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/er^^ 
 
THE COUNTY 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
THE COUNTY 
 
 A NOVEL 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON 
 
 SMITH, ELDER, & CO., 15 WATERLOO PLACE 
 
 1889 
 
 [All rights reseried] 
 
{Reprinted from the ' Comhill Magazine 'J 
 
3 
 
 CO 
 
 i 
 
 sa3 
 
 V.I 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 THE FIRST VOLUME 
 
 CHAI-TER f'AGE 
 
 >? I. ESME AND FRANCES 1 
 
 t^ II. A VISITOR 13 
 
 III. THE BLOW 33 
 
 IV. THE INVITATION 50 
 
 S V. GOOD-BYE TO BILLINGTON 58 
 
 '" VI. THE FIRST DAY 73 
 
 ®^ VII. DESERTED 91 
 
 '^ VIII. A FOLLOWER 104 
 
 ^ IX. ANOTHER 123 
 
 "^ X. A COMPACT 140 
 
 XI. AU REVOIR 157 
 
 XII. HIS LETTER 161 
 
 I, XIII. TEARS, IDLE TEARS 180 
 
 f^ XIV. ADVICE GRATIS 192 
 
 ^ XV. ENGAGED '203 
 
 O XVI. BRYAN'S FAMILY 220 
 
 r- XVII. A doctor's OPINION 237 
 
 XVIII. MATRIMONIAL FELICITY 253 
 
 _ XIX. A LOAMSHIRE MEET 255 
 
 I XX. TOO LATE 271 
 
 XXI. OUR NEXT MEETING 281 
 
THE COUNTY 
 
 CHAPTEE I 
 
 ESME AND FKANCES 
 
 ' AiH) the four oval beds at tlie corners shall 
 be African marigold, bordered with lobelia,' 
 I continue, waving my walking-stick indica- 
 tively at the four points of the horizon and 
 turning an unheeding ear to Mackenzie's 
 murmured remonstrance, ' Tagetes signata 
 pumila.' ' Don't you think that will be pretty, 
 Frances ? ' 
 
 ' If this yellow weed is African marigold, 
 
 you will certainly have a dash of colour in the 
 
 landscape,' returns Frances carelessly, giving 
 
 up an unsuccessful attempt to drop a pebble 
 
 VOL. I. B 
 
2 THE COUNTY 
 
 ou to the back of a bloated gold-fish, who, in 
 the greedy hope of more toothsome missiles, 
 does not budge from his watery station, even 
 at risk of dislocation of the spine. 
 
 Frances takes no interest in the bedding 
 out. She hates all things rural. The highest 
 pitch of enthusiasm for our mighty mother 
 Nature to which she has ever been known to 
 attain was reached one fine May day last 
 season, when Hyde Park was gay with tuHps 
 and hyacinths and redolent of lilac and haw- 
 thorn. Upon that occasion she did indeed 
 relax so far as to remark that it made a pretty 
 background for summer frocks ; but in strict 
 justice to her consistency it must be admitted 
 that even this mild praise of a humanly 
 diluted landscape was called forth by the 
 desire to captivate a bucolic young peer, who 
 was squiring her up the Row. 
 
 ' And will you have the triangular beds 
 done with the Eeverend Atkinson as usual, 
 ma'am? ' asks Mackenzie, note-book in hand. 
 
ESMfi AND FRANCES 3 
 
 his hard Scotch features demonstrating grim 
 disapproval of Frances' light treatment of 
 the horticultural event of the year. 
 
 ' Yes, I think so, Mackenzie — yes,' I reply, 
 with an elaborate assumption of careful con- 
 sideration which is weakly intended to con- 
 ceal the fact that I have clean forgotten what 
 flower of the field or garden rejoices in that 
 clerical designation — for I am not a whit more 
 interested in gardening than Frances, and am 
 only borne up in my interview with Mac- 
 kenzie by a stronger sense of duty. 
 
 ' The Eeverend Atkinson ! ' says Frances, 
 with an amused giggle, as she stoops down on 
 the turf at the edge of the pond and washes 
 from her slim white fingers all trace of her 
 pebbly warfare with the disappointed gold- 
 fish. 'What a ridiculous name for a flower! 
 And pray what is he like — this reverend 
 gentleman ? ' 
 
 I turn aside with a dubious cough and 
 a semi-wink at Frances ; the occasion seems to 
 
 B 2 
 
4 THE COUNTY 
 
 me a good one for correcting Uncle Frank's 
 Dandie Dinmont, who is burrowing a deep 
 hole in the tapestry border close by. 
 
 Mackenzie coughs also ; but his is the 
 assured clearing of the throat of one about to 
 impart valuable information. 
 
 ' The Eeverend Atkinson is just one of the 
 finest varieties of the ordinary scarlet geranium. 
 The trusses are large, the blooms are firm and 
 well-coloured, the foliage is healthy-^ ' 
 
 ' It is sure to be if you have the manage- 
 ment of it, Mackenzie,' says Frances, smiling 
 up in his rugged face with her clear blue 
 eyes. ' I defy any foliage to be unhealthy if 
 it lives within a mile of you.' 
 
 She puts her hand through my arm as 
 she speaks, and gives me a sharp tweak to 
 hurry my movements. She is bored to death 
 with Mackenzie and his bedding-out, and has 
 no intention of waiting, or letting me wait, 
 to be harangued any longer. But Frances 
 would not be Frances if she parted from any 
 
ESM^ AND FRANCES 5 
 
 male creature with an expression of dis- 
 approval on his manly countenance, though 
 that countenance be only old Mackenzie's 
 weather-beaten visage ; so she gazes sweetly 
 at him while she navigates me firmly forwards, 
 using my elbow as a helm. 
 
 ' Miss Esme mustn't stand about any longer 
 now, as she has just walked home from Brack- 
 ham ; but we will look out over the beds 
 from the morning-room window. It is easier 
 to decide from a bird's-eye view ; and then 
 we can come out to-morrow morning and let 
 you know what we should like — though, for 
 the matter of that, Mackenzie, anything you 
 arrange is sure to be pretty.' 
 
 And so she covers our lazy retreat, leaving 
 old Mackenzie completely mollified, and under 
 the impression that our dreams to-night will 
 be of the bedding-out. 
 
 Frances' fi ower-like face is so innocent, her 
 eyes are so clear, the colour in her delicately 
 rounded cheek comes and goes with such a 
 
6 THE COUNTY 
 
 lovely transparent flutter, her whole express- 
 sion is so ' childlike and bland,' that no man 
 born of woman can willingly suspect her 
 candour. 
 
 ' It's no use blinking the fact any longer, 
 Esme,' she is saying five minutes later, as we 
 pace along the smooth walks, past the oval 
 pond where the gold-fish are disporting them- 
 selves, and up the low, wide stone steps lead- 
 ing from the Dutch garden to the broad 
 gravel terrace in front of the house. ' There's 
 no doubt about it — something is up ' — with 
 a slight pause to give effect to her oracular 
 utterance. 
 
 ' Why do you say that ? ' I ask. ' Has any- 
 thing happened since I went into Brackham ? ' 
 
 'N — no,' says my sister slowly, picking 
 a carnation and nibbling the stalk with her 
 short white teeth ; ' at least, nothing much. I 
 overheard Uncle Frank talking to someone 
 on the grand staircase just now ; but I didn't 
 pay any attention until it struck me that the 
 
ESME AND FRANCES 7 
 
 voice answering him was a strange one, and 
 then I Hstened. Uncle Frank was saying, 
 '" No, no, it is quite unnecessary to consult 
 the young ladies ; I wish it to be a surprise 
 for them." Then the man he was talkincr 
 to went off by the back staircase, and Uncle 
 Frank came sauntering into the billiard-room. 
 He turned very red when he saw me, and said, 
 '' Hullo ! I thought you had gone to Brackham 
 with Esme." ' 
 
 'Well? Did you tell him that he had 
 better make a clean breast of it, as you had 
 eavesdropped enough to know he was up to 
 something ? ' 
 
 ' Not I,' returns Frances, with a sage wag 
 of her head. ' Our reverend relative isn't to 
 be caught like that. If he doesn't want us to 
 find out, it would have been so much wasted 
 breath and lost dignity.' 
 
 ' Yes, that's true,' I assent, ' He's not a 
 bad old thing in some ways — but he's sly, 
 very sly.' 
 
8 THE COUNTY 
 
 ' If he is preparing some touching little 
 gift,' continues Frances pensively, ' I, for my 
 part, could well dispense with the surprise. 
 If, for instance, he is going to do up the morn- 
 ing-room for us, how much more interesting 
 it would be to have a finger in the pie and 
 choose the decoration ourselves ! ' 
 
 'You may make your mind easy about 
 that,' I remark literally, ' seeing that he 
 couldn't very well have the morning-room 
 done up one day while we were out walk- 
 ing.' 
 
 ' What I am objecting to,' retorts my 
 sister, ' is the principle of the thing. If there 
 is any money to be spent* upon me, let me 
 have the spending of it. That's what I mean. 
 When I am married I am determined to have 
 a clear understanding about that. The first 
 time he — Dick, Tom, or Harry, whatever his 
 name may be — shows a proper sense of his 
 privileges in the way of making me a little 
 offering, I shall say to him, " Thanks, my dear 
 
ESME AND FRANCES y 
 
 boy, a thousand thanks. But the next time 
 let it be cash, darhng — cash." ' 
 
 ' Quite right,' I approve. ' Do you remem 
 ber how ridiculous John and Ethel Graham 
 used to be, trotting out to buy one another 
 Christmas presents and New Year presents 
 and birthday presents? Wasn't it absurd 
 that day each came home with a blotting-book 
 for the other, and each confided to us how 
 very ugly he or she thought the other's 
 choice ? ' 
 
 'Yes, and how angry Ethel was when I 
 suggested that she should keep her own 
 purchase and let John keep his. But to 
 return to our sheep. I am convinced that 
 our natural protector, far from plotting a 
 delicate attention, is harbouring a deep design 
 which would not find favour in our eyes. I 
 catch him looking at us sideways now and 
 then, in a way that makes a cold shiver run 
 down my mental back, so sure am I that he 
 is up to mischief.' 
 
10 THE COUNTY 
 
 ' The fact is, we bore him,' I remark with 
 modest candour. 'He didn't mind us as lonsr 
 as we were in the schoolroom and kept out of 
 his way ; but now that we are emancipated 
 young women, with a fine taste for amusement, 
 he doesn't know what to do with us. He has 
 not got over last season in town — and yet we 
 didn't hustle him about half as much as might 
 have been expected. We really were very 
 considerate.' 
 
 ' Mark my words,' says Frances, shaking 
 her forefinger impressively in the air. ' He 
 has been hustled for the last time. We shall 
 never see a season in town with him again.' 
 
 ' Oh, come,' I retort angrily. ' He 
 wouldn't escape the hustling if he tried to 
 keep us down here. In that case he would 
 certainly find out that a man's foes are they of 
 his own household.' 
 
 'It's all very well to say that. He has 
 been limp as a rag doll in our hands for 
 years — for just so many years as it has been 
 
ESME AND FRANCES 11 
 
 easier for him to give in than to fight. But 
 if I am not mistaken he is now bolsterincr 
 
 o 
 
 himself up to strike a blow for liberty — for a 
 solitary vegetable existence such as his soul 
 loveth, for the house to himself all the day 
 untroubled by voice of man, for nice quiet 
 dinners in morninof clothes and a smokins" 
 coat, with no conversation to disturb his 
 digestion, and no one to rouse him from 
 soothing evening slumbers afterwards.' 
 
 ' What a hideous picture ! ' I say uneasily. 
 ' And whereabouts do we come in ? ' 
 
 ' Ah, where, indeed ? ' repeals Frances 
 ominously. 
 
 I turn and face my younger sister with a 
 qualm of anxiety. We are both of us as 
 wideawake, worldly young minxes as ever 
 paced a broad walk in front of a stately 
 Ehzabethan mansion on a fine September 
 afternoon. But Frances possesses a shrewder 
 cunning than I, a finer sense for trifles, a 
 sharper understanding of what goes on 
 
12 THE COUNTY 
 
 around her. I sometimes get absorbed in 
 daydreams to the exclusion of my own iden- 
 tity ; Frances never. The present and the 
 immediate future are quite enough for her 
 hght mind ; and in all that concerns herself 
 and her surroundings she has the eye of a 
 hawk and the nose of a pointer. 
 
13 
 
 CHAPTEE II 
 
 A VISITOR 
 
 Next morning Mackenzie and his bedding-out 
 present themselves as an unfinished task to 
 my mind. About one o'clock I saunter out 
 of the house and stand looking over the 
 Dutch garden, which is blazing with every 
 colour of the rainbow in the bright sunshine 
 — red geraniums, blue lobelia, yellow nastur- 
 tiums, purple heliotrope, and gay representa- 
 tives of every possible hue, with complexions 
 all enhanced by their soft setting of emerald 
 turf. 
 
 At the far end is Mackenzie, erect and 
 dignified, surrounded by myrmidons snipping 
 and cutting and filhng big wooden baskets 
 under his lordly directions. 
 
14 THE COUNTY 
 
 I stand still in the cool shade of the house, 
 waiting for him to notice my expectant atti- 
 tude and stalk up stiffly and rheumatically for 
 his delayed orders. But Mackenzie gives no 
 sign that he is aware of my presence. I wave 
 my big lace parasol. Still he takes no notice, 
 though one of the myrmidons seems to be 
 calling his attention to my signals. 
 
 ' Tiresome old bear ! ' T grumble to myself 
 as I emerge into the sunshine and unfurl my 
 parasol. ' He is sulky, I suppose, because I 
 left him yesterday.' And like Agag I ' walk 
 delicately ' down the steps ; it is difficult to 
 walk otherwise than delicately in Louis 
 Quinze shoes with three inch heels. 
 
 ' I will tell you what I should like in the 
 other beds now, Mackenzie,' I say when I get 
 within earshot, and he is obliged to come for- 
 ward, though with obvious reluctance. 
 
 ' Ou-ay, Miss Esme,' is the dubious reply. 
 
 ' I don't care for so much pink,' I go on ; 
 ' it clashes with the scarlet, and I think those 
 
A VISITOR 15 
 
 centre beds would look better done with any- 
 other colour. What can we have instead ? ' 
 
 No response. 
 
 ' For pig-like sulkiness give me Mackenzie 
 when he considers himself neglected,' I ejacu- 
 late inwardly. ' Now shall I read him a lec- 
 ture on his duty to his betters, or shall I let 
 him plunge still further in the mire first ? ' 
 
 And I glance speculatively at him. But 
 instead of the well-known obstinate twist on 
 his rough face, I meet a doubtful — one might 
 almost say a compassionate — glance which 
 puzzles me. 
 
 ' Well, Mackenzie, what are you thinking 
 about ? Have you nothing that would do in- 
 stead of the pink geraniums ? ' 
 
 ' It's not that. Miss Esme, it's not that,' 
 returns Mackenzie slowly. 
 
 ' What is it, then ? ' 
 
 ' Well, it's just the master, if ye must have 
 it, Miss Esme.' 
 
 ' The master ! ' I echo in astonishment. 
 
16 THE COUNTY 
 
 'Why what on earth has the master to do 
 with it ? You know he never takes the least 
 interest in the garden.' 
 
 ' Wliich makes it all the more extraordi- 
 nary,' caps Mackenzie. Having been forced 
 to speak out, he is forgetting his hesitation 
 and rapidly assuming the fussy important air 
 without which it would be impossible for even 
 the best of domestics to deliver a piece of 
 news. ' The master came along this morning 
 and gave me expleecit directions' (Mackenzie's 
 language is always as polysyllabic as the occa- 
 sion will allow), 'that the summer bedding-out 
 next year was to be upon precisely the same 
 plan as the existing one, and that the ground 
 was to be presently prepared for the reception 
 of bulbs.' 
 
