
 dignity. " I must assert my own position 
 in this house, at whatever cost." 
 
 Another scene— ending with Mrs. Tal- 
 bot sweeping from the room, with that 
 savage rustle by which a silk dress exhibits 
 passion, just as well as an oath or a burst 
 of fury could do it. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 EOLAND FOR OLIVER. 
 
 The party at the Towers was plainly 
 in honour of the marauding Shipleys — -a 
 sort of testimonial banquet. That lady 
 and her daughter had indeed made good 
 their ground, and carried away vast spoil 
 from the fruit-trees, and gardens of the 
 place. She had specially marked the head 
 of the family for her own — would pay him 
 visits, and consult him on trifling points 
 in the most confidential and friendly 
 manner. It was My dear Mr. Hardman, 
 tell me this, like a good creature. I look 
 
54 
 
 Beauty Talbot, 
 
 on you as a rock of sense :" which was 
 answered by Really, my dear Lady Ship- 
 ley — "And," goes on the lady, "my 
 daughter Mony so looks up to you ; and 
 that nice son of yours, I can't tell you 
 how she likes him. Of course, as he is to 
 be married, and all that, I tell her it is 
 very wrong." 
 
 "It is very flattering indeed, madam," 
 said he, much pleased. " You do me great 
 honour, indeed." 
 
 "Not at all. And now, my dear Mr. 
 Hardman, just sit down, and tell me 
 about this match, for it quite came on 
 me by surprise. I hear those Talbots are 
 very clever people." 
 
 " I say openly," said Mr. Hardman, with 
 a loud voice, " I did not approve of the 
 business. From the beginning I set my 
 face against it. There is no money — no 
 
Roland for Oliver. 
 
 connection — nothing. I wash, my hands 
 of the whole affair." 
 
 " Dear me ! this is quite a new idea. 1 
 said so to Mony, She will tell you I said 
 so the other morning. It was impossible, 
 I said, that it could have the approbation 
 of Mr. Hardman — a man who could be 
 anything — whose son would be a match 
 for anybody; and I'll tell you candidly 
 what I said to her then, Mr. Hardman, for 
 I always speak my mind, and conceal 
 nothing — ' I wish to Heaven, Mony, you 
 had been married into such a family.' " 
 
 " Indeed, ma'am, it is very good of you 
 to say so. I take it as a great compli- 
 ment." 
 
 " Now that it is past and done for, 1 
 may speak out. I say it is a good 
 thing to be connected with a man like 
 you. You may be proud of yourself, and 
 
56 
 
 Beauty Talbot, 
 
 thougli those Talbots, I am told, are fine 
 upon the matter, and talking queerly." 
 
 In this way did this crafty old lady 
 proceed to work upon the manufacturer, 
 and sent him home in quite a rage. 
 
 This was the morning after the dinner ; 
 and the first person he met was his 
 son. 
 
 Where are you going, sir ?" 
 
 " I was going over to see Olivia." 
 
 "Yes, and be sneered at behind your 
 back. You don't care for that, but I do. 
 You are a fool, and have been a fool, and 
 always will be one." 
 
 " How, father ? About this mar- 
 riage?" 
 
 ^'Yes, sir. But I don't give my con- 
 sent still. If you have no self-respect, I 
 have. I am not going to be insulted — 
 belled about the parish — by these snobs. 
 
Roland for Oliver. 57 
 
 To have them sneering here, and sneer- 
 ing there. Then, I tell you what, I have 
 made up my mind they shall have none 
 of my money to sneer at. I'd sooner leave 
 every halfpenny I have to — the Queen." 
 
 But they don't sneer, father — at 
 least—" 
 
 " You know that's untrue — you can't 
 deny it, sir. It's too much, and I shan't 
 put up with it — there." 
 
 Confounded at this new turn, the young 
 fellow turned away bewildered. He went 
 to his sister. 
 
 " I have always had the same opinion," 
 she said. ^^Do me this justice: I have 
 been above-board in my dislike of your 
 new connections. Olivia is a charming 
 girl : but her mother — well, you know, 
 she don't like me." 
 
 " Yes, unfortunately." 
 
58 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 "Well, papa has some reason on his 
 side, I think, though we do not often 
 agree. He is the head of the house ; he 
 has made all our money for us ; he has 
 had a hard, laborious life; and I do think 
 it is very bad taste of these people to 
 go about trying to put us down in this 
 way : to be jeering at what they con- 
 descend to accept. You are in love, and 
 it is very natural you shouldn't see this ; 
 but it is a deep mortification to papa and 
 to me. Even to-day — to be obliged to 
 ask them here ! to humble ourselves to 
 her ! and all for you. You ought to be 
 grateful." 
 
 The youth looked bewildered. 
 
 " But what can I do ! Rose, tell me ; 
 you always advised me. I don't want to 
 be selfish." 
 
 Well, you can do this, at least : what 
 
Bolandfor Oliver. 59 
 
 is, indeed, only decency. Speak firmly 
 to tliem ; require the respect that is due 
 to our family — our low family, as they 
 seem to think it. They will respect you 
 the more for it. As it is, they seem to 
 consider you a mere boy — that they can 
 do what they like with. You would not 
 be so wholly selfish, after all that has been 
 sacrificed for you ?" 
 
 The youth looked grave and disquieted. 
 The thing had never been put in this way 
 before. 
 
 "But Olivia!" he said. "Surely you 
 cannot think that — " - 
 
 " I, of course, except her ; I have done 
 so all along. This is no question about 
 her. But there is question of your own 
 self-respect. Heavens, how I have suf- 
 fered — how we have all suffered ! And I 
 tell you how you have a position with 
 
60 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 regard to them, and are really bound to 
 make some exertions and see that you 
 are respected, by yonr family's being re- 
 spected." 
 
 This was a new light for the young man, 
 who felt a little humiliated in presence of 
 his worldly-wise sister, and who had put 
 it very forcibly before him. She was right. 
 Livy was all that could be wished ; but 
 he was under no obligation towards the 
 rest of the family. And he recalled now 
 the implied tone, and the scarcely con- 
 cealed contempt, with which Mrs. Talbot 
 spoke of them before him. 
 
 When it was time to set out for the 
 dinner party, the Beauty was confounded, 
 and put out," by seeing his wife come 
 down splendidly dressed, and looking 
 really magnificent. Excitement, or auger, 
 
Roland for Oliver, 
 
 61 
 
 gave the tender flush to her cheeks, 
 which was her charm in the days of Mr. 
 Chalon, and the old hght seemed to have 
 come back to her eyes. She had, besides, 
 the true refined statehness — the air of the 
 high-bred lady. 
 
 ''I thought you were not going," said 
 the Beauty, angrily. 
 
 I persuaded her. Beauty dear ; so we 
 are all going together, and mean to have 
 such a pleasant night." 
 
 They were very silent as they drove 
 along, the Beauty much out of humour at 
 his not being allowed to perform alone 
 on his favourite boards. This was the 
 way in which he was always interfered 
 with." 
 
 When the Talbots arrived they found 
 that they were late, and that all the com- 
 pany were assembled — Lady Shipley al- 
 
62 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 ready enthroned, as it were, in a divan, 
 and talking volubly. Mr. Hardman had 
 quite a displeased air ; indeed, he had 
 been inflamed by a speech of that lady. 
 
 At all the great houses in town, as 
 you know, my dear Mr. Hardman, it is 
 the thing to be before the time Your 
 friends, I suspect, have forgotten the 
 hour." 
 
 Mrs. Labouchere struck in — 
 We must submit, Lady Shipley. They 
 are our masters and mistresses." 
 
 I dined once at poor Lady Greyplover's, 
 and they expected the old Duke of Banff- 
 shire. They just gave him a quarter of 
 an hour, and then went to dinner. He 
 came in a little after they had sat down, 
 and was not the least put out. He knew 
 it was the regular course of things." 
 
 His son was very restless, and rather 
 
Roland for Oliver, 
 
 63 
 
 annoyed. It did look as if Mrs. Talbot 
 delighted to try and mortify his family. 
 
 The moment they entered, Mr. Hard- 
 man called to his servant, Now, dinner !" 
 — a shocking barbarism, as Mrs. Talbot 
 took care to show the company she 
 thought it, by turning round with a sort 
 of haughty start. The room was crowded ; 
 and, almost at once, Mrs. Labouchere 
 went over to our Beauty and brought him 
 to a pink-cheeked, good-looking gentle- 
 man, who was in the window. 
 
 To be sure," said Colonel Fothering- 
 ham, delighted. We did not see each 
 other in the dark. I was out of humour 
 that night." 
 
 The Beauty was enchanted at this 
 amende. His wife was looking over, and 
 must have heard it. He was growing- 
 more important every hour. Colonel 
 
04 
 
 Beaut 1/ Talbot. 
 
 Fotheringliam began to talk pleasantly on 
 other matters ; and then the procession 
 was formed down to dinner. That meal 
 was a more tremendous effort of state than 
 Mr. Hardman had yet attempted. He 
 had never yet got such distinguished 
 people together at his board. But, though 
 Mrs. Talbot had priority of rank. Lady 
 Shipley was the leading lady. Her 
 voice was heard above all. She was 
 seated beside the host — was now loud, 
 now extravagantly confidential. She 
 ate of everything, and praised every- 
 thing. 
 
 Never saw anything better done, or 
 in better taste. Charming. And now, 
 my dear Mr. Hardman, tell me about these 
 people. I shouldn't call them these people, 
 
 because " 
 
 She had to be very confidential here, 
 
Roland for Oliver. 
 
 65 
 
 as Mrs. Talbot was on the other side of 
 the host. 
 
 She seems quite a monarch-of-all-she- 
 surveys sort of person. Even patronised 
 me ? — ha ! ha ! You sa\v that ? Of course, 
 you did. And that httle girl is your son's 
 intended ? Mce, amiable little thing, she 
 seems; I am sure, she will turn out a 
 good domestic wife." 
 
 All this was very low and confiden- 
 tial. 
 
 " But I wish she had more mark and 
 character ; virtue alone will not do now-a- 
 days, my dear Mr. Hardman. We must 
 all push — push — push ! You and I have 
 had to do that." 
 
 "What you say is admirable, my dear 
 Lady Shipley. No one puts a thing better." 
 
 The conversation wandered off into 
 pictures, last Academy Exhibition, very 
 
 VOL. III. F 
 
66 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 favourite topics at country dinner parties, 
 where people talk familiarly of sucli shows. 
 Rotten Row, &c , as if they were in the 
 next street. Mrs. Talbot, excellent actress 
 as she was, being now in front of the 
 foot-lights, was unconstrained and easy, 
 ''the great lady" in short; just as if she 
 had no wolf gnawing at her very heart. 
 She was easy, smiling, gay. But it was 
 almost with horror, that she heard the 
 bold Lady Shipley make this remark, 
 
 '' By the way, there is a little picture 
 in your drawing-room, Mr. Hardman, 
 which shows you have real taste. It 
 seems to me a master-piece, and " 
 
 " Which one. Lady Shipley ? I can 
 assure you, I get ashamed sometimes 
 when T think of all the cheques I have 
 drawn for pictures." 
 
 '' This was a small picture, finely done ; 
 
Roland for Oliver. 67 
 
 such force, such power, such colours. I 
 assure you, I don't know when I was so 
 pleased; Honoria, too, was quite struck 
 with it." 
 
 Oh, it was charming, mamma. 1 
 could stand hours before it." 
 
 It would be impossible to convey the 
 arrogance with which he turned to Mrs. 
 Talbot. Every moment, indeed, he be- 
 gan to feel his wrongs coming back on 
 him with fresh force, and some new cir- 
 cumstances were making him regard the 
 whole family with an increasing dislike. 
 
 I am glad to hear you say this," he 
 said, as Mrs. Talbot was of quite an 
 opposite opinion, and treated the picture 
 with great contempt." 
 
 How, why ?" said Lady Shipley, lean- 
 ing forward ; I am sure she is too good 
 a judge." 
 
 F 2 
 
68 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 This is the most astonishing mistake," 
 said Mrs. Talbot, looking round ; ''on 
 the contrary, I admired it immensely : in 
 fact, I said it was worth all the rest of 
 the collection." 
 
 "Oh, how severe !" said Lady Shipley. 
 '' What a wicked stroke." 
 
 "My collection is good, and can take 
 care of itself," said he, growing red. 
 " No one can say I have not encouraged 
 art. The cheques I have drawn for pic- 
 tures could not be exceeded by any noble- 
 man in the country. I have outbid dukes 
 and lords before now." 
 
 '' But now, as a matter of curiosity, 
 Mrs. Talbot ; why don't you like the 
 picture ?" 
 
 "I do like it. I think it the prettiest 
 thing I have seen for a long time " 
 
 " But Mr. Hardman says something 
 about contempt." 
 
Roland for Oliver. 
 
 69 
 
 Oh, that did not refer to the 
 merits of the picture. If Mr. Hardmao 
 
 insists " 
 
 Mrs. Labouchere saw to what all this 
 was leading up, and she came sweeping 
 down hotly to the rescue, like a dashing 
 troop of cavalry. " Papa is too modest 
 to tell that story; but I shall for him. 
 He saw how much it was admired, and 
 was generous enough to bring it himself, 
 as a present. Mrs. Talbot knows that 
 this was the case. It is always easy to 
 mortify, when you get such an advan- 
 tage as that. Poor papa ! it was a very 
 unkind return." 
 
 To decline a present ! Mr. Hardman 
 was, indeed, kind enough to bring it in 
 his carriage. But it was impossible for 
 me to accept it." 
 
 How kind of you, Mr. Hardman," 
 
70 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 said Lady Shipley, enthusiastically. 
 " What a charming man ! You are 
 quite gallant." 
 
 " It seems not/' he said. But it was 
 well meant; let us say no more about it." 
 
 Oh, but it is so interesting. I am 
 afraid there are very few people who 
 would offer me pictures." 
 
 Would you let me make a beginning. 
 Lady Shipley ?" said he, hesitating. 
 
 As you picked out, and admired the 
 picture, I should be too proud if you 
 would let me send it over " 
 
 No ; but if you would bring it over 
 yourself," she said, in a sort of flattering 
 way. " If you would do that r 
 
 " To-morrow, if it should be convenient, 
 I shall certainly have the honour," he 
 answered, looking round with pride and 
 defiance at Mrs. Talbot. 
 
Roland for Oliver. 
 
 71 
 
 That lady bit her lip. 
 
 " People take different views about 
 presents. I believe it is considered that 
 a short acquaintance does not admit of 
 the acceptance of one. Of course it may 
 be different in this case." 
 
 All this time Mr. Hardman's son had 
 been listening with a sort of impatience 
 and restlessness — distracted from his 
 bounden attentions to the young lady 
 next him. She saw and wondered at his 
 distraction. At this point he said, 
 warmly, I do wish your mother would 
 not go on in that way. It is making me 
 quite unhappy. Surely you have interest 
 with her, and affection for her, and a 
 word from you would show her how 
 foolish it is." 
 
 But mamma does nothing," said Livy, 
 her soft eyes turning to him. " You 
 
72 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 know that yourself. It does not come 
 from herJ^ 
 
 But it is so unmeaning," he went on, 
 growing more eager. Why should she 
 set up despising our family and affronting 
 my father, who is my father, in that way. 
 Surely you must see, as they say, that 
 despising him, is despising me. If she 
 thinks our family worthy of being con- 
 nected with her, she should think it 
 worthy of being treated with ordinary 
 respect." 
 
 It is very strange to hear you say this 
 to me. Why do you not go at once, and 
 say it to mamma herself ?" 
 
 Because it will come better from 
 you. And it is really growing into a very 
 important and serious matter. You must 
 consider one's family, and if one loses 
 one's self-respect, you know " 
 
Bolandfor Oliver, 
 
 73 
 
 This is all quite new from you," said 
 she, much hurt ; " there is no need to 
 begin preaching at me in that way. Why 
 should you not keep your self-respect ?" 
 she added, with glowing cheeks. " By 
 all means do so. But shall I tell you 
 what I have been thinking : that my heart 
 bleeds and burns to see the way my 
 darling mother is treated. The humilia- 
 tion she has to suffer on my account, and 
 the annoyance given her, through all that 
 she holds most dear. You will understand 
 me. I see it more and more every 
 moment, all that she is forced to suf- 
 fer, and it seems to me most cruel to 
 her. It is done on purpose ; I see 
 it." 
 
 She spoke so excitedly that he turned 
 and followed her eyes, and he saw that 
 his sister and her father were engaged in 
 
74 
 
 Beatih/ Talbot. 
 
 eager conversatioD, aud tliat on the 
 Beauty's face was that conscious, aud 
 half foolish aii^ which betokened some 
 compliment paid, and much satisfaction 
 on its receipt. The sight kindled her yet 
 more. 
 
 I miQ;ht call on vou." she went on. 
 to make a chano-e in all this, as it is 
 not becomino; that vour family should 
 bring trouble into ours, and require you 
 to separate vourself altoo:ether from all 
 those who are trvino; to make mischief in 
 oars." 
 
 Oh, as for that," said the young man, 
 " we must o'o back to those who beo;an it. 
 I must own, and it is only justice to say 
 so, that it was Mrs. Talbot commenced by 
 despising our family. TTe owe a respect 
 to ourselves, and you would not respect 
 me if I put up with all that." 
 
Roland for Oliver. 75 
 
 Put up with all that/' she repeated, 
 wondering ; " this is all very strange." 
 
 He felt he had spoken too brusquely, 
 and, as usual in such cases, wdth per- 
 sons of not very strong minds, chose 
 to justify himself, instead of withdraw- 
 ing. 
 
 Oh, really, 1 am serious, and that 
 depends on you as much as on me. My 
 father is behaving wonderfully, consider- 
 ing. You heard even since dinner began, 
 what Lady Shipley said about the picture 
 — how delightedly she received the offer. 
 He has acted in a very straightforward 
 way with me, and intends, I know, though 
 I am going against all his wishes in this 
 matter — and I do not regret it a moment, 
 understand me, and never shall, though 
 I speak in this way— he means, I under- 
 
76 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 stand, to behave in the handsomest way 
 to me. It is to make not the slightest 
 diflference in his arrangements for our set- 
 tlement in life. Now the least return I 
 can make him, is to see that he is properly 
 treated, and with the respect that is due 
 to him." 
 
 The gentle Livy felt an inexpressible 
 soreness at her heart as she listened to 
 this new strain — it was so practical, and 
 even cruel. She only said, after a mo- 
 ment's pause,— 
 
 Don't let us talk any more of this ; 
 now, at least." 
 
 That Colonel Fotheringham had noted 
 this graceful and interesting young girl, 
 wJao was so utterly thrown away upon 
 ^'that lout," who plainly did not under- 
 stand the true town-bred fashion of treat- 
 
Roland for Oliver. 
 
 77 
 
 ing such precious objects ; and he made 
 a resolution, which he afterwards hoped 
 to carry out. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 BEATEN BACK. 
 
 Meanwhile the dinner went on, the 
 Beauty really coming out," as he 
 thought ; and Mr. Hardman more and 
 more devoted to Lady Shipley. Every 
 moment was heard his hoarse, grating 
 voice, tuned to obsequiousness, — 
 
 Your ladyship makes me feel quite 
 proud. No ?" 
 
 Ah, I declare, my dear Mr. Hard- 
 man, I wish we had more people like 
 you." 
 
 This was, indeed, a sincere wish on her 
 part. 
 
Beaten Bach. 
 
 79 
 
 A man of your liberal ideas should 
 be more before the country ; we should 
 have your opinions given publicly. You 
 should teach us. Men like you know 
 more of the world. What noble grapes ! 
 Why, Lord Wiganthrope, who pays some- 
 thing fabulous for every bunch he eats, 
 and who has them all the year round, has 
 no finer." 
 
 Here was a longed-for opportunity : the 
 august gardener, who came to him from 
 
 Lord , with the duke's coachman, 
 
 v/ho disdained to break down the bar- 
 riers between his own office and other 
 menial ones, and whom no one would 
 dare — least of all his master — to ask to 
 attend, were then introduced upon the 
 scene. 
 
 At last the ladies went upstairs, and 
 after a time the gentlemen followed. 
 
80 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 Again Lady Shipley was brought forward 
 to the place of honour, and done pro- 
 found homage to, in the most abasing 
 way. Father and daughter joined in total 
 overlooking of Mrs. Talbot. Her hus- 
 band's opinion was asked on every point, 
 with a deference that really seemed obse- 
 quiousness; and his declarations were 
 listened to with an attention that might 
 at an earlier period of his life have amazed 
 him. No one was more anxious for these 
 opinions than his late opponent, Colonel 
 Fotheringham ; and there was a generous 
 adherence in that ojB&cer, which showed 
 that he wished to make up for his pre- 
 vious behaviour. 
 
 Mrs. Talbot was overlooked, neglected, 
 in comparison with the great Lady Ship- 
 ley, before whom Mr. Hardman literally 
 prostrated himself. His manner to Mrs. 
 
Beaten Bach. 81 
 
 Talbot since tlie acceptance of the picture 
 had become almost insolent, and, at least, 
 brusque. Before, he had always had the 
 uneasy feeling in reference to this little 
 transaction that he might have made a 
 sort of mistake, and that his chastisement 
 was more or less deserved. But now 
 Lady Shipley's kindness had removed 
 every doubt of the kind. It came on him 
 suddenly that he had been insulted, out- 
 raged, and humiliated ; and he could 
 never forgive it. Mrs. Labouchere saw 
 this change in her father, and seconded 
 it ably. Our Livy's eyes seemed to see 
 it more clearly every instant. 
 
 When Mr. Hardman came up he went 
 over pompously to Lady Shipley. 
 
 We are so happy to have you here, 
 my Lady Shipley. It is pleasant to find 
 
 VOL. in. G 
 
82 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 sucli good taste. Come, ma'am, let me 
 show you yom^ picture." 
 
 I will take it away with me this night. 
 I won't let it out of my sight, or you may 
 change your mind, and offer it again to 
 Mrs. Talbot." 
 
 '^No, he will scarcely do that," said 
 Mrs. Labouchere. Poor papa was quite 
 punished enough." 
 
 Mrs. Talbot was losing all her old skill 
 in the Banclillero line. 
 
 There is a difference," she said, with 
 a trembling voice, " between good-nature 
 and other motives. How do you know 
 that picture was offered to me from good- 
 nature ?" 
 
 " It is to me," said Lady Shipley ; and 
 it is the nicest compliment that has been 
 paid to me for years." 
 
 ''You have been acquainted with Mr. 
 
Beaten Bach 
 
 83 
 
 Hardman only a few weeks, I believe ?" 
 she said, with great contempt. 
 
 Oh, as for that," said the other lady, 
 coolly, I have often made a valuable 
 friendship in a day. There is such a thing 
 as love at first sight ; and why not friend- 
 ship ? There's Mr. Talbot, looking as 
 if he agreed with me." 
 
 It's a beaidifod picture. Lady Shipley," 
 he said, with wisdom ; and I think she 
 must have been dreaming when she 
 refused it. Such a miss — it is* quite 
 provoking !" 
 
 I always said, papa, if Mr. Talbot had 
 been at home, your picture would have been 
 lost to you for ever. He was too sensible 
 to let such a chance slip." 
 
 " Everybody seems to be down on you, 
 Mrs. Talbot," Lady Shipley said ; " even 
 your husband." 
 
 G 2 
 
84 
 
 Beauty Talbot 
 
 Oh, poor Livy ! — her cheeks burning 
 with shame and sympathy, her eyes flash- 
 ing with indignity — she could have sunk 
 into the earth. Her young lover — half 
 discontented, as if he was disappointed 
 at her new-born independence, remained 
 aloof. She called him over. 
 
 Listen, when I get home to-night," 
 she said, I shall write to you." 
 
 About what ?" he asked. " Why not 
 tell me now ?" 
 
 I shall find it easier to write. All this 
 is growing unendurable. I begin to see 
 what I never saw before. You must 
 choose your side. Everybody that is not 
 with me, and with mine, is against me." 
 