 ' Bulbs ! ' I gasp. ' But they come out in 
 the spring ! ' 
 
 ' Most assuredly, Miss Esme. The master's 
 express phrase was, " I wish to have a cheer- 
 ful spring bedding-out, Mackenzie." ' Before 
 
A VISITOR 17 
 
 the master's exact phrase is well out of 
 Mackenzie's mouth, I have turned sharp 
 round and am making for the house as 
 smartly as the aforenoticed high heels will let 
 me. A spring bedding-out ! What does he 
 mean by that ? Why order bulbs to flower 
 and flourish when he and Frances and I will 
 be disporting ourselves in Belgrave Square ? 
 And if he has the tiniest, remotest intention 
 that we shall not disport ourselves in Bel- 
 grave Square at bulb-time, then let him avow 
 it at once, and during the winter let it be 
 decided who is the better man. 
 
 But in half a dozen strides Mackenzie is 
 beside me. 
 
 ' One word. Miss Esme, if you please. 
 The master did not forbid my mentioning the 
 matter to you, but I gathered from his 
 language that he would prefer to acquaint 
 you with his plans himself, and that he 
 intended doing so this afternoon. I sliould 
 
 VOL. I. c 
 
18 THE COUNTY 
 
 take it kindly if you would say nothing about 
 my communication until then.' 
 
 At that moment there appears round the 
 corner of the house a figure which sends the 
 bulbs and Mackenzie and righteous wrath, 
 and even the season in town, all into the 
 background of my mind — a tall figure in 
 grey, with laughing grey eyes to match, and 
 the assured smile of one certain of his wel- 
 come from all the world. 
 
 * How do you do, Miss Nugent ? You see 
 I have taken you at your word and come at 
 lunch-time.' 
 
 ' You have also come at the precise 
 moment when a domestic thunderstorm is 
 about to burst forth,' I answer laughing. 
 ' Never mind, don't be frightened ; in con- 
 sideration of your weak nerves it shall be 
 postponed for a while.' 
 
 ' Then it was you who were about to do 
 the thundering, eh ? Are you a good hand 
 at it ? ' 
 
A VISITOR ly 
 
 ' Very/ I reply gravely. ' I have a fine 
 flow of language, and upon these occasions it 
 is more forcible than elegant.' 
 
 ' Then please don't postpone the row on 
 my account. There is nothing I should like 
 better than to assist — in the French sense of 
 the word of course. Who is the offender ? ' 
 
 ' Uncle Frank,' I say. ' I have just dis- 
 covered that he is harbouring dark designs of 
 rural bliss next spring instead of taking us 
 up to town.' 
 
 ' Ha ! ha ! Poor old boy ! I'm afraid he 
 will find out that the best laid plans of mice 
 and men, &c.' 
 
 ' I hope so,' I return severely. ' It won't 
 be my fault if he does not ; and in the mean- 
 time I think it is very horrid of you to take 
 his part in that heartless manner.' 
 
 ' I am not taking his part ; I should not 
 dare to,' with laughing, audacious emphasis, 
 ' but I can't understand why all you ladies 
 are so fond of town. It beats me altogether.' 
 
 c2 
 
20 THE COUNTY 
 
 ' Anything that beats you must indeed be 
 incomprehensible,' I retort sharply. 
 
 I am disappointed that he does not show 
 more serious interest in our movements next 
 spring. At the very first mention of the 
 possibiUty of our not going up to town had 
 not my thoughts flown straight to him ? and 
 had not the fear of not meeting him sent a 
 sharp pang through me ? I had pictured him 
 walking desolately and disconsolately past the 
 shut-up house in Belgrave Square, and wafting 
 a whole gale of sighs in the direction of the 
 caretaker's window ; and now here he is 
 smiling unfeelingly at my wrath and wonder- 
 ing what I want to go to town for. 
 
 ' That's very unkind of you,' he says 
 solemnly. ' If you really think my intellect 
 infirm, you should not hurt my feelings by 
 alluding to it.' 
 
 ' I should not have descended to a remark 
 upon youT- intellect,' I return laughing, ' if 
 you hadn't put me out by your callous 
 
A VISITOR 21 
 
 indifference to our woes — Frances' and 
 mine.' 
 
 ' They are not woes yet,' he answers 
 cahnly ; ' they do not exist ; they are phan- 
 toms of your imagination. I have not the 
 pleasure of an intimate acquaintance with 
 your uncle, but, from the little I have seen 
 of him, I feel sure that he goes down hke a 
 ninepin in any difference of opinion with two 
 such determined young people.' 
 
 ' It is very odd,' I reflect metaphysically, 
 ' hoAv Uncle Frank always contrives to give 
 everyone the impression that he is so good- 
 natured and easy-going — he is, in a way, and 
 yet — anyhow there's the luncheon gong. 
 Come along, you needn't be frightened of 
 broken decanters flying about. The family 
 linen shall not be washed in your presence.' 
 
 Inside the billiard-room Frances is loung- 
 ing on one of its many sofas. Frances 
 lounges deliberately and perpetually. She 
 has discovered that she looks better slightly 
 
22 THE COUNTY 
 
 dishevelled, with her curly hair standing 
 fuzzily out and the lace on her summer 
 frocks tossed about — more Greuzey, as she 
 expresses it — and as it coincides with her 
 natural instinct to make herself as luxu- 
 riously comfortable as possible, she passes 
 most of her time in the country with her 
 feet tilted up, her head buried in the softest 
 attainable cushion, and a French novel open 
 on her knees. 
 
 She looks fragility itself, so diaphanous 
 that one can almost see through her, so slim 
 that one can almost imagine a rough wind 
 breaking her ; and experience has taught her 
 that a reputation for delicacy is by no means 
 to be despised — a comfortable excuse for 
 evading disagreeable duties. She is, how- 
 ever, but another instance that ' things are not 
 what they seem.' Earely has daughter of Eve 
 possessed a constitution so sound, muscles so 
 tough. This tall, willowy slip of a thing will 
 get up from a long course of French novels 
 
A VISITOR 23 
 
 and soft cushions not in the least out of con- 
 dition for walking all day and dancing all 
 night — if slie wants to. 
 
 ' H'm, h'm,' I can fancy her murmuring to 
 herself as she catches sight of me through the 
 window with Mr. Yaudrey's broad shoulders 
 in tow ; ' so there's that young man come to 
 lunch. What a fool Esme is making of her- 
 self about liim, to be sure ! Clean bowled 
 over by six-feet-one of good looks and nonen- 
 tity. How do you do, Mr. Vaudrey ? ' jumping 
 up with sweetest, candidest smile, blue eyes 
 shining softly out under a transparent nimbus 
 of ruffled yellow hair. 
 
 Ten minutes later we are seated around 
 the luncheon table, and Uncle Frank has 
 roughly and bluffly welcomed his guest. 
 Uncle Frank has gone through hfe with the 
 reputation of being ' a good fellow ' simply 
 and solely upon the strength of his roughness 
 and bluffness. How can a man be aught but 
 honest and open who talks of nothing but 
 
24 THE COUMT 
 
 ' beasts ' and ' roots ' and * dawgs/ and very 
 little even about them ? 
 
 ' Walked over from Fellport, eh ? ' he says 
 presently to Mr. Vaudrey. ' Come by the 
 stile at the foot of the clover patch ? ' 
 
 ' I certainly came over a stile, but whether 
 it was near a clover patch, upon my word I 
 don't know. Mrs. Stuart told me it was the 
 nearest way.' 
 
 'Trust her for knowin'. Don't suppose 
 there's a soul within ten miles round knows 
 cross-country like Mrs. Stuart. Ever seen her 
 ride ? ' 
 
 * Not with the hounds.' 
 
 ' Well, it's worth seein'. How's her black- 
 and-tan terrier, eh ? Last time she came here 
 he'd got the mange.' 
 
 Frances is watching Uncle Frank surpris- 
 edly. His broad red face is flushed redder 
 than ever to-day. His long eyes glance un- 
 easily around. They are incongruous, those 
 eyes — they are so long and look round so far 
 
A VISITOR 25 
 
 on each side ; it is odd to see such sly eyes in 
 so bovine a countenance. His conversation 
 as recorded is not voluminous, but it is just 
 now loquacious in the extreme for Uncle 
 Frank. He welcomes Mr. Vaudrey with 
 effusion — one might almost say with relief; 
 whereas the sight of a stranger usually has 
 a stupefying effect upon his flow of language. 
 
 'Where have you been all the morning, 
 dear ? ' Frances asks him ; ' I went to look for 
 you about twelve o'clock and I couldn't find 
 you anywhere.' 
 
 Her question is aimless, and is simply 
 prompted by the desire to draw him into 
 a conversation with herself and leave Mr. 
 Vaudrey free to talk to me. We have a 
 strict, unspoken code of honour, wherein each 
 backs up the other in her respective flirta- 
 tions. Frances does not approve of Mr. 
 Vaudrey, and will probably tell me so by-and- 
 by with small lack of candour, but in the 
 meantime she will play fair. 
 
26 THE COUNTY 
 
 * Where was I ? ' repeats Uncle Frank 
 with an awkward stammer. ' About the 
 place somewhere, of course.' 
 
 ' Well, I looked in the library,' goes on 
 Frances argument atively, ' but I only dis- 
 turbed William, who was examining your 
 letters. He said he was dusting the writing- 
 table, but I never heard of a footman dusting 
 before, and he hadn't any duster either. It 
 was awkward of him to get caught, though 
 I dare say he knew you would not mind, 
 as you never have any secrets, have you, 
 dear?' 
 
 Uncle Frank gives an uncomfortable grin, 
 and she goes on blandly, ' I think your plan 
 is quite the best not to make any mysteries 
 with the servants. It is so degradingly use- 
 less. I'll tell you what always amuses me, 
 the way Priestman knows what things I am 
 going to wear without my telling her. She 
 invariably puts out the right gowns upon the 
 right occasions, and she even estimates my 
 
A VISITOR 27 
 
 friends aright down to my gloves. It is not 
 only that when I am going to a duchess's she 
 puts out a clean pair and to little Mrs. So-and- 
 So's a pair of dirty tan, but she actually seems 
 to know when and where I am anxious to 
 make a good impression, and that is a thing I 
 don't always confide even to Esme.' 
 
 Uncle Frank fidgets uneasily, but he is 
 doomed to hsten to Frances' light chatter, for 
 Mr. Vaudrey and I are sailing in imagination 
 from Yokohama to San Francisco. He has 
 just come home from the regulation globe- 
 trotting and is tracing his wanderings upon a 
 King Pippin apple for my benefit. 
 
 ' It is a sad blow to me,' he says gravely, 
 ' to find that the standard for feminine educa- 
 tion is so terribly low, that a young lady whom 
 I have hitherto considered one of the brightest 
 and most highly cultivated of her sex, should 
 actually confess herself ignorant of the name 
 and position of the capital of the mighty 
 empire of Japan, and should even seem some- 
 
26 THE COUNTY 
 
 * Where was I ? ' repeats Uncle Frank 
 with an awkward stammer. ' About the 
 place somewhere, of course.' 
 
 ' Well, I looked in the library,' goes on 
 Frances argumentatively, ' but I only dis- 
 turbed William, who was examining your 
 letters. He said he was dusting the writing- 
 table, but I never heard of a footman dusting 
 before, and he hadn't any duster either. It 
 was awkward of him to get caught, though 
 I dare say he knew you would not mind, 
 as you never have any secrets, have you, 
 dear ? ' 
 
 Uncle Frank gives an uncomfortable grin, 
 and she goes on blandly, ' I think your plan 
 is quite the best not to make any mysteries 
 with the servants. It is so degradingly use- 
 less. I'll tell you what always amuses me, 
 the way Priestman knows what things I am 
 going to wear without my telling her. She 
 invariably puts out the right gowns upon the 
 right occasions, and she even estimates my 
 
A VISITOR 27 
 
 friends aright down to my gloves. It is not 
 only that when I am going to a duchess's she 
 puts out a clean pair and to little Mrs. So-and- 
 So's a pair of dirty tan, but she actually seems 
 to know when and where I am anxious to 
 make a good impression, and that is a thing I 
 don't always confide even to Esme.' 
 
 Uncle Frank fidgets uneasily, but he is 
 doomed to hsten to Frances' light chatter, for 
 Mr. Yaudrey and I are sailing in imagination 
 from Yokohama to San Francisco. He has 
 just come home from the regulation globe- 
 trotting and is tracing his wanderings upon a 
 King Pippin apple for my benefit. 
 
 ' It is a sad blow to me,' he says gravely, 
 ' to find that the standard for feminine educa- 
 tion is so terribly low, that a young lady whom 
 I have hitherto considered one of the brightest 
 and most highly cultivated of her sex, should 
 actually confess herself ignorant of the name 
 and position of the capital of the mighty 
 empire of Japan, and should even seem some- 
 
30 THE COUNTY 
 
 and my heart,' tapping that organ drama- 
 tically, ' is settling right down into my 
 boots.' 
 
 Mr. Yaudrey looks puzzled. 
 
 ' A portmanteau,' he repeats. ' Well, I 
 suppose he is going off for a night or two, and 
 doesn't want to make a fuss about it.' 
 
 ' Ah, you don't know Uncle Frank,' groans 
 Frances. 'Never before has portmanteau of 
 his been packed without the assistance of the 
 whole house. To move him it has always 
 required the united efforts of Esme and me, 
 backed up by every servant in the place — and 
 servants, to do them justice, are always ready 
 for a move. My heart misgives me over that 
 portmanteau.' 
 
 ' But what is it you are so frightened of ? ' 
 asks Mr. Yaudrey. He cannot see further into 
 a milestone than any other man, and does not 
 understand Frances' serio-comic grief. ' He 
 will return, you know he will; and in the 
 
A VISITOR 31 
 
 meantime I should think you two would get 
 along all right without him.' 
 
 Frances shakes her head and draws down 
 the corners of her mouth. Allan Vaudrey is 
 no particular friend of hers, and she is not 
 going to choose him as a confidant ; though at 
 this moment she is too full of the matter in 
 hand to hold her tongue entirely. 
 
 ' The servants know all about it,' she 
 remarks absently ; ' they have been eyeing us 
 compassionately for days past, and when I 
 scolded William this morning he never 
 answered me once— and such a pert boy as 
 he is, too ! If Priestman were only here, she 
 would find out in no time.' 
 
 ' And who is Priestman ? ' asks Mr. Vaudrey 
 again. 
 
 But Frances begins inconsequently to 
 hum — 
 
 Who is Sylvia ? What is she, 
 That all our swains commend her ? 
 
32 THE COUNTY 
 
 and strolls into the billiard-room, leaving me 
 to answer. 
 
 ' Priestman is our maid. Such a nice 
 creature, so clever, and so devoted to us ; but 
 she is away for a fortnight's holiday.' 
 
CHAPTEE in 
 
 THE BLOW 
 
 Allan Vaudrey has returned whence he came 
 — over the stile by the clover patch ; and in 
 the billiard-room at Billington, Frances and I 
 are waging battle royal over his departed 
 person. 
 
 ' You can do so much better,' Frances is 
 saying, raising herself on her sofa and fixing 
 a yellow brocade cushion comfortably behind 
 her so that she can focus my upstanding- 
 person without ricking her neck. ' That is 
 the beginning and end of it all. I don't deny 
 his many good points, but you ought to do 
 better for yourself.' 
 
 I had tried to slip off quietly for a solitary 
 stroll. I wanted to think about Mr. Yaudrey's 
 
 VOL. L D 
 
34 THE COUNTY 
 
 visit, and con over liis looks and words — each 
 glance of the grey eyes which had been 
 gazing so admiringly into mine — each tone of 
 the pleasant voice. But Frances considers 
 that the moment has arrived for her voice to 
 be uplifted, her remonstrance heard. 
 
 ' I ought to do better ? ' I repeat with a 
 vague smile. ' You take it very much for 
 granted that I can do this.' 
 
 I place my walking-stick resignedly in the 
 stand, and come a little nearer, not at all 
 unwilling to be told that I liave only to 
 stretch forth my hand and Allan Yaudrey 
 will be mine. I am not certain of it myself, 
 and would like to be assured that lynx-eyed 
 Frances has seen the look in his face that 
 stirred my heart to-day. 
 
 But Frances has not been biding her time 
 so patiently only to hold forth upon Allan's 
 devotion now ; far different is her theme. 
 
 ' I don't say you can do this, as you put 
 it. I have not seen enough of Mr. Yaudrey 
 
THE BLOW 35 
 
 to know wlietlier he cares for you ; and I 
 can't tell how much he is in the habit of 
 hanging about girls. But this I do say, that 
 if you don't take care you will be falling head 
 over ears in love with him — and I want you 
 to look at him all round while there is yet 
 time.' 
 
 ' I think it is horribly vulgar to discuss 
 Mr. Yaudrey like this,' I exclaim inconsis- 
 tently, all red with annoyance at the nettle I 
 have grasped instead of the rose I expected. 
 
 ' Don't call it vulgar — call me vulgar,' 
 returns Frances placidly ; ' it may relieve 
 your feehngs, and I don't object in the least. 
 I have long ago resigned myself to the fact 
 that I have a vulgar mind. If it is vulgar to 
 care whether one drives in a carriage or goes 
 afoot, whether one is dressed by Worth or 
 clothed by Westbourne Grove, whether one 
 lives upon artistic dishes by a French chefoY is 
 kept alive by Irish stew and milk puddings — 
 then I admit the soft impeachment. But we 
 
 D 2 
 
36 THE COUNTY 
 
 weren't discussing my prospects ; we were 
 talking about yours, and you know very 
 well you are as fond of the good things 
 of this life as I am. Come, now, aren't 
 you ? ' 
 
 ' Every bit,' I admit. 
 
 ' Then why this coyness ? This is the 
 very first time you have shied away from 
 sifting out the ways, means, connections, and 
 tender sentiments of any man we have ever 
 come across. Haven't we both, ever since 
 we could toddle, accepted the fact that it is 
 absolutely necessary for us, even more than 
 for other girls, to make good matches ? And 
 haven't we — motherless, chaperonless, and 
 pretty as we are — steered clear of ineligibles 
 with such perfect success that never once 
 have our names been coupled with any but 
 the best partis? And now, to my dismay, I 
 see you hovering upon the brink of an affair 
 with a younger son — and a younger son of 
 screws and nails, too ! ' 
 
THE BLOW 87 
 
 I am guiltily silent. I sit down in the 
 big cane rocking-cliair and swing gently to 
 and fro. Frances rolls the pale ribbon that 
 flutters from her white gown round and 
 round her long, fidgety fingers, and seems 
 absorbed in making five loops of equal length ; 
 but I am well aware that no change of 
 expression in my face is lost upon her. 
 
 ' It is much better to be the younger son 
 of screws and nails than to be the younger 
 son of acres only,' I say presently. ' Sir 
 Joshua has only the two, and these new rich 
 men always divide the money equally between 
 their children.' 
 
 ' Not when there's a title,' returns Frances 
 inflexibly. 'The old boy is certain to leave 
 every sou with the baronetcy, with some con- 
 soling remark in his will to the eflect tliat the 
 name of Yaudrey must be kept up ; and your 
 friend Mr. Allan will be expected to super- 
 intend the business in Manchester or 
 Birmingham or wherever it may be. There 
 
38 THE COUNTY 
 
 would be nothing in life for you to do but 
 take an interest in the factory girls.' 
 
 ' As to making a fuss over the business,' I 
 say reflectively, ' that's all exploded nonsense. 
 No one cares two straws about blue blood 
 nowadays.' 
 
 ' Not if 3^ou have money enough to carry 
 the position,' grants Frances ; ' but that is 
 just what Allan Yaudrey won't have — and it 
 puzzles me what you can see in him to 
 infatuate you so.' 
 
 ' He is very good-looking,' I murmur 
 weakly. 
 
 Frances shrugs her shoulders. ' Tastes 
 dijQfer,' she remarks. ' There is plenty of him, 
 no doubt, and I admit that he is clean-looking, 
 but I don't care for fair men run up by the 
 yard myself.' 
 
 ' Eun up by the yard ! ' I repeat angrily. 
 ' You talk as if he were a weedy sort of crea- 
 ture, and you know he is a first-rate athlete 
 and was in the Oxford eleven.' 
 
THE BLOW 39 
 
 ' He is frightfully lazy,' continues Frances 
 argumentatively. ' He will never make liis 
 way in the world.' 
 
 ' I don't know why you should say that/ 
 I retort. ' He took a double first at Oxford.' 
 
 * So have all the dullest men I know. 
 Show me a man who takes hio-h honours at 
 college, and I'll show you a man who con- 
 siders himself justified in sitting down and 
 twiddling his thumbs all the rest of his life.' 
 
 ' You can't call Mr. Yaudrey dull,' I ex- 
 claim triumphantly. ' He is most amusing.' 
 
 ' His head is full of Bab ballads, if that is 
 what you call amusing,' returns Frances. 
 
 ' You wouldn't be so contemptuous if he 
 quoted them to you instead of to me,' I re- 
 mark with sisterly frankness. 
 
 ' Possibly not,' owns Frances candidly. 
 
 Another pause. The old Sheraton clock 
 in the corner strikes four and plays the classic 
 ditty, 'Pray, goody, please to moderate the 
 rancour of your tongue.' 
 
40 THE COUNTY 
 
 With my outward bodily eyes I gaze from 
 the big window, whose arched top is filled 
 with painted glass quarterings of defunct Nu- 
 gents, over the quaint, many-coloured Dutch 
 garden where Mackenzie is engaged in an 
 undignified hand-to-hand combat with a per- 
 sistent wasp ; with my inward, mental eyes I 
 am beholding a big, broad-shouldered, manly 
 form as it leant with crossed arms over the 
 orchard gate half an hour ago. 
 
 ' After all, Frances,' I say at last, slowly 
 though and with doubtful hesitancy, 'why are 
 we so anxious to make brilHant marriages ? ' 
 
 Frances' eyes are Japanese in shape, and 
 slant upwards in curious contrast to her blonde 
 colouring ; but at my unexpected and heretical 
 query they become round with horror, and her 
 pretty pointed chin drops in alarm. 
 
 ' Why ? ' she repeats ; and then, with 
 amazed terseness, ' why, that we may trample 
 instead of being trampled upon ; that we may 
 snub instead of being snubbed.' 
 
THE BLOW 41 
 
 ' I can't imagine anyone snubbing me twice, 
 in whatsoever state of life it may please 
 Providence to call me,' I remark calmly. 
 ' Keally, Frances, if one goes to the bottom of 
 it all, wliat can one be more than happy? 
 And I have grave doubts sometimes as to 
 whether I should be happy if I had every- 
 thing else I could wish for, and yet were tied 
 to a man I did not like.' 
 
 ' But why should you not like him — the 
 imaginary him ? ' returns Frances quickly. 
 ' You will find that smothering any little 
 dawning fancy which may happen to trouble 
 you is excellent practice for getting your 
 heart well in hand. /,' with modest pride, 
 ' can speak from experience, as you know. 
 Did not I tilt with my foolish tendresse for 
 Lance Beresford and come off victor ? And 
 is not my heart — such as it is — perfectly 
 ready to go with my hand when a fitting 
 suitor presents himself.^ I remember,' with a 
 shudder at the chilly retrospect, ' that it was 
 
42 THE COUNTY 
 
 a bitter afternoon last March when Lance 
 came to say good-bye, and what quite decided 
 me was the thought of coals. It struck me 
 that upon 700/. a year one would have to 
 economise in fires.* 
 
 ' It being now a hot September, coals lose 
 their gruesome importance,' I say with a 
 laugh, only too glad to seize the opportunity 
 of Frances' tender reminiscences to escape 
 into the garden. 
 
 Down the stone steps and past the oval 
 pond I walk swiftly, not desirous of being 
 followed ; along the laurel walk, from which 
 far -stretching vistas of park and woodland 
 strike unheeded on my preoccupied eyes ; 
 across the broad gravel drive and into the big 
 red-walled kitchen-garden, where rosy peaches 
 and purple plums bewilder the attentive 
 wasps. Then I pace more gently between the 
 nodding white dahlias and pink hollyhocks. 
 
 Can I do better.^ That is the question. 
 Of course, from one point of view, there is no 
 
THE BLOW 43 
 
 doubt about it. I can marry some one of 
 good family, richer, higher up in the world. 
 But what do I want ? After all, simply to be 
 happy. And what do I require for that ? A 
 certain amount of money — naturally. Not 
 with anyone could I endure love in a cottage 
 — a damp, stuffy, rural cottage. 
 
 But I would rather live in a nice, smart 
 httle house in town with — well, with Allan 
 Yaudrey, than in half a dozen big places with 
 someone I did not like. 
 
 Then as to position — can I ever climb so 
 high that there will not always be someone 
 higher ? . . . 
 
 I wonder if his people are very terrible, 
 any of them. If they are, they must be gently 
 but firmly dropped — all who are not hkely to 
 leave him money, at least . . . 
 
 Frances is afraid I am going to be carried 
 away by my feelings. I am not carried away yet ; 
 only naturally our points of view are different. 
 Frances wants me to make the match which 
 
44 THE COUNTY 
 
 would turn out the best stepping-stone for 
 herself; and I, as miglit be expected, take a 
 more lively interest in the affair for its own 
 sake ... 
 
 What is it about Allan Yaudrey that has 
 taken my fancy, I wonder ? He is not better- 
 looking than a dozen other men I know. He 
 is not particularly witty — nor particularly 
 wise — and yet I am so interested in everything 
 he says or does . . . 
 
 ' Esme, Esme,' Frances is calling at the top 
 of her voice, ' where are you ? ' And flourish- 
 ing a letter in one hand she comes along 
 through the big garden gate, whose huge 
 wooden supports are hidden in a perfect frame- 
 work of purple clematis and Gloire de Dijon 
 roses. ' It's from Uncle Frank,' she exclaims 
 breathlessly, ' addressed to you, so I did not 
 like to open it. Quick, see what he says. It 
 is so funny of him to send it back from the 
 station like this. He must have written it 
 before he left the house.' 
 
THE BLOW 45 
 
 ' My dear Esme, — You and Frances will 
 be surprised to hear that I am going to be 
 married to-morrow. I thought it better to 
 say nothing about it beforehand, as it might 
 have led to words. You and Frances can 
 always Hve at Billington the same as before, if 
 you like. The house in Belgrave Square is 
 sold. 
 
 ' Your affectionate 
 
 ' Ujs^cle Feank. 
 
 ' P.S. — I am going to marry Priestman.' 
 
 ' Priestman ! ' screams Frances. ' Priest- 
 man ! ' I repeat with a breathless gasp. 
 
 A minute's silence, while we stare affright- 
 edly at one another. Then Frances sinks into 
 the garden-seat behind her and bursts into 
 hysterical laughter. 
 
 ' So it is a joke,' I ejaculate angrily ; ' I 
 suppose you and Uncle Frank concocted it 
 together. Well, all I can say is that for sheer 
 
46 THE COUNTY 
 
 unmitigated bad taste your joke would carry 
 off the palm anywhere.' And I stalk angrily 
 away, but after a few paces turn and shoot 
 another indignant glance at Frances. Some- 
 thing in her crumpled-up attitude strikes me 
 with dismay. Suppose it should be no jest at 
 all, but grim earnest. My knees turn weak 
 and tremble beneath me ; the few steps back 
 to Frances' side seem a long journey. ' Answer 
 me at once,' I exclaim sharply, seizing her 
 by the shoulder and shaking her. ' Is this a 
 joke or not ? ' 
 
 ' I don't suppose we shall find it much ol 
 a joke,' returns Frances, raising her twitching 
 face flooded with tears and giggling hysteric- 
 ally, ' but I dare say other people will. Ha ! 
 ha!' 
 
 ' Then it is true,' I say, watching in dull 
 amazement the rising veins in Frances' neck, 
 and dimly surprised to see her collapse so sud- 
 denly and quickly. ' At least if it is a joke, 
 you know nothing of it.' 
 
THE BLOW 47 
 
 And, spreading out my creased letter, I 
 examine carefully each slanting line and 
 sprawling word. ' I am going to marry 
 Priestman,' I repeat. ' He could never, never 
 have written a thing like that for fun. Marry 
 Priestman ! A servant ! Do you think he is 
 off his head, Frances ? Can nothing be done 
 to prevent him from such disgrace ? ' 
 
 ^ She will wear the white straw bonnet 
 with the marguerites that I gave her ! ' 
 Frances bursts out giggling again. ' I couldn't 
 imagine what made her so positive that it 
 would be out of date for me next season.' 
 
 ' We don't even know where he is,' I go on 
 frowning painfully. ' And before we can get 
 at him it will be too late.' 
 
 'Who, who will be the best man?' asks 
 Frances. 'Will he be Lord Eaylands or 
 Wilham the Pert? chosen from the bride- 
 groom's friends or the bride's ? ' 
 
 'I wonder if any of the servants know where 
 Uncle Frank has gone,' I say, still hanker- 
 
48 THE COUNTY 
 
 ing after pursuit and recapture. ' Perhaps 
 Eobinson could tell us.' 
 
 And I begin moving towards the house 
 when Frances catches my wrist with hot 
 nervous fingers. ' Don't make a fool of your- 
 self, Esme,' she says sharply. ' He has most 
 assuredly put himself beyond our reach, and 
 any questions you ask Eobinson will only be 
 repeated for Pries tman's amusement.' 
 
 ' You are taking it in a most extraordinary 
 fashion,' I exclaim angrily, obeying the natural 
 and laudable instinct which invariably prompts 
 a woman to turn and rend someone in her 
 wrath ; ' you seem to think there is nothing 
 for us to do but twirl our thumbs and make 
 bad jokes. Do you realise what this ' (striking 
 the offending document) ' means to us ? ' 
 
 ' Do I realise it ? good heavens ! ' and 
 Frances throws out her arms with wild 
 abandonment. The hysterical fit has passed 
 away, leaving her small flowerlike face lined 
 and drawn out of all semblance of beauty. 
 
THE BLOW 49 
 
 ' Do I realise what it means to us ? I think I 
 do — only too well. It means that while this 
 morning you and I were the Nugents of 
 Billington — criticised, pulled to pieces if you 
 like, but still envied by all the women we 
 know — this afternoon we are neither more 
 nor less than " poor things." That is what 
 they will say, " We are so sorry for them, poor 
 things ! " We are nobodies now — you and I, 
 Esme — with no home, no money, no place in 
 the world.' And she bursts into bitter tears. 
 
 VOL. r. 
 
50 THE COUNTY 
 
 CHAPTEE IV 
 
 THE INVITATION 
 
 ' Jacquetta is our only prop. I can see no- 
 thing for it but to write to her. She will 
 take us in,' I say drearily next morning at 
 breakfast. 
 
 We have given ourselves a night to sleep 
 upon our plans, mindful of the saying that 
 ' the night giveth counsel.' But small counsel 
 or comfort have the weary hours brought us. 
 Our prospects look as gloomy now as they did 
 last night at dinner. 
 
 A hideous parody of a dinner it was, with 
 Frances at one end of the table, I at the other, 
 stonily determined, both of us, not to give way 
 now or ever before the servants ; making 
 jerky conversation and painfully choosing the 
 
THE INVITATION 61 
 
 food which seemed least hkely to stick in 
 our tightened throats ; horribly conscious of 
 Eobinson's compassion and William's curi- 
 osity. 
 
 I had wondered whether my swollen eye- 
 lids proclaimed their abnormal proportions 
 most obviously when I looked down at my 
 plate, or when I uplifted them to the topmost 
 fronds of the fern in front of me. I deter- 
 mined to take note from Frances, who had 
 wept longer and more copiously than I ; I 
 shot a quick dim glance across the table, but 
 the unaccustomed sight of the gay little face, 
 swollen and tear-stained out of all recognition, 
 even under the shadow of an extra large 
 fringe of yellow hair pulled well over the eye- 
 brows for the occasion, very nearly upset me. 
 