 At this moment the Beauty was being 
 led over to the piano, praised by no one 
 so much as by Colonel Fotheringham. He 
 was called on for his famous song. He 
 
Beaten Bach. 
 
 85 
 
 m7ist sing it. He was not at all indis- 
 posed. Who was to accompany the 
 famous song ? He would have to accept 
 his wife. She knew that ; and, with a 
 curling lip, hesitated whether she should 
 consent. There was a short struggle. 
 She might give him a lesson — ^put him 
 down; it would do him good. She would 
 be no slave. It was time that she should 
 vindicate herself. Still, it seemed a petty 
 shape of revenge. It was unworthy of 
 her ; so she rose up for the duty. 
 
 Suddenly Mrs Labouchere stepped for- 
 ward, with a smihng air. 
 
 " My song ; 7ny song. It is my patent, 
 and I really must. You must allow me, 
 Mr. Talbot." 
 
 Immensely flattered, the foolish Beauty 
 replied, — 
 
 Oh, yes. No one has such a good 
 
86 
 
 JBeauty Talbot. 
 
 title as you, Mrs. Labouchere. Oh, if 
 you would only " 
 
 ''Would she? Of course slie must," 
 Mr. Hardman said. " Lord Bindley said as 
 much at Bindley." 
 
 '' Of course," said Mrs. Labouchere to 
 Mrs. Talbot, ''if you insist, I must give 
 up my hobby. Indeed, I feel I ought." 
 
 "What nonsense!" said the Beauty, 
 impatiently. " I can't sing it to any one's 
 accompaniment but yours." 
 
 OUvia was beside him, and whis- 
 pered, — 
 
 " Oh, poor mamma. Don't !" 
 
 He turned round angrily. 
 
 " It is intolerable," he said. " I'm not 
 going to be made a child of!" 
 
 Mrs. Labouchere caught the words, " a 
 child." 
 
 " Who will be bold enough to do that ? 
 
Beaten Back. 
 
 87 
 
 N05 you have too mucli spirit. I should 
 not venture on such an attempt." 
 
 Something in her look, something in 
 her tone — so meaning, so overflowing 
 with significance — struck Livy, that it 
 almost filled her heart with terror ; for in 
 that moment the wings of the scene 
 seemed to be drawn away, and there 
 seemed to be revealed at her feet the 
 abyss before her family, with all its dan- 
 gers and terrors. It struck a perfect chill 
 to her young soul, from the suddenness 
 and unexpectedness of the view. There, 
 at the edge — instead of the agreeable, 
 conventional lady of society — was a 
 hideous, ever-leering siren, whose cold 
 fingers seemed to clasp his arm, and try 
 to drag him over, with a hideous marine 
 
 coquetry. While he well, he was her 
 
 foolish, good-natured Beauty of a father. 
 
88 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 His song, however, was sung — was 
 received with the usual absurd enthu- 
 siasm ; and Lady Shipley rose up, and 
 rushed over to congratulate. She — 
 unconsciously, perhaps — drove one more 
 nail into the coffin of their domestic 
 happiness. 
 
 ''My dear Mr. Talbot, you have a 
 divine voice. How Mrs. Talbot must be 
 enchanted at hearing you entertain your 
 friends in this way. It must be charm- 
 ing for her." 
 
 Mrs. Labouchere was more and more 
 emboldened. 
 
 ''A prophet, or a singer, is nothing 
 in his own country, or at home. We 
 found out Mr. Talbot, and brought him 
 forward. Mrs. Talbot is quite too diffi- 
 dent about his merits. By-and-by, we 
 shall make him burst on the London 
 
Beaten Back. 89 
 
 public. I am laying the train already, 
 Mr, Talbot. We know people that will 
 be enchanted to hear you sing, that will 
 get up parties for you — regular concerts. 
 I say, and Lady Shipley thinks so, too, 
 that it is a shame to have such a voice 
 buried in the suburbs. He must be 
 brought out." 
 
 " Oh, he must be brought out," said 
 Lady Shipley. 
 
 Delightful all this for the Beauty, who 
 seemed to murmur and quiver with 
 satisfaction — not very distinctly though. 
 Terrible almost for Mrs. Talbot, who had 
 lost all her power of cut and thrust, 
 either from helplessness, or from want 
 of spirit. Something of her old training 
 did not desert her. 
 
 The guests clustered round; Colonel 
 Fotheringham — now an ardent friend and 
 
00 
 
 Beauhj Talbot. 
 
 admirer — led liini over, and once more 
 the blushing Beauty gave out his famous 
 song. A perfect roar of applause greeted 
 it, for, under pressure of his wi'ongs, and 
 stimulated by public support, he gave it 
 out with unusual fire. He seemed to 
 himself as if he was the statue of some 
 pubhc man on a pedestal : and it was 
 wonderful the secret indignation he felt 
 towards those who grudged him his popu- 
 larity. 
 
 Mrs. Talbot, whose nerves and moral 
 muscles ' seemed to be relaxing: everv 
 hour, sat afar off, writhing almost as 
 her enemy sat at the piano, and played 
 without expression, and every now and 
 again looked up with smiling approval and 
 approbation into the face of the gentle- 
 man she was accompanying. Xever had 
 he sung so well, Mrs. Labouchere told 
 
% 
 
 Beaten Back. 91 
 
 Mm : with low encouragement, beautiful ! 
 charming !" audible even to his wife's 
 ears, stimulated him. And at the end, 
 flushed, victorious, he stood there, the 
 centre of universal acclaim, and felt a 
 resentful feeling against those who would 
 not lend him their sympathies in his 
 triumph. 
 
 When he was done, she rose up to go. 
 She interrupted the chorus of ^'charm- 
 ing!" — admirable !" by asking for their 
 carriage. Mrs. Labouchere, without ri- 
 sing from the piano, said carelessly, Why 
 we are only beginning the night ; we are 
 going to have more songs." 
 
 "So sorry," said Mrs. Talbot, with 
 trembling lips, " to interfere with your 
 plans, but it is late." 
 
 "Not at all," said the other; "quite 
 early, I assure you. We can't spare 
 
92 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 you, Mr. Talbot, I assure you. Can we, 
 Lady Shipley ?" 
 
 My dear, lie is a treasure. Such an 
 organ ! I assure you, Mrs. Talbot, you 
 don't half value him, not half. Oh, sing 
 on, sing us more of your little things, Mr. 
 Talbot." 
 
 We must go," said Mrs. Talbot, turn- 
 ing to her husband ; would you ask for 
 the carriage ?" 
 
 '^Oh, folly, nonsense!" he said, in a 
 testy whisper. Don't make a fool of 
 yourself.* You are ridiculous." 
 What r 
 
 " Don't make yourself a /ooZ," he re- 
 peated, his eyes flashing, and forgetting 
 all his usual traditions of the gentleman ; 
 " you may go home if you like." 
 
 You would not let us go by our- 
 selves, would you ?" 
 
Beaten Bach. 
 
 93 
 
 " I don't mean to stir. I'm not a child 
 to be ordered home in this way !" 
 
 Livy heard all this, every word. So 
 did her lover, or her late lover, who made 
 a remonstrance. 
 
 " Do stay a little longer. They are all 
 doing so." 
 
 '^I tell you what," Mrs. Labouchere 
 said suddenly, as if from an inspiration ; 
 
 Lady Shipley will leave Mr. Talbot at 
 home ; that will satisfy Mrs. Talbot, 
 Won't it?" she added, addressing that 
 lady with a sort of mocking and smiling 
 air. Poor Mr. Talbot, he has all our 
 sympathies. The school-gates are shut, 
 I suppose, at midnight, and the master 
 flogs all the truant boys." 
 
 "Oh, how funny 1" he said, ''but I 
 assure you not at all. There is no 
 master and no flogging. I am going 
 
94 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 home witli Lady Shipley, Tom will be 
 quite enough to take care of you." 
 
 '^Papa, papa!" whispered Livy, in an 
 agitated way. Oh, you will come^ you 
 must come !" 
 
 He turned on her with an angry look. 
 But he said nothing, and turned away. 
 Mrs. Talbot carried out the poor attempt 
 at a smile, and at indifference. Mrs. 
 Labouchere, as it were, pressing on her, 
 as she retreated, yet still restrained 
 by perfect politeness, fired the last 
 gun. 
 
 " We shall take care of him. Perhaps 
 we shall keep him prisoner, and not let 
 him back till to-morrow." 
 
 Stay the night ; I declare a very good 
 idea," said Mr. Hardman. My dear 
 Talbot, use no ceremony. We could put 
 up regiments here." 
 
Beaten Bach. 
 
 95 
 
 The unfortunate Mrs. Talbot could not 
 endure much more of this ; all her 
 strength and spirit was leaving her fast. 
 She turned to go, and took her host's 
 arm. All the way down he kept chatting 
 in his pompous way. It makes no 
 difference, ma'am, to us, who stay, or 
 who do not. We have always the spare 
 rooms ready. Your husband would be 
 very comfortable if he chose to remain," 
 &c. She did not hear. He remained. 
 
 On their way back neither mother nor 
 daughter spoke. Livy heard her mother's 
 sobs : in the darkness she could not see 
 her face. She clung to her and clasped 
 her again and again, and in that long 
 agony came to a resolution which had 
 dimly occurred to her before now, as the 
 sole desperate solution of the crisis. 
 As the carriage swept up their httle 
 
96 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 avenue, she had determined on it irrevo- 
 cably. 
 
 She said nothing of it to any one. Her 
 mother was sobbing hysterically on the 
 sofa. She was beaten — could never fight 
 again. The long struggle was over. 
 They were to sit up to wait for him to 
 return. 
 
 Oh ! heavens above !" said the 
 wretched lady. ''What have I done to 
 deserve all this ? It was a miserable 
 day when these people came to the 
 place ; a more miserable one still when 
 we contracted that wretched engagement. 
 What infatuation was over us ! Such a 
 degrading thing could only bring us 
 misery. Oh, Livy, Livy, your happiness 
 has cost us a terrible sacrifice." 
 
 Livy could only think of the conven- 
 tional fashion of making light of all. 
 
Beaten Back. 
 
 97 
 
 After all, dearest, what is it ? He 
 wishes to amuse himself." 
 
 Wishes to amuse himself ! Sport to 
 him, death to me ! He is gone, ruined ; 
 lost to us ! And, Livy dear, I do 
 not grudge it to you, though your 
 marriage has been bought so dear. But 
 it is a sort of judgment on me ; for there 
 there was a time when I used to sacrifice 
 others, as carelessly as I am now sacrificed 
 myself. You deserve to be happy, dearest, 
 at any cost ; for you have been a sweet, 
 good child, and have done your best to 
 make me happy. It has failed." 
 
 All this, it will be said, about a gentle- 
 man staying behind at a dinner party, to 
 sing his little songs ! But this acute lady 
 of fashion saw further ; and saw, too, 
 that the beginning of the end was at hand. 
 That staying behind to sing his little 
 
 VOL. III. H 
 
93 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 songs meant far more." Then her daughter 
 had left her. With a pang she thought 
 how selfish all the world was. Here were 
 two people, and their happiness, sacri- 
 ficed for her. She ought to be grateful, 
 indeed. But no one could grudge it to 
 her. 
 
 Absent some half hour, the young girl 
 returned, smiling and cheerful. No signs 
 still of the Beauty. It came to midnight 
 — then to one o'clock. The gates were 
 closed. There could be no hope after 
 that. The banner of defiance was flaunted 
 in their faces ; he was losing even decency. 
 Then a cold calm came over Mrs. Talbot, 
 and, with a genuine Roman stoicism, 
 she resigned herself, and went to her 
 room. 
 
 ''Tom ! Tom !" said Livy, eagerly — 
 she had stolen down — obhge me by 
 
Beaten Bach. 99 
 
 running up the road and putting this 
 letter in the pillar-box." 
 
 Tom got his hat, and took care to read 
 the direction privately. 
 
 " She be mortially in luf," Tom said^ 
 " that she can't wait till morning." 
 
 H 2 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 A GALLANT SACRIFTOE. 
 
 The Beauty, indeed, had remained; 
 but came down next morning, feehng a 
 httle guilty. He had an uneasy feeling that 
 he had taken some step that was too bold, 
 and might turn out dangerous. He awoke 
 early and grew uncomfortable, and went 
 down to walk out in the garden before 
 any one was up, and think angrily over 
 his wrongs. It was growing intolerable. 
 He would not put up with preaching to 
 him before people, insulting those who 
 were kind to him, and going on in that 
 ridiculous, stupid way, which no else did. 
 
A Gallant Sacrifice. 101 
 
 Surely that business of the picture spoke 
 volumes ! Surely 
 
 " Out so early !" said the soft voice of 
 Mrs. Labouchore, close behind him. 
 
 She had a black lace scarf, in Spanish 
 fashion, about her head, to keep off the 
 morning air, and looked brilliant, indeed ; 
 — at least, foolish Mr. Talbot thought so. 
 Here was one that really understood him, 
 and he could not but like and feel grateful 
 too. 
 
 " I am so glad you stayed," she went 
 on ; even though I was sorry to see 
 Mrs. Talbot did not. Why is it that she 
 is so set against every little thing that 
 seems to give you pleasure ? I assure 
 it is a subject of speculation with many ; 
 and you are so gentle and quiet, and bear 
 it so angelically." 
 
 Oh, I don't bear it, and won't. Of 
 
102 Beauty Talbot 
 
 course, one doesn't choose to make ' a 
 fuss about trifles, always. It's not 
 manners." 
 
 Even that old viper, Lumley, said 
 something about training, and all that. 
 Malicious creature ! I don't know how 
 to train ; I wish I did. You would do 
 nothing for me, with all my training." 
 
 " I would do a great deal," said the 
 Beauty, proudly. ^'You can't imagine 
 liow I admire and like you. Since I have 
 known you I seem to feel more indepen- 
 dent. With you I have spent many 
 happy hours ; I assure you I have," he 
 added, bending, by way of his best com- 
 pliment. " Someway, with you I am al- 
 ways so much at home, and so happy. 
 
 Whereas, at home " 
 
 Oh," she said with enthusiasm, 
 
 how kind — how nice — how good of you 
 
A Gallant Sacrifice. 103 
 
 to say so ! That is the most welcome 
 thing I have heard, I don't know for 
 how long !" 
 
 " How ?" he asked blushing. 
 It was natural and genuine, and I 
 like it for that. It is long since, much of 
 the world as I have seen, I have heard such 
 a thing. But can I tell you — out of what 
 you must call my own selfishness — nothing 
 else — that in that kindness, as you con- 
 sider it, to you, I have been consulting 
 only my own humour — following my own 
 whim, if you like to call it so." 
 
 How do you mean ?" said the Beauty, 
 colouring still more. 
 
 " You know, then, what sort of life 
 has been mine. How full of trouble, and 
 wretchedness, and misunderstanding. My 
 hurried marriage with Mm. Yet even 
 then your wife interfered ; did her best to 
 
104 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 injure me. I have forgiven her for that, 
 long ago. She must do me so much 
 justice." 
 
 It was strange and unkind/' said the 
 Beauty. I never understood it." 
 
 Did mortal ever hear of such unceas- 
 ing persecution and venom ?" she went 
 on, growing excited. " Ever since that 
 time, it has never relaxed a moment. I 
 can see it in her face ; it is consuming her 
 like a fever. You know that it embitters 
 her life." 
 
 The Beauty did not deny it. 
 
 Well, then, finding nothing but this 
 bitterness — this hoUowness and deceit, on 
 all sides — even in that venomous old crea- 
 ture, Lumley, whom I despise ; for he 
 has his cast at me behind my back — it is 
 mean, is it not ? — well, in all this cloud 
 of odium I find something in you, of sym- 
 
A Gallant Sacrifice. 105 
 
 pathy, and myself turning to you con- 
 stantly, as something that I feel interest 
 in — that I like to think of — that I turn to 
 when absent. I cannot explain this — I 
 know not by what name to call it ; but so 
 it is. There it remains; and I should 
 not care were Mrs. Talbot here herself for 
 me to tell it to. There is nothing to be 
 ashamed of. I was a soldier's wife — a 
 brave man's wife, and do not fear her, or 
 any one. She will not intimidate me. 
 Had she, indeed, been gentle or womanly, 
 I should have done anything for her. Now 
 she shall not get me beneath her feet. 
 Never !" 
 
 The Beauty was quite struck by her 
 brilliancy and fire, as she made this long 
 speech of defiance. Her cheeks glowed, 
 and he thought he had never seen her 
 looking so handsome. 
 
106 'Beauty Talbot. 
 
 She would give the world," went on 
 Mrs. Labouchere, that this marriage was 
 never to be. It is hateful to her — loath- 
 some. She never thinks that it has your 
 approval. You are above these prejudices. 
 You are not enthusiastic ; but, having 
 once accepted it, you are too much of a 
 gentleman to try and draw back. I have 
 seen that through the whole ; I have, in- 
 deed. And that was another thing that 
 made me like and admire you — your manly 
 and straightforward conduct." 
 
 How kind of you to say all this ! Oh, 
 yes ; that was what I said from the begin- 
 ning. Once consent, and then keep to 
 it. In fact I always insisted^ when I saw 
 signs of her wishing to draw back, that 
 there should be nothing of the kind." 
 
 " I thought so," she said, enthusiasti- 
 cally. I knew it. Something seems 
 
A Gallant Sacrifice, 107 
 
 to me to have inspired you lately. I have 
 been struck by the change," 
 
 " Yes/' the Beauty said, eagerly ; " I 
 own it. Since I have known you, Mrs. 
 Labouchere, somehow, I have felt so much 
 happier ; and I find myself thinking when 
 at a distance — " 
 
 He stopped. 
 
 ^^Yes," she said, eagerly, as a curious, 
 greedy look came into her eyes. ^^Yes; 
 tell me that." 
 
 His eyes fell upon the ground. 
 Oh, I wish," he said; ^^I ivish 
 that—" 
 
 But he could not venture to say that 
 as yet. 
 He remained silent. 
 
 She waited a moment, then spoke herself. 
 
 " We both approve this marriage, for the 
 same reason. You say it must be carried 
 through, so do I. May I venture to say 
 
108 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 it ? It is time that Mrs. Talbot stould 
 begin to learn a little of life from you ; 
 and that bitter lesson is necessary." 
 
 " Oh, of course it shall be carried 
 through. It is quite necessary." 
 
 At this moment came in the day's post 
 — letters for everybody. Some for Mrs. 
 Labouchere ; while young Hardman sud- 
 denly appeared on the slope, looking a 
 little heated — more angry than grieved. 
 He came towards them hastily. 
 
 See this — see here, Rose. What does 
 this mean, Mr. Talbot ? Surely you can't 
 allow this ? It is childish, unmeaning ; 
 and after all that has passed — " 
 
 He put the letter into the Beauty's hand 
 who read it in wonder. 
 
 It was from Livy. 
 
 What will you think of me, when I 
 write you what I have determined on, since 
 
A Gallant Sacrifice. 109 
 
 being at your house ? Determined, I say, 
 after all that I saw there. Our marriage 
 cannot be — can never be. I have made up 
 my mind. I shall free those I love from a 
 bondage that is hateful, and causing un- 
 told misery : and I care not what misery I 
 cause myself if I do this. I think, too, that 
 you have changed since all this began. 
 As I told you, those who are against her 
 are against me. I could sacrifice every- 
 thing for them, I am made use of as 
 something to torture them. Thank God, 
 I have the means of stopping that. Good- 
 bye. Forgive me, if I cause you any deep 
 pain by this. 
 
 " LiVY." 
 
 "What absurdity !" the Beauty said, 
 angrily. No consulting me either ! It 
 can't be." 
 
110 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 Mrs. Labouchere seemed utterly over- 
 whelmed at what she had received. Her 
 lips were curling with scorn, as she read. 
 Hers ran : — 
 
 Dear Mrs. Labouchere, 
 My daughter Olivia has told me of 
 the letter she despatched to you last night. 
 As nothing will change her purpose, I 
 lose no time in letting you know how 
 thoroughly I concur in the propriety of 
 the step she has taken. The whole busi- 
 ness was unsuitable : it never had my 
 approbation, from the beginning ; but I 
 was content to leave the matter to time. 
 As you may wish to know the reason, 
 which dear Olivia could never bring her- 
 self to tell, I may as well say frankly, that 
 she has latterly begun to see things very 
 much as I do — thank God for it ; and that 
 
A Gallant Sacrifice. Ill 
 
 she knows now tlie object for which the 
 marriage seems to have been promoted. 
 I congratulate myself on its having 
 turned out in this way. I am not sure, 
 but know, it will be for the best. 
 
 Perhaps you would mention this 
 change in affairs to Mr. Hardman, and to 
 Mr. Talbot, who is with you." 
 
 " Not worth while consulting you/' was 
 her first remark. 
 
 The Beauty was in fury. 
 Never tired of insulting me/' he mut- 
 tered. They planned all this behind my 
 back. But it sliant be. What do they 
 mean ? What are they at ?" 
 
 Her eyes were fixed on the letter 
 Would you wish really to know ? Then 
 it is meant against you and me — against 
 us. There is the whole truth for you, 
 
112 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 plainly spoken ! She cannot matcli me at 
 any other weapons, and so she takes this 
 poor way of sacrificing her child. She 
 can show you, too, that she can dispose of 
 the most important matters without con- 
 sulting you." 
 
 But she shall not. I know what all 
 this is about. It will break Livy's heart. 
 Poor, poor child !" added the Beauty, 
 with new-born paternal tenderness, ''to 
 punish her in that way !" 
 
 " Is it not strange," she went on, ''that 
 this should have come, just as we were 
 talking of that one subject. What a 
 strange dislike," she said, as if talk- 
 ing to herself, " and all because I 
 like " 
 
 The foolish smile came on the Beauty's 
 lips. He was still the old vainqueur, ir- 
 resistible, charming, able to subdue 
 
A Gallant Sacrifice. 113 
 
 women's hearts to himself. Here was 
 this brilliant, transcendently clever lady, 
 who was handsome, besides, and who 
 had now for this long time past been 
 gradually drawn under the influence of 
 the spell. He was amazed as he looked 
 back, and saw the whole steady course of 
 the affair — her indifference at first, her 
 almost dislike, then all giving way 
 gradually to his seductive influence. As 
 he looked at her, he felt his heart stirred 
 in a way it had not been for years, with 
 vanity and complacent love, and at the 
 same moment, felt a rush of bitter hostility 
 against those — he chose to make it plural 
 — whose whole life seemed to be laid out 
 for the purpose of annoying, and worrying 
 him. 
 
 Now came out Mr. Hardman. " Why, 
 what on earth is this ? My son has just 
 
 VOL. III. 1 
 
114 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 got a letter from your daughter about this 
 marriage. Well, it is unfortunate " 
 
 " Oh, never mind," said the Beauty ; 
 
 1 shall go home at once, and see to it ; 
 I shall take care that the matter is settled 
 as it was." 
 
 " Oh, I don't know that," said Mr. 
 Hardman, pompously. I don't want 
 any chopping, and changing of that sort. 
 I wish it finally to be, as it is now. Mrs. 
 Talbot can't be playing fast and loose with 
 us in this way.'^ 
 
 " But it is not Mrs. Talbot ; she has 
 nothing whatever to do with it. I'll settle 
 it all " 
 
 '^You, nonsense !" Mr. Hardman said, 
 with something very like contempt. The 
 thing must remain as it is ; I wish it 
 so. And to tell you the truth, I am 
 not at all sorry. Really, all the treatment 
 
A Gallant Sacrifice. 
 
 115 
 
 I have had to put up with from your 
 wife " 
 
 ^'But, father, you will not let it be 
 said about the place, that they have put 
 us down in this way, broken off the match, 
 as if we were some common people to be 
 treated any way." 
 
 Oh, nonsense ! you needn't say those 
 sort of things. No one can treat me in 
 any way, I can tell you. If Mrs. Talbot," 
 he still would ignore her husband, were 
 to come to me now on her knees, and 
 implore me to change my mind, I would 
 not." 
 