 We held ourselves rigidly upright, both of 
 us, but even this could not be pronounced an 
 entire success, our usual attitude en famille 
 being much less dignified and more of a 
 lounge. However, the dinner, like all things 
 
 E 2 
 
 
52 THE COUNTY 
 
 earthly, came to an end at last ; and so did 
 the long evening, of which every minute pre- 
 sented a new and hitherto unthought-of deve- 
 lopment of our woful change of fortune. 
 
 ' That we should be brought so low as to 
 have to ask Jacquetta to take us in ! ' responds 
 Frances, with a sigh. 
 
 ' It isn't Jacquetta I mind,' groan I ; ' it is 
 Sir Joseph. Hoiv he will patronise us ! How 
 he will assure us that his generosity is as 
 large as the ocean ! ' 
 
 ' Thank Heaven that we have the where- 
 withal to clothe ourselves! ' ejaculates Frances. 
 
 ' What a horrible idea ! ' I say uneasily. 
 ' It will be bad enough to eat his food as poor 
 relations on a long visit, but clothes of his 
 would burn me to the bone, like that 
 woman's shirt burnt Hercules,' with vague 
 mythology. 
 
 ' Poor relations on a long visit ! ' repeats 
 Frances. ' I cant get my mind properly ad- 
 justed. You and I patronised by Sir Joseph 
 
THE INVITATIO]^ 5o 
 
 Yarboroiigli ! And when he and Jacquetta 
 have come here for their annual two days' 
 visit at the New Year we have never taken 
 the trouble even to patronise him, but we 
 have killed off all the old frumps in the neigh- 
 bourhood whom we wouldn't have to dinner 
 at any other time.' 
 
 ' I suppose there is nothing for it but to 
 go to them for a while,' I say dubiously. ' It 
 is very horrible to have to ask them, but I 
 can't think of anything else, can you ? ' 
 
 Frances shakes her head forlornly. 
 
 ' And we have always congratulated our- 
 selves upon the slender limits of our family 
 circle,' she says. ' Little did we think how 
 we should one day long for an army of 
 cousins and a regiment of uncles and aunts. 
 At a moment like this how usefully they 
 would have come in, instead of our being 
 thrown solely and utterly upon the charity of 
 one's mother's cousin, and such a second-rate 
 cousin, too ! ' 
 
54 THE COUNTY 
 
 ' I don't know about our being thrown 
 solely and utterly upon Jacquetta's charity,' 
 I object, with an unhappy turn of my head. 
 * There's not so very much charity in taking 
 in two girls for a visit ; after all, they were 
 for ever asking us there, till they found out 
 it was no use — and it will be no more than a 
 visit. We only want time to make up our 
 minds about the future.' 
 
 ' I positively have not courage to think 
 of the future,' murmurs my sister reflec- 
 tively. ' Only one thing looms clearly and 
 certainly before me, and that is that it will 
 be the bounden duty of whichever of us has 
 the chance, to marry the very first man who 
 proposes, provided, of course, that he has 
 the wherewithal to pay the butcher and the 
 baker. How, how is our value fallen in the 
 matrimonial market ! ' 
 
 ' I wonder that you can harp upon that 
 string to-day,' I return, all the more nervously 
 irritated because my own thoughts had long 
 
THE INVITATION 55 
 
 ago flown in the self-same direction, only 
 with a personal application to Allan Vaudrey 
 which had added a hundredfold to their 
 bitterness. ' I should think the latest family 
 alliance was enough for the moment. Will 
 anybody call upon Priestman, do you think, 
 Frances ? ' 
 
 ' Of course not ; not even the meanest, 
 scrubbiest person in the village, let alone the 
 county, unless perhaps the Brackham curates 
 take it in their day's work. Why, that has 
 been her attraction ! I feel certain of it ! 
 Uncle Frank has deliberately picked out 
 someone to free him from the trammels of 
 society.' 
 
 ' Yes, Society in general, with a capital 
 S, and our society in particular,' I finish. 
 ' Well, he has done it with a vengeance. 
 I will go and write to Jacquetta by this post.' 
 
 Jacquetta has been written to, and Jac- 
 quetta has responded — warmly, for Jacquetta 
 
56 THE COUNTY 
 
 is a warm-hearted person. She has bid us 
 welcome to the heart and home of herself 
 and her knight with effusive compassion, in 
 an epistle abounding in notes of exclamation, 
 directed principally against the cold-blooded 
 misdoing of Uncle Frank and the hypocritical 
 scheming of that low creature Priestman. 
 She has explained at considerable length that 
 she herself never did like Priestman, though 
 of course she could not say so when we all 
 considered her such a valuable servant and 
 spoke so highly of her. Unreasonably 
 enough this offends us, and we remark in 
 tart concord that none of Jacquetta's abigails 
 could hold a candle to Priestman — as a iriaid. 
 She has appointed the earliest possible mo- 
 ment for our arrival, assuring us that she 
 cannot endure the thought of our remaining 
 at Billington an hour longer than is abso- 
 lutely necessary, exposed as we are to the 
 possible descent of the new mistress of 
 the house. 
 
THE INVITATION 57 
 
 * Nothing could be kinder,' I say, laying 
 down tlie letter with a little sigh. 
 
 ' She is positively delighted,' exclaims 
 Frances. ' It is beyond her wildest dreams 
 that she should ever be able to pat us on the 
 back and declare that she will stand by us.' 
 
 ' Well, and it is very good of her to stand 
 by us. We shan't find many people in a 
 mighty hurry to have that honour. What 
 can she possibly get out of us in return ? ' 
 
 ' Though we are not what we were, still 
 a Nugent — a real genuine Nugent — must be 
 a downright godsend for Jacquetta to flourish 
 in the face of her Eiverdale friends,' returns 
 Frances, who is beginning to pick up again 
 after four- and- twenty hours' complete prostra- 
 tion ; ' not to mention the fact, Esme, that the 
 natives of those parts have probably never set 
 eyes on two such good-looking young people 
 as you and I. Sir Joseph has a tremendous 
 penchant for pretty girls, you know. I shall 
 cultivate Sir Joseph.' 
 
58 THE COUNTY 
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 GOOD-BYE TO BILLINGTON 
 
 The day of our departure has arrived. 
 
 We have said farewell to Billington. For 
 the last time we have paced up the apple 
 walk to Lilliput Cottage, where in the days of 
 our childhood we used to play at keeping 
 house, and dispense smoky tea to youthful 
 guests. 
 
 For the last time we have pottered 
 through the big orchard house, where the 
 purple grapes hang ripening in the September 
 sun. Many are the confidences Frances and 
 I have exchanged under those selfsame vines, 
 first about our dolls ; then, not so very long 
 ago, about our governesses ; and now, in 
 these latter days, about lovers. For the last 
 
GOOD-BYE TO BILLINGTON 59 
 
 time we have sat under the big cedar in front 
 of the house and rested our eyes lovingly on 
 its long straight lines, conning over and over 
 again each mass of ivy, each cHmbing rose 
 on its grey walls. For the fiftieth time I 
 have sobbed out, ' Why wasn't I a boy ? To 
 think that if I had been a boy all this would 
 have been my very own, and no one could 
 have taken it from me ! ' 
 
 I have wept hot tears of rage and grief 
 until my cheeks are blistered and my nose 
 swollen. 
 
 Frances has taken it more calmly these 
 last few days ; she has realised that nothing 
 can be done, and in true campaigning spirit, 
 instead of dwelling on the hopeless past, has 
 occupied herself in sharpening her weapons 
 for the future. In other words, Priestman 
 not having been available, she has devoted 
 most of her time to overhauHng her wardrobe 
 and preparing her frocks for conquest. With 
 rapidity marvellous to me she has attuned her 
 
60 THE COUNTY 
 
 mind to the hideous fact that our comfort in 
 tlie future will depend upon how pleasant we 
 make ourselves to those around us, and has 
 already turned over her stock-in-trade of 
 charms as a pedlar his wares. 
 
 While I have passed my nights and days 
 in bemoaning our woful fate and in making 
 tearful farewell pilgrimages to every man, 
 woman, and child on the wide acres of Bill- 
 ington, she has grappled with and accepted 
 the hard truth, that from our high and inde- 
 pendent estate we have indeed fallen, that we 
 are utterly dependent upon Sir Joseph Yar- 
 borough for every luxury, nay, every comfort 
 of life, and is preparing to act upon her con- 
 victions with commendable philosophy. 
 
 The carriage has come round to take us to 
 the station. The house servants are lining 
 the passage leading from our staircase to the 
 front hall. 
 
 ' Brutes ! ' I ejaculate inwardly as I catch 
 sight of them on reaching the half-landing. 
 
GOOD-BYE TO BILLINGTON 61 
 
 ' One hint from them ten days ago and we 
 should have been spared this.' 
 
 But for all that I cannot pass them with- 
 out saying good-bye, richly though they de- 
 serve it. They are connected with Bilhngton ; 
 they will be here when I am gone, and for 
 one moment a pang of something nearly akin 
 to envy shoots through me. 
 
 So I begin at the scullery-maids, tail end 
 of the long line, and shake hands with each in 
 turn. 
 
 ' Good-bye, Barbara ! Good-bye, Susan, 
 Charlotte, Jane,' and so on until close to the 
 front door I come to Duncan, the housekeeper, 
 before whom I pause with far different feel- 
 ings. She alone has refused to stay under the 
 new regime^ is leaving Billington this very 
 afternoon, and is honestly disgusted at the 
 state of affairs. 
 
 ' Good-bye, Duncan. Be sure and let me 
 know if I can do anything for you. You have 
 my address. Good-bye.' 
 
62 THE COUNTY 
 
 Then, turning to get into the carriage, I 
 discover to my surprise that Frances is not 
 behind me as I thought ; she was close to me 
 on the landing. I pause for a moment and 
 catch sight of her only now coming down- 
 stairs. 
 
 Slowly she makes her way towards me, 
 passing through the servants' ranks as if they 
 had been so many nude Greek statues, and 
 she the historic British matron averting her 
 eyes in disgust. She passes even Duncan with 
 the same disdainful air and follows me into 
 the carriage in perfect silence, her small white 
 face composedly indifferent and her little head 
 erect in the air. 
 
 ' You might have said good-bye to Duncan,' 
 I murmur reproachfully, as the footman mounts 
 the box. 
 
 'Why should I?' she answers coolly. 
 ' If she has not been a knave she has been a 
 precious fool to be hoodwinked, with all her 
 opportunities of knowing what was going on.' 
 
GOOD-BYE TO BILLINGTON 63 
 
 ' But you have been civil enough to her up 
 till now.' 
 
 'Of course I have,' with unruffled tran- 
 quilhty, ' and to all the others as well. They 
 might have made themselves disagreeable over 
 the packing if I had candidly explained the 
 real state of my feelings towards them.' 
 
 On the way to the station Frances and I 
 have another slight altercation. I hope the 
 change in our circumstances is not going to 
 make us quarrelsome ; we have always got on 
 so well together. Our present difference of 
 opinion is over Wilham the Pert. Frances 
 wants to take him with us to Eiverdale to look 
 after our luggage, and then send him back by 
 the next return train. 
 
 ' You really seem to forget what paupers 
 we are, Frances,' I object impatiently. ' We 
 must get accustomed to do without such 
 luxuries as servants to travel with us.' 
 
 Frances arches her eyebrows in astonish- 
 ment. 
 
64 THE COUNTY 
 
 ' My dear Esme,' she says loftily, ' you 
 evidently imagine that I propose paying 
 William's railway fare. I told Eobinson 
 yesterday to give him enough money, and to 
 book it to Uncle Frank as usual.' 
 
 I don't like this proceeding at all ; it ruffles 
 my pride, or, possibly, my temper ; but I feel 
 too miserable and too dejected to squabble 
 with Frances. 
 
 We are driving past the Home Covert for 
 the last time. We have left behind us the 
 garden gate where Mr. Yaudrey said good-bye 
 last Thursday ; what ages ago it seems ! And 
 now we are skirting the walk in Beech Wood, 
 where they always finish that day's shooting 
 and where we used to stand and watch the 
 last drive. 
 
 Only the other day I told Mr. Yaudrey I 
 should be able to count how many times he 
 missed, from that oak stump. He was to 
 have come to us for our first shooting party. 
 
 How quickly Ellis is driving this after- 
 
GOOD-BYE TO BILLINGTON 65 
 
 noon ! Here we are at the Brackham Lodge, 
 and Mrs. Brady and all the children are 
 drawn up to curtsey good-bye. They really 
 are a very nice-looking family ; I have always 
 laucrhed so much at their bi<2^ noses that I 
 never noticed until to-day what bright eyes 
 and pretty complexions they have. 
 
 ' For Heaven's sake, don't begin to cry 
 again, Esme,' says Frances persuasively. ' Sir 
 Joseph will take it so frightfully amiss if we 
 present ourselves before him drowned in tears. 
 We must try and make him believe it has 
 been the desire of our existence to live with 
 him.' 
 
 I acknowledge the justice of her remark 
 and pull myself together again. Life has 
 seemed to consist of pulling myself together 
 these last few days, and a very disagreeable 
 operation it is. 
 
 ' Do I look as if I had been crying, 
 Frances ? ' I ask anxiously, as our train 
 steams slowly into Kiverdale Station two 
 
 VOL. I. p 
 
66 THE COUNTY 
 
 hours later. I have been consulting the 
 oblong mirror in the railway carriage with 
 the depressing result usually accruing there- 
 from. How is it that railway companies 
 always have such peculiarly humbling look- 
 ing-glasses ? 
 
 'N — no,' she replies, scanning me with 
 critical glance. ' You look rather flattened, 
 but you will be all right directly you have to 
 talk.' 
 
 Jacquetta is at the station to meet us, and 
 her welcome is effusive. We are enfolded in 
 an ample embrace on the railway platform, 
 and our hands are hotly and persistently 
 squeezed during the short passage from the 
 train to the Yarborough equipage, which is 
 drawn up outside — money written all over its 
 ensemble, from the shine on the newly-painted 
 panels down to the varnish on the footman's 
 boots. 
 
 ' You poor dear things ! * exclaims 
 Jacquetta, ' you can't think how I feel for 
 
GOOD-BYE TO BILLINGTON 67 
 
 you. It's more like a novel than real life to 
 see two young girls brought up in every 
 luxury, and suddenly turned out of doors in 
 this terrible way. My dears, henceforth you 
 must look upon Riverdale Place as your home.' 
 
 Jacquetta is much excited. Her beady 
 black eyes are twinkling fast ; her face is 
 flushed and heated even beyond its "wont. 
 
 ' You are very, very kind, dear Jacquetta,' 
 I reply gratefully. 
 
 Gratitude is a new emotion for me, and I 
 had no idea it was such an unpleasant one. I 
 have had no need to be grateful to anyone 
 hitherto, and it gives me the sensation of a 
 trickle of cold water down my back ; I dare 
 say the wholesale plunge into its billows 
 which I see before me won't be more uncom- 
 fortable than this first sprinkhng. 
 
 ' Yes, indeed,' chimes in Frances ; ' if it 
 had not been for your kindness I don't know 
 what would have become of us. And how 
 are you, Jacquetta ? And dear Sir Joseph ? ' 
 
 F 2 
 
68 THE COUNTY 
 
 leaning forward from her seat opposite, 
 anxiety for the. latest news of Sir Joseph's 
 health written upon each feature. 
 
 He himself greets us with considerable 
 dignity at the door of his big, new, red brick 
 house. 
 
 ' How are you, my dear girls ? ' (we have 
 never been ' his dear girls ' before). 'Believe 
 me when I assure you that you are as welcome 
 to-day as you would have been a month ago 
 This most disgraceful business has in nowise 
 changed the affectionate feelings with which 
 Lady Yarborough and myself have always 
 regarded you.' 
 