 This is all because you were in trade, 
 and they think we have a trader's soul. 
 Perhaps we have," she added scornfully, 
 " as they can treat us in this fashion. 
 Now is your time to take your place, and 
 show that you are above this treatment. 
 
 I 2 
 
116 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 Firmly and determinately insist on this 
 agreement being carried out. Mr. Talbot, 
 the girl's father, requires it, too." 
 
 " Oh, as for that, Mr. Hardman " 
 
 I am the boy's father, and I don't 
 want it, and I beg you won't interfere 
 with me." He never minded what he said 
 before the Beauty. 
 
 No, we have not much pride, father," 
 she said. " We certainly show ourselves 
 true children of the people." 
 
 " I don't understand you, don't you 
 forget yourself," he answered. " I am 
 going over to Lady Shipley's, and my 
 son shall come with me. Get the carriage 
 round, d'ye hear, John ?" 
 
 The young man came back timorously 
 when his father was gone. 
 
 I see what the game is," said she. 
 Lady Shipley, indeed ! But it mustn't be ! 
 
A Gallant Sacrifice. 117 
 
 Have you no spirit, no regard for this 
 girl, Mr. Talbot's daughter, who gave you 
 her aflfections ?" 
 
 ''But she gives me up. Such a letter 
 to write to me ! Besides, why should 
 you take this turn now ? You know, you 
 never approved of it, and would have 
 given the world to see it broken off." 
 
 ''I would. I own it here fearlessly, 
 and Mr. Talbot knows it. He will do me 
 the justice to say I have always been 
 candid and frank to him. He knows 
 how I disliked this, and why. There, 
 go with your father on your mercantile 
 expedition. Let us be traders to the 
 end." 
 
 The Beauty strode into his own homo 
 with an unusual fussiness and dignity. 
 *' Where are they ?" — '' Send them here !" 
 &c. 
 
118 Beauty Talbot 
 
 There was no need, Mrs. Talbot came 
 gliding in, pale and worn, the marks of 
 tears on her cheeks. The very act of 
 her closing the door with a purpose made 
 the Beauty uncomfortable. 
 
 " Now, what is all this ?" he began. 
 Oh, hush," she said ; no matter 
 about that now. We must see about the 
 future now. Tell me simply and calmly, 
 what is the meaning of this new course 
 you have taken up? I ask a plain 
 answer, and don't be afraid to speak 
 plain." 
 
 Afraid! Oh, that is all nonsense. I 
 know you try to make me afraid." 
 
 You poor, contemptible child, you 
 shallow fribble ! The proper way would 
 be to treat you, as if you were not respon- 
 sible." 
 
 ^' Oh, come !" said he, bursting into a 
 
A Gallant Sacrifice. 119 
 
 sort of sputter " of rage. " I won't 
 have this tone to me. What do you take 
 me for ? I have put up with it too long ; 
 such insolence and speeches, just as if I 
 was a child." 
 
 I disdain to argue with you ; but wish 
 simply to come to an understanding. My 
 health is not equal to this worry. I can't 
 be finding sense for you always, and 
 watching to repair your mistakes. God 
 knows it has gone on years enough. It 
 must now end. Livy and I wish for 
 change of air. I assure you, the doctors 
 ordered it to me months ago." 
 
 I shan't have Livy taken away. I 
 am not going to give into this foolish 
 plan. Now she is to marry, now she 
 shan't ; such chopping and changing ! 
 No wonder they take us for fools. She is 
 my daughter, and the law gives me power 
 
120 Beauty Talbot 
 
 over her, and she shan't stir. No ! I will 
 put it to that test. I will see who's to be 
 the child, or cipher now. Just try it. 
 For shame of yourself! To turn your 
 daughter's happiness into a — a — means of 
 annoying a person you hate. But I won't 
 allow it. Here, where is she? Let me 
 tell her so." 
 
 N"o-o-o, no !" she said, rushing be- 
 tween him and the door ; not before 
 her ! It would kill her to hear us going 
 on in this way." 
 
 Kill her, nonsense ! I'm going to 
 be a child no longer, I can tell you. Let 
 me ring the bell. Don't stop me." 
 
 You poor creature !" went on Mrs. 
 Talbot, in a low^ husky voice. " I am 
 ashamed of myself, when I think how 
 long I have made an idol of such 
 an object. The precautions, the miser- 
 
A Gallant Sacrifice. 
 
 121 
 
 able, childish precautions I have taken. 
 I am humiliated when I think of it. You 
 are not worth it an hour." 
 
 " How dare you " 
 
 Don't ! don't forget to what I am 
 entitled. I won't listen to it. It is hke 
 your weak soul, to have mistaken all my 
 tenderness and watchings, for fear of 
 yourself! Now, however, that is all at 
 an end, and you must speak plainly. 
 What is your course going to be, after 
 this ? I know what mine shall be." 
 
 " It shall be whatever I choose it to be. 
 There !" said the Beauty, dismayed and 
 most uncomfortable at this situation. 
 " I'm not going to be a cipher in this 
 house any longer." 
 
 " I ask you again, what is your 
 course ?" 
 
 And I tell you again, I shan't be 
 
122 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 questioned, and put down in that way. 
 It's all folly. It's my wish, as the head 
 of this house^ that we should keep to this 
 arrangement with the Hardmans, and I 
 shall take care that it is done. And they 
 are determined on it, too. Where's Olivia ? 
 Here, Olivia, come here." 
 
 That poor fluttering heart was not far 
 ofi*. She heard the angry voices piercing 
 upwards through the ceiling to her little 
 bower, where, as every tone was raised 
 higher, it made her young heart shrink. 
 She was down in an instant. 
 
 Listen, Livy," said her mother, 
 sternly. " Mr. Talbot, your father, 
 wishes you to go back on that last 
 step you have taken. Come, dearest 
 child : do what you will about it. Think 
 only of your own happiness." 
 
 " Oh, it is only yours, papa and 
 
A Gallant Sacrifice. 123 
 
 mamma, that I care for," sobbed the 
 young girl. It is terrible to see all 
 this going on ! I cannot bear it. I do 
 not care what becomes of me, when you, 
 dearest father and mother, are in this 
 way." 
 
 " Oh, childish nonsense !" he said. " I 
 am not going to be made a fool of in 
 my own house, I can tell you. To have 
 the whole neighbourhood laughing at me. 
 I think it was very uncalled-for, your 
 taking this step without consulting me, 
 your father, — very uncalled-for." 
 
 Oh, don't, Beauty dearest," she 
 began, in a sort of agony. 
 
 ''And I must beg, too, that you will 
 stop that ! I have put up with it too 
 long. I tell you what : you have done 
 a foolish thing, and you must make 
 up your mind to keep your promise. 
 
124 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 and marry that young man. Beauty, 
 indeed !" 
 
 " Livy knows all that she said to me 
 last night. She will not degrade her poor 
 broken-hearted mother." 
 
 " I shall be master in my own house," 
 he said; ^^and if you dare to disobey 
 me " 
 
 The agony in her face could not be 
 described. Now she looked at him, not 
 at her mother. 
 
 " Kill me, if you like, Livy !" said her 
 mother. Think of yourself. I am weary. 
 I long for rest, and the sooner it ends the 
 better." 
 
 " Oh, yes, this is very romantic. I 
 know the one who is weary, and who 
 has suffered. I am sick of it too." 
 
 Oh," said Mrs. Talbot, fiercely, that 
 I could express the contempt I feel for 
 
A Gallant Sacrifice. 125 
 
 myself — that I should have thought such 
 a precious treasure worth the guarding — 
 that womanish nature of yours, which 
 could be so upset by some ridiculous 
 speeches. I do not despise you ; but I do 
 myself, for my own blindness." 
 
 His voice trembled with rage. He 
 seemed to spit forth these words : " You 
 needn't talk. I have heard stories enough 
 
 about your adventures " 
 
 Stop, stop !" she said, agitated. Be 
 generous before her. I have been a good 
 and devoted wife to you- " 
 
 " Oh, we know all that," he went on, 
 sneeringly. I am under no compliment 
 because you accepted me. Every body 
 knew the reason of that." The malignant 
 way in which he said this made Livy shrink 
 and shiver within herself. Was this her 
 loved Beauty, and not some loathsome 
 
126 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 and powerless adder, trying to sting? 
 Was this what she had loved, worshipped, 
 and reverenced ? Oh Heaven above ! what 
 was to become of her, listening to these 
 horrors ? 
 
 The Beauty thought he had brought the 
 matter to a point by his last speech, and 
 like every foolish man, fancied he had 
 struck home where he had missed. 
 
 Come, now," he said, with complacency, 
 " do what I tell you at once. Get out the 
 ponies, and we shall drive over." 
 
 " Livy, you know me, and what you 
 said to me. You will not at this moment 
 cease to be what you always have been — 
 a good daughter ?" 
 
 The Beauty was getting into a fury, 
 " My house, and my daughter ! I'll not 
 be treated in this way. Do what I tell 
 you !" 
 
A Gallant Sacrifice. 127 
 
 Our poor Livy, witli distress and agony 
 on her face as though she were called on 
 to witness a death, and, indeed, here 
 seemed to be a death of all that had been 
 so dear to her, hovered in a miserable 
 uncertainty between father and mother, 
 and knew not what to do. 
 
 A fine mother, indeed, to give lessons ! 
 I could tell some stories that I only learnt 
 lately, and which have been kept from me 
 all these years back. You were once a 
 model daughter yourself !" 
 
 Into the faded Chalon face came such 
 a flush, so tender, and even modest, as 
 though the unworthy charge, coming from 
 him, had forced a rush of blood to that 
 unfamiliar place. The look of physical pain 
 — as though it had been some stab — 
 almost extorted a crv from her child, 
 who rushed to her, and putting her arms 
 
128 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 about her, by this simple act seemed to 
 proclaim that she was driven to take part 
 with her against all the world. Into that 
 gentle face came a look of defiance and 
 scorn. The foolish father and husband — 
 his breast fluttering in him with vexation 
 and a little alarm — standing undecided at 
 one end of the room; that fair, ex- 
 cited lady and daughter at the other. 
 A space stretched between. 
 
 Oh, for shame^ father !" cried she, 
 and it was the first time almost that she 
 used that word ; for shame, father ! Oh, 
 mother dearest, I am with you always. 
 I shall stand by you, and give up the 
 whole world for you. No one shall insult 
 you when I am with you." 
 
 " Oh, a nice conspiracy," sneered the 
 Beauty. Stand by each other as much 
 as you like. I shall look to myself 
 
A Gallant Sacrifice. 
 
 129 
 
 now. I have put up with it much too 
 long." 
 
 He literally shrank from the look of 
 contempt on his child's face, and walked 
 — slunk, rather — out of the room. 
 
 VOL. T[I, 
 
 K 
 
CHAPTER VII, 
 
 MR. HARDMAN WINS. 
 
 Certain natures of a weak order, and 
 wliich by that nature are accuatomed to 
 restraint and direction, when they 
 suddenly get beyond control, become 
 metamorphosed, and take an exaggerated 
 bend of self-will and independence. Our 
 Beauty — who, but for certain untoward 
 matters, might have lived all the rest 
 of his life in quite a monastic submission, 
 and gone down quietly into his grave, 
 a placid, rather foolish old gentleman — 
 now lashed himself, as he drove along, 
 into a perfect fury of defiance and of self- 
 
Mr Hardman Wins. 131 
 
 assertion. Bearded in his own house ! — 
 a cipher — made little of at home ! flouted 
 contemptuously ! but fostered, cherished, 
 flattered by those on whom he had no 
 claim. It was scandalous (lash on the 
 right hand pony) ; outrageous (lash on 
 the left) ; and he would not put up with 
 it (lash across both backs). In fact, it 
 was not for argument. But what really 
 hurt him — and, in truth, rather scared 
 him — was the sudden desertion and attack 
 of his daughter. One so weak, and 
 foolish, and childish, to dare to turn on- 
 him ! Never mind, let them bring things 
 to a crisis ; he had friends, too. Let them 
 do their worst, and they should see who 
 was strongest. Indeed, he hardly knew 
 what to do — was beside himself with rage 
 and mortification ; and felt, moreover, 
 how weak he was. 
 
132 
 
 Beauty Talbot, 
 
 Th^re was one to help him, whom he 
 found almost as excited as he was : the 
 colour in her cheeks, the flash from 
 her eyes, made her look splendid and 
 handsome. 
 
 What !" she cried ; you have come 
 to me ! You, in your troubles ; yet I have 
 mine. They have made a league against 
 me in this house ; indirectly, it would 
 seem, because I take your side. All 
 the world seems to be going against 
 me." 
 
 " I am not," he said ; " you may count 
 upon me to the last. You have always 
 been my friend from the beginning, and 
 have held to me, and been so kind. In- 
 deed, I never can forget it. But for you, 
 I don't know what would have become 
 of me." 
 
 Where my sympathies are concerned," 
 
Mr. Hardman Wins. 
 
 133 
 
 she answered, " and where I see injustice, 
 I let nothing stand in the way. It is my 
 destiny, it seems, for every one to judge 
 me at the worst. I shall make no more 
 attempts to set myself right in the 
 eyes of your wife. What would you 
 wish me to do now? They have been 
 again unjust to you at home, I can 
 see." 
 
 " You know everything. At home, in- 
 deed — my own home ! where they try 
 and keep me the merest cipher. But I'll 
 not put up with it longer." 
 
 They ? Oh, has your daughter joined 
 the league against you ? A child made 
 to turn against her father ! This seems 
 subverting the first laws of morality and 
 of decency. I do, indeed, pity you ; and 
 would to heaven I could assist you in 
 any way." 
 
134 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 " Tell me what to do. You are so 
 wise, so clever, so — cliarming." 
 
 She smiled. 
 Hush ! Mrs. Talbot does not think • 
 me so." 
 
 No ; I know not whom she thinks to 
 be so, nor care not. It is time all this 
 should end. I have borne it too long." 
 
 Of a sudden enters Mr. Hardman, much 
 heated, and talking violently. He was 
 followed by his son. 
 
 Things are coming to a pretty pass, 
 indeed. This is your doing again. How 
 dare you — you, Mrs. Labouchere — inter- 
 fere with my plans ? It is your advice 
 that is setting this fellow against me. I 
 am glad you are here to listen to this, Mr. 
 Talbot. A pretty state of things, alto- 
 gether." 
 
 Father ! I cannot stand it," said the 
 
Mr. Hardman Wins. 135 
 
 young man. I have behaved cruelly, 
 infamously, to her — to Olivia ; and I am 
 tortured with remorse." 
 
 I don't care, sir ; you have taken a 
 course, and you must keep to it." 
 
 ''He is right, father," said Mrs. La- 
 bouchere, calmly. ''If he feels he has 
 done wrong to the young lady — " 
 
 " That's not the point, ma'am," said 
 he, in a fresh fury. " I'll not have you 
 dictating to me in my own house. You 
 have taken too much on yourself all 
 through. You want to direct my affairs, 
 and I won't have it. I want no one to 
 stay in this house, and be supported by 
 me, and out of my means — after making 
 a beggarly, pauperised marriage — and 
 then " 
 
 " For shame, father," she said, with 
 dignity. " You forget yourself." 
 
136 
 
 Beauty Talbot, 
 
 ''You should remember," said the 
 Beauty, *' that you are speaking to a 
 lady." 
 
 He felt a thrill as he thus came for- 
 ward as her champion — a new feeling. 
 They were both persecuted, both cruelly 
 treated, in their own family. 
 
 Mr. Hardman was losing all restraint. 
 
 ''Don't interfere, sir; I wish to have 
 nothing to do with you, or your family. 
 I have had to put up with enough from 
 all concerned. That low, ill-bred insult 
 I have received from your wife." (To 
 his dying day he never forgot the re- 
 turned picture.) "As for you, ma'am, 
 I'll have no caballing and plotting against 
 me in this house. I don't want you here, 
 and never did. A nice return you make 
 for all I have done for you, out of 
 charity ! You want to arrange every- 
 
Mr. Hardman Wins. 137 
 
 thing for me, the three of you. Nice 
 work, indeed ! But it is time it should 
 all finish — and it shall." 
 
 " Have you no heart, father?" said the 
 son, passionately. " No feeling ? I know 
 for a time I was as cruel as you ; but I 
 see the wickedness of it now, and heartily 
 repent, Mr. Talbot." 
 
 The Beauty answered, with dignity, 
 that he was glad to hear him say so. 
 
 He may say what he pleases, and you 
 may be as glad as you like ; but it shall 
 come to this. Those that choose to stay 
 in my house, and fatten on what I give 
 them " 
 
 This is degrading, father," said she ; 
 and before people, too." 
 
 I don't wish to be indebted to you for 
 anything," said the son, vehemently ; 
 this life is growing unendurable." 
 
138 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 I don't care," the other said, arro- 
 gantly. I shall be obeyed in future ; 
 and I give you your choice, you and this 
 lady, who chooses to manage everything 
 so well. If you want me to do anything 
 for you in future, you must follow my 
 wishes to the letter ; you, and you, too, 
 madam ! If not, just take your own 
 course : pack out and starve, both of you, 
 which you will, without me; or you, 
 master, live on her^ if it seems good to 
 you." 
 
 I shall live on the work of my 
 own hands, without being dependent 
 on any one. Thank heaven, I have 
 made friends." 
 
 What folly you talk ; you shall do 
 as I wish. It is time that some one 
 should think of what my wishes are. 
 You can't live on your pay, my lad ; and 
 
Mr. Bardman Wins. 
 
 139 
 
 so you may as well spare yourself tlie 
 humiliation of a farce of opposition, and 
 of then returning to beg pardon. But 
 as for you," turning to his daughter, 
 " I'll have no opposition — no firebrands — 
 in my house ; so T just give you warn- 
 ing. Just take yourself off." 
 
 She drew herself up. 
 
 ^^You shall never repeat that warn- 
 ing," she said. ^' If I was begging in the 
 street, I would not stop you to ask for a 
 halfpenny." 
 
 She gave an appealing look over at 
 the Beauty, which made his cheeks 
 tingle. 
 
 At that moment they heard the sound 
 of wheels ; one of the few visitors, no 
 doubt, who came to the Towers. 
 
 In another moment the door was 
 thrown open, and Livy — alone, fluttering. 
 
140 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 trembling with nervousness and excite- 
 ment : it was her first appearance, hy 
 herself^ on any stage — entered and stood 
 there single-handed, alone, in a room full 
 of enemies. 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 FATHER AND DAUGHTEE. 
 
 The Beauty coloured and was con- 
 fused. 
 
 "Now what do you want here?" 
 he said. 
 
 Mr. Hardman's face grew dark and 
 insolent. She was come to get back 
 his son from him. It was bold, for- 
 ward, impudent even; and he should 
 deal with it as such. 
 
 " Now, Miss " Talbot " — as 
 
 though he had forgotten her name — 
 " what do you mean by all this ? It 
 won't do. I really don't follow this. 
 
142 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 I have your letter, and shall hold you to 
 it. A pretty pass we're come to. But 
 I have been speaking plainly, and T tell 
 you, and your father here, and my excel- 
 lent daughter—who chooses to join in 
 these schemes for her own purposes 
 — that I won't have it. I've put up 
 with it too long- Of course, if that 
 fellow chooses to fly in my face, and 
 take his own course, it must be on 
 his own risk and yours. But, if you 
 like a beggar, as sure as this house 
 is mine, and everything paid for with 
 my own hard money — " 
 
 Now our Livy interrupted him, with 
 an inexpressible sweetness and dig- 
 nity. This gentle creature had hitherto 
 twined herself about the stronger stem 
 of her mother. She was now about 
 to meet the strong winds unsupported. 
 
Father and Daughter. 143 
 
 She was to make her first protest — 
 her first battle with the world, and 
 against serious odds. Her own father 
 was against her. Yet she only looked 
 backwards, through the steel doors of 
 this great Cruel Castle, with its ogre, 
 and giant, and pitiless enchantress 
 standing before her, to where her 
 outraged, suffering mother was, lying 
 — as she knew she was — with all the 
 world against her. The thought gave 
 Livy courage ; and, with a voice that 
 trembled a little, she answered, — 
 
 " You need be under no alarm, 
 Mr. Hardman. No power on earth 
 would get me to marry your son ; I 
 have given him up, and shall not go 
 back in what I have done. No, papa ; 
 no, Mrs. Labouchere !" 
 
 "Oh, Livy!" said the young man; 
 
144 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 if you only knew how I have re- 
 pented of my folly ! How I was per- 
 suaded, I was made to play other 
 people's game !" 
 
 Mrs, Labouchere looked at the 
 Beauty, as who should say, Do you 
 allow this ? Have you no spirit ? 
 Will you let me be insulted in this 
 way, by a little, foolish girl?" 
 
 He interposed, — 
 This is all absurd. I won't have 
 it. You must do as I wish. Do you 
 hear ?" 
 
 His daughter answered him mourn- 
 fully,- 
 
 ^' Yes, papa, I hear ; and up to 
 this day would have listened to any- 
 thing you might desire. But I owe 
 more to her. Oh, come back with 
 me now. Be what you used to be, 
 
Father and Daughter. 145 
 
 and I will do anything, make any 
 sacrifice, go through any mortifica- 
 tion, to please you." 
 
 *^You should accept this handsome 
 offer," Mrs. Labouchere said, turning 
 to him. " All will be forgotten and 
 forgiven, if you behave properly for 
 the future. I really think you ought. 
 You may not get such terms later." 
 
 Mr. Hardman seemed to be master 
 of the situation. 
 
 " I think Miss Olivia speaks very 
 fairly, and has behaved like a lady. It 
 is very creditable to you, Miss Talbot ; 
 and just what I expected from you. 
 You would not force yourself on any 
 family. Really you see the confusion 
 and disorder all this has brought about 
 — everyone attempting to settle things 
 without me. Quite unbearable !" 
 
 VOL. III. L 
 
146 
 
 Beauty Talbot, 
 
 There will be no confusion in 
 future," she said ; at least, that I 
 shall be the cause of." 
 
 Again Mrs. Labouchere, rather mor- 
 tified, and really furious at this re- 
 pulse by a simple child, interposed, 
 looking at the Beauty, — 
 
 Then you, her father, approve of 
 all this ?" 
 
 What can I do ?" he said, angrily; 
 ^Hhis is all her bringing up. She has 
 been taught to do as she likes, mak- 
 ing a cipher of me in my own house. 
 Then, I tell you what, I must be 
 obeyed. The law gives me power, and 
 I shall exert it. It's too much, alto- 
 gether. Just go home, I request of 
 you. I am your father, recollect. I 
 have some little authority. Just leave 
 this. You should not have come here 
 at all." 
 
Father and Daughter. 147 
 
 Oh, papa, do not speak in that way 
 to me." 
 
 '^Yes, I shall. It's growing intoler- 
 able, all this. Insulting the friends 
 who mean me well. All that you, too, 
 Mrs. Labouchere, have had to put up 
 with on my account !" 
 
 Oh, never mind me. If I was to 
 count up my insults from your family, 
 Mr. Talbot " 
 
 With a trembling voice, Livy re- 
 plied,— 
 
 Insults ! none from me — none from 
 mamma. She knows that. If I was 
 to count the injuries — the shocking, 
 wicked, cruel injuries — she has done us 
 — and, worse, what she has tried to 
 do — no insult would be too much ! 
 But I have given none. But I am 
 not so weak, after all. I find thoughts 
 
 L 2 
 
148 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 coming to me. Heaven helps those 
 who are helpless. Even to-day I see 
 that what I did has not failed." 
 
 You have behaved very well — very 
 well, indeed," said Mr. Hardman, pa- 
 tronisingly ; and we may now assume 
 the matter to be settled. I suppose, 
 sir, after this explicit declaration on the 
 part of the young lady, you have sense 
 enough to see you had better leave the 
 matter where it is. Come with me. I 
 wish to speak to you : and you, Talbot." 
 
 And the triumphant, rich man quitted 
 the room, with his son and the Beauty, 
 who, to say the truth, was not indis- 
 posed to escape. 
 
 It is impossible to describe the look 
 with which Mrs. Labouchere regarded 
 the young girl, now that they were 
 alone together. A curious, almost 
 
Father and Daughter. 149 
 
 savage glance came to her face as she 
 looked at the daughter of one who was 
 so hateful to her ; and who, she saw, 
 with a sort of horror, was entering on 
 a struggle with her, now that her 
 mother seemed to have been worsted. 
 The lady's eyes flashed as she stepped 
 forward and said, bitterly, — 
 
 " What do you do here ? What 
 brings you ? Did she send you ?" 
 
 ^'I came," said Livy, in her new 
 character, and speaking very fast and 
 tremulously, I came to seek you.'^^ 
 To seek me ! Why ?" 
 Why ? To stop this cruel, this 
 wicked work of yours." 
 
 " Ah, then you have been sent. She 
 is afraid !" 
 
 Are you a woman ? Have you 
 a woman's heart? She does not 
 
150 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 know this ; but let us speak plainly 
 now. Oh, I own it, you have 
 succeeded — you have crushed down 
 my poor, darling mother ; she lies 
 there at your feet. But now let it 
 end here ; and — oh, I blush for humilia- 
 tion as I say the words — let him go, 
 and come back to us !" 
 
 The triumph in the other's face ! she 
 could not restrain it. Yet this was 
 only her enemy's daughter. 
 
 Let him go back to you ! Do you, 
 does she, mean to say that I hinder 
 him ? Why, he comes to me ! Can I 
 stop a large stone rolling down a hill, 
 and send it back? Nonsense! You 
 are a child, a young girl out of school. 
 You do not know. You talk unreason- 
 ably — and, let me tell you, foolishly. I 
 can do nothing for your father. As for 
 
Father and Daughter. 151 
 
 your mother, wlio has sent you to beg 
 
 of me " 
 
 Livy's figure quivered and trembled, 
 as if in an agony. 
 
 That is false — all false, as you are. 
 I ask no more of you; and never, as 
 there is a God looking down to protect 
 the innocent, shall I again trouble you. 
 Now I know you ; this test has shown 
 me what you are, and that you are an 
 enemy unworthy of her." 
 
 " So she has taught you to make 
 speeches to me, Miss Olivia Talbot, or 
 have you picked up these fine things 
 from listening to her declamations 
 against me ?" 
 
 But T feel a greater strength every 
 moment. She failed, because she loved 
 him too much ; I know I shall not fail, 
 because I love her better than myself. 
 
152 Beauty Talhot. 
 
 I do not fear you. I did, I own ; but 
 I despise you now. Oh ! what a poor, 
 mean, pitiful shape of spite !" 
 
 Despise me, you child ! You forget 
 yourself when you talk to me in that 
 way, you poor, weak, feeble thing. Do 
 you suppose for a moment that you 
 can measure your strength with me ? 
 Think of your mother." 
 
 I do ; but, after all, I have not 
 shown myself so weak." 
 
 This went home. The other was for 
 a moment confused, then recovered her- 
 self. 
 
 What, having lost your lover — de- 
 prived j^ourself of him ! How many more 
 such victories do you propose ? But it 
 is absurd talking in this way. I am 
 ashamed of myself for going into such a 
 matter at all." 
 
Father and Daughter. 153 
 
 Livy was still working out a conse- 
 quence of the speech she had just made, 
 claiming victory. 
 
 " And though," she went on, " I 
 have given up my own happiness, it has 
 brought about some defeat for you, has 
 it not ? Your father has turned you out 
 of his house — not that I glory in that, or 
 wish you evil; but, as a fact, it is so ?" 
 
 The look of deadly rage and mortifica- 
 tion the other gave almost frightened 
 her. 
 
 "You do not know me," said Mrs. 
 Labouchere. " On your head be it 
 then, as you choose to take your mother^s 
 place.^^ 
 
 " On my own head be it then," Livy 
 repeated. " If 1 save her, I am con- 
 tent." 
 
 Save her ! Of course, by keep- 
 
154 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 ing liim to you both! How pro- 
 bable ! You don't know rae. Why, I 
 have not half put out my strength ; 
 and, in return for what you think 
 your little advantage of to-day, I'll 
 crush you. I promise it. There !" 
 
 Livy could hardly restraiu a cry : 
 there was something so vindictive, so 
 venomous in the woman who was 
 speaking to her, and who now seemed 
 to have quite thrown away all pre- 
 tence at disguise. 
 
 "Yes," went she on, ''now you 
 know what to expect ; and I go now to 
 give you a lesson." 
 
 The young girl was left alone, 
 miserable, distracted, and thinking that, 
 after all, she had only done mischief 
 to the persons she loved best upon 
 earth. She had miscalculated her own 
 
Father and Daughter. 155 
 
 strength, after all. What was she but 
 a poor weak child, as described by 
 that woman ? She could only turn her 
 soft eyes up to Heaven, and murmur 
 a prayer for strength — something that 
 would enable her to cope with the 
 terrible force opposed to her. 
 
 Suddenly appears her father, much 
 excited. 
 
 How dare you go on in this way ? 
 What brings you to this house ? What 
 do you mean by going against me in 
 this way, you and your mother V He 
 leant contemptuously on the word. 
 Just go home at once. D'ye hear." 
 Not without you — not without you, 
 dearest father. I cannot. It will kill 
 her. You don't know what you are 
 doing !" 
 
 And she ran forward to meet him. 
 
156 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 He drew back, with a pitiful look in 
 his face. 
 
 'No more of that to me ; I don't 
 want it. Let you and she keep up your 
 conspiracy together. Don't think I 
 have forgotten your impertinence to me 
 before her. I'll be master in my own 
 house yet, never fear ; and I'll show to 
 the world I am beginning to see the 
 game — the plottings that you and your 
 mother have been carrying on all these 
 years back. I was to be kept close, 
 and shut up — to be a laughing-stock, 
 as if I was a fool ; while you and she 
 had your own ends to carry out — for 
 fear I should spend my own money, 
 which you have been putting by to 
 make a purse, I suppose, for the time 
 when you and she go out together 
 in London. Thank heaven, I see the 
 
Father and Daughter. 157 
 
 whole of the thiug now, and the dis- 
 gusting slavery in which I have been 
 living. Such a persecution ! But that's 
 all over now, and I see the truth at 
 last." 
 
 Again was the poor girl all but 
 crushed by this amazing change in him 
 who had been to her all that was per- 
 fect and loveable. She could not run to 
 him now, something held her back. It 
 seemed as though some impish spirit 
 had entered into him. Possibly there 
 had, as it might seem to those older 
 and of more experience than Livy. 
 
 She could hardly bring herself to 
 speak to him ; these morbid changes 
 seemed to her so utterly mean and con- 
 temptible. Yet he was her father — 
 sacred name to her. 
 
 Come back with me," she said 
 
158 
 
 Beauty Talhot. 
 
 again. We shall do what you wish in 
 future. But fly from this wicked wo- 
 man. If you knew what she has threat- 
 ened " 
 
 The Beauty interposed, — 
 
 ^'Not a word against her. She is 
 my true friend. I know why you both 
 hate her, and I'll not hear her slan- 
 dered. A noble, generous, persecuted 
 woman; her kindness to me I shall 
 never forget. Not a word. All your's 
 and her calumnies shall not affect me in 
 the least." 
 
 But hear me, father." 
 I'll not stay here and listen to you. 
 Not a word about her. Never dare in- 
 troduce the subject again." 
 
 Entered now Mrs. Labouchere, 
 dressed in bonnet, shawl, &c., as if 
 for travelling. 
 
Father and Daughter. 159 
 
 Mr. Talbot went up to her 
 What is this ; are you going out ?" 
 I am going away, leaving this house 
 where I am no longer welcome. My 
 father has forgotten himself, not for the 
 first time." 
 
 ''And where are you going?" he 
 asked, eagerly. 
 
 She shook her head. 
 Out on the world, as they call it. 
 I know not. I am always destined to 
 be a wanderer. I really cannot say 
 where I am to go. I have not thought 
 of it even. But I have myself left; the 
 old resources here " — and she touched 
 her forehead — which have never failed 
 me yet." 
 
 There is my house, where I ought 
 to be able to offer you a temper- 
 
160 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 Livy's eyes flashed. 
 This is madness," she cried. She 
 may come ; but we leave it that mo- 
 ment." 
 
 ''As if I would accept such an 
 off^er !" Mrs. Labouchere said, smiling. 
 " Though, if you had understood pro- 
 perly, Mr Talbot did not make it. He 
 knows the world; but it shows the folly 
 of the whole situation, and the help- 
 lessness you would bring him to, when 
 he dare not venture to give his friend 
 shelter. But he can help me in other 
 ways." 
 
 Yes," said the Beauty, triumph- 
 antly ; ''you can count on me. And 
 I am happy and proud to be able to 
 assist you. Come, let us go !" 
 
 "What! then 7/o^^ are not deserting 
 me, like all the world ! You will help 
 
Father and Daughter. 161 
 
 and advisQ me — an atom now to be 
 cast upon great London !" 
 
 " I shall, at least, see you settled 
 there. You shall not leave io discredit. 
 I owe you too much, dear Mrs. La- 
 bouchere." 
 
 ''How noble and generous of you!" 
 she said, putting out her hand. " After 
 all, there is a strange hkeness in our 
 lots ! Come then ; I am too un- 
 friended now to refuse such aid," 
 
 With a proud look on his foolish 
 face, as if he were a knight going to 
 do battle for a high and pure lady in 
 the old days of chivalry, he followed 
 her as she left the room. 
 
 Aghast, struck down by these 
 gathering horrors, as they seemed to 
 her, Livy stood there, motionless. 
 Such villainy to be in the world was 
 
 VOL. III. M 
 
162 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 what she had never dreamed of. She 
 heard the sound of wheels and went 
 to the window, and there saw the pair 
 seated in her carriage, the Beauty 
 driving " that woman" away to the sta- 
 tion ! 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 A NEW HEKOINE. 
 
 What was Livy — what was any one 
 — to do ? Misery, ruin, degradation — 
 what was there not before them ? 
 Death, indeed, would be sweet. And 
 that dear one at home — was it to 
 fall on her? Heaven send Livy in- 
 spiration ! 
 
 She fled from that ill-omened — nay, 
 accursed — house, not daring to look 
 back ; and got home — how she knew 
 not. Her miserable mother, lying on 
 the bed, despairing of everything, had 
 been expecting her — longing for her, 
 
 M 2 
 
164 
 
 Beauty Talbot, 
 
 hoping for something^ her worldly soul 
 having still a confidence in the power 
 and strength of this young and un- 
 hackneyed creature, so simple and 
 innocent. Her old training had all 
 failed, her powers of acting were gone — 
 it was scarcely worth the candle by which 
 her long, long game had been played. 
 What was life to her ? And her very 
 despair at being thus worsted made 
 everything seem to her more miserable 
 and humiliating than, perhaps, it was. 
 There she lay on her sofa, the former 
 helle^ all hope fled. And it was there 
 her daughter found her. 
 
 Where is he ?" were Mrs. Talbot's 
 first words. " No, I see. What could 
 you do, a child, weak and inex- 
 perienced ?" 
 
 Mother and daughter were in a mo- 
 
A NeiD Heroine. 
 
 165 
 
 ment mingling tears and hysterical 
 sobs. 
 
 I shall bring him back yet, dearest," 
 whispered Livy ; " I feel a strange 
 strength and confidence here. Some- 
 thing tells me I am not abandoned by 
 all. Will you leave it to me ? As yet 
 I have done nothing. I have only met 
 that cruel, wicked woman, who has 
 openly threatened us. Oh, dearest, 
 leave it all to me. She has roused a 
 spirit in me that will save us all 
 yet !" 
 
 " My darling, what can you do ? 
 This is sent to me as a chastisement 
 for all my old follies, and my foolish 
 life spent in the childish triumphs of 
 fashion. No ; it is useless struggling. 
 I can only submit, and accept what is 
 sent me. I am ill, too. Tliey used 
 
166 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 to lau^h at me, when I talked of rav 
 
 CD t/ 
 
 nerves ; but my whole body is wrung, 
 and tortured, and quivering. Would to 
 God I was out of it, and at rest !" 
 
 111, dearest ? You do not feel ill ? 
 We must have the doctor." 
 
 There was, indeed, a strange, worn, 
 and fretted look in her face, that spoke 
 of illness, and that scared the daughter. 
 Still she knew that the true physician 
 and the only cure, was to be found 
 by her, and to be found in happiness 
 and peace of mind. 
 
 Trust in me," she said; and for 
 this once. I am weak, I know; but 
 I am beginning to find out where my 
 strength is. Just wait for one day. Let 
 me leave you till evening, and then 
 — we shall see !" 
 
 Do what you will, dearest. What 
 
A New Heroine. 
 
 167 
 
 can I say or advise ? For now I begin 
 to see that my old elaborate wisdom 
 is nothing but sheer folly, after all. 
 I have little hope in anything now. 
 But go, dearest !" 
 
 In a few minutes, Livy — our new 
 heroine — had her bonnet on, her maid 
 equipped, and they were driving to the 
 station to catch the train," she in a 
 flutter, full of the grand designs that 
 were before her. She was so engrossed 
 with these, that she did not notice an 
 acquaintance — a gentleman whom she 
 had met before, at The Towers, and 
 whom the flush on her cheeks, the ex- 
 cited sparkle in her eyes, at once 
 attracted. He had got out of the train 
 which had crossed the other at that 
 place, and he suddenly went and en- 
 tered the one that was returning to 
 
168 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 town. The gentlemanly station-master 
 had put her in a carriage with other 
 ladies, and the gentleman came and 
 required to have the door opened for 
 him. 
 
 Oh, I know this young lady/' he 
 said. 
 
 Livy recollected Colonel Fothering- 
 ham at once. He then began to talk, 
 and in a very agreeable and seductive 
 way ; and, indeed, no one had such 
 practice as he had in that art, or had 
 so improved with that practice. And 
 he had a valuable way of inducing con- 
 fidence, for he was a man of the world, 
 and who knew the world, as Livy — 
 half timorous, half reverential to such 
 — soon found out and felt ; and at 
 that moment she felt so helpless, lone, 
 and deserted, that any one, who had 
 
A New Heroine. 
 
 169 
 
 the air of being powerful enough to 
 control and direct it to his own ends, 
 seemed to her more than mortal. He 
 had the art, too, of assuming an air 
 of deep interest, with those to whom 
 he spoke, in their future — a sort of 
 indescribable, half timorous air, which, 
 had the best effect. Our Livy, so va- 
 liant against the open hostility of one 
 of her own sex, and so shrewd to see 
 the covert approaches of a crafty 
 enemy, was quite simple in presence 
 of this skilled adversary, and felt her- 
 self irresistibly drawn to him, especially 
 when he began on that one subject, 
 having come round to it by artful 
 degrees. 
 
 I don't know your father very well," 
 he said, smiling; ^^part of our ac- 
 quaintance having been made imder 
 
170 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 very awkward circumstances. But I 
 found afterwards — and will ask you to 
 tell him so — that the little quarrel we 
 had was not altogether one to ourselves. 
 It was ingeniously contrived by another. 
 But to you I should not speak of this. 
 By the way, what do you think of 
 your future sister-in-law, Mrs. La- 
 bouchere?" 
 
 No," said Livy, vehemently, 
 "never ! That is not to be, I am glad 
 to say ; we shall never call her 
 that !" 
 
 " I would not be too sure ; she is 
 so clever, and if she lays her mind to 
 it, she could bring that about again. 
 Forgive me, I know I am talking of 
 very private family matters. And I 
 declare to you, she keeps no secresy in 
 the matter, and speaks in the freest 
 
A New Heroine. 
 
 171 
 
 way, as you can guess. I never met. 
 so restless and artful — if that is not 
 too unpolite a word — a woman." 
 
 There was a great struggle going on 
 in Livy. She felt that this man knew 
 much, much more than she did. She 
 would have given the world to talk 
 to him, to ask him questions. But 
 then her pride ; it seemed degrading. 
 Yet, after all, he had behaved hand- 
 somely to her father, he seemed good- 
 natured " — to a young girl the most 
 recommendatory of gifts. And then 
 there was so much at stake. 
 
 But why should you caution me ?" 
 she went on, ^^have you heard any- 
 thing ?" 
 
 God bless me, no he said, smiling. 
 But the world has. At clubs every- 
 thing is talked of, schemes and boasts of 
 
172 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 all kinds. I know what her boast is, 
 but I would not tell you, Miss Talbot, 
 for the world. I may tell you this, 
 though ; she does not think her work 
 finished as yet." 
 
 It was impossible to misunderstand 
 this ominous speech, which he made so 
 significantly. 
 
 For a woman," he went on, she 
 has more power than any woman I ever 
 met ; that is, for carrying out whatever 
 she plans. I should not like to make 
 her an enemy myself ; and if there was 
 any one, old or young, in whom I took 
 an interest, and whom I would not see 
 injured or made unhappy, I would give 
 them the same advice. You will not 
 be angry with me, Miss Olivia, for 
 saying this to you, for the matter is a 
 little serious." 
 
A NeiD Heroine. 
 
 173 
 
 For a moment slie felfc indignant that 
 this comparative stranger should take 
 on himself the duty of giving her ad- 
 vice, and she answered, 
 
 We do not fear anything of the 
 kind. Colonel Fotheringham, and want 
 no advice." 
 
 '^I do beg your pardon/' he said, 
 hurriedly. " I see I did obtrude. You 
 must forgive me, for I meant no harm." 
 On this he took out a book and with- 
 drew a little. 
 
 Livy was soon penitent and full of 
 compunction. Worse, she felt that she 
 had done a stupid thing. Here was one 
 that might have been sent by Provi- 
 dence, though, indeed, this seemed 
 paying it a bad compliment in its choice 
 of messengers, to help her out of their 
 difficulties. 
 
174 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 "If you would let me advise you/' 
 lie said, in what seemed to her a quiet 
 tenderness, " I would be very raucli 
 on my guard. I know tliat lady well, 
 and all about her, and am as certain as 
 that I stand here she means mischief, 
 and mischief — forgive me saying so: — 
 that you cannot hinder. My friend, 
 my neiD friend, Talbot, cannot either ; 
 and, I am afraid, is not inclined." 
 
 Livy felt there was truth in every 
 word of those dark prophecies — the 
 difficulties she saw, were crowding on 
 her, and almost involuntarily she cried 
 out, with the most piteous, tearful, and 
 interesting expressions in the world. 
 
 " Oh, then, what are we to do?" 
 
 " Have you no grave and wise friend, 
 no man of the world that you could 
 consult? I do not offer myself, for I 
 
A New Heroine. 
 
 175 
 
 am the merest acquaintance, and I was 
 snubbed when I got on dangerous 
 ground a few moments ago. Perhaps 
 you are going to town now ; but I am 
 too inquisitive." 
 
 Livy, reflecting that after all she did 
 want help, and cruelly, and that there 
 might be no harm in accepting it, even 
 from this unexpected quarter — at all 
 events, she could listen, and need not 
 be bound by it, after the train had 
 reached the station — faltered out an 
 eager question, 
 
 " What could she do ? For, indeed, 
 Colonel Fotheringham, we are all very 
 unhappy." 
 
 He looked out of the window and 
 smiled to himself He was always 
 successful — except with Mrs. Fother- 
 ingham. 
 
176 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 You see/' he went on, women 
 of her class live always for amusement 
 and excitement. They must have it. 
 They think it a feather in their caps, 
 as it is called, to make conquests, and, 
 once they have begun, they must go 
 through with it. Now, this lady'-s 
 game, I am sorry to say, — indeed, you 
 must have seen it yourself, — is to make 
 a sort of trophy of your father, exhibit 
 him in town, quite take him away 
 from your mamma. It is something to 
 boast of, and will add to her repu- 
 tation. Excuse me for speaking so 
 freely, but she does not care a straw 
 for him." 
 
 Livy blushed as she listened to this 
 plain way of putting the thing. 
 
 Papa," she faltered, does not 
 believe that. Nothing could get him 
 
A Neio Heroine, 
 
 177 
 
 to believe it. He thinks she is his 
 true friend, and is devoted to him, 
 and this gives her a sort of influence. 
 He is so grateful." 
 
 Again the same smile passed over 
 his face, and a twinkle of triumph 
 came into it, as a sudden thought oc- 
 curred to him. 
 
 I could open his eyes," he said, 
 slowly. I might have it in my 
 power to show him her true opinion 
 of him. But that, of course, would 
 be out of the question. Here is the 
 ticket-collector. How quickly the time 
 has gone ? You will not return, I sup- 
 pose, until the last train." 
 
 " But," said Livy, with almost pas- 
 sionate earnestness, you will tell 
 me that, and prove it. Oh, I am 
 sure you won't refuse me. If we 
 
 VOL. III. N 
 
] 78 Beauty Talbot, 
 
 could only open papa's eyes ; he is so 
 good." 
 
 Here she stopped. Again she felt 
 all this was so humiliating, to be de- 
 bating with a stranger — this humiliating 
 attitude of her father, this justifying 
 him, making him out not so bad, 
 after all. She stopped, and hung down 
 her head. The train had got into 
 the station. 
 
 " Could I see you anywhere, you 
 and your maid ?" he asked. ''Is there 
 anything I could do ; except what is 
 disloyal, of course. She is a friend 
 of mine, recollect, and though she 
 has not treated me well, I cannot 
 betray her. Where is he to drive 
 to ?" 
 
 ''Half-moon Street," she said. 
 ''Oh, I know," he said. "I often 
 
A New Heroine. 
 
 179 
 
 go there. Old Dick Lumley's bachelor 
 quarter. I hope I shall see you again 
 soon, Miss Talbot." 
 
 N 2 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE COUNCIL. 
 
 Never was girl in such a state of 
 excitement as our Livy, while the cab 
 was driving to Half-moon Street. She 
 was, indeed, going to consult that old 
 physician, Dick Lumley, possibly an 
 ignorant practitioner, certainly a sel- 
 fish one, who was not likely to give 
 advice without fees ; that is to say, 
 who would not sacrifice anything to 
 help a fellow creature. Sacrificing 
 anything^ with him, was giving away 
 a scrap of his life ; because it involved 
 a disappointment, or worry, or stu- 
 
The Council. 
 
 181 
 
 pidity, and, therefore, injured the cur- 
 rent of his life. For at his age, any 
 mental injury or wear was as dan- 
 gerous as anything bodily. Poor Old 
 Dick ! 
 
 People were fond of noticing now 
 that he was changing, angry at having 
 had so often to acknowledge that he 
 had so long falsified all their- declara- 
 tions ; that he was going," or break- 
 ing up," or down. It was amazing, 
 indeed, how he clung to what he 
 called life ; that is, to that series of 
 visits, dinners, balls ; and when these 
 intermitted, how his pulse seemed to 
 intermit also. Life had, of late, been 
 going very pleasantly with him; as, 
 indeed, his perseverance deserved some 
 recompense. Such unwearied, labor- 
 ious, pushing efforts, made at the be- 
 
182 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 ginning of his long life, and duly 
 sustained, should have landed him in 
 any office or station. But the fatal 
 principle of the Sibylline books applies 
 with its greatest force to what are 
 votaries of fashiouj to the children 
 of the world — by the world, meaning 
 dinner-parties, the knowing people of 
 title, and being asked where ^^every- 
 body" is asked. 
 
 As the books of Old Dick Lumley 
 were burned, one by one, what re- 
 mained increased in value with alarm- 
 ing proportion ; and, finally, it was 
 come to this — that at the end of that 
 long ill-paved road, which had been 
 his life, a few yards were as precious 
 to him as miles of the pleasant grass 
 swards over which he had tripped so 
 carelessly when he began to walk. 
 