 ' You are very kind,' I say again ; it is to 
 be my stock remark apparently, but this tin^e 
 it comes out as stiff as a ramrod. Frances, 
 however, is gazing with such artless admira- 
 tion at our gallant protector, and her touching 
 ' Dear Sir Joseph, that is so like you,' is given 
 in such effective fashion, that he steps past 
 
GOOD-BYE TO BILLIXGTON 69 
 
 me and pats her reassuringly on the back 
 with a condescending — 
 
 * Poor dear ! Poor dear ! ' Then, afraid 
 no doubt lest I should be overwhelmed with 
 jealousy and despair, he turns round and 
 bestows another pat and a gracious ' Poor 
 dear ! ' upon me also. 
 
 Two girls in the background have been 
 watching our benevolent reception with 
 admiring awCc As we are convoyed through 
 the hall by Sir Joseph and Jacquetta, the 
 taller of the two murmurs in an audible 
 gush — 
 
 ' I can't be sorry for them. They are in 
 luck's way, / think ! ' — which very proper 
 sentiment is rewarded by a smile from Sir 
 Joseph, and immediate notice of the right- 
 minded speaker, a damsel with bold black 
 eyes, an underhung jaw, and a figure which 
 starts out unexpectedly in all sorts of places 
 where it ought to go in. 
 
70 THE COUNTY 
 
 ' Miss Eva Fenton,' he says, with an intro- 
 ductory wave of liis hand, ' a young lady who 
 is good enough to brighten our house with 
 her frequent presence.' 
 
 ' Now that's quite putting the saddle on 
 tlie wrong horse,' returns Miss Eva Fenton, 
 smiling playfully at him ; ' coming to your 
 house always brightens rne up, and I am sure,' 
 turning to us for the first time, having been 
 too absorbed in beguiling her knight to 
 acknowledge our bows before, ' all I can say 
 is that I envy the Miss Nugents.' ' The Miss 
 Nugents,' as she is pleased to call them, 
 respond as becomingly as in them lies, but the 
 smile of the elder Miss Nugent is constrained 
 — the corners of my mouth feel as lively as 
 cast-iron — whereas the younger Miss Nugent 
 covers herself with glory by the pleased 
 beam and affectionate glance with which she 
 turns from Miss Fenton to Sir Joseph Yar- 
 borough, murmuring, ' I don't think we are 
 much to be pitied.' 
 
GOOD-BYE TO BILLINGTON 71 
 
 ' Well, well,' says Sir Joseph, ' be that as 
 it may, we needn't keep you standing here. 
 I myself will conduct you around the house 
 and gardens.' 
 
 Majesty offering to show one around 
 Windsor could not have been more gracious. 
 
 Jacquetta interposes that we must have 
 some tea first, but, that being despatched, 
 does not further detain us. 
 
 She also is anxious to impress us with a 
 due sense of her importance, and to exhibit 
 the large amount of red brick and acres of 
 glass erected by Sir Joseph, in despite of 
 which she has always felt a nobody at Billing- 
 ton. Much as she has talked of her tents, 
 her flocks, and her herds, during her annual 
 visits, she feels sure Frances and I have not 
 realised the extent of her possessions, or we 
 never could have treated her with such in- 
 different civihty. She bears us no grudge 
 for it, at least not now when we are in 
 trouble, for Jacquetta's ample person en- 
 
72 THE COUNTY 
 
 cases a warm heart ; but she will like show- 
 ing us that her pineries are larger and her 
 stables smarter, if smaller, than those at 
 Billington. 
 
73 
 
 CHAPTEE Yl 
 
 THE FIRST DAY 
 
 ' We will take the house first,' says Sir Joseph 
 as we emerge from the morning-room, a com- 
 pact body of six, whose movements hinge 
 upon the one soul inhabiting the person of 
 our host. 
 
 The pilgrimage being entirely for our 
 benefit, Frances and I are honoured with 
 places at the right and left hands respectively 
 of our leader and guide. 
 
 Jacquetta hovers close around ; she is 
 always ready and willing to share her Joseph's 
 society with admiring damsels — has she not 
 been chosen for the chiefest among the fair ? 
 — but she likes all his little attentions to be 
 paid well under her eye. 
 
74 THE COUNTY 
 
 As to Miss Eva Fenton and her com- 
 panion, they are not going to be left out in 
 the cold for two new-comers who, though 
 they may be fussed over as novelties by 
 the fickle knight, yet cannot know the way 
 about the mazes of his heart like true old 
 friends. 
 
 So, hanging together as bees around their 
 queen, those left perforce behind, as we 
 wedge through a doorway, treading close on 
 the heels of those in front, we start on our 
 inventory of Sir Joseph's possessions. 
 
 ' The drawing-room ! ' he exclaims with 
 modest pride, throwing open a folding door 
 and ushering us into a small world of blue — 
 and of that particular blue which suggests 
 unlimited aniline dye; a blue neither dark, 
 nor sky, nor peacock, nor navy, but simply 
 blue, bright, hard and steely. 
 
 Walls, sofas, and chairs are covered with 
 the same shade of silk, and the carpet hits 
 one in the face with the same cerulean hue. 
 
THE FIRST DAY 75 
 
 Knicknacks there are none. A few orna- 
 ments, mostly gilded — even the china seems 
 to require an ormolu mount before passing 
 muster — are placed upon the tables at solemn 
 intervals. The draperies consist of white 
 antimacassars, placed neatly and tightly 
 across the backs of the chairs, and finely 
 accentuating the shade of blue. 
 
 Anything more ugly and more costly, 
 more suggestive of the largest possible bill at 
 the upholsterer's, combined with the smallest 
 possible modicum of taste, it would be diffi- 
 cult to imagine. 
 
 Before I can recover my breath, Frances 
 has come to the fore. 
 
 ' Charming ! * she exclaims. ' Quite 
 charming ! Blue is much the prettiest colour 
 for furnishing, and you have carried it so 
 well throughout.' 
 
 Sir Joseph raises his shoulders in delicate 
 disclaimer of her praise. I feel his eye upon 
 me. My teeth are still on edge, but I know 
 
76 THE COUNTY 
 
 what is expected and endeavour to rise to 
 the occasion. 
 
 * Charming ! ' I echo feebly. 
 
 ' It is said to resemble the Queen of Italy's 
 own drawing-room at the Quirinal,' remarks 
 attendant nymph No. 2, Miss Hilda Davis. 
 
 But Miss Fenton distances us all in an 
 easy canter. 
 
 'I don't believe any foreigner ever had 
 his walls hung with silk of this quality,' she 
 declares with an offended snort, and rubbing 
 a piece of the window curtain between finger 
 and thumb. ' It would make their rubbishy 
 old brocades look thin and poor, I'll be 
 bound.' 
 
 Sir Joseph beams genially around. ' I am 
 glad you like it,' he says, ' and I think, as 
 Frances most justly observes, that it is well car- 
 ried out. Now, you will pardon me for saying 
 it, nay I am sure you will pardon me under the 
 altered circumstances — but it always struck 
 me as a great defect in what is termed the blue 
 
THE FIRST DAY 77 
 
 drawing-room at Billington — that it is ?26>^well 
 carried out. The walls are blue, it is true ; 
 but the hangings, the carpet, the furniture, 
 what are they? Mixed, very mixed.' 
 
 A vision of the fine old room with its mel- 
 lowed walls and priceless brocades rises before 
 me, and I turn abruptly aside. 
 
 ' Quite true, Sir Joseph,' returns Frances 
 promptly, with callous indifference to his 
 slander. ' But you must remember it requires 
 two things to produce a room like yours : first, 
 perfect taste, and secondly, the money to carry 
 it out.' 
 
 And so we make the round of house and 
 garden. 
 
 Everything is brand-new, and odoriferous 
 of money, not of a good income, merely, thrift- 
 ily administered with best foot foremost ; but 
 of money in abundance, and scattered with a 
 lavish hand. Everywhere Sir Joseph pauses 
 for, and expects, the most extravagant praise. 
 I had arrived this afternoon fully intending to 
 
78 THE COUNTY 
 
 do the utmost in my power to please him, and 
 by no means inclined to stick at a little toady- 
 ism ; but what he demands, and what is 
 evidently his daily bread, is flattery so broad 
 and thickly laid on, that from sheer inability 
 to exclaim any longer ' How noble you are ! 
 how rich, how grand ! ' I fall behind at last, 
 and, putting my arm through Jacquetta's, allow 
 Miss Fenton to close in to Sir Joseph's deserted 
 side. Then from afar I watch with grim 
 amusement the rivalry between her and 
 Frances. Miss Fenton is more thorough-going 
 and plain-speaking in her choice of superlatives, 
 but Frances' eyes are so sweetly caressing, 
 her smile so full of tender appreciation, that 
 Sir Joseph is perfectly satisfied, and feels him- 
 self a finer fellow than ever under her tactful 
 treatment. 
 
 ' How are we to keep it up, Frances ? ' I 
 ask in despair two hours later, as we are 
 getting ready for dinner. I have pushed open 
 the door between our bedrooms and am sur- 
 
THE FIRST DAY 79 
 
 veying Frances disconsolately in the pauses of 
 our toilette. 
 
 ' Heaven alone knows ! ' she answers. 
 
 * He never went on like this at Billington,* 
 I continue dismally, strugghng with an obsti- 
 nate curl that will not pile itself on the top of 
 my head as smoothly as it ought — there are 
 moments when I sigli over the loss of Priest- 
 man as a maid even more deeply than I bemoan 
 her acquisition as a relative. 
 
 ' Because no one listened to him,' says 
 Frances. 
 
 ' What a strange experience it must have 
 been for him,' I remark, with a retrospective 
 giggle ; ' such a big man as he thinks himself 
 to be made so very little of! He is kind- 
 hearted after all not to visit it on us now.' 
 
 ' What shall we wear this evening ? ' asks 
 Frances, too much absorbed in the present 
 moment to heed my musings. 
 
 ' Our pink ? ' I hazard tersely. 
 
 * I think we had better rise to the white,' 
 
80 THE COUNTY 
 
 she says reflectively, pulling out the golden 
 tendrils of her hair into artistic disorder ; ' so 
 much depends upon first impressions, and 
 Jacquetta informed me in a mysterious whisper 
 as we came upstairs, that Mr. Bryan Mansfield 
 was coming to dinner.' 
 
 * And who on earth is Mr. Bryan Mansfield, 
 that we should put on our white gowns for 
 him ? ' I ask in contemptuous astonishment. 
 
 ' I can't tell you who he is in so many words,* 
 returns Frances gravely, ' but my sixth sense 
 informs me that he is moneyed. Those awful 
 girls were bickering over him this afternoon and 
 — well, do as you like, but I shall put on my 
 white gown. We can't afford to lose one 
 chance now. Our picking and choosing days 
 are over.' 
 
 So, she arrayed in white, I in pink, we 
 descend to the drawing-room, where Sir Joseph 
 commands the blue world from his vantage 
 post on the hearthrug. He looks a great 
 dandy in the evening, when just fresh from 
 
THE FIRST DAY 81 
 
 the hands of his valet. Indeed, it is at all 
 times evident that he respects his person, but 
 in the heat of the day an unseemly little 
 smudge is apt to appear at the corners of his 
 moustache, and his ebon locks straggle thinly 
 asunder. The least disarray in the panoply 
 of charms is fatal at his time of life. By the 
 way, I wonder what his time of life exactly is. 
 Like the attorney's daughter, he 
 
 Would pass very well for forty-tliree 
 In the dusk with the light behind him, 
 
 but in broad daylight he might be a hundred ; 
 and certainly it is not only his moustache that 
 is dyed. 
 
 Miss Fenton is all giggles and excitement. 
 Largely bedizened with steel ornaments and 
 witli tags of ribbon sticking out in unexpected 
 places, she is evidently in full cry. The 
 object of her attentions is a dark man lolling 
 on the sofa beside her, whom she is playfully 
 fanning when we enter the room. 
 
 ' Mansfield,' says Sir Joseph, turning 
 
 VOL. I. G 
 
82 THE COUNTY 
 
 sliarply round ; and Mr. Mansfield, who has, it 
 is clear, been primed beforehand, rises and 
 follows his host towards us. ' Allow me to 
 present Mr. Bryan Mansfield,' with a flourish 
 of the hand to us ward, as of a salesman towards 
 his wares ; and indeed are we not his wares, and 
 is it not most kind of him to so speedily intro- 
 duce us to a customer ? 
 
 ' Mr. Mansfield is contemplating the pur- 
 chase of an estate in your own county of 
 Loamshire,' magnificently appropriating the 
 county on our dispossessed behalf. 
 
 Mr. Mansfield is inclined to be stout, and 
 his attractions are of a barber's-block order — 
 big black eyes, smooth black hair, a neatly 
 pointed black moustache, and a straight nose. 
 
 ' Nice county, Loamshire,' he says. He 
 has bowed to us both, but fixes the black eyes 
 steadily on me as he speaks. 'My doctor has 
 turned me out of the City, and so I'm looking 
 for a place in the country. Everyone tells 
 me I can t do better than Loamshire.' 
 
THE FIRST DAY 83 
 
 I smile vaguely. I don't like fat men, nor 
 dark men, nor second-rate men ; and Mr. 
 Mansfield comes under all these categories. 
 Moreover, Frances has put on war-paint for 
 his benefit, and we never poach on one 
 another's preserves ; so my smile is of the 
 sketchiest, and I slip past him and join Sir 
 Joseph on the hearthrug, leaving Frances to 
 give Loamshire a character if so it seemeth 
 good to her. 
 
 ' Delightful man,' murmurs Sir Joseph 
 sotto voce, ' and most successful. His business 
 ability is something remarkable ; and he is 
 now retiring to enjoy the immense fortune 
 accumulated by his talents and energy.' 
 
 Miss Fenton is glowering savagely from her 
 deserted sofa ; and in her wrathful glance she 
 includes even her filched prey, who is being 
 sweetly assured by Frances that the Loamshire 
 people are very cheery, that he will like them 
 oh ! so much ; implying with clear uphfted 
 eyes that they will like him oh! so much. 
 
 G 2 
 
84 THE COUNTY 
 
 In spite of tlie delicate flattery she is ad- 
 ministering so prettily, and which must be 
 welcome to his masculine heart, he turns 
 again to me. 
 
 ' Do you remember that afternoon last 
 January when the hounds ran from Billington 
 to Queen's Gorse and the huntsman gave you 
 the brush. Miss Nugent ? The master and all 
 the field, with the exception of yourself and 
 three men, were thrown out.' 
 
 ' Because they followed some young 
 hounds at the start ? Yes, I remember,' I 
 answer eagerly, forgetting the speaker in the 
 sudden memories he has called up. ' What 
 made you think of it ? Were you there ? ' 
 
 Paton, the butler, announces dinner. By 
 the way, the Yarboroughs are fully aware 
 that they entertain an angel in Paton, and 
 constantly inform their friends of the interest- 
 ing fact. 
 
 Sir Joseph marches off with Frances, evi- 
 dently ignoring my claims of seniority on the 
 
THE FIRST DAY 85 
 
 ground that her conversation will be more 
 digestive, and waves Mr. Mansfield to me. 
 
 As I take his arm perforce, he bends a 
 great deal nearer than I should wish, and, in 
 a tone much too affectionate, murmurs, ' I 
 rode at your side the whole way, and your 
 face has haunted me ever since — though per- 
 haps you have never even given me a second 
 thought.' 
 
 ' I am not aware of having bestowed 
 a first thought upon you, Mr. Mansfield, 
 much less a second. I do not remember that 
 I have ever seen you before,' I answer 
 angrily. 
 
 Jacquetta is close behind me, in animated 
 converse with an elderly clergyman who I 
 presently find is the Vicar, and when we 
 reach the dining-room I make straight for 
 her elbow, fully determined to discuss affairs 
 parochial, with their leave or without their 
 leave. 
 
 Mv intentions are momentarilv frustrated 
 
86 THE COUNTY 
 
 by considerable difficulty in picking up the 
 thread of their discourse. 
 
 * Half a dozen fowls ? ' says the Vicar 
 interrogatively. He is a cadaverous-looking 
 mortal, with blinking eyes and red whiskers. 
 
 Jacquetta shakes her head. 
 