The Council, 
 
 183 
 
 He seemed to himself now, with the end 
 of his days at hand, to be only begin- 
 ning. He had this refutation, at least, 
 of the vulgar speech he is so old !" 
 within him ; he felt strong, and a 
 keener sense of enjoyment every day, 
 and his will, and the necessity of 
 
 going out," helped him to do battle 
 with, and keep in order, obstructive 
 pains and aches. 
 
 As usual, he had, with an industry 
 that never wearied, been harrowing and 
 
 stubbing " the fashionable ground ; 
 now writing notes, now calling, now 
 telling his stories, now doing little 
 trifles of service for old Lady Towler, 
 or for Mrs. Mantower ; contriving to 
 lay those persons under trifling social 
 obligations, to be repaid only by " ask- 
 ing " him. 
 
184 Beaukj Talbot. 
 
 He was content to accept the smallest 
 eleemosynary scrap of civility, a meagre 
 cup of tea at five, sooner than be left 
 out or not asked. Now, a certain 
 duchess had a great gathering at 
 Kedgeburn, whither all his friends 
 were hurrying, and, after infinite 
 '^stubbing" he had received the in- 
 vitation to join the august party, men 
 and women of fashion — lords, dukes, 
 a royal prince, in short a battue^ the 
 like of which he had never yet attended. 
 It was elixir to his old frame, the very 
 thought made his blood course more 
 freely through those ancient conduits, 
 his veins; and he was busy on this 
 evening, furbishing up his old armour, 
 looking where the joints had started, 
 and wanted new riveting, amusing him- 
 self also by anticipation, burnishing 
 
The Council. 
 
 185 
 
 his jokes and good things, and fihng 
 up and polishing a neat, unobtrusive 
 speech, which should delicately attract 
 the royal personage. When his servant 
 came up to say that a young lady was 
 below, and wished to see him, he 
 assumed, in his eagerness and flutter, 
 that this must be some high-born dame 
 come to wait on him. 
 
 » 
 
 God bless me, who is it ?" says 
 Old Dick Lumley. ''I'll go down to 
 her — or would she step up ? Is it Lady 
 Craddock ?" 
 
 It was amazing how Mr. Lumley 
 could change and recover himself from 
 the want of cohesion, and kind of 
 tendency to fall to pieces. He was 
 one man for the servant, another for 
 the lady, who now entered, this 
 frightened, fluttering, timorous Livy, 
 
186 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 who had come to throw herself at the 
 feet of the only friend in town she could 
 think of. She knew he was selfish ; 
 but still, to her he had always a sort 
 of gallant good-nature, which might 
 be worked into kindness, if no great 
 pressure was put upon it. 
 
 He was a little disappointed when he 
 saw her ; he had put himself together 
 for a lady of title. 
 
 '^My dear Miss Livy, this is an 
 honour to my poor bachelor hovel. 
 Come to see me here !" But he added 
 hastily, sharp enough to see that some- 
 thing would be required of him, You 
 see me all in a fuss ; just setting off on 
 one of those gay junketings. They 
 will have me. The duchess wrote in 
 the nicest, kindest way, herself." 
 
 " Oh, and you are going away now — 
 
The Council. 
 
 187 
 
 and I was going to ask you — the only 
 friend I could turn to !" 
 
 His first thought was that this sort 
 of thing "had been the introduction to 
 a very favourite demand on him, and a 
 look of alarm came into his face. Old 
 Dick Lumley never gave money to any- 
 one. There was something, he thought, 
 very low in people, in real distress^ 
 coming to beg loans, and he could see 
 little difference between them and 
 people in the street. Of course it was 
 a wholly different thing when Lord 
 
 A said " Lend me a fiver, Lumley," 
 
 which was only a pleasant civility, 
 and the payment certain as the 
 Bank. 
 
 Livy soon reassured him. 
 Oh, dear Mr. Lumley, • give me 
 some advice ; help us ! We are in a 
 
188 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 miserable way at home. Save us !" 
 Oh, I suspect/' said Mr. Lumley. 
 I suppose our friend, the Beauty, is 
 at his old tricks. Sit down, then, and 
 take a chair, and tell me all about it. 
 There." 
 
 ^' No, indeed, it's not his fault. But 
 there are others who hate poor mamma, 
 and do their best to draw him away 
 from us." 
 
 Oh, I know that, too. A very 
 clever woman in her way — I really 
 admire her. But now, tell me how 
 things stand exactly." 
 
 He put aside his preparations, and 
 set himself to listen. Livy began, told 
 him all ; coming down to the dreadful 
 and perplexed state in which things 
 were. It was, indeed, hard to resist 
 Livy's coaxing manner,'' which invited 
 
The Council, 
 
 189 
 
 confidence and aid. As she went 
 on lie grew interested, and stopped his 
 packing. 
 
 " Oh, Beauty," he would say, " fie 
 for shame ! And yet I don't blame him. 
 All that scheming woman. I know 
 well what she's at. It's just one of the 
 tricks of the women of the day. Lord 
 bless you, my dear child, it's their 
 amusement — like dram-drinking to a 
 man that has taken to cognac. You see 
 what is there open to women of this 
 sort ? What is there piquant but some- 
 thing of the kind ? I declare, I know I 
 shouldn't speak this way to you ; but it's 
 the fact, I assure you. The world's a 
 very wicked place." 
 
 Livy was aghast. 
 But why," she cried, why should 
 she think of this — such a cruel, base 
 
190 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 revenge ? What can she gain ? Poor 
 
 papa is married " 
 
 Baison de plus,^^ says Dick, gaily. 
 Married men are the best game, and 
 give a prestige, you see. It is bringing 
 down two birds ; and, as you see, in 
 this case, three." 
 
 Livy was beginning to see. 
 Then what, in the name of heaven, 
 are we to do ? How can I go back to 
 mamma ? I told her I would bring her 
 comfort, and now I see I have worse 
 news." 
 
 Dick was really getting sympathetic. 
 With the pretty he was always more or 
 less good-natured. Beside, there were 
 the elements of a capital story, which, 
 with a little vamping and varnishing, 
 would make his fortune at Kedofeburn. 
 He was curious, too, to see the end. 
 
The Council. 
 
 191 
 
 Anything dramatic for the old soul was 
 like breathing fresh air. He thought a 
 moment. 
 
 I'd have supposed that Fothering- 
 ham was her admirer, and she his. And 
 I daresay he is still." 
 
 Oh, I know that he is not/' she 
 said, eagerly. He came up in the 
 train with me, and spoke very kindly 
 indeed." 
 
 Oh, you were consulting him^ Miss 
 Livy. A nice man to take into con- 
 fidence. Well, I don't know but that 
 you were sensible enough : all's fair in 
 love, war, or filial aff*ection. And now 
 tell me, my dear, what did Fothering- 
 ham say to you ? Don't be afraid. I 
 assure you it is of great importance." 
 
 Well, he was very kind and in- 
 terested — I must say that." 
 
192 Beauty Talbot 
 
 Of course he was ; but was lie 
 friendly to her ?" 
 
 No ; he seemed angry or dis- 
 pleased." 
 
 "Ah! a point for you. Now I tell 
 you, as you have come to me, that 
 man is the only chance you have. If 
 you can make him your friend, you 
 can do something. And your father 
 has gone up to town with her ? You 
 don't know where they are quartered, 
 do you ?" 
 
 " Oh, no," she said desparingly. 
 "In this great London, how should 
 one—" 
 
 " Well, I do. Starridge's is the 
 place. Decent family hotel. Lord 
 Mundy always stops there. Comfort- 
 able, but dear. I tell you what, I 
 was going to Kedgeburn the first 
 
The Council. 
 
 19:3 
 
 thing in the morning ; but a few 
 hours will not make much difference. 
 I can go by the evening train. See, 
 my dear. You might just wait here 
 a little while, till I come back. There 
 are plenty of books, and the evening 
 paper." 
 
 Old Dick Lumley got his hat, and 
 set off. It was a long time since he 
 had done so generous and unselfish 
 an act. But he felt a new eagerness, 
 which contributed a sort of elixir vitae 
 to his veins. He tottered into a 
 Hansom cab, with as much elasticity 
 as he could assume, and drove away 
 to his club '^Banks'" — where he was 
 certain of finding Colonel Fothering- 
 ham. 
 
 That gentleman was there, as h^ 
 had anticipated, standing in the bow 
 VOL. m. 0 
 
194 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 ^x'indow, entertaining a number of fast 
 . gentlemen with some piquant adven- 
 ture. Banks' " was a sort of fly- 
 by-niglit house, where deep card-play- 
 ing always went on, and which seemed 
 to run eternally with soda and brandy, 
 as other places are said to run with 
 milk and honey. On these grounds, 
 Old Dick belonged to it, as he never 
 cast his net into its waters for gossip 
 without a good haul, which he could 
 carry to his favourite Lady This, or 
 to ''My dear Mrs. This com- 
 munion, too, with young and " fast " 
 men, was one of the conduit pipes 
 through which Mr. Lumley fancied he 
 drank of the Fountain of Youth, and, 
 indeed, of Life. This noisy party, 
 then, he joined, after a way of his 
 own : a conscious smile of anticipating 
 
The Council. 
 
 195 
 
 enjoyment — sidling up until lie was 
 absorbed in the group. 
 
 Some of tliese men were officers, 
 who had been quartered abroad ; and 
 one was apparently joking Colonel 
 Fotheringham on that point where men 
 of all kinds, degrees, and ages, it is 
 to be suspected, enjoy being rallied " 
 — namely, what are called their suc- 
 cesses." 
 
 "I saw you," said this gentleman. 
 
 He was getting out of the carriage 
 with as pretty a girl as you'd ask to 
 meet. The man is lost to all shame. 
 But it won't do." 
 
 "Won't do! How do you know?" 
 
 "Well, what about the pretty 
 widow ? She followed you from abroad. 
 What account have you to give of 
 her ? God knows you boasted enough." 
 
 0 2 
 
Beauty Talbot. 
 
 ^' All in good time," said the Adonis, 
 complacently. I wait always till the 
 pear is ripe ; then open my mouth, and 
 it drops into it." 
 
 Won't do shaking the tree," said 
 Old Lumley, thus introducing himself. 
 
 But there is another reason, Fothy. 
 Why don't you tell them that she has 
 a little game of her own to finish first ? 
 'Pon my soul, as diverting a thing 
 as you ever heard. Would do for 
 a little French piece at the Palais 
 Royal." 
 
 Oh, I know," said Fotheringham. 
 " That poor creature that they call, 
 or who calls himself, the Beauty — an 
 ass of the first water. I can call him 
 so, now that we have made up our 
 little quarrel." 
 
 " Ah, you are sore about that, 
 
The Council. 
 
 197 
 
 Fothy," said Mr. Lumley. ''For a 
 handsome fellow like you^ with the 
 scalps of so many wives, maids, and 
 mothers dangling at your belt, it is 
 mortifying to play second fiddle to a 
 Jemmy Jessamy of that kind." 
 
 '' I beg your pardon, Lumley," said 
 the other, pettishly. " Excuse me, you 
 are talking of what you know nothing 
 about. It is notorious that she doesn't 
 care two straws about the fellow. My 
 good Old Lumley, you are not behind 
 the scenes everywhere. You are not 
 quite up to this business. She keeps 
 me posted up in every stage of the 
 affair. A woman of her sort only 
 lives for excitement; and what is at 
 the bottom of the whole affair is dislike 
 to another person." 
 
 '' Very good — very good, no doubt," 
 
198 Beauty Talbot 
 
 said old Dick, so far as your 
 statement goes. But I should like 
 proofs." 
 
 Proofs ! A gentleman does not 
 usually show a lady's letter. But/' 
 he added, taking one out of his 
 pocket, if I chose to exhibit one — 
 which J should scorn to do — it would 
 prove what I said. Why, she laughs 
 at the fellow, and turns him into the 
 greatest ridicule." 
 
 Now, clever as Mr. Lumley was, and 
 well acquainted with the world as he 
 was, and with the tricks of the world, 
 it must be owned that this little episode 
 was brought about by no contrivances 
 on his part. He had raised the argu- 
 ment unintentionally; perhaps with a 
 sort of hope of picking up " some- 
 thing out of it. When he heard this 
 
The Council. 
 
 199 
 
 allusion to a letter, he was, of course, 
 convinced ; and said that made it quite 
 a different thing. And Colonel Fother- 
 ingham was quite triumphant. 
 
 Gradually the group broke up; and 
 Mr. Lumley was thinking of return- 
 ing to his lodgings, when Colonel 
 Fotheringham followed him, and seemed 
 anxious to speak with him. 
 
 " You see," he said, ^' this artful 
 woman is playing a game ; and I am 
 sorry for the poor little girl." 
 
 But, really now," said Old Dick, 
 " about the letter ? I couldn't, of 
 course, dispute what you said before 
 those fellows." 
 
 " Oh, I could show it to you," said 
 Colonel Fotheringham. I assure you, 
 she turns this half natural into perfect 
 ridicule. A very clever woman ; but 
 
200 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 I would not trust her that far. It is 
 so amusing, the way she hates that 
 poor, foolish woman. She'd see her 
 in the workhouse with pleasure. And 
 that pretty little girl, with her praying- 
 sort of face ! I never met such a con- 
 fidential little nun of a thing. She 
 told me all her sorrows ; and I am to 
 comfort her and the family. I intend 
 going down to pay them a visit to- 
 morrow. Eh, Lumley?" 
 
 Old Dick chuckled with sympathis- 
 ing enjoyment at whatever this speech 
 seemed to convey : then went his way 
 back to his lodgings. He thought the 
 matter over with satisfaction as he 
 drove along, and said to himself, " Not 
 badly done." The story would work 
 up very dramatically for my lord duke 
 after dinner, and cause the whole atteif- 
 
The Council. 
 
 201 
 
 tion of the company to be drawn to 
 him. People would never think of 
 age" in connection with Dick. 
 
CHAPTEE XL 
 
 CHANGE OP HAND. 
 
 When he got back, he found the 
 devotional face, which Colonel Fother- 
 ingham had been so struck with, bent 
 on him wistfully, with a despairing 
 inquiry,— 
 
 What have you done ? Do you 
 bring me hope ?" 
 
 " What could be done in the time, 
 my dear child? Things of this kind 
 cannot be settled right off in that 
 way. We must prepare the ground, 
 my dear." 
 
Change of Hand. 
 
 203 
 
 Her face fell. 
 Oh, I know that, dear Mr. Lumley ; 
 but I had hoped you would have made 
 out something. I have been so miser- 
 able." 
 
 Well, I don't say but that I have 
 made out something. But now, you 
 must work a little for yourself, and 
 build upon the little foundation I have 
 laid. You are very clever in your own 
 way, my dear. Now, Fotheringham is 
 not a man whose intimacy is to be en- 
 couraged ; in fact, he is a fellow who 
 ought not to be let into a decent house. 
 But don't be shocked ; I think there 
 would be no harm if you made a friend 
 of him." 
 
 This strange advice Old Dick incul- 
 cated warmly. 
 
 He is going to see you to-morrow. 
 
204 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 Make yourself as bewitching as you 
 can, and he will not refuse you any- 
 thing." 
 
 But I coidd not ask such a man. 
 It was only an accident, my meeting 
 him in the train." 
 
 " It would be the only way to open 
 the Beauty's eyes. You see, my dear 
 child, you must work for yourself. No 
 one can ever do anything for any one, 
 so well as they can do it for themselves. 
 I believe you to be very clever. Miss 
 Livy; and, with a little training, you 
 would hold your own against any of 
 these scheming women. The only real 
 way to meet them, is to face them on 
 their own ground, and with their own 
 weapons." 
 
 I never could bring myself to that^^^ 
 said Livy, vehemently; but papa is 
 
Change of Hand. 205 
 
 good at heart, I know he is ; and if I 
 knew how to reach his feelings ! He 
 loves us all, I know he does." 
 
 " Well, then, let us go to him. I'll 
 do what I can with him, too. We are • 
 sure to find him at Starridge's, her 
 place." 
 
 Livy shuddered as he said this ; but 
 she caught at the proposal eagerly : 
 and, in a few moments, they were 
 driving away to that fashionable family 
 hotel, where invited foreign princes — in 
 the dearth of accommodation at the 
 palaces of the kingdom — have been 
 often hospitably entertained. 
 
 Mr. Lumley knew Starridge," whose 
 real name was Motcombe, very well, 
 having often dined there. Indeed, Mr. 
 Lumley was one of those people who 
 have a lucky art of becoming known to 
 
206 Beauty Talbot 
 
 every one without exertion of their 
 own — one of those who are recognised 
 by pohcemen, allowed to pass into re- 
 served places, &C.5 and yet from whom 
 money is not looked for. With this 
 proprietor Old Dick was presently in 
 deep conversation, and learned that 
 Mrs. Labouchere had arrived there with 
 all her boxes, (fee, but that she had 
 gone out, and had not come in yet ; 
 but that the gentleman was waiting up- 
 stairs. Mr. Lumley and his charge 
 then went up. 
 
 The Beauty started as he saw them, 
 much as a school-boy would, detected 
 by the master, in an orchard. But 
 after a moment he grew pettish, then 
 defiant. 
 
 What do vou want with me ? 
 What is the meaning of this pursuing 
 
Change of Hand. 207 
 
 me about, in this way ? How dare you 
 come after me ?" 
 
 This was to his daughter. 
 
 "Oh, papa, what are you doing? 
 Why have you done this 
 
 Oh, I say, Talbot, these are very 
 queer pranks ! It must be a joke, 
 altogether. You can't have taken leave 
 of your wits ?" 
 
 " I don't understand you," said the* 
 Beauty. 
 
 " Oh, going about in this way. 
 Here, be a sensible man, now. Go 
 back with your daughter" 
 
 '^I don't want directions from any 
 one. Neither do I require any orders 
 from home. I have business that keeps 
 me here." 
 
 " Indeed you have not, my dear 
 Talbot,", said Old Dick, sitting down 
 
208 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 in a comfortable sort of way. " I am 
 an old friend, and don't at all mind 
 what you say. You won't offend me 
 easily." 
 
 Oh, papa, if you knew the state 
 I left mamma in ! It will kill her, 
 the way you are treating her." 
 
 '^And how have 1 been treated all 
 these years back? Tyrannised over — 
 ground down — kept shut up " 
 
 Mr. Lumley burst out laughing. 
 
 "What a description of yourself! 
 No, my dear fellow; we can't accept 
 that as a true picture ; and I have too 
 much respect for you to suppose that you 
 would give out that you allowed your- 
 self to have lived in such a ' degrading ' 
 state of hen-pecking." 
 
 The Beauty coloured. 
 
 " Oh, you are very sharp — uncom- 
 
Change of Hand. 209 
 
 monly so. You know what I mean. 
 I don't mean to be laughed at any 
 longer by the world !" 
 
 A twinkle came into Mr. Lumley's 
 eyes. 
 
 " I wouldn't be too sure of that. Our 
 friends, unfortunately, are often those 
 who laugh the loudest." 
 
 Ah ! but my friends don't do that. 
 The friends you have been accustomed 
 to, do so, no doubt. It is what I 
 would quite expect." 
 
 " Perhaps you are right, though 
 Mrs. Labouchere is not exactly one 
 of the friends I have been much ac- 
 customed to." 
 
 The Beauty coloured. 
 
 *^I'll not hear a word against that 
 lady. I know well who sets these 
 
 VOL. m. p 
 
210 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 slanders on foot. I have heard enough 
 of them already." 
 
 ^^Oh, papa," cried Livy; you don't 
 know all. Your kind, good heart has 
 been worked on for the basest ends. 
 There are those who are using you to 
 forward the ends of their own hate and 
 dislike ; and all the time laughing 
 at you behind your back." 
 
 This was a daring speech for our 
 Livy, and she trembled when she had 
 made it. 
 
 The Beauty was beside himself with 
 anger and offended dignity. 
 
 What a mean conspiracy ! You, 
 and the rest of you, can stoop to in- 
 vent things about the noblest of wo- 
 men ! I forbid you to speak to me on 
 this subject again ; I won't have it. 
 And if you don't both of you leave this 
 
Change of Hand. 211 
 
 room, I'll leave it. You have no busi- 
 ness to come here at all. It is Mrs. 
 Laboucliere's apartment." 
 
 ^^Here, my good friend/' said Mr. 
 Lumley, rising ; " you are quite for- 
 getting yourself, in this ardent cham- 
 pionship. You used a very ugly word 
 just now — something about ^ con- 
 spiracy;' I don't allow expressions of 
 this kind to be applied to me. I think 
 it very free of you," added Dick 
 Lumley, in a real rage ; " and very 
 uncalled for. Now explain what you 
 mean. Don't dare to repeat that 
 word again, or any words like it. Why, 
 you are a stupid, foolish creature, not 
 to know your best friends, those who 
 would save you from being made a 
 cat's-paw of by a scheming woman, 
 whose letters — where she is laughing at 
 
 P 2 
 
212 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 you to her friends — are being hawked 
 about over the clubs !" 
 
 There was something so genuine in 
 this tone of Dick Lumley, such an air 
 of superior knowledge, that it did 
 more in one second to convince the 
 Beauty of the facts thus afl&rmed, than 
 if affidavits had been sworn with all 
 solemnity. He faltered, and repeated 
 — balbuitied,'' as the French say; 
 " Laugh at me in her letters ?" 
 
 "Ah, you guess now," said Old 
 Dick, still fuming. " Then you'll find 
 out more by-and-by. Conspiracy, in- 
 deed ! I'll just leave you there ; make 
 yourself as much a laughing-stock as 
 you please. I'll never raise my finger 
 to open your eyes. Come, Miss Livy ; 
 your father doesn't want you here, as 
 he says plainly ; and I'll see you safe 
 
Change of Hand. 
 
 213 
 
 to the train. And if you take my ad- 
 vice, I'd leave the matter all to time. 
 It is really not worth any extra trouble ; 
 and you have done your best, as a 
 daughter, to save this poor, infatuated 
 father of yours from being a laughing- 
 stock." 
 
 Our Livy saw that this angry speech 
 of Dick Lumley's had, unintentionally, 
 done her more good than any of his 
 elaborate little worldly plots. She saw 
 her father mortified, angry, doubtful, 
 and full of fear lest there might be some 
 truth, after all, in that statement. 
 She took the cue at once, like a girl of 
 esprit^ as she really was. 
 
 Then we must go I suppose, Mr. 
 Lumley," she said. I have done my 
 best, and so have you. We can do 
 no more. We are to have this morti- 
 
214 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 cation, in addition to other trials — to 
 be laughed at by the whole town. 
 My poor mother did not deserve 
 this." 
 
 Uncertain, colouring up fast, turning 
 pale, angry as a child whose only 
 thought is to break up its toys to spite 
 the parents who have bought them for 
 it — the Beauty looked at them ir- 
 resolutely. He felt his weakness. 
 Weak minds, at such a crisis, can 
 only find a temporary strength in re- 
 peating a foolish defiance. It gives 
 them a prestige for the moment. And 
 so he said again — 
 
 I don't choose to be interfered with. 
 I am not a child ; and I'll show you 
 that I am not. I won't hear a word 
 against her." 
 
 " You are a disinterested fellow," 
 
Change of Sand. 
 
 215 
 
 said old Dick Lumley, laughing heartily, 
 " You will deserve a crown." 
 
 He took Livy's arm in his, and they 
 went down-stairs, she with her head 
 bent low, and her heart very heavy. 
 They got into the cab, and as Mr. 
 Lumley was telling the cabman where 
 to drive to, a lady who was going up 
 the steps looked round curiously, and, 
 seeing them, stopped for a moment, 
 then came down the steps, and stood 
 before them at the window. 
 
 It was Mrs. Labouchere. 
 
 ''Oh, a visit !" she said. ''Ha, 1 
 understand why ! Another failure, 
 even with such an ally as Mr. Lumley ! 
 There are great odds against poor 
 me." 
 
 " My dear Mrs. Labouchere," said 
 the old man of the world; "you alone 
 
216 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 are a match for the whole world. Miss 
 Talbot had no escort, and " 
 
 ^^Yes, I understand/' she said, with 
 bitter contempt. "Well, I have no 
 escort either, and shall want one for 
 some time. You see it won't do. Miss 
 Olivia Talbot. Even in my absence, 
 you can do nothing." 
 