 ' They never touch poultry, if they have 
 the chance of anything else,' she replies de- 
 cisively. ' The year before last I gave them 
 two Norfolk turkeys, and they all declared 
 they were '' poor eating." ' 
 
 ' Yes ; butcher's meat is what their soul 
 loveth,' agrees the Vicar dolefully ; 'and small 
 blame to them, poor things.' 
 
 ' You are talking of a dinner lor poor 
 people? ' I break in hastily, for Mr. Mansfield 
 has freed himself from Eva Fenton, who is 
 loudly clamouring for notice on his other side, 
 and is beginning some remark to me. 
 
 ' Yes ; my old people's dinner,' says 
 Jacquetta. ' It is coming off next week. The 
 Vicar was suggesting poultry for them, but I 
 
THE FIRST DAY 87 
 
 find they won't touch game, much less fowls, 
 on these occasions.' 
 
 ' How funny ! I could live on game,' I 
 declare with deepest interest, turning well 
 round to Jacquetta and literally presenting 
 a cold shoulder to Mr. Mansfield. Frances 
 is shooting soft glances at him, judiciously 
 utilising the brief moments during which Sir 
 Joseph bestows undivided attention upon 
 the soup ; while Miss Hilda Davis just oppo- 
 site is tenderly endeavouring to extract a 
 smile. 
 
 'You had heaps of game at Billington,' 
 says Mr. Mansfield, addressing my back. 
 ' And how pretty the coverts are ! ' 
 
 ' Very,' I reply laconically, leaning forward 
 to catch some valuable remark the Vicar is 
 making about a loin of mutton. 
 
 ' They are very fond of a saddle,' Jacquetta 
 replies doubtfully. 
 
 I wish tliey would talk about something 
 else. Joints are so puzzling. Yet, after all. 
 
8^ THE COUNTY 
 
 I may strike in on the very strength of my 
 ignorance. 
 
 * How wise you are about loins and saddles, 
 Jacquetta ! ' I exclaim hurriedly. ' I have 
 been keeping house for the last two years, 
 and I declare I don't know which is which.' 
 
 But Jacquetta takes this somewhat amiss. 
 
 ' I suppose you mean that you had a French 
 chef^' she says huflSly ; ' but many gentlemen 
 like a slice from a joint.' 
 
 We are eight at dinner : Jacquetta and 
 the Yicar, Sir Joseph and Frances, Mr. Mans- 
 field and I, while the other two girls are man- 
 less. 
 
 In a short interval between the entrees and 
 Frances' wiles Sir Joseph casts his lordly eye 
 around. Apparently things are not going to 
 his satisfaction. 
 
 Eva Fenton is volubly assuring Mr. Mans- 
 field that the tandem he drove down from 
 town some ten days ago has been the talk of 
 the village ever since, and I, feeling that she 
 
THE FIEST DAY 89 
 
 has him in hand for five minutes good, am 
 tranquilly meditating. 
 
 ' Ahem ! Mansfield, have you compared 
 notes with Miss Nugent about your common 
 friends in Loamshire? I think you will find, 
 my dear Esme, that Mr. Mansfield is intimately 
 acquainted with the neighbourhood of Bill- 
 ington. Now, my dear Eva, don't pass that 
 entree ; take my word for it, you young ladies 
 who play tennis all day long ought to eat a 
 good dinner to keep your strength up.' 
 
 His diplomacy is infantine in its candour, 
 but at least it compels me to turn round 
 and ask Mr. Mansfield with a smile where 
 he used to stay in Loamshire ; not even for 
 the pleasure of snubbing him must I vex 
 my host. 
 
 ' At the Eolands'. (Yes, I thought so ; 
 very second-rate people.) 
 
 'Eeally? Then you know the village of 
 Bilhngton well, I suppose ? ' 
 
 'Very well indeed. Pretty place,' says 
 
90 THE COUNTY 
 
 Mr. Mansfield, ' and nice people the Eolands. 
 Don't you think so ? ' 
 
 * Well, I scarcely knew tliem to speak to,' 
 I say hesitatingly ; then with mendacious 
 politeness, for fear of appearing to turn up my 
 nose at Sir Joseph's friend's friends, ' but they 
 looked very nice. Mrs. Eoland is such a pretty 
 httle thing.' 
 
 ' You scarcely knew them to speak to ! ' 
 repeats Mr. Mansfield in surprise. ' Why they 
 told me you were most intimate. That ex- 
 plains perhaps why I never could get them to 
 introduce me to you. I went down there 
 twice on purpose.' 
 
 And again I turn away in anger. 
 
 This broadly hinted admiration savours 
 strongly of the recorded conversations of 'Arry 
 and 'Arriet. 
 
91 
 
 CHAPTER Vn 
 
 DESERTED 
 
 * Exactly one month since we came here/ says 
 Frances, mournfully gazing into the fire ; ' and 
 oh, doesn't it seem time to pack up our traps 
 and go home again ? ' 
 
 It is a chilly October evening, and Frances 
 and I are indulging in the luxury of a quiet 
 chat over my bedroom fire — an unwonted 
 luxury, for Jacquetta is sociably inclined and 
 likes to have us always with her. When we 
 first came here we used to slip away for an 
 hour's freedom and rest before dressing for 
 dinner ; but Jacquetta always asked us so 
 fussily and pointedly what we had been doing 
 with ourselves, that we find it more expedient 
 now to remain in the bosom of the family 
 
92 THE COUNTY 
 
 until the dressing gong gives the lawful signal 
 for retreat. This evening, however, she is 
 peacefully and happily engaged in taking a 
 guitar lesson, postponed from the morning 
 when her Girls' Friendly Society accounts en- 
 grossed her. Jacquetta is a person of widely 
 varied tastes ; in the twinkling of an eye, and 
 with the same unconscious courage, she will 
 attack a new musical instrument, a mothers' 
 meeting, a portrait in oils, or the Hungarian 
 polka. 
 
 ' Home ! ' I echo dismally. ' Why it 
 seems almost strange to me that we ever had 
 a home of our own. I feel as if I had lived 
 here for years, assuring Sir Joseph that no 
 such Colossus as he ever bestrode the world.' 
 
 ' I wish you would assure him a little 
 more regularly then,' returns Frances pet- 
 tishly. ' You are so intermittent ; now and 
 then you say something that puts him in a 
 good temper ; but when he comes fishing 
 around for more, you gaze at him vacantly 
 
DESERTED 93 
 
 with a lack-lustre expression that shows your 
 thoughts are miles away ; and it takes me 
 half an hour to soothe him down again.' 
 
 ' He is so very voracious,' I sigh. Then, 
 with a repentant qualm, ' After all, if he ex- 
 pects a lot of admiration he is quite willing 
 it should be mutual. He goes about telling 
 everyone how beautiful we are.' 
 
 ' Yes, and how generous he is to us. We 
 are a perfect windfall to him. He waves his 
 hand towards us. " Just look at them — 
 charming girls ! So distinguished, so well- 
 bred, accustomed to the very first society ! 
 And but for my benevolence where would 
 they be ? — ah, where ? " ' 
 
 ' Well, and if he does it is Gospel truth,' 
 I return stoutly, arguing with myself as much 
 as with Frances. ' Has anyone else mani- 
 fested the slightest desire for our company ? 
 It does seem strange to me sometimes that no 
 one has made any effort to find out what has 
 become of us.' 
 
94 THE COUNTY 
 
 ' Not in the least/ says Frances philoso- 
 phically. ' There is nothing more to be got 
 out of us, and why should people trouble 
 themselves ? They will only lodge and feast 
 him wlio will lodge and feast them in return.' 
 
 Silence for a while. Opal-coloured flames 
 shoot and crackle from the wood billets in 
 the fireplace ; Jacquetta uses a cunning com- 
 bination of coal and wood cut from old ships 
 which makes the cheeriest and most variegated 
 of fires. As far as our creature comforts are 
 concerned we have in no wise suffered from 
 our change. We eat, we drink, we rise up 
 and lie down quite as luxuriously at Eiver- 
 dale Place as at Billington, with only the 
 difference that it is by kind charity of Sir 
 Joseph Yarborough and not by right. 
 
 ' I do wonder that we have heard nothing 
 from Mr. Yaudrey,' I say slowly, the bitterest 
 of all the bitter thoughts which have been 
 my hourly companions finding its way into 
 words at last. 
 
DESERTED 95 
 
 Frances glances sharply at me. 
 
 ' So do not I,' she says ; ' he inherits, as 
 might be expected, a commercial mind.' 
 
 * And yet, how is he to know where we 
 are ? ' I continue, unheeding her gibe, and 
 going once more over the ground I have 
 gone over to myself a hundred times, by day 
 and by night, eating, drinking, sleeping, and 
 waking. ' When I wrote to put off the 
 shooting party on the 1st we did not know 
 where we were going.' 
 
 'He knows where we are,' remarks my 
 sister oracularly. 
 
 ' What makes you say that, Frances ? ' 
 
 ' I may as well tell you now,' she an- 
 swers calmly, after a minute's considera- 
 tion and reaching out her hand for a 
 Japanese fan to shield her fair skin from 
 the dancing flames. ' I wrote and asked 
 Mrs. Stuart to let him know before we 
 left Billington.' 
 
 ' Frances ! What made you do that ? ' 
 
96 THE COUNTY 
 
 I exclaim, shame and astonishment chasing 
 each other through my mind. 
 
 ' I thought he would come after you, and 
 I thought under the altered circumstances 
 you could not do better than accept him. 
 In both of these conjectures I am not ashamed 
 to confess myself mistaken,' smoothing out 
 the bow of ribbon on the handle of the fan 
 and gazing at me with cool effrontery. 
 
 ' How dared you without saying anything 
 to me ? And what was the use ? He had 
 left Mrs. kStuart's. And what did you write 
 to her ? Tell me exactly.' 
 
 ' Let me see,' begins Frances slowly ; 
 ' something like this : — " Dear Mrs. Stuart, — 
 In packing up our books just now I came 
 across two which Mr. Yaudrey lent us. As 
 I do not remember his address, will you be 
 so very kind as to let him know ours, which 
 I will write on the opposite page ? And then 
 he can have his books by asking for them 
 and telling me where to send them. I am 
 
DESERTED 97 
 
 asliaraed to trouble you, but I do not 
 see what else I can do. We are terribly 
 busy getting our possessions together, and 
 leave here to-morrow. — Yours affectionately, 
 Frances Nugent." I got a line from her 
 by return post, saying that she had sent 
 on my letter, which explained itself, to Mr. 
 Vaudrey.' 
 
 I put my hands in front of my burning 
 face ; even from Frances I would like to hide 
 its mortification. 
 
 ' And he has made no sign ! ' 
 
 ' Of course that is the annoying part of 
 it,' says Frances. ' You would have been 
 delighted if he had come rushing down here, 
 and would have quite forgiven me my little 
 stratagem — which by the way is perfectly 
 admissible, and even respectable. I did not 
 know his address, and what was I to do with 
 his books ? ' 
 
 ' The books were lent to me, and I had 
 written a note about the pheasant shooting 
 
 VOL. I. H 
 
98 THE COUNTY 
 
 to his father's house only a few days before,' 
 I cry furiously. 
 
 ' Dear me ! ' coughs Frances. ' Had you 
 really now? How could I tell that? Well, as 
 I said before, it is my want of success which 
 constitutes my crime.' 
 
 I jump up and pace the room, consuming 
 my wrath. I do not know for the moment 
 whether I am most angry with Allan Vaudrey 
 or with Frances. He must be a thorough- 
 paced flirt ; but if it were not for her T should 
 at least have nothing to be ashamed of. 
 
 Frances rises and carefully shakes down 
 the skirt of her gown ; with thrifty forethought 
 it has been tucked back from the scorching 
 flames, disclosing thereby a smart petticoat 
 and a pair of tiny high-heeled shoes with 
 enormous buckles. 
 
 ' I have lots more to say,' she remarks 
 placidly, ' but the moment is not a propitious 
 one. When you have quite recovered from 
 this little worry, I should like to point out the 
 
DESERTED 99 
 
 path of duty, and show you how immensely to 
 be preferred in every way is the bird at pre- 
 sent in hand.' 
 
 And without waiting for the objurgations 
 which are obviously impending, she slips 
 into her own room and softly closes the 
 door. 
 
 ' This little worry,' as Frances delicately 
 calls it, fills my cup of woe to the brim. 
 
 Almost more than I knew I have been 
 counting on Allan Yaudrey, assuring myself 
 that he would soon hunt up our address, 
 and find some excuse for appearing at Eiver- 
 dale 
 
 When Sir Joseph has been more insuffer- 
 ably patronising than usual, or Jacquetta has 
 more convincingly pointed out the change 
 in my position, I have been able to wreathe 
 my face in smiles not all false ; if they have 
 been started by effort of will and somewhat 
 vinegary at first, the thought that a deliverer 
 will come ere long has broadened them into 
 
 H 2 
 
100 THE COUNTY 
 
 very tolerable imitations of Frances' sunny 
 beams. 
 
 I have escaped from them all at odd 
 moments, and have solaced myself with fond 
 recollections of the laughing grey eyes, of 
 tlie kind face, of the strong shoulders which 
 I would fain make my bulwark from all 
 troubles. 
 
 I have congratulated myself upon the fact 
 that I had really made up my mind to accept 
 him before my fall in the world, and had 
 even given Frances so to understand. I have 
 wondered much what his father will say about 
 it ; whether he will grumble at my pauper- 
 ism : after all I am a Nugent, though I am 
 afraid some of these 7iouveaux riches care 
 horribly little for a long pedigree, and much 
 prefer allying their pounds sterling to other 
 pounds sterling ; how and where he will start 
 us in life. Somehow this last item does not 
 agitate me as much as it did once. I do not 
 deny that I should be delighted, nay overjoyed. 
 
DESERTED 101 
 
 to have plenty of money and to live where I 
 could rejoin my old set and take up my old 
 life ; but it is not the first consideration now. 
 I have felt so lonely and so chilled lately that a 
 home with Allan Yaudrey anywhere presents 
 itself as the cosiest of refuges to my mind's 
 eye. I long, as I never did in my life before, 
 for love. All that I had of affection seems to 
 have slipped away from me with my other 
 possessions, even that of Frances' herself, she 
 being too absorbed in ' paying lier way ' as 
 she calls it, with nods, and becks, and smiling 
 attentions, to have ever a loving word or 
 caress for me. Indeed, in a thousand little 
 ways she makes me feel that there w^ould 
 be more room for her here were I else- 
 where. 
 
 Not that I rival her in the good graces of 
 any member of the household, far from it ; 
 she has distanced me in an easy canter. 
 It is ' Frances, my dearest girl,' from Sir 
 Joseph, ' Francie, Francie,' from Jacquetta, 
 
102 THE COUNTY 
 
 and ' Frances ' from everyone else from morn- 
 ing to night ; whilst they look at me askance 
 with doubtful glances, are very polite to me, 
 and very much afraid of what I may think. 
 And yet, Heaven knows, I would fain think 
 no hard things of them. Their ways truly 
 are not my ways ; yet many a time when I 
 have pettishly betrayed how some vulgar 
 remark has jarred upon me, I have repented 
 afterwards in sackcloth and ashes, and re- 
 minded myself with bitter reproaches of their 
 kind-hearted hospitality and of all I owe to 
 them. I long to repay my indebtedness by 
 all means in my power ; but it is not in my 
 power to talk, to snigger, in fact (not to put 
 too fine a point upon it) to vulgarise myself 
 to their level. 
 
 Now Frances has no such high-flying 
 notions. As she modestly remarks, she will 
 back herself to hold a candle to the devil 
 against anyone ; and by a giggle here, a 
 slang phrase there, now a broad expression, 
 
DESERTED 103 
 
 and then a facetious poke, she has instilled 
 into them all, that never before has her 
 sympathetic soul found surroundings so con- 
 genial. 
 