 She passed in. Old Dick looked 
 after her admiringly. He was actually 
 thinking he had been a great fool to 
 mix himself up in this business. After 
 all, it did not concern him ; and all the 
 result was to make an enemy of a 
 woman that was sure to " do " — to get 
 on. 
 
 " Monstrous clever creature that," he 
 said, "I admire her. You see, my 
 dear, there's no use in our trying any- 
 thing more. You've done what you 
 
Change of Hand. 217 
 
 could ; and she's a dangerous woman to 
 meddle with. Let sleeping dogs lie. 
 Our friend, the Beauty, will tire of this — 
 er — fancy by-and-by, and then all will be 
 right again. We must take men as we 
 j&nd them." 
 
 With a soreness of heart Livy found, 
 for the first time, that conventional 
 
 hollowness of the world " realised to 
 her. This ancient, whose foot was in 
 the grave, was cold, selfish, unfeeling, 
 and thought only of himself now ; and, 
 at the same time, felt that she ought to 
 consider herself under a serious obliga- 
 tion to him for these services. 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 A GLEAM OF HOPE. 
 
 LivY got home about nine o'clock, 
 and it was a miserable journey for her^ 
 down. Indeed, for a person with 
 " something on their mind," there is 
 no imprisonment so terrible as that of 
 a railway carriage, which flies forward 
 so swiftly, but with which the anxious, 
 fluttering soul does not keep pace ; and, 
 indeed, now lags behind, now leaps 
 forward, as if eager to leave the express 
 carriage behind. It was terribly long 
 for her, and she thought the journey 
 
A Gleam of Hope. 219 
 
 would never come to an end. When 
 she entered there was no eager, ex- 
 pectant mother rushing to meet her; 
 but a servant on tip-toe, with a She 
 is asleep now, miss. Oh, but she has 
 been so ill !" 
 
 Livy stole up, almost thankful for 
 this sleep, which saved her the misery 
 of having to enter, and be the bearer 
 of wretched news. 
 
 She saw the pale, worn face before 
 her, all the colour gone ; the old Ohalon 
 beauty turned haggard. Livy sat by 
 her, and watched for more than an hour, 
 when Mrs. Talbot roused herself and 
 looked round, and her eyes fell upon 
 Livy, and she started. 
 
 Well, dear," she cried, where is 
 he ? You have brought him to me ? 
 No ?" 
 
220 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 Then Livy had to tell her poor halt- 
 ing story; and who shall blame her if 
 her desperation made her put in such 
 colouring as there was not in nature, 
 to make the whole have something of 
 a more promising aspect. The woman 
 of the world understood better, and 
 shook her head mournfully. 
 
 ^^I expected nothing, dearest. You 
 did your best. After all, as I have 
 been thinking since, why should I put 
 on a pretence of affection in the matter ; 
 why should I try and act a part to you, 
 my own child, who know well that this 
 is all mortification at being worsted by 
 that woman, or at finding one whom I 
 have ruled so long, breaking at last 
 from my control ? At least this is what 
 the world will say, and the world will 
 be nearly right ; for I have been always 
 
A Gleam of Hope » 221 
 
 a worldling, and it is fit that I should 
 be dealt with as one." 
 
 Ever since Livy had left the hotel, 
 and noted the change in her father — 
 and there was a change in her, too ; 
 for all the delicate bloom, which was 
 like the precious green on bronze, was 
 being rubbed away — that curious hint 
 of Old Dick Lumley's had been in her 
 ear. It seemed like an inspiration. All 
 pleading, importunity, and appeals to 
 love and affection and sympathy were 
 thrown away. Those dehcate "sweet 
 waters" were turned back, and played 
 on an iron-bound rock, rising smooth 
 and sheer. Already, though, that little 
 head was fluttering with a new scheme 
 that seemed to her all but infallible in 
 result — certain to succeed, if it could 
 only be brought into effect. 
 
222 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 A miserable niglit for both. The 
 mother seemed sunk into a hopeless 
 stupor, and lay there on the sofa. She 
 would not go to bed. The hours wore 
 on to eleven, then to midnight, and 
 Livy was tearfully imploring, be- 
 seeching her to lie down. We would 
 see in the morning." Yain and oft- 
 repeated bit of sham comfort ! the 
 friendly night interposmg, as a wall, 
 with the poor comfort of delay, as 
 though some friendly genii would 
 arise and bring about some wonderful 
 change ! 
 
 At last she was prevailed on ; and 
 she was going up when they heard 
 the gate bell ring. In a moment the 
 Beauty entered, and with an air half- 
 hang dog, half-defiant, as if brought to 
 bay, sulky to a degree, confronted the 
 
A Gleam of Hope. 
 
 223 
 
 two ladies. Livy^ when she heard 
 the bell, had just time to pour out 
 an eager whisper into her mother's 
 ear. 
 
 N0W5 all depends on this, dearest. 
 It is our last chance. I implore you 
 be guided by me in this. Promise 
 me." 
 
 It acted on Mrs. Talbot like an 
 inspiration ; and the Beauty saw before 
 him his wife and daughter, calm and 
 smiling. Mrs. Talbot had acted many 
 a time before, under far more diflicult 
 circumstances. 
 
 ''We understood you were not re- 
 turning to-night/' she said, almost 
 gaily. 
 
 '' So you told me, dearest," said 
 Livy, gently ; " and I told mamma 
 so." 
 
224 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 You don't seem very certain 
 in your movements/' said his wife, 
 smiling. 
 
 "Well, you needn't have sent after 
 me," said the Beauty, wondering at 
 this tone. He was prepared for a 
 tremendous tempest. " I don't like it, 
 and I won't have it." 
 
 " Certainly not ; it looks bad before 
 people. Livy insisted on going up to 
 town." 
 
 " Yes, and bringing off that man 
 to the hotel after me, as if I was a 
 ^ schoolboy." 
 
 "No, indeed, dear Beauty," said 
 Livy, eagerly. " It was Mr. Lumley 
 who had heard some club story, and 
 wished to tell you himself." 
 
 He glanced angrily and nervously 
 at his wife. A look of intelligence 
 
A Gleam of Eope, 225 
 
 came from Livy's face to reassure 
 him. She had not told her mother. 
 What if she had ? He was not to be 
 brought to book for everything. Be- 
 sides it was all a or a mistake; 
 so he could have told them. 
 
 I really don't understand," said 
 his wife. "I sent nobody after you. 
 This is all a tissue of mistakes. We 
 understood that you were not return- 
 ing to-night. You have changed your 
 mind : why make a fuss about it ?" 
 
 The Beauty did not relish this tone, 
 and was not a little confounded. He 
 was in a very bad humour indeed. His 
 faith had been rudely shaken. He 
 went out of the room angrily, and 
 went to bed, leaving the two women 
 there. 
 
 It was a wretched, sleepless night for 
 
 VOL. III. Q 
 
226 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 tliem. In the morning tlie Beauty 
 appeared with quite a load of injuries 
 on him. He was in real trouble and 
 vexation of spirit, mortified ; and, after 
 all, believing that the two ladies knew 
 well what was disturbing him. The 
 little faint success of the night before 
 had inspirited them ; and Mrs. Talbot, 
 ill at heart, and with an old malady 
 born of her old campaigns, and which 
 she had carried about with her gal- 
 lantly, much as a veteran would a ball 
 in the leg, had been tortured by it 
 secretly and without a complaint. Only 
 at times of crisis this private enemy 
 ungenerously came out, and added to 
 her torments. This was " something 
 in her side," which many of her friends 
 knew indistinctly by that title. But 
 of late, agitation and the sense of fail- 
 
A Gleam of Hope. 227 
 
 ing years, and decay, coming on her, 
 had robbed her of some of her old 
 strength for doing battle with such 
 enemies. 
 
 The Beauty mooned about, undecided, 
 all the morning. It was evident that 
 some dispute had taken place between 
 him and the lady he so admired, and 
 that his sense of dignity kept him 
 undecided. When he found the ladies 
 of his family dressed, as if for guests, 
 he asked Livy pettishly what they were 
 going to do. 
 
 She looked at him with " a cold eye," 
 and which seemed to be a new weapon 
 of hers since the day that she had so 
 boldly faced him. 
 
 " Colonel Fotheringham is coming 
 down here to lunch." 
 
 Coming down here ?" he repeated 
 
 Q 2 
 
228 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 with astonisliment. What do you 
 mean by this ? Such a man as that ! 
 I don't choose to have a man of his 
 sort in this house." 
 
 '"It is mamma's wish/' said Livy 
 coldly. " Surely you would not oppose 
 her in so trifling a matter ?" 
 
 It is not trifling — a man of that 
 character !" 
 
 Mrs. Talbot entered now, and he 
 repeated his disapproval. 
 
 " I don't choose to have a man of 
 that sort in my house." 
 
 " He is the friend of your great 
 friend, Mrs. Labouchere. That ought 
 to be no objection in your eyes." 
 
 That is nothing to me, or to 
 you." 
 
 ''Nothing to me?" said the lady, 
 growing excited. Livy at once struck in. 
 
A Gleam> of Rope. 229 
 
 You cannot mean that. You must 
 be just and reasonable. If you deny 
 mamma's right to interfere with your 
 choice of friends, you must allow her 
 the same indulgence." 
 
 ^^Yes/' said Mrs. Talbot growing 
 more excited, as I have borne so 
 much from you, it is time I should 
 get back some liberty." 
 
 ^^0 come, I won't be lectured, you 
 are making quite a fool of yourself!" 
 
 Livy stepped forward and said, with 
 the coldest contempt — 
 
 You must not speak in this way 
 to my mother. She is too good to 
 you, and has suflPered too much. All 
 that must be changed now. It must 
 indeed." 
 
 " Must !" repeated the Beauty, as- 
 tonished. 
 
230 Beauty Talbot 
 
 Yes, must. She is entitled to be 
 treated as a lady, at least. fool!' 
 shame on you to let such words pass 
 your lips. Never fear, dearest, I shall 
 protect you from the effects of your 
 own good nature. If you are not 
 treated with respect in this house — 
 your own house — we shall go out of 
 it. There are plenty of places abroad, 
 plenty of friends who will be glad 
 to welcome us ; and when this folly 
 of papa's has passed over — and it 
 will be a short-lived one — and he has 
 come back to his own old gentlemanly 
 self, we shall come back too. But you 
 must not be insulted here." 
 
 The Beauty had found a new school- 
 mistress. He could only murmur — 
 ^'I didn't insult her — I never meant 
 it — it's absurd." 
 
A Gleam of Hope. 231 
 
 If you never meant it, then, of 
 course mamma will think no more of 
 it. Here is Colonel Fotheringham." 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 A DUEL. 
 
 The Colonel entered with a curiously 
 amused expression. He saw from the 
 attitude of all the party that something 
 dramatic was taking place — the nature 
 of which he readily guessed. Livy's 
 eyes glittered, and her cheeks coloured, 
 as he appeared ; for she had begun to 
 look on this man as one about whom 
 might seem to hover a mysterious in- 
 fluence. Instantly a change came over 
 the whole party; they became the 
 people of society and fashion again ; 
 and that debris of sorrow, passion, 
 
 ■ m 
 
A Duel. 
 
 233 
 
 desertion, misery, which had covered 
 the place a few minutes before, was all 
 decently swept away. It was as though 
 some superior officer had come along the 
 disordered ranks, and, in his presence, 
 all order had been restored. Mr. 
 Fotheringham felt that he was such 
 an officer, and that he had the com- 
 mand of the situation virtually in his 
 own hands. 
 
 He talked away gaily of the usual 
 topics. Under the politely attentive 
 faces about him, no one would have 
 guessed that there were panting hearts 
 beneath, eagerly anxious, and longing 
 to use the new comer for their ends. 
 Colonel Fotheringham knew all this. 
 He began at once. 
 
 I breakfasted at Starridge's," he 
 said to the Beauty, " with a great 
 
234 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 friend of yours — Mrs. Labouchere. 
 She was kind enough to ask me — " 
 
 The Beauty started. Oh, with her V 
 he said, confusedly. 
 
 " When I say a great friend/' went 
 on the Colonel, laughing, I mean she 
 was a great friend. She was in great 
 spirits and good humour. I never saw 
 her so full of fun, as they say, and 
 so ready to turn people into ridi- 
 cule." 
 
 Livy struck in at once — She would 
 not do that to us, I suppose. She 
 has finished with us by this time, I 
 hope." 
 
 " Oh, yes," he said, she spared 
 the ladies. No, it was some one else. 
 I stood up for the absent, I assure 
 you." 
 
 '^I understand all this," said the 
 
A Duel 
 
 235 
 
 Beauty, fuming, and walking about 
 angrily, I know what it means, and 
 who has arranged all this. If Mrs. La- 
 
 bouchere be angry with me " 
 
 Angry with you?" repeated his 
 pale wife, unable to restrain herself, 
 " she angry with you 
 
 Yes, I know very well how it has 
 been done. It is all a plot. I believe 
 you are all joined in it." 
 
 " A plot !" said Colonel Fothering- 
 ham, with dignity, I do not join in 
 plots. Sir. It is not among the many 
 sins laid to my account." 
 
 " No ; Mr. Talbot is talking very 
 strangely of late," said his wife, "and 
 
 forgets " 
 
 Oh, I understand it very well," 
 went on the Beauty, in a rage; "it 
 didn't suit that I should have a friend 
 
236 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 4 
 
 ttat really liked me, and that was good 
 to me. I know about ' wheels within 
 wheels/ but I don't believe it. There's 
 an object in all this." 
 
 "Hush, hush, papa," said Livy, 
 " and remember we are not alone." 
 
 " Oh, this is a public matter," said 
 he, with an attempt at weight and 
 dignity ; " excuse me, it must be 
 cleared up. Grave charges have been 
 made affecting the character of an ab- 
 sent lady, and mine also. I am very 
 glad Colonel Fotheringham is here. 
 He is a gentleman, and I am sure 
 states candidly what are the. facts. It 
 is due to myself, and to the lady con- 
 cerned.^^ 
 
 Oh, what humiliation for our Livy ! 
 And yet there was something absurd in 
 these heroics. It did not really amount 
 
A Duel. 
 
 237 
 
 to anything of gravity. The Beauty 
 went on — 
 
 "Grave charges have been made; 
 a lady whom I esteem, and have the 
 highest regard and respect for — who 
 is as pure and noble-minded a per- 
 son as there exists on this earth^ — 
 that this lady, I say, has spoken of me 
 in a letter to you. Colonel Fothering- 
 ham, behind my back, in the most con- 
 temptuous way." 
 
 "Oh, father!" said Livy, "don't, 
 don't ; spare us ; what will this gentle- 
 man think of us ?" 
 
 " We will leave it," said Colonel 
 Fotheringham, now grown very pale, 
 " please leave it as it is ; I cannot bear 
 this. No charge is made ; if there was 
 anything said, it is withdrawn. I im- 
 plore you " 
 
238 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 The Beanty took this for a sign of 
 victory. He was very clever. He had 
 brought them to bay. They were afraid. 
 They dared not substantiate the 
 matter. 
 
 " Not at all," he said, in triumph, 
 " we are not going to dispose of the 
 matter in that way. I ask Colonel 
 Fotheringham, distinctly, and as a 
 gentleman, I am sure he will answer 
 me — in fact, things have come to this 
 pass — it is his duty to give me an 
 answer. Is it a fact that he received 
 any letter about me, or in which any 
 terms of ridicule were used about me ? 
 There." 
 
 The Colonel shook his head. 
 
 "I thought so. It is scandalous 
 taking away people's characters in 
 
 3> 
 
A Duel. 
 
 239 
 
 " Stop, stop !" said the Colonel, 
 coolly, take care, do, what you are 
 saying. You are surely not conveying 
 that any one of your family would 
 invent such a statement; or, say that 
 I told them such a thing, when I did 
 not ?" 
 
 Oh, of course not," said the Beauty, 
 hesitating, but there are such mis- 
 takes and exaggerations." 
 
 No, no, it was a distinct statement. 
 Well, then, do you mean to convey, 
 that if it be true I stated such a thing 
 to these ladies, that I should have 
 invented or exaggerated, as you call it ; 
 come ?" 
 
 This was a poser for the Beauty. He 
 paused, and then looked from one to 
 the other angrily. Still he never 
 wanted for courage, and thus pushed 
 
240 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 to the wall, but pouting, answered 
 bluntly — 
 
 " Well, since you wish to know, I 
 do doubt it." 
 
 Doubt it, Sir ? Doubt my word?" 
 
 ^^You have said nothing. I don't 
 meddle with that or with you at all ; 
 I don't want it. All I say is, I won't 
 have a lady calumniated. She would 
 never say a word against me." 
 
 The Colonel was now growing ex- 
 cited in his turn. 
 
 ^^lam not accustomed," he said, ^'to 
 hear such things repeated. Again I 
 must call on you to state plainly, 
 do you accuse me of inventing this 
 matter ?" 
 
 Thus brought to bay, the Beauty 
 said — 
 
 '^Well, I don't say that; but I say 
 
A Duel. 
 
 * 
 
 241 
 
 this — I don't believe, without proofs 
 what is said about Mrs. Labouchere." 
 
 The Colonel laughed, and put his 
 hand in his pocket. 
 
 ''You have required this yourself," 
 he said. 
 
 I don't care how you put it ; I don't 
 believe it. There. I think it is a 
 slander against Mrs. Labouchere." 
 
 Colonel Fotheringham was a spiteful 
 man. He never could resist the op- 
 portunity of '' putting down " another 
 man. Here was an opportunity. 
 
 '' You are not a wise man or a 
 brilliant man, Talbot," he said. '' You 
 must begin your education in the 
 world. Much you know ! But how can 
 I prove it to you ? It is very awkward 
 — you won't like it ; but as you throw 
 it on me — 1 have a certain letter here ; 
 
 VOL. III. R 
 
242 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 and as you have doubted my word, I 
 am bound to substantiate it. It is a 
 little mortifying for you, but you will 
 have it." 
 
 With a strange smile the Colonel put 
 his hand into his pocket, and, forgetting 
 all his propriety and honour for a 
 moment, drew out the letter from his 
 pocket. The Beauty trembled with 
 3'age and mortification. But still he 
 stumbled on a good retort. 
 
 " What, you show a private letter ! 
 That is an honourable and gentlemanly 
 thing !" 
 
 The Colonel hesitated. Then Livy 
 struck in, fearful that her only chance 
 was going to be lost. 
 
 Show it to him. Colonel Fothering- 
 ham. You know you promised me," 
 
 But Colonel Fotheringham was ob- 
 
A Duel. 
 
 243 
 
 durate. At this moment lunch was 
 announced. This was a diversion. In 
 presence of that matter-of-fact incident 
 of hfe, all the earnestness and tragedy 
 of the situation melted away. With 
 the cutlets and potted meats, how was 
 it possible to keep up with the grand 
 tragic elements of life ? And so the 
 ladies and gentlemen of this situation 
 passed into the dining-room, and the 
 servant attended, and helped sherry 
 round ; and they talked of the last 
 Academy exhibition, and of other in- 
 different matters. 
 
 After the lunch — during which Livy 
 was very gay, though, indeed, with a 
 forced sort of gaiety, while the Beauty 
 took his food and drink, with a true 
 characteristic sulkiness — Mrs. Talbot, 
 very pale and worn, and still struggling 
 
 E 2 
 
244 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 with illness, went away to her room. 
 Livy said to hei^ visitor, 
 
 " You must let me show you our 
 garden, and my pet bed of flowers." 
 
 It was curious to see this veteran 
 fowler, this deadly ''shot" — so sure 
 and pitiless — trying to adjust his aim at 
 this gentle, innocent creature. Some- 
 how, under that innocent gaze, he felt 
 discomposed. 
 
 " So this is your pet bed of flowers ?" 
 he said. Lucky flowers !" 
 
 '' I don't know that," she said, acting 
 coquetry. '' They blow for me — they 
 put out their prettiest leaves and 
 blossoms for me — they are most com- 
 pliant in every way, and do anything 
 that I ask them. I am going to ask 
 you, Colonel Fotheringham, to be as 
 compliant as my flowers." 
 
A Duel 245 
 
 If I am rewarded by having the 
 same dehghtful adjectives apphed to 
 me, you would find me the same. Miss 
 Ohvia." 
 
 I want to see that letter," she said, 
 suddenly growing grave. You see 
 the state of things with us. There is 
 no convincing our Beauty ; no opening 
 his pretty eyes. Just help me in this 
 — oblige me : it will make us happy ; 
 and you will have done a real, friendly, 
 generous thing. You will have made 
 a poor rustic family like ours happy. I 
 know^ he is good, really good, after all. 
 Colonel Eotheringham, you would like 
 to be able to look back to a really 
 friendly and good-natured act ? And 
 as you are a man of the world, and 
 always will live in the world, and will 
 have very little of this sort of rustic 
 
246 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 thing to think of, you may thank me 
 for leaving you something of this sort 
 to think over. And when we are far 
 away, as we shall be soon, you will 
 think of me, whom some people call 
 ' Rustic,' in connection with this really 
 kind and good-natured act." 
 
 Going away !" he repeated. You 
 do not mean that you are leaving 
 England ?" 
 
 " Yes, I hope so. I long for a 
 change, for mamma's sake. Her health 
 requires it. She was always delicate, 
 and, as the doctor said, had no 
 nerves." 
 
 And the Beauty, is he to be left 
 behind ?" 
 
 She paused. " That depends — on 
 you, in some degree." 
 
 There was something so piteous, so 
 
A Duel. 
 
 247 
 
 appealing, in this little speech of Livy's 
 —something that so placed her outside 
 of the category of women in which this 
 man had counted all ladies of his ac- 
 quaintance — something so firm and yet 
 child-like — that he felt himself awed, 
 and even reproached. There was some- 
 thing so winning in that sweet face, so 
 tender and sacred, that he felt himself 
 under a sort of irresistible spell, and 
 with a sigh put the letter she wished 
 for into her hand. 
 
CHAPTEE XIV. 
 
 A DEFEAT. 
 
 She flew upstairs to show lier prize 
 to her mother. As she reached the 
 landing, she heard the sound of ex- 
 cited voices — husband and wife were 
 having some frantic contest within. 
 She stole away awe-stricken. She 
 was not one of the greedy listeners, for 
 whom anything of this sort becomes 
 dramatic — more attractive than a play. 
 She rather let down the curtain, and 
 shrank away. They were strange 
 voices — hysterical protestations — angry 
 vituperations — voices raised high — 
 
A Defeat. 
 
 249 
 
 voices sunk low, and still lower. The 
 Beauty had miraculously received 
 some wonderful gift of boldness, but 
 which was indeed not more than a 
 delusive sense of strength in presence 
 of weakness. Every moment he was 
 growing stronger — more indignant, at 
 the wrongs he had to put up with. 
 
 After this battle he returned moodily 
 and fuming to his study, meeting his 
 daughter on the way, who was coming 
 hastily from the garden. There was a 
 look of triumph in her eyes, and she 
 waved her precious letter at him. Now, 
 papa, dear ; read this. Only listen to 
 these words, — ' As for that Beauty, 
 he is a mere ' " 
 
 Our poor foolish Livy had not taken 
 the wisest way, in legal phrase, to 
 
 get in her proofs." Were they writ- 
 
250 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 ten in letters as large as those of a 
 poster, it was hardly to be expected 
 that his amour propre could endure such 
 a refutation. He lost all patience. 
 
 How dare you hunt me in this 
 way ? What do you mean by all of you 
 trying to put me down. 1 tell you, 
 you won't succeed. I don't believe a 
 word of your stories ; I know how 
 you all hate her, and would do 
 anything to destroy her. Even you are 
 getting down a fellow like that — a man 
 with the worst character in London — to 
 take him into confidence : you, that set 
 up to be well brought up ! Now, just 
 keep your letter — it's a forgery." 
 