104 THE COUNTY 
 
 CHAPTEE VIII 
 
 A FOLLOWER 
 
 Mr. Bryan Mansfield is staying at the Place 
 from Saturday to Monday ; he has stayed at 
 the Place nearly every Saturday to Monday 
 since we came here ; and I regret to find that 
 it is a custom which has sprung up since our 
 advent. Indeed, by eloquent looks, by broad 
 innuendoes, and, when he can get the chance, 
 by plain word of mouth, he intimates the 
 attraction which draws him to Eiverdale as 
 the needle to the pole. 
 
 That this annoys me I need scarcely say. 
 If- 1 were a free agent I could dispose of Mr. 
 Mansfield and his unwelcome attentions in 
 ^we minutes ; but my hands are so tied here, 
 I have already got the character of being so 
 
A FOLLOWER 105 
 
 airified (as I overheard Miss Fenton express it 
 the other day) that I shrink from displeasing 
 Sir Joseph ; and to drive Mr. Mansfield from 
 his house would displease him, I know, for 
 their business relations are as intimate as their 
 social ones. 
 
 So I bend my wits to baffling my 
 unwelcome adorer. Never once has he 
 caught me alone ; and though he may sigh 
 and throw out amorous hints and even 
 whisper his admiration in public, yet in a 
 mixed society, and with the guerilla aid of 
 Eva Fenton, who is guarding him for her 
 own hand and never lets him out of sight, I 
 have hitherto been able to hold my own. 
 
 Miss Fenton always comes to lunch on 
 Sunday. Far be it from me to imply that she 
 only comes to lunch on Sunday ; her attend- 
 ances at that meal are almost daily, but there 
 is more or less of an invitation given on Aveek- 
 days, and accepted with coy hesitation — ' Dear 
 Lady Yarborough, you are so kind, but you 
 
106 THE COUNTY 
 
 really will get tired of me if I come every day 
 like this. No ? Well then, I should like to 
 stay to-day, there is no one at home but 
 mother, and the house is so dull' — whereas 
 on Sunday her appearance is as regular and 
 orthodox as the huge joint of hot roast beef 
 by which Jacquetta indicates her reverence 
 for the Sabbath day. 
 
 That time-honoured dish is now smoking 
 under our noses, and we are discussing the 
 morning service with the temperate praise 
 usually bestowed by the British worshipper 
 on his parish church. 
 
 ' How the Yicar did mumble, to be sure ! ' 
 says Jacquetta. * I do wish he would get some 
 new teeth put in.' 
 
 ' Do you think it would be worth while ? ' 
 dissents Miss Fenton. ' His sermons are so 
 very dull, that I would rather have a decent 
 excuse for not listening.' 
 
 ' I quite agree with you,' strikes in 
 Frances ; ' it is so soothing to my conscience 
 
A FOLLOWER 107 
 
 to find that I really cannot understand what 
 he is saying, that not for worlds would I have 
 that peaceful rumble articulated.' 
 
 ' Naughty, naughty httle Frances ! And 
 what was she thinking of during the sermon?' 
 inquires Sir Joseph w^ith ponderous jocosity. 
 
 ' And the choir ? ' continues Eva. ' Did 
 you hear them trying to sing one " Te 
 Deum" while the organ was playing another?' 
 
 ' I wasn't attending just then,' says 
 Jacquetta. ' To tell you the truth,' looking 
 around carefully to make sure that the last 
 servant has left the room, ' I am afraid the 
 service this morning went in at one ear and 
 out at the other. I have been so worried 
 about the servants' pew.' 
 
 ' Ha ! what is that about the servants ? ' 
 interposes Sir Joseph — interposes is scarcely 
 the right word though to apply to a remark 
 of the worthy knight's, seeing that anything 
 he chooses to say is always received with a 
 reverential pause in the conversation. ' I 
 
108 THE COUNTY 
 
 thought, Jacquetta, that you had arranged 
 with the churchwardens that they were to 
 move into General Lisle's old pew.' 
 
 ' And so I had,' returns his spouse, ' and 
 was just going to tell them so, when that tire- 
 some old Mrs. Lisle said the other day at 
 luncheon before Paton that she liked her new 
 seat very much, and Avas glad she had left the 
 old one, as there was a piping draught there 
 from the window above. Paton heard her ; 
 I saw him turn round from the sideboard 
 when she said it, and of course after that 
 I could not think of offering it to the ser- 
 vants.' 
 
 ' Certainly not,' ejaculates Sir Joseph, 
 drawing himself up in insulted majesty. ' I 
 flatter myself that we deserve better from the 
 parish than that our servants should be poked 
 into any hole or corner.' 
 
 ' Well, I wouldn't call it a hole or corner,' 
 remarks the literal Jacquetta ; ' and, after all. 
 General and Mrs. Lisle have sat there for the 
 
A FOLLOWER 109 
 
 last seven years. But Paton is very particular 
 about his little comforts.' 
 
 Jacquetta's black-and-tan Daclis is mak- 
 ing a surreptitious meal at my side ; lie, 
 like his mistress, is inclined to rotundity of 
 figure, and, unlike her, he is strictly dieted 
 for it. 
 
 ' You are fond of dogs ? ' asks Mr. Mans- 
 field, as I throw down one of the biscuits 
 adored of Dachs' heart. 
 
 ' I love them,' I answer, ' and especially 
 when they arc as clever as Dachs. Just look 
 how knowing he is ! He is wagging his tail 
 so quietly and eating his biscuits so cautiously 
 for fear of attracting Jacquetta's attention. 
 He quite understands that biscuits are for- 
 bidden.' 
 
 Mr. Mansfield sighs heavily and fixes his 
 black eyes lugubriously on me. Whether he 
 is naturally afilicted with low spirits, or whether 
 love has a depressing efiect upon him, I know 
 not ; but he is mournful in the extreme. 
 
110 THE COUNTY 
 
 ' I wish you would let me give you a Dachs 
 of your own,' he says slowly. ' I would get 
 you the very best that money could buy.' 
 
 ' No, thank you,' I retort ungraciously, ' I 
 don't want a Dachs.' Then, catching sight of 
 a frown on Sir Joseph's face, and, perceiving 
 instinctively that he is listening, I murmur 
 confusedly if more politely, ' It is very kind of » 
 you to think of such a thing, but really I don't 
 want a dog ; you see I haven't a place to keep 
 one.' 
 
 ' My dear Esme,' says Sir Joseph with an 
 angry snort, ' are you aware that your words 
 impty considerable disrespect of my house and 
 grounds ? Are they indeed so limited, so re- 
 stricted, that room cannot be found to accom- 
 modate the small, though valuable Dachs- 
 hund Mr. Mansfield is so kindly ofiering 
 you?' 
 
 ' Oh come,' interrupts Mr. Mansfield good- 
 naturedly, ' Miss Nugent never meant any- 
 thing so absurd as that. Well, then, that's 
 
A FOLLOWER 111 
 
 settled ; and I will look out for a Dachs at once. 
 Do you like them black-and-tan, or fallow ? ' 
 
 Something in the look of his triumphant 
 eye inspires me with the determination to be 
 more careful than ever that he does not catch 
 me alone this afternoon. 
 
 I dare not seek safety in fliglit, or the soli- 
 tude of my own room, and cast around me 
 therefore for a sure companion. It is no use 
 appeahng to Frances ; she would be a de- 
 termined and conspiring Will o' the Wisp. 
 Jacquetta also is a broken reed, for her occu- 
 pations even on Sunday afternoon are so 
 multiplied and various that somewhere or 
 other I should infallibly be left in the lurch — 
 over the almshouse tea, if not in the Infants' 
 Sunday School. 
 
 No, my refuge is clearly at Eva Fenton's 
 side ; ' where that bee sucks, there suck I,' and 
 no fear of her desertion need disturb my 
 mind. 
 
 She looks a little astonished when I propose 
 
112 THE COUNTY 
 
 a stroll along the chestnut walk, which, bend- 
 ing and twirling in artful curves, stretches out 
 to a mile the circuit of the grounds ; but 
 assents nevertheless with a side-glance at Mr. 
 Mansfield, who is unsuspiciously smoking a 
 cigarette on the verandah with Sir Joseph. 
 
 When Miss Fenton is ready to start I put my 
 arm through hers with unwonted familiarity, 
 and endeavour to beguile her quietly out of 
 the side door without attracting anyone's 
 attention. In vain, however, for with a loud 
 cough and a whisk and a noisy stampede, 
 she makes for the little cloak-room adjoining 
 the verandah, and exclaims vociferously, 
 ' You have forgotten your walking-stick, Miss 
 Nugent, you will never get round the mile 
 walk without it.' 
 
 Whereupon Mr. Mansfield turns and 
 surveys us leisurely over his shoulder ; but 
 I set off with unruffled tranquilhty, secure in 
 my shield and buckler. As a shield and buckler 
 under the circumstances. Miss Eva is un- 
 
A FOLLOWER 113 
 
 equalled ; as a companion she leaves mucli to 
 be desired. 
 
 ' Well, and are you getting more ac- 
 customed to your diggings ? ' she begins con- 
 versationally as we thread our way around 
 the rosebeds. ' Sir Joseph takes one's breath 
 away at first with his pomposity, doesn't 
 he?' 
 
 ' He is very kind though,' I return, dis- 
 gusted to hear her speak of her ' dear Sir 
 Joseph ' so disrespectfully ; one would have 
 thought very shame would have tied her 
 tongue. 
 
 ' You think so, do you ? Well, that's 
 where you make a mistake then. He is never 
 kind to anyone unless he sees his way to gettino- 
 back as much as he gives.' 
 
 ' My dear Miss Fenton,' I remonstrate, 
 ' see how kind he is to my sister and me, and 
 what can we give him in return ? ' 
 
 'A very great deal,' says Miss Eva 
 decidedly. ' Position, first of all. He has 
 
 VOL. I. I 
 
114 THE COUNTY 
 
 bragged unceasingly ever since he was mar- 
 ried about the Nugent family ; and everyone 
 knew perfectly well they never took the 
 least notice of him. Now you are a living 
 proof of his grand connections. Then it pays 
 him to have pretty girls about the house and 
 to swagger about his goodness to them. For 
 instance, you see for yourself,' with a cunning 
 look at me, ' how anxious he is to catch Mr. 
 Mansfield. I don't understand business at all, 
 but I know th-ey are mixed up together some- 
 how in the City.' 
 
 'At any rate Sir Joseph is very kind to 
 you, Miss Fenton,' I say boldly, determined 
 not to discuss any little matrimonial plans of 
 our host with her. 
 
 She shrugs her shoulders. 
 
 ' They make a sort of useful maid of me,' 
 she retorts. ' I do the flowers for Lady Yar- 
 borough and write letters for Sir Joseph, and 
 hold myself in readiness to trumpet his praises 
 in season and out of season.' :.. 
 
A FOLLOWER 115 
 
 I cannot help smiling at this accurate 
 definition ; but I am not going to eat Sir 
 Joseph Yarborough's bread and salt, and pull 
 him to pieces behind his back, so I turn the 
 conversation as unobtrusively as I can by 
 admiring her new tailor-made coat, which 
 has been the result of many consultations, 
 seasoned with much needed advice from 
 Frances and me. She may think me a prig, 
 but I can bear up under it if she does. 
 
 Half-way in the mile walk there is a rustic 
 bench, overlooking the river, and there we 
 pause to watch the grey volume of water 
 rushing down. 
 
 It is a dull November day and the 
 autumnal rains have swelled the stream ; the 
 chestnut leaves dropping one by one are 
 swiftly whirled away. 
 
 ' Doesn't the river always make one feel 
 melancholy in winter?' says Eva with a shiver, 
 ' the mists are so dreary. Oh ! there's Mr. 
 Mansfield coming to meet us,' and she pulls 
 
 I 2 
 
116 THE COUNTY 
 
 up her boa, pats down her coat, and preens 
 herself for conquest. 
 
 ' I have been despatched in search of you, 
 Miss Fenton,' says Mr. Mansfield as he joins 
 us. He always speaks slowly, laboriously 
 even, as if there were a plum in the back of 
 his mouth. 'Sir Joseph is just going to in- 
 spect his new silver-grey Dorkings at the 
 farm, and wants you to go with him.' 
 
 'Highly flattered,' retorts Eva tartly. 'Do 
 you mean that he is waiting, and that I am 
 to start off at a run, leaving you and Miss 
 Nugent to follow at your ease? ' 
 
 Judging from Mr. Mansfield's expressive 
 hesitancy, I am afraid this had been somewhat 
 after his original plan. 
 
 ' How absurd ! ' I strike in firmly. ' Of 
 course we will all walk back to tlie house 
 together, and then I should like to go on with 
 you to see the poultry, if Sir Joseph will let 
 uie.' 
 
 Whereupon we start off at a smart pace ; 
 
A FOLLOWER 117 
 
 Sir Joseph has spoken and likes not to be 
 kept waiting. 
 
 Mr. Mansfield is at my side, but a trian- 
 gular conversation can scarcely be made 
 tender against the wills of two out of three ; 
 half a dozen commonplaces, delivered with a 
 lack-lustre, lovelorn gaze, require no parry, 
 and in ten minutes we reach the verandah. 
 Sir Joseph comes down the steps ; his eagle 
 eye takes in the situation. 
 
 'You are coming to see my Dorkings, 
 Esme? Mansfield? That is right. Prize birds, 
 my dear Mansfield, prize birds. Dearest Eva, 
 have I ever told you how my young Houdan 
 cock carried off first honours at the Crystal 
 Palace show, in spite of being under age ? 
 No, I thought not. Come and walk with me, 
 then.' 
 
 I had better resign myself to drop behind 
 with 'Mr. Mansfield. Even a well-feigned 
 interest in the fortunes of the Houdan cock 
 would be regarded as ill-timed. 
 
118 THE COUNTY 
 
 ' Fond of poultry, Miss Nugent ? ' inquires 
 Mr. Mansfield. He is evidently inspirited by 
 the presence of his backer, for he boldly 
 delays me at the first garden-gate to detach a 
 bramble from my skirt, and puts his innocent 
 query with an even more tragic expression 
 than usual. 
 
 ' Not particularly,' and I step out briskly, 
 having fixed three paces behind Sir Joseph 
 and Eva as our utmost boundary ; ' I am 
 afraid I haven't a rural mind.' 
 
 ' But you would be pleased to return to 
 your own county, would you not ? ' 
 
 ' That depends,' I rejoin oracularly. 
 
 ' Of course, I quite understand ; not to 
 your uncle's house under the present circum- 
 stances, for instance.' 
 
 ' Not to my uncle's house under the 
 present circumstances,' I repeat grimly. 
 
 ' How scandalously he has behaved ! ' 
 ejaculates Mr. Mansfield warmly. 'Sir Joseph 
 tells me your father was the elder brother, 
 
A FOLLOWER 119 
 
 and during his lifetime spent what should 
 have been your inheritance upon the estate, 
 on the distinct understanding that your Uncle 
 Francis should make it good to you.' 
 
 To flick off the head of a stray dandelion 
 with my walking-stick is my sole response. 
 Mr. Mansfield fancies that he is getting on 
 nicely, however, for he edges a little nearer, 
 and beorins acrain. 
 
 'But I can imagine circumstances under 
 which it would be gratifying to your feelings 
 to return to Loamshire. If you had a nice 
 place of your own, for instance ? ' 
 
 ' Palace, house, pigstye, barn,' I quote 
 with an unwary laugh, ' I am as likely to have 
 one as the other in Loamshire.' 
 
 'I don't know about that,' sinking his 
 voice tenderly. 'I am contemplating the 
 purchase ' 
 
 Fortunately the pair in front make a halt 
 at this crisis. Eva has brought Sir Joseph to 
 a full stop in front of an elderly steed turned 
 
120 THE COUNTY 
 
 out to grass hard by, and he has forgotten all 
 minor considerations in a thrilhng tale of his 
 prowess in the hunting- field. When we join 
 them he is discoursing of an impossible hedge, 
 flanked by double ditches, which he once 
 charged in obedience to the command of some 
 fair one who was following his lead. 
 