 It's true, it's true," cried the 
 young girl. 0, papa, don't go on 
 this way ! Will nothing open your 
 eyes ? — will nothing bring you to your 
 
A Defeat 251 
 
 senses ? It will all end miserably, I 
 know. Yon will have mamma's death 
 on yon." 
 
 The Beanty sneered. He was im- 
 mensely excited. 
 
 Much any of you cared for me all 
 this time ! Whatever happens it has 
 not been my fault. I mean to be mas- 
 ter here, in my house,, never fear. I 
 have done with all that. 
 
 Livy was not equal to this emer- 
 gency. She had overrated her strength. 
 Who could be expected to resist such 
 evidence ? And if her infatuated father 
 would see nothing, know nothing, 
 would be convinced of nothing ; what 
 struck her very heart with a chill was, 
 that there was so much worse to come. 
 What was to become of them ? Even his 
 face — ordinarily so quiet, so calmly 
 
252 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 complaisant — seemed to have quite 
 changed, and to have taken a vindic- 
 tive, malicious, venomous look. 
 
 Was it some evil genius — some cruel 
 Puck, that haunts houses, and causes 
 little events to take place at the exact 
 moment when (in conjunction with 
 others) they can do the utmost mischief 
 conceivable? — was it some such fami- 
 liar who contrived that a letter should 
 arrive at this precise moment for the 
 Beauty ? He gave a cry when he saw 
 the writing, and tore it open. Livy 
 turned pale ; she had an instinct who 
 this was from. 
 
 There/' he said, with an over- 
 whelming sense of tritmph ; there is a 
 Providential refutation of your calum- 
 nies ! This noble and slandered woman ! 
 You should all go on your knees and 
 
A Defeat. 253 
 
 beg her pardoD. How dare you 
 attempt to take away the character of 
 a pure and spotless lady. Listen to 
 this " And he read aloud : — 
 
 ^ I have decided on leaving England 
 at once — you will guess the reason. 
 No one shall say that I caused dissen- 
 sion in any family. Not that I could 
 not carrv on the battle with those who 
 resort to the dishonourable weapons of 
 calumny. You have spoken of some 
 letter in which I wrote disparagingly of 
 you. Perhaps I did ; perhaps I did 
 not. When you think to whom this 
 letter was written — ^a man bankrupt 
 in character, and one whom no un- 
 married girl should he seen with for a 
 second^ without exciting the worst' 
 
 suspicions-- , but I say no more. 
 
 This is a delicate matter. 
 
254 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 ' Come and see me to-nighfc for 
 the last time. I spoke a little warmly 
 last niglit ; but I was hurt by your 
 unkind suspicions. If it was shown to 
 you, even in my own hand-writing, 
 that I had spoken of you in any 
 way, you should know me well enough 
 by this time to disdain any such 
 evidence. Any one that knew me 
 thoroughly would believe me before the 
 most convincing evidence in the world. 
 I should not accept any story of you, 
 in preference to what I know of your 
 own nature. Come to me to-night. I 
 count on you; for I want your aid, 
 sympathy, and advice above all.' " 
 
 " There," cried the Beauty. " I am 
 ashamed of myself for having listened 
 to you so long !" 
 
A Defeat. 255 
 
 ''You are not going," faltered Livy, 
 in a faint voice. '' You cannot do 
 this." 
 
 " No power on earth shall detain me." 
 
 Livy could not restrain her scorn, 
 
 ''You should take money with you 
 then. She says she wants your aid." 
 
 " She shall have it then. Nothing 
 that I can do could make up to her 
 for the outrages I have allowed to 
 be heaped on her from my house — 
 from people that depend on me. I 
 shall never forgive myself! Never, so 
 long as I live !" 
 
 " Oh ! but you have not heard what 
 she said. 0 read ! read ! I conjure 
 you !" 
 
 " Don't forget yourself," he answer- 
 ed. " How do I know what you and 
 your mother have been at. You would 
 
256 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 not scruple to carry out your de- 
 signs." 
 
 ''You must read it. There! take it 
 — it will open your poor eyes." 
 
 ''You are growing too impertinent," 
 said the Beauty in a fury ; and, taking 
 the letter thus thrust on him, tore it 
 up, and threw the pieces on the 
 ground. 
 
 Livy gave a cry, and, turning, left 
 the room. Her last chance seemed 
 gone. 
 
CHAPTER XV. 
 
 DALILAH. 
 
 The Beauty remained pacing up and 
 down full of joy and triumph. The 
 world was indeed opening for him 
 now. He was able to conquer his 
 enemies— which they were — to take 
 the management of events, which he 
 had never done before. What time 
 he had lost ! Yes, he would go, would 
 fly to that noble generous creature, 
 who had so trusted him ; even to show 
 them that. It was growing intolerable, 
 this constant iuterference ; they must 
 be reduced to order, and he must 
 
 VOL. III. s 
 
258 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 assert himself. As he thought of all 
 this, his eye fell upon the torn-up 
 fragments lying on the ground. They 
 would try to prove anything to him ; 
 they hated her so, they would think 
 it no harm to make her write any- 
 thing. 
 
 He took up a few of the pieces 
 and looked at them intently. Yes, it 
 was her writing, there could be no 
 mistake, but then his eye fell on a 
 most disagreeable and disturbing word. 
 
 Fribble." Yes, it was quite plain, 
 " fribble," it was. He got some more 
 of the pieces, and began reading what 
 was on them, impelled by an overwhelm- 
 ing curiosity — but his was a woman's 
 mind. Then he came on another dis- 
 turbing word, Bmpty-hea — ." Finally 
 he had gathered them all up carefully. 
 
Dalilah. 
 
 259 
 
 had taken them to his room, and spent 
 a long time putting them laboriously 
 together ; no child's puzzle could have 
 been more difficult. When he had 
 done, he got up, tore the whole into 
 smaller fragments still, and flung them 
 out of the window. He was hot and 
 angry. 
 
 So this is the way she chooses 
 to speak of me — never mind ! 0 they 
 are all the same — never mind, I shall 
 make her feel." 
 
 There was a book of telegrams in 
 the hall. In a moment he had filled 
 up one with as indignant and cutting 
 a protest as could be transmitted by 
 the public agency of the telegraph : — 
 
 ^^I am not able to go to town, and 
 wish you a pleasant voyage." 
 
 But at the same time he determined 
 
 s 2 
 
260 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 not to give them the triumph of seeing 
 that they were right. He would go 
 up to town on business of his own. 
 Yes, he would show them that he was 
 not to be trampled on — what a wonder- 
 ful deal of trampling that poor human 
 nature bears so well ? He was not going 
 to be crushed by every one, he was 
 very bitter about all that, and that she 
 for whom he had done so much should 
 have turned false — no matter, they 
 should not have that triumph. 
 
 He had long since sent his telegram, 
 and was getting ready to go upon his 
 expedition, when his daughter came 
 down again, with woe and misery in 
 her face. 
 
 Where are you going, papa dear," 
 she said, quickly noticing his prepara- 
 tions, Dot away, not up to town?" 
 
Dalilah. 
 
 261 
 
 " Yes ! must I ask for leave V 
 She's not well — indeed she is not. 
 I think we ought to send off for some- 
 one to see her, she is so weak and 
 languid." 
 
 The Beauty laughed scornfully. He 
 was pretty well up, as he thought, to 
 these " tricks." 
 
 Oh I know, I understand ; oh she 
 is very strong ; she used to go to balls 
 enough, and would bear any exertion. 
 But why not send for a doctor if it is 
 necessary ?" 
 
 From the look of contempt which 
 Livy gave him, he shrank away. His 
 own daughter was beginning to despise 
 him. Without a word she turned and 
 left him, and yet he could not quite 
 make up his mind what to do. And 
 full of the deepest resentment, discon- 
 
262 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 tented with all tlie world, and longing 
 for some object — toy even, which be 
 could crush and break, to show that 
 he had power — he paced about till 
 nearly five o'clock, not able to make 
 up his mind as to what he was to do. 
 Just at that time drove up the local 
 doctor who attended them, and who 
 went in a little hastily. 
 
 The Beauty smiled sarcastically. He 
 knew these women very well; in their 
 spite, this was a bit of acting to work 
 on him. Some hysterics, to be mag- 
 nified into serious illness, with speeches 
 attendant, Oh you must take care, 
 it is very critical, &c." He was well 
 accustomed to all that, to women's 
 fancied illnesses, and he resented its 
 being made an instrument for tyranniz- 
 ing over him. When the doctor was 
 
Dalilah. 
 
 263 
 
 going away he came into Mr. Talbot's 
 study, I don't like the state of things 
 upstairs at all. We must take care ; 
 nerves finely strung and all that — fever 
 might supervene." 
 
 The Beauty looked at him scornfully. 
 This was the old story. He had been 
 duly primed upstairs. 
 
 " Of course, of course," he said, I 
 understand all that." 
 
 The doctor stared at him ; he could 
 not understand those glaring eyes. 
 
 " I am serious," he said, we must 
 really look to this, Mr. Talbot, your 
 wife is in a critical way. She is excited, 
 and must be soothed and kept quiet." 
 
 Of course," said the Beauty, pet- 
 tishly ; she is kept quiet in this 
 house ; every attention is paid to her 
 here. What do you mean ?" 
 
264 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 The doctor again stared at him. At 
 that moment a cab drove up to the 
 door, and one of the porters belonging 
 to the station jumped out, a letter was 
 brought in ; which the Beauty tore 
 open eagerly. The doctor went his 
 way wondering. 
 
 Livy had come down again, and was 
 standing before her father, pale and 
 agitated. He was devouring the letter^ 
 every word of it, and she knew per- 
 fectly, though she could not see the 
 writing, or whom it was from. The 
 very hand- writing that he read was in 
 his poor fatuous face. 
 
 Come up, father," she said, she 
 had latterly begun to call him by that 
 formal and official name, she is 
 very ill, you have excited her and made 
 her ill." 
 
Dalilah. 
 
 265 
 
 He was still reading ; lie was not 
 listening. The letter ran — 
 
 I have come down from London, 
 and am waiting at the station to see 
 you — if you will come to me. Say to 
 the bearer that you will, or that you 
 will not. A simple answer, yes or no, 
 will be enough." 
 
 Livy, still excited, struck in — alas ! 
 injudiciously — 
 
 You have not lost all humanity, 
 or feeling, or duty ? You dare receive 
 such things, when she is ill and in 
 peril ?" 
 
 I don't believe it," he said. This 
 is some of your tricks." 
 
 Tricks ! come up and see then ! 
 Poor mamma, she is ill indeed ; and it 
 is you who have made her so." 
 
 *^Yes; put it on me! I am up to 
 
266 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 that game by this time. 1 have busi- 
 ness that takes me up to town." 
 
 Takes you up to town ! You 
 would leave her in that state ?" 
 
 " Oh, yes ; I am up to all that. I'll 
 find her perfectly w^ell when I come 
 back." 
 
 " You are lost to all decency. Go, 
 then, I shall not detain you : and God 
 forgive you !" 
 
 He was in a fever to get away, and 
 yet was undecided. He felt some shame 
 when she left him. He was not bad 
 altogether ; it was this miserable in- 
 fatuation working on his vanity that 
 was causing this moral cataract to 
 spread over his eyes. A sort of shame 
 and pity took possession of him, and 
 he went up hesitating, and with soft 
 steps. ''At all events I can just see 
 
Dalilah. 
 
 267 
 
 her : though women's hysterics " 
 
 But he caught the sound of voices, 
 
 and his own name, uttered in excited 
 
 tones 
 
 The blinded, empty creature ; God 
 
 forgive him ! I despise him " 
 
 It was enough. He turned, walked 
 
 down stairs, got his hat, entered the 
 
 cab, and was driven away. 
 
CHAPTER XVI. 
 livy's plan. 
 
 There was one up-stairs tending a 
 poor wasted figure in the bed, who 
 caught the sound of the wheels, and to 
 whom it might have been as dismal 
 and grating as the sound of the crumbled 
 gravel under the wheels of a hearse, 
 bearing away the remains of one whom 
 she loved more than her own life. The 
 ears of the sick lady were too dull to 
 catch that fatal sound. 
 
 Her indefatigable child was ever 
 ready, ever versatile where her amazing 
 
Livy^s Plan, 
 
 269 
 
 affection was concerned, and whicli 
 furnished her with arms, with devices, 
 power, strength ; nay. with hearty and 
 a spirit that never flagged a moment. 
 Here in this new disastrous state of 
 things she was only nerved to more 
 desperate exertion. Yet what could she 
 do ; what could she next turn to ? In 
 half an hour, or an hour, her mother 
 would ask for him. What could she 
 say ? what excuse could she give ? No 
 subterfuge would avail ; it must come 
 out : and it did, after this fashion. 
 
 It was amazing what a change had 
 come over the once famous lady of 
 fashion, who within these few days 
 seemed, as she lay there, like one who 
 had received some terrible shock. Late 
 in the evening she roused herself, and 
 asked gently for Mm, 
 
270 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 " He is gone out, mamma, dearest " 
 — not knowing what to say, 
 
 ''Where? When will he be back? 
 After all, dear, do you know what I 
 have been thinking ? We have been 
 too serious, too severe in the whole 
 matter. I may have magnified it; I 
 am a poor foolish sick woman. He 
 looks at these things in his own way ; 
 it does not go beyond fancy, and it 
 amuses him. When will he be back, 
 dear ?" 
 
 " Not till late, mamma, I fear. I 
 think he had business in London." 
 " Business in London /" 
 
 Down toppled the little card house 
 the poor lady had built up. A blank- 
 ness fell upon both, but she said not 
 a word. A little later she asked about 
 some letter that was to have gone to 
 
Livi/s Plan. 271 
 
 the post. A maid, who was fluttering 
 about the room, struck in, eager to 
 soothe her. 
 
 It was late, m'm ; but we gave it to 
 the lady's cabman." 
 
 The ladv's cabman !" faltered Mrs. 
 Talbot, raising herself up. 
 
 Alas ! no ingenious prevarication 
 could avail. What lady ? what cab ? 
 It had all to come out. A cab had beem 
 sent up from the station, by a lady who 
 tvas waiting there, and Mr. Talbot had 
 gone away in it. 
 
 In vain the protests and signs of 
 Livy ; in vam lier despairing pantomime 
 to the foolish woman who had told all 
 this story. 
 
 The unhappy lady gazed at the maid, 
 then restrained herself a moment, and 
 in a low suppressed voice, demanded 
 
272 
 
 Bemity Talbot. 
 
 further details. There could be no 
 farther concealment- — the telegram, the 
 messenger, the cabj all was quietly in- 
 vestigated : Then she said : 
 
 " I see it all now. I know what 
 this means. It is the beginning of the 
 end." 
 
 Passionately our Livy strove to 
 soothe her. With an ingenuity worthy 
 of a special pleader, she invalidated 
 every apparent argument that her un- 
 happy mother clutched at, in despera- 
 tion. 
 
 '^It is that woman. I knew it from 
 the beginning. She is stronger than I 
 am ! I ought to have known that from 
 the first day. I made a feeble in- 
 effectual struggle; but I was a poor 
 ineffectual creature ; no match for her. 
 She is a wicked cruel demon, but she 
 
Livys Plan. 
 
 273 
 
 is stronger than I am. I own it. She 
 has won, and I have lost." 
 
 She was trembling all over, shaking 
 and quivering ; some new hysterical 
 visitation was coming over her. Livy 
 was aghast. 
 
 " It is not so much aflfectibn for him. 
 I don't take the credit of that. Let 
 any one who likes know it ; it is mor- 
 tification, and disappointment, not to 
 be able to defeat a creature of that sort 
 — a poor second-rate thing. Well may 
 the world despise me." 
 
 She paused. Then went on again. - 
 What an infatuation ! What a 
 miserable, hopeless infatuation ! There, 
 he had it before him in black and 
 white, and yet he would not believe 
 his poor eyes. And yet, to get any- 
 thing like the same result, no one 
 
 VOL. in. T 
 
274 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 could guess all that I have gone 
 through — the miserable struggle of 
 many years — to secure not a tenth 
 part of what this woman has done in 
 a few weeks." 
 
 Dearest mother, don't think of it : 
 don't worry yourself, I implore of 
 
 YOU." 
 
 V 
 
 But others will think of it — talk 
 of it — laugh at it ! Don't you imagine 
 that I have not old enemies of twenty 
 years' time, who are still as envenomed 
 against me as ever, and would do any- 
 thing to mortify me ; and would enjoy 
 my mortification even after this long 
 interval r I have insulted and trampled 
 on them ; and they would enjoy this 
 reveno^e. Oh ! I cannot endure the 
 thought." 
 
 There was something so new, so 
 
Livys Plan. 
 
 275 
 
 wild, so strange to Livy in this tone 
 and excitement, that she gazed at her 
 mother with something of terror. There 
 was fresh wildness, a new fire and shif- 
 tiness in her eyes which she had never 
 noticed before. This dwelling on one 
 subject had often, she had heard, pro- 
 duced some terrible result. The doc- 
 tor's warning — to soothe, to keep 
 quiet" — came back on her. But how? 
 No doctor's prescription could tell her. 
 She felt herself utterly helpless — in 
 utter despair ! 
 
 It was now^ past five o'clock, and 
 growing dark. She went on more 
 excitedly still. 
 
 Am I to sit down here patiently, 
 and be trampled on — put up with any 
 treatment — have the finger of scorn 
 pointed at me ? Never ! I shall not 
 
 T 2 
 
276 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 belie my whole life ; I shall die 
 struggling, as T have lived. Come, let 
 us go. Let us follow, and bring him 
 back." 
 
 " Mother ! mother ! what are you 
 about ? You will kill yourself. The 
 doctor said you were not to think of 
 such things." 
 
 In a wild, earnest way the mother 
 said : " Let us go : go, and at once ! 
 Not a moment must be lost. It is 
 only mercy to him. Let us set out at 
 once, and bring him back." 
 
 Oh, but mamma, how ? You must 
 not. It is too late now. He will be 
 here : I know he will return." 
 
 There was a strange solemnity about 
 Mrs. Talbot ; a sort of wild earnestness, 
 joined with power and determination, 
 >yhich quite alarmed her daughter. She 
 
Livys Flan, 
 
 277 
 
 could not resist, and she felt that she 
 could not resist, her purpose. 
 
 In a short time a fly from the village 
 was at the door. The weeping Livy, 
 looking at the pale, worn, ghastly face, 
 almost fell on her knees to detain h'er. 
 But there was a stern purpose in the 
 mother's face there was no misunder- 
 standing. Livy was helpless, and got 
 into the carriage with her. The won- 
 dering servants stood at the door 
 watching this mysterious departure, 
 speculating and auguring the worst. 
 " Missus was taking leave of her senses, 
 going out at such a time of night." 
 
 At the station she almost fainted, 
 but with indomitable resolution she 
 rallied again. Long after, Livy recalled 
 that weary transit in the railway car- 
 riage — the dull, damp and dusky blue 
 
278 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 cushions, which gave the idea of a 
 cell. Mrs. Talbot seemed lost in a 
 sort of abstraction — her lips were com- 
 pressed. There was no one in the 
 compartment but the two ladies. 
 
 The journey seemed eternal — never 
 coming to an end. And in the mean- 
 time it began to grow dark, and about 
 half an hour from London the lamps 
 were lighted, which gave a kind of 
 mournful and lugubrious air to the 
 interior of their blue cell. 
 
 Then they were on the platform, 
 amid the crowd pushing past them, 
 looking for luggage, with the cold 
 evening air sweeping up the station, 
 along the platform. 
 
 They got into a cab, and then, for 
 the first time, the question occurred, 
 
 Where vvere they to go?" 
 
Livys Plan, 279 
 
 Mrs. Talbot roused herself out of 
 her reverie. 
 
 You see, dearest," said her daugh- 
 ter, eagerly, we shall not find him. 
 How can we think of looking in this 
 vast city — " 
 
 For him ? Let us seek her. I 
 do not want him. Where does she 
 live ?" 
 
 This question was put fiercely, and 
 determinedly. 
 
 ^'I want to meet her ; for this night 
 shall end the whole struggle, now 
 and for ever ! I cannot endure it 
 longer." 
 
 In a faltering voice Livy said, 
 
 ''She was at the hotel — Star- 
 ridge's." 
 
 " Then drive to Starridge's." 
 
 They drove off* to that well-known 
 
280 
 
 Beauty Talbot 
 
 and select family hotel. As they came 
 up to the door, the light was reflected 
 * back from the shining plate-glass 
 windows. A few carriages, sober and 
 glittering in their windows, also stood 
 by, to take away the owners. There 
 was a - Queen's ball that night, and 
 various distinguished county families 
 had come up to town, to Starridge's, 
 to go to the solemnity. There were 
 lights in many windows, where the 
 young ladies were dressing. A blaze, 
 as from a lantern came out from the 
 hall, where servants were waiting. 
 Was Mrs. Labouchere there ?" 
 Yes, she was staying there ; but was 
 engaged. 
 
 No matter. They must take up 
 that name." 
 
 It was impossible. She was just 
 
Livi/s Plan. 
 
 281 
 
 going away — to the Continent, by the 
 night train. 
 
 Ah, she was flying — beaten — afraid to 
 carry on the contest ! 
 
 The sick lady looked over at her 
 daughter with a sort of exultation. 
 •They were certain ? No mistake ? 
 Well, they supposed so : there were her 
 boxes coming down. 
 
 No matter, I shall not trust her," 
 said Mrs. Talbot, I shall wait on 
 her, and must see her too. She will 
 think when she hears that I have been 
 here, that I was afraid to meet 
 her." 
 
 Livy did not answer her, did not 
 hear her ; in fact her whole heart and 
 soul were absorbed by a figure which 
 she saw in the hall, and recognized, 
 a figure which had glided down, and 
 
282 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 was busy over the trunks, and giving 
 directions with a sort of fussiness — 
 utterly unconscious that any domestic 
 eyes were gazing on his movements. 
 It was a truly dramatic situation. He 
 had even an air of command, the old 
 foolish bustle and importance — order- • 
 ing the waiters about — it was a pitiable 
 sight indeed for her. 
 
 But the whole anxiety and burden 
 on her mind was the fear lest her 
 mother should see, or catch a glimpse. 
 At times his face was even turned full 
 on the cab, in the glare of the light ; 
 but still she did not remark him. Some- 
 thing must be done, for she wished to 
 get out, go upstairs and meet her 
 enemy; when with a sudden thought, 
 Livy said hurriedly. 
 
 You must not go in, mother, you 
 
Livys Plan. 
 
 283 
 
 cannot do it ! In this place too. Or, 
 at least, let me go in first, and then 
 you can follow, if yon wish." 
 
 As she spoke, she got out and 
 entered. No one noticed the veiled 
 young girl who had fluttered in so 
 softly, and she heard her father giving 
 words of command in his own old 
 foolish and excited way. 
 
 " Here I say ! Get down that trunk 
 — we shall be late ! Has my portman- 
 teaic been got doicn ? See that it is 
 labelled ' For Paris,' at the station." 
 
 " My portmanteau got down !" What 
 were these terrible words that seemed 
 to strike her full in the face, like blows 
 of a club ? 
 
 Was he going with her ? 
 
CHAPTEE XVII. 
 
 FATHER AND DAUGHTER. 
 
 He was in the shadow now, out of 
 the glare of the light, so that he could 
 not be seen from the street. She 
 stepped lightly aside into a parlour 
 that was open, and bade one of the 
 waiters tell that gentleman to come to 
 her. 
 
 The confounded look in the Beauty's 
 face, the rage, vexation, disappointment, 
 was something to see. 
 
 "You here !" he said, "what do you 
 want ? I won't have this. Now, just 
 go back. I won't go with you." 
 
Father and Daughter. 285 
 
 What does all this wickedness 
 rrjean ?" she said, with almost solemnity 
 in her voice, I heard you give some 
 directions about a trunk." 
 
 Yes, always spying on me. What if 
 I did ? I'll do as I like now. I am sick 
 of the whole business !" 
 
 He was trembling with excitement. 
 Yet still, though she saw now the un- 
 utterable depths to which his folly was 
 leading him — folly still, though on the 
 verge of being converted into wicked- 
 ness — she wished to save him, to 
 preserve their dignity, before the house, 
 and before her mother. She would not 
 even pretend to see what his pur- 
 pose had been. Such delicacy for 
 their mutual interest had this young 
 girl. 
 
 ^' Ah ! come home at once," she 
 
286 
 
 Beautii Talbot. 
 
 said. Give up all this folly. Say 
 eoodbve to her, and let her q;o." 
 
 I don't want you here. I wish you 
 would leave me alone. Such work and 
 fuss as it is. folio wino; me about in this 
 way. I can't go up to London, without 
 having you all after me in this way. I 
 tell you, I won't have it." 
 
 ''And do you tell me/' said she, 
 that you will leave this with — ? You 
 cannot, you dare not I" 
 
 " Dare not ? TThat do vou mean r 
 jSow, just go away. I won't have this 
 sort of thing. Pursuing me up to 
 London as if I were a child !" 
 
 Come, come, dear papa, come home 
 with me — with, us." 
 
 " With us r 
 
 " Yes ; mamma is waiting outside. 
 She was determined to come up here." 
 
Father and Daughter. 287 
 
 The face of the Beauty flushed up. 
 He felt himself a miserable, degraded, 
 hunted, persecuted man. All this was 
 childish, undignified, and he would not 
 " put up with it." 
 
 "Just go away," he repeated; "I 
 don't want you here ; I won't have 
 it." 
 
 But mamma ? 0, poor mamma, she 
 is so ill, and waiting there outside ! 
 Yes." 
 
 "Waiting there outside? 0, this is 
 unendurable. How dare you do this? 
 It is uncalled for — and I don't choose 
 it — and I won't have it ; so I 
 command you to go away and leave 
 me." 
 
 " No, father," she answered, calmly, 
 and even sternlv : " I remain here — and 
 she shall remain too-" 
 
288 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 He was thunderstruck at this firm 
 tone. A waiter entered here and 
 said — 
 
 " Please, sir, Mrs. Labouchere 
 wishes to see you up stairs ; she is 
 waiting." 
 
 It was a terrible situation. 
 
 " Now/' she said, and her nerves 
 and firm purpose were all strung with 
 a sort of supernatural strength, now, 
 papa, there is no time for compromise 
 or hesitation. We are at arms' length, 
 and I will not see my poor sweet 
 treasure, who is at the door, perish 
 through your unkindness. What do 
 you wish ? Will you come away with 
 us, and say goodbye to this woman ; or 
 if you do not, do you choose a scene 
 here — to be disgraced before the house, 
 to be exposed in this undignified 
 
Father and Daughter. 289 
 
 position ? Say, at once, which you 
 prefer?" 
 
 The Beauty was speechless at this 
 arrogant defiance. He was enraged at 
 being thus checked by a mere foohsh 
 girh But what was he to do ? Beside 
 himself with anger, he turned round 
 suddenly, and left the room. 
 
 There was triumph in Livy's eyes. 
 She paused a moment to collect her 
 thoughts, then hurried from the room, 
 and ran to her mother waiting outside. 
 
 " Dearest," she said, eagerly, pro- 
 mise me this ; everything will go well, 
 if you only leave it to me ; put all into 
 my hands — oh, you must, you shall ; 
 you must not interfere ; but just go 
 away to the station, and wait for me. 
 Oh, do this, and all shall be well. Fly 
 from him !" 
 
 VOL. III. u 
 
290 Beauty Talbot 
 
 Never; so long as I live I shall 
 never do tliat ?" 
 
 '' You must— it is the only thing I 
 ever asked of you. It is not flying 
 from her. I am a match for her. 
 Leave all to me. There ! there, coach- 
 man/' and she bade him drive away 
 to the station with unspeakable rehef ; 
 she saw that her mother -made no 
 further protest, and then she hurried 
 back into the room. She found Mrs. 
 Labouchere, in travelling dress, waiting 
 there. 
 
CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 A OEISTS. 
 
 That lady's face was contorted with 
 anger, so as almost to look ugly. Slie 
 stamped her foot as Livy, with flushed 
 cheek, came running in. 
 
 So you have come again. I am 
 sorry I have no time to wait and see 
 you. Mr. Talbot is going to see me 
 on my journey. We have very little 
 time to lose." 
 
 " You can go, then," said Livy, with 
 a tremulous voice. ''1 do not detain 
 vou." 
 
 " I know that. You would scarcely 
 
 u 2 
 
292 
 
 Bemif}/ Talbot 
 
 venture to interfere witli my move- 
 ments. Things have not gone quite 
 so fer as that." 
 
 Tbev have srone fer enough," said 
 Livy : but ii must stop here." 
 
 ••'Thar is as ir mav be. Tl:en wha: 
 is the object of your visit at this extra- 
 ordinary hour ?" 
 
 I v»-ish mv father lo escort ma 
 back." 
 
 "I am afraid," said the lady, look- 
 ing at him T\-ith a doubtful smUe ; 
 
 " s he will not receive his 
 ^ you. i^etum 
 
 I have had enough of this/' he said, 
 imparl- : v. 'and won't be interfered 
 with. I : u ro ^: at 
 
 once. I ^ha:: :^ce Mrs. Labouchere to 
 the train." 
 
A Crisis. 
 
 293 
 
 " Then I shall wait for you here." 
 
 " I am not returning here. Stand 
 out of the v^^ay," he added, roughly. 
 
 " No, he won't return here to- 
 night/' said Mrs. Labouchere, mean- 
 ingly. However, observe I have 
 nothing to do with his movements. 
 Whatever good-natured ofl&ces he per- 
 forms for me, they are all spontaneous, 
 I assure you." 
 
 It is very disinterested of him," 
 said Livy, her voice trembling; ''and 
 very spontaneous of him, considering 
 the picture you have drawn of him 
 in letters to your friends. Poor un- 
 fortunate papa ! nothing will open his 
 eyes." 
 
 " How dare you ? I won't have this. 
 It was a forgery ; and never referred to 
 me. So much for your spite, and this 
 
294 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 conspiracy. I never believed a word of 
 it, Mrs. Laboucliere; and you made it 
 as clear as light to me." 
 
 Oh, that is the explanation," said 
 Livy,* turning to her enemy in triumph. 
 " So you stoop to that — to deny your 
 own handwriting ; well, all through I 
 gave you credit for ingenuousness that 
 was above board ; but I did not 
 think you would descend to that mean- 
 ness." 
 
 The other was much confused and 
 colouring. 
 
 " I never did deny it ; but I said that 
 there was a conspiracy to set every- 
 thing in the worst light." 
 
 Yes," he added, supporting her 
 eagerly ; and that it applied to quite 
 another thing — I understand you." 
 
 ''But let us understand clearly now. 
 
A Crisis. 
 
 295 
 
 Surely, I — we — saw the words with 
 his name : it made my cheeks tingle 
 as I read. Surely, there could be 
 no mistake in that. Do you deny 
 it?" 
 
 Of course she does," he said, 
 eagerly. You know nothing about 
 the matter." 
 
 " I do not deny it ! and never did !" 
 she said, fiercely. No one shall 
 accuse me of untruth. I own it here 
 before him — make what you like of 
 it." 
 
 "Ah! you hear, father." 
 He faltered, and looked at Mrs. 
 Labouchere. 
 
 Then what did it mean ? You told 
 
 Never. I did not wish to hurt 
 you — nor do I now, dear Mr. Talbot. 
 
296 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 I will explain all these things to you 
 by and by. Come, come, now," said 
 the siren, putting on a most .seductive 
 and enchanting smile, Come with 
 me. You will not desert me in the 
 face of calumny — I can count on you at 
 this last moment." 
 
 A waiter entered now, and disturbed 
 this curious and unmelodious trio that 
 was going on. The infatuated Beauty 
 gave way at once. 
 
 "Yes, I am ready!" he exclaimed. 
 
 The young girl gave a cry, and 
 placed herself before the door. 
 
 She stood between them and the 
 door, and the spirit of determination 
 which filled her face, gave her quite the 
 air of a heroine suited for painting or 
 sculpture. 
 
 You caQ leave this room if you like, 
 
A Crisis. 
 
 297 
 
 but I warn you there shall be a scene 
 here — in the hall — before the house — 
 before the world ! You can go to the 
 railway station, if jon wish ; I do not 
 hinder you. But again I warn you. 
 I will follow you there, and shall find 
 a way to expose you. I know" that she 
 • — you will not care for such an ex- 
 posure; but you wiW^ papa. You have 
 delicacy, and sensitiveness, and decency, 
 and will not allow this lady to expose 
 you in such a way." 
 
 Mrs. Labouchere looked at her with 
 an expression of baffled rage and fury. 
 She stamped her foot. 
 
 Are you her father? Do you put 
 up with this language ? and do you 
 allow me to be spoken to in this fashion 
 ^ — to be insulted ? Are you so weak 
 that you cannot assert your power over 
 
298 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 a girl of her sort P This is a pretty 
 exhibition indeed for me to be treated 
 to. I wish to pass out — I shall be 
 late." 
 
 " You can go if you will. So can 
 he," said the young girl, suddenly 
 giving way and throwing the door 
 open. " But mark — he knows me, 
 and that I have never shrunk from 
 doing all that I say. Leave that hall 
 with him, and I call on the people 
 of the hotel, and tell them my story. 
 That I am his daughter — that you 
 are 
 
 She stopped. Mrs. Labouchere looked 
 furious. The Beauty was pale with 
 anger, irresolution, and terror. He 
 knew not what to do. He was cowed 
 before his own child. He was not 
 quite pleased either by the tone of the 
 
A Crisis. 
 
 299 
 
 lady, whose companion tie had been, 
 and for whom he had sacrificed so 
 much. She had turned on him, with 
 actually a sneer. 
 
 I am afraid," she said, you are 
 hardly fitted for the rather responsible 
 situation you have placed yourself in. 
 Have you measured your own strength ? 
 At least, you should have done so, 
 before taking up such a position. A 
 man should learn to control his own 
 household first. Still, your daughter 
 meant no such low, vulgar scene as 
 she seems to threaten me with. Such 
 may suit a certain class, but not me 
 at all. But this is what T do. I call 
 upon you — at least you can do this — 
 to take care that I am not exposed to 
 any exhibition of this sort. I require it 
 from you — it is the least you can do 
 
300 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 After all, this young girl, weak, 
 powerless as sbe seemed, had brought 
 them into this dilemma. The Beauty, 
 stung with mortification at the de- 
 sertion — hurt at being addressed in 
 this way before his daughter, before 
 whom he wished to keep up his pride — 
 kept looking from one to the other. 
 Then he made a desperate rally. 
 
 I command you to go away, and 
 to make no fuss. Do you hear me ; 
 you m.ust obey me." 
 
 Livy never stirred, only shook her 
 head and smiled. 
 
 There is the door," she said, it 
 is open, I go on before you into the 
 hall. But if he goes, I shall do what 
 I say, as surely as there is a heaven 
 above us." 
 
 ''A good defiance and challenge," 
 
A Crisis. 
 
 301 
 
 said the lady. " They can speak any 
 way to you, in your own family. You 
 cannot do it," she added, pityingly, 
 " the leopard cannot change his spots. 
 You had better submit." 
 
 But she shall submit. I am not 
 going to be treated in this way. Let 
 her do it if she dare. Com.e Mrs. La- 
 bouchere, you shall see." 
 
 He offered his arm. Livy turned 
 pale, her heart misgave her. 
 
 But help came, and at that moment 
 the door was opened, and a servant 
 entered, saying — 
 
 " Mrs. Talbot is waiting, sir, and 
 wishes to see you." 
 
CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 FINALE. 
 
 In a moment that pale face and worn 
 figure stood before them, in the door- 
 way. 
 
 Mrs. Labouchere stamped on the 
 ground impatiently. 
 
 " You are but a clumsy workman," 
 she said to him in a low voice. This 
 is clearly not your department. Take 
 my advice and return to your old domestic 
 habits. It will be the wisest thing 
 you can do. Dear me ! What an in- 
 vasion, the whole family come to see 
 me off!" 
 
Finale. 
 
 303 
 
 Going away, are you, going away," 
 said Mrs. Talbot. Thank God !" 
 
 Oh ! now, no scene or confusion ! 
 I beg for that. All I want is to get 
 to my continental train without any 
 confusion, before the people of the 
 house. I will withdraw — retire — will 
 do anything so as to keep up my 
 credit as a lady with the people of 
 the house. Any family scenes or things 
 of that sort I have not been accustomed 
 to. Indeed., the game is not worth 
 the candle." 
 
 The Beauty was utterly helpless, his 
 head hanging down on his breast, not 
 knowing what to do, and bitterly re- 
 senting these open sneers. 
 
 The game is not worth the candle, 
 of which I have already burnt too much 
 in my life. I want all the waxlight I 
 
304^ 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 can get. It is Yevj precious. Ah, my 
 dear Mr. Talbot, you do not know 
 how to manage things. It is out of 
 your Hue. Take my advice, as that of 
 an old friend, don't ineddle with these 
 things in future. You have the awk- 
 ward knack of blundering. See what a 
 little meeting you have contrived here ! 
 Your daughter, wife, all gathered in my 
 apartment, threatening to call in the 
 people of the house, to raise some vulgar 
 storm ! Shocking ! The situation you 
 see is beyond your control. So now I 
 advise you— go back quietly in honour- 
 able custody, be submissive, and the 
 past will be perhaps condoned, and, 
 above all, in future devote yourself to 
 chronicling small beer, and to your old 
 department, for which you are emi- 
 nently — - — " 
 
Finale. 
 
 305 
 
 '^'How nasty; how unkind of you," 
 said the Beauty, to speak to me in 
 this way. You have no heart, and 
 they were right when they said so " 
 
 " Yes," said Mrs. Talbot, We can 
 see what she is now. Thank God for 
 opening your eyes at last." 
 
 The lady burst out laughing. 
 Wo heart, he says. Why surely you 
 were not taking it all au grand serieux. 
 Surely you must have seen, Mr. Beauty 
 Talbot, that I had something more than 
 some pastime in view ; something with 
 which to fill up my hours. Whatever end 
 I had in view, Mrs. Talbot, it has been 
 carried out perfectly. I have succeeded." 
 
 " No," said Livy, looking at her 
 steadily. No, you have not." 
 
 ''Take care," said the lady. "Do 
 not try me too far. As it is, you do 
 
 VOL. III. X 
 
306 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 not know what you have done. As 
 you have chosen to take her place, 
 and have put yourself forward, you 
 have incurred a debt which I shall one 
 day call on you to pay. I only wait 
 a more convenient opportunity. Mind, 
 I warn you. You have not done with 
 Mrs. Labouchere yet !" 
 
 Threaten my poor child !" said Mrs. 
 Talbot aghast. " What has she done 
 to you, you unscrupulous woman ?" 
 
 She knows very well," said the 
 other fiercely. Let her think of it. 
 It will comfort her in all her approach* 
 ing happiness. The sweet devoted 
 daughter; the gentle creature who will, 
 of course, have her reward in marry- 
 ing the man of her choice. Yet my 
 sister-in-law she will be after all ! 
 Think of that." 
 
Finale. 
 
 307 
 
 ^'I did you no harm. I was only 
 protecting all that was most dear to me." 
 
 " You have dared to set yourself up 
 against me ! You, a poor child ! Bat 
 never fear ! all in good time. I could 
 have been content to have despised 
 you all ; had you let me alone. No ; 
 but she must insult us by open con- 
 tempt of my father's honestly-got 
 wealth, and of his origin, for which he 
 was not accountable. That insolence 
 drove me mad almost, and I vowed 
 I would punish its author as she 
 deserved — make her feel as much mor- 
 tification as she inflicted on me. Was 
 it genteel, lady-like, worthy of high 
 birth ? No matter. Let any one sur- 
 vey the whole party at this moment, 
 and say which ought to have the most 
 pride now." 
 
 X 2 
 
'K)8 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 She looked round on them all trium- 
 phantly. The picture was actually as 
 she described it. For there was the 
 tine lady, who at the beginning of this 
 story had been so haughty and insolent 
 to the nouveaii-riclie family, who had 
 amused herself at those parties of Mr. 
 Hard man, launching her little arrows 
 into the neck of her victim, like the 
 Spanish bullfighters ; the grand lady 
 sitting up enthroned, while they, the 
 low-born, had to do homage before 
 her — that miserable rebuff of the re- 
 turned picture, which affected her more 
 than anything ; certainly, for all these 
 outrages here was indemnity ! 
 
 Enter now Mr. Motcombe (who was 
 the Starridge of the day) in per- 
 son. 
 
Finale. 
 
 309 
 
 I am afraid, ma'am, you will be 
 late. There are only twelve minutes 
 to spare." 
 
 " Then I must go. Adieu ! adieu, 
 all round," she said, with her old 
 sweet manner. Eemember," she said 
 to Livy, you shall hear of me again, 
 I promise you that." 
 
 " I shall be ready, and shall reply," 
 said Livy, firmly. 
 
 Good-bye, Mr. Talbot, remember 
 my good advice — sing your little song, 
 the ' Last Eternal Smile,' was it not?" 
 — even this distortion of the title of 
 his famous song, hurt our Beauty as 
 much as anything — sing it at the 
 little parties about ; but never attempt 
 any grand enterprise of this kind. You 
 have not the stuff, the fearless gifts, to 
 carry such a thing through. Adieu." 
 
310 
 
 Becnify Talbot. 
 
 She was o-one. The trio were left 
 in that room together — a strangely hu- 
 miliated party — the Beauty literally 
 writhing with shame and mortifica- 
 tion. He was not more than a boy — 
 a boy of nearly forty or so — but still 
 an untrained boy. whose education was 
 actiyely Q-oino- on. and would not be 
 completed for the next dozen years. 
 On this principle, perhaps, it might 
 turn out a wholesome lesson for 
 him. 
 
 Mrs. Talbot was humiliated too, but 
 thankful. There was even a secret joy 
 in her heart at the deliyerance. She 
 was a true woman : her enemy was 
 gone; she had the field to herself; 
 affection would do much still. She 
 belieyed in that AYonderful arm. 
 
 But for our Liyy, what a deal there 
 
Finale, 
 
 31 L 
 
 was before her, as, indeed, slie felt. 
 It was the task, the heavy, up-hill task, 
 of reconstruction," as difficult as that 
 American business ; she would strive 
 and labour at it, however, though there 
 was nothing but ruins strewn about 
 her. 
 
 How was she even to begin. She 
 had no element in her favour. The 
 Beauty was, indeed, softened to her 
 purpose, annealed, judiciously cowed, 
 ashamed of himself ; and over him, 
 besides, there was a sort of trepida- 
 tion and uneasiness, which her quick 
 eye detected, and detected with a sort 
 of joy. 
 
 That night, when her mother was 
 above stairs, lying down, wearied, ill, 
 yet still calm, and tranquil, Livy was 
 below with her father. 
 
312 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 This uneasiness was strong upon 
 him. 
 
 We must never go back on this 
 night, father/' she said, with that 
 new, steady manner which had come 
 on her within these latter days, and 
 made him uncomfortable. The whole 
 of this night's business — would to 
 heaven it could be dropped out of 
 our lives ! Still, we need never think 
 of it again. And I promise you this, 
 dear papa, I shall school myself to 
 forget it even, provided that you do 
 your best to make me forget it." 
 
 His eyes fell upon the ground. Then 
 he said eagerly, 
 
 " She was a wicked, cruel, spiteful 
 creature ; and — " 
 
 ''Hush," said Livy ; "that is not 
 the way to look at it. Poor mamma, 
 
Finale. 313 
 
 who has suffered so much, she must 
 never be let to think of this night 
 either. It is humiliating for us all ; but 
 for her — She paused. ''And if you 
 were only kind and attentive, and tried 
 to do your best, then this night would 
 be forgotten." 
 
 He understood her. It was a sort of 
 bargain. He felt that he had re- 
 entered his old servitude, but with a 
 mistress of more mental power. But 
 he was in truth heartily ashamed. He 
 could not bring himself to think of the 
 degradation he had gone through ; his 
 public mortification ; and, above all, to 
 think that he had been on the verge 
 
 of . His sense of humiliation was 
 
 so great, that he began presently to 
 persuade himself he never seriously 
 meant to carry out such a thing; 
 
314 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 it was a mere thought, born of irrita- 
 tion. Still, when he saw his daughter's 
 calm eyes fixed upon him, he was 
 relieved thafc it was to be heard of no 
 more : he was grateful for the forbear- 
 ance, and he knew her well enough to 
 believe that she would loyally, honour- 
 ably, and fairly carry it out. 
 And so she did. 
 
 From that night a new life began for 
 them all. She stepped into that place 
 which her mother had filled, and filled 
 so indiscreetly heretofore. That abdi- 
 cation was cheerfully accorded. In 
 vain came young Mr. Hardman, her 
 lover and slave, filled with a fresh 
 admiration of her gifts and charms, to 
 beg that she would think of him now. 
 
 Her answer always was, — 
 
 " You. must wait. If you are content 
 
Finale. 
 
 315 
 
 to do this, I can love you. But I have 
 duties here more sacred. Later on we 
 shall think of each other." 
 
 And so he was content to wait, and 
 did wait very long and very patiently. 
 
 Meanwhile, the Beauty goes back 
 slowly into his old life, and sings his 
 little songs about. Indeed, he is a 
 great ^' composer " now — i.e.^ has got 
 a hold of a certain public — writing 
 under the name of Silvio." D'Alberg 
 and Cocker actually publish a long list 
 of these sweetly sentimental things, 
 which the fashionable music-masters in 
 London and Brighton teach their young 
 ladies to warble, and which are of 
 this style and description : — Songs 
 by Silvio : He gave one last and 
 lingering smile" (second thousand), 
 words by Annabel ; The Swallow ;" 
 
316 
 
 Beauty Talbot. 
 
 " Her hand in mine/' words by Fides; 
 
 His eye was soft, his voice was sweet " 
 (second thousand), words by Fides, 
 with many others. " Fides " and 
 
 Annabel " were ladies of his acquaint- 
 ance who admired him. Our Livy for- 
 warded these little pursuits as very 
 harmless and useful, worked hard at 
 revising them, for they outraged the 
 laws of harmony barbarously, and her 
 energy got them published. She had a 
 strange influence over him, possibly 
 owing to that little secret which was 
 between father and daughter. 
 
 That secret Mrs. Talbot, growing 
 fresh and fair again, from good health 
 and good spirits, never so much as 
 dreamed of. To the day of her death 
 she shall never know it. Indeed the 
 Beauty behaves very well on the whole. 
 
4 
 
 Finale. 
 
 317 
 
 He has his little harmless flirtations 
 BOW and again, at which Mrs. Talbot 
 smiles. He is indeed not a little dis- 
 turbed by one thing, which positively 
 weighs on his spirits and depresses him. 
 He feels he is getting fat ! He is hor- 
 ror-stricken at a sort of gentle incline, 
 and is going to take meal biscuits at 
 breakfast, bran cakes, and the like, 
 which he hears is better than Mr. 
 Banting's famous regimen. This, with 
 the songs, engages his chief attention. 
 
 Mrs. Labouchere is in exile. No 
 one hears of her, or has heard. 
 Mr. Hardman is going to get into Par- 
 liament. Old Dick Lumley is still alive, 
 and capering " down to dear Lady 
 Towler's," or up again from the 
 
 Duke's." These various characters 
 go on their old way. In truth their 
 
318 Beauty Talbot 
 
 story is but incomplete. Mrs. La- 
 bouclaere is certainly one of those of 
 whom people say, That woman has a 
 history." Such a one must certainly 
 work out a history for herself of some 
 kind. What that history is, may be 
 traced on another occasion. She cer- 
 tainly was not likely to forget those last 
 words she addressed to Livy ; nor was 
 she ever likely to forgive that young 
 girl. 
 
 THE END.