 ' That horse,' he says, ' took the first ditch 
 splendidly — I need scarcely tell you I never 
 keep an animal that blunders — and, just 
 poised on the narrow ridge, was giving the 
 spring for the second jump, when his hind leg 
 caught in some wire placed there by a scoun- 
 drelly farmer. We rolled over together ' — 
 dramatically — ' my horse and I. It was a 
 terrible fall. When my own doctor examined 
 me shortly after, he used these very words : 
 " Sir Joseph Yarborough," he said, ''it would 
 have broken the ribs of any man in England 
 but yourself. You have escaped with a few 
 bruises." * 
 
A FOLLOWER 121 
 
 * Wonderful ! ' exclaims Eva. ' Wire is 
 such a nasty thing, isn't it, Mr. Mansfield ? ' 
 
 ' Wonderful ! ' I exclaim. ' Was the horse 
 hurt, Sir Joseph ? ' 
 
 But in vain. Five minutes afterwards we 
 are walking in our old order, and Mr. Mans- 
 field is endeavouring to catalogue my taste in 
 architecture. 
 
 ' Now for my own part I like a modern 
 house, square and comfortable,' he says, ' with 
 nice lofty rooms and a fine entrance hall.' 
 
 'I hate modern houses,' I rejoin snap- 
 pishly. 
 
 ' Ah ! Something in the style of Billing- 
 ton, now, would be more to your fancy ? ' 
 
 ' Eeally, I don't take much interest in 
 imaginary houses,' with an ostentatiously 
 smothered yawn. 
 
 'No, but if it were not an imaginary 
 house? As I was remarking just now, I am 
 thinking of buying a place in Loamshire, and 
 
122 THE COUNTY 
 
 I should wish to be guided above all things 
 
 by your fancy ' 
 
 ' How much farther is it to the farm ? ' I 
 break in desperately. ' I'm getting so tired ! 
 Oh, here we are ! Thank goodness ! ' This 
 last sotto voce. 
 
12; 
 
 CHAPTEE IX 
 
 ANOTHER 
 
 The Dorkings are duly inspected, and Sir 
 Joseph duly offers them to Eva Fenton. They 
 are his latest hobby, but this ceremony of 
 presentation causes her no anxiety as to where 
 she shall lodge the feathered treasures ; it is a 
 little facon de parler with Sir Joseph to offer 
 everything of which he is possessed to his 
 lady friends, though nothing ever comes of it. 
 During the month I have been here he has 
 laid a score of his belongings at my feet, from 
 a hundred-guinea landscape just come home 
 from Bond Street, down to a pot of red 
 geranium. 
 
 At first this gave me genuine uneasiness, 
 as he invariably cut short my protestations 
 
124 THE COUNTY 
 
 with a wave of the hand and a magnificent 
 ' I will give orders accordingly.' Up to this 
 time, however, I have made no closer ac- 
 quaintance with any of the numerous articles 
 so grandiloquently offered me, and I smile 
 sympathetically to see Eva going through the 
 polite farce of exhaustive thanks for the silver- 
 grey Dorkings which — well she knows it — 
 will never cluck out of Sir Joseph's farm- 
 yard. 
 
 As we draw near the house on our way 
 home, the fire, lighting up the drawing-room 
 windows, awakens a responsive thrill in my 
 chilled person. I do love a fire, and I think 
 Frances has had the best of it this damp, 
 murky afternoon, with an amusing novel, and 
 her feet on the fender, even though sur- 
 rounded by yards upon yards of steely blue 
 silk. 
 
 There she is, her fluffy head outlined 
 against the flames. It is perked up in a very 
 animated fashion, that httle head. 
 
ANOTHER 125 
 
 I am wrong about the novel, and her feet 
 are not on the fender. I would swear there 
 is a man in the room, though he be invisible 
 to my bodily eye. Well do I know the angle 
 of my sister's face and the twist of her body 
 when on conquest bent. Whom can she have 
 got hold of? 'I wish it may be someone who 
 will distract her attention from my affairs,' I 
 soliloquise as I take off my hat and toss it on 
 the sofa in my bedroom. ' I wonder how she 
 would carry all her excellent precepts into 
 practice if one of Sir Joseph's City friends 
 made love to her instead of to me. It is easy 
 enough to talk, but she doesn't know how 
 nasty it is. Pah ! ' 
 
 There is a clatter of tea-cups and a smell 
 of hot tea-cake as I open the drawing-room 
 door. Sir Joseph is assuring someone that he 
 is particularly proud to welcome him to his 
 house ; but who that someone is I have 
 not the shghtest warning, for I am well in- 
 side the door and in full view of everybody 
 
126 THE COUNTY 
 
 before I perceive Allan Vaudrey standing 
 on the hearthrug and looking intently 
 towards me. 
 
 My knees turn shaky and a red glow 
 mounts from my chin to the roots of my hair ; 
 but the twilight covers this slight deviation 
 from the path of correct maidenly impass- 
 ibility — at least so I fondly hope — and I 
 manage a cool ' How do you do, Mr. 
 Yaudrey ? ' and lapse into a low chair without 
 publicly betraying how horribly glad I am to 
 see him. 
 
 More I dare not essay. I have an uneasy 
 consciousness that it would sound only 
 natural if I could add with light nonchalance 
 that his call is an unexpected pleasure, and 
 ask him where he is staying, but I dare not 
 trust my voice. 
 
 Jacquetta is pouring out tea with all the 
 bustle than can possibly surround that simple 
 ceremony. 
 
 * Thank you, Mr. Vaudrey. No, that is 
 
ANOTHER 127 
 
 Francie's cup, not Esme's ; this is Esme's with 
 no sugar.' 
 
 And my tea-cup is seized by Mr. Mansfield, 
 who presents it and remarks, with a tender 
 sigh, that I must be thirsty after my long 
 walk. He barricades me with toast and pulls 
 his chair in front of mine, somewhat aston- 
 ished at my limp resignation ; but he might 
 be a thousand miles away for all the heed I 
 am bestowing upon him. Over his fat tweed 
 shoulder and past his shiny round head I am 
 stealing happy glances at my dear love. 
 
 He has come. He is not a flirt. He does 
 care for me. Dim though the afternoon light 
 may be, I caught the flash in his grey eyes as 
 I came into the room. How nice-looking he 
 is ! How tall ; how well-made ; how broad 
 his shoulders are ; how clear his eyes ; how 
 straight his features ! And what a gentleman 
 he looks ! With what a different air he bears 
 himself from the men I have mixed with the 
 last month. 
 
128 ■ THE COUNTY 
 
 And so I maunder to myself with ecstatic 
 felicity as he stands in the firelight, plied with 
 word and jest by Frances. 
 
 Suddenly one little movement plunges me 
 in a sea of trouble. He takes out his 
 watch, looks at it, and then anxiously at 
 me. 
 
 What a fool I am ! The precious moments 
 are flying ; he will go presently and I shall 
 have said, ' How do you do ? ' and ' Good- 
 bye.' There is no time for finessing. I 
 jump up, all but overturning Mr. Mansfield 
 and the toast, and walk boldly across the 
 room to the piano. Some music is littered 
 about, and I begin to put it together without 
 rhyme or reason. 
 
 ' I don't believe you were a bit glad to see 
 me,' says Mr. Yaudrey, over my shoulder. 
 
 ' Don't you ? Well, I was then.' 
 
 The loud buzz of talk at the fireplace 
 covers our voices. Sir Joseph is explaining 
 the merits of a silver-grey Dorking to Frances, 
 
ANOTHER 129 
 
 and Eva has pounced upon the deserted 
 Mansfield. 
 
 ' You never asked me where I came from, 
 or how I got here.' 
 
 ' This is not the uttermost end of the 
 world, and I don't call it a perilous undertak- 
 ing to get here.' 
 
 * Seriously though, I should have looked 
 you up long before this, but my father has 
 been very ill, and I haven't been able to leave 
 him.' 
 
 ' Has he ? I am so sorry ! ' looking up at 
 him sympathetically. 
 
 ' Thank you,' he says softly. 
 
 ' Is he better now ? ' I ask. 
 
 ' Just a Httle, and I have brought him up 
 from Bramblecope to London so as to be 
 within reach of the best doctors. But he is 
 very ill still,' shaking his head sorrowfully. 
 
 ' I am so sorry ! ' I repeat, wishing I could 
 think of something muie consoling to say ; 
 but my monotonous attempts appear to please 
 
 VOL. I. K 
 
130 THE COUNTY 
 
 Mr. Yaudrey, for lie smiles a grateful, touched 
 smile under his heavy yellow moustache. 
 
 ' There is no one at home but me,' he 
 goes on ; ' my brother is in India. So you 
 see how it was that I couldn't get here 
 before ? ' rather anxiously. 
 
 ' Of course, of course,' I murmur hastily. 
 
 ' And how are you getting on ? ' asks Mr. 
 Vaudrey. ' Are they kind to you ? ' with a 
 backward nod to the fireplace. 
 
 ' Very.' 
 
 ' He seems a kind old boy ; he asked me 
 to stay to dinner this evening, but I must go 
 back by the next train. I haven't left my 
 father for so long since he was taken ill.' 
 
 A pause. I fiddle nervously with the 
 music leaves and wonder when he will come 
 again. This brief glimpse is tantalising. 
 
 ' I was awfully disappointed when I found 
 you were out,' he goes on. 'I have been here 
 since three o'clock, and I am afraid your 
 sister must have got rather tired of me ; but 
 
ANOTHER 131 
 
 I was determined not to go until you came in. 
 I suggested joining you in the garden, but 
 Miss Frances thought I shouldn't find you.' 
 
 The gilt clock on the mantelpiece strikes 
 six noisily enough under its glass shade. 
 
 ' I must go,' says Mr. Yaudrey, hurriedly 
 looking at his watch. ' May I come and see 
 you again one day soon ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, do,' I cry eagerly. ' But it seems so 
 horrid for you to come down from town just 
 to make an afternoon call ' — and I pause 
 awkwardly. Sir Joseph may be the most 
 hospitable of men, but I should not like to 
 take the liberty of inviting anyone to a meal 
 in his house without his permission. 
 
 ' Nonsense ! Not at all I ' exclaims Mr. 
 Vaudrey. ' Besides, I am not sure that I could 
 leave my father for longer, you know.' 
 
 But when he says good-bye Sir Joseph 
 invites him cordially to come again. 
 
 ' Staying in town, are you ? Then dine 
 and sleep here one day during the week. Any 
 
 K 2 
 
132 THE COUNTY 
 
 friends of the Nugent family are most welcome 
 to my house. What day shall it be ? Next 
 Thursday ? ' 
 
 I am afraid I am more grateful to Sir 
 Joseph for this one invitation, and more 
 inclined to give him a hearty hug — a hug 
 '.vhich would unsettle his shirt-front and dis- 
 arrange his methodical tie — than I have been 
 for the whole month of breakfasts, lunches, and 
 dinners to which he has treated Frances and 
 me. Tra-la-la. 
 
 'Ah ! non giunge uman pensiero 
 Al contento ond' io son piena,' 
 
 I hum joyously as I run up the stairs to my 
 bedroom. I dare not trust myself to stay in 
 the drawing-room until dressing time. I should 
 giggle out of season and smile when I ought 
 perchance to sigh ; Jacquetta and Eva Fenton 
 would look at me curiously and discover that 
 I was suspiciously elated. No, I will make it 
 up at dinner and during the evening ; I will 
 laud Sir Joseph's meanest possession beyond 
 
ANOTHER 133 
 
 the skies, and I will let Mr. Mansfield glower 
 dismally at me the whole evening ; but I 
 must have half an hour with my new happi- 
 ness first. 
 
 I pull a low chair over the burning coals 
 — a fire is so sympathetic — and I con over 
 each moment of the last half hour. 
 
 How low-spirited I was when I walked out 
 of this bedroom last ! how little did I think 
 any good thing was in store for me ; and how 
 decisive was that glance from Mr. Vaudrey's 
 eyes when I entered the drawing-room — as if 
 the one thing he wanted on earth were just 
 restored to him ! Poor fellow ! he has been 
 having a trying time too. They have no 
 women-kind at home, and he must have had 
 all the arrangements in connection with Sir 
 Joshua's illness on his hands ; men are so 
 awkward in sickness. By-the-by, I wonder 
 what is the matter with his father ; he is 
 evidently very anxious about him. I hope he 
 will be better when Mr. Vaudrey comes next 
 
134 THE COUNTY 
 
 Thursday. Next Thursday ! First come 
 Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday ; but they will 
 all be happy days with the thought of Thurs- 
 day gilding them. It is nice of Sir Joseph 
 to have invited him to dine and sleep here. 
 Another afternoon call like this would have been 
 too aggravating. And that reminds me, how 
 ill-natured of Frances to have kept him in the 
 drawing-room from three o'clock till half-past 
 five when we came in ! I know she hates 
 damp like a cat, but I really think she might 
 have brought him out, or even sent him out 
 to me. 
 
 Bang, bang! There is Frances' bedroom 
 door ; and now she is knocking at mine. 
 
 ' May I come in ? Well, I suppose you 
 are gloating over your young man,' she says 
 derisively. 
 
 ' I am,' I respond, curt and unashamed ; 
 ' and I should have had more to gloat over if 
 you had let me know he was here earlier instead 
 of keeping him all to yourself for two hours 
 
ANOTHER 135 
 
 and a half. It was very unkind of you, 
 Frances.' 
 
 ' That depends on wliat you call unkind,' 
 she answered slowly. 
 
 I turn back to the fire. I am too happy 
 to argue with her, though I did feel called 
 upon to give my candid opinion of her un- 
 sisterly behaviour ; but I am ready to forget 
 it now. 
 
 ' / should call it unkind to encourage 
 you in your infatuation for Allan Vaudrey 
 when you have the chance — no, the certainty 
 — of making a match which is immeasurably 
 better,' says Frances, deliberately sitting down 
 on a low footstool and holding up her long, 
 slim hands to the flames ; Frances' hands are 
 always white and always cold. 
 
 ' You mean Mr. Mansfield, I suppose ? ' 
 with an easy smile. I could smile over Beel- 
 zebub himself this evening, I am so jovial, 
 and as for Mr. Mansfield, I feel quite compas- 
 sionately towards him ; his rout will be so 
 
136 THE COUNTY 
 
 utter and complete now that Allan Vaudrey 
 lias come upon the scene. 
 
 'I do,' ssijs Frances emphatically ; ' and it 
 passes my understanding how you can be so 
 foolish, Esme, as to treat him in the way you 
 do. Do you know that he has 20,000/. a 
 year ? ' 
 
 ' He might have 20,000/. a day for all I 
 care,' I respond lightly. 
 
 Frances groans. 
 
 'Why, oh why, does he not look with 
 eyes of favour upon this handmaiden,' point- 
 ing to herself, ' instead of upon that ? ' 
 
 ' Why not, indeed ? ' I echo heartily. 
 ' And why don't you practise those little 
 wiles we know so well upon him ? You have 
 my sincerest good wishes.' 
 
 ' As if I had not been doing my very best 
 ever since I first beheld him!' returns Frances 
 candidly. ' All I get for my pains are endless 
 maunderings over your charms. He has just 
 
ANOTHER 137 
 
 been impressing upon me that your eyes 
 haunt him day and night ! ' 
 
 ' Pooh ! ' I exclaim, and walking across 
 to my toilet table I light the candles : it is 
 not worth while being late for dinner in order 
 to listen to Mr. Mansfield's ravings at second- 
 hand. 
 
 My glass reflects a flushed, smiling face ; 
 I examine it carefully ; I hope I was looking 
 nice when I went into the drawing-room this 
 evening. 
 
 ' Am I really pretty ? ' I ask, as I scan my 
 features critically. 
 
 ' Pretty ! ' ejaculates my sister scornfully 
 from the fireplace. ' You are lovely.' 
 
 ' Eeally, Frances ? ' I inquire anxiously. 
 ' You are not saying it to please me ? I always 
 think my nose is a little sharp at the tip.' 
 
 For answer Frances gets up and walks to 
 my side. 
 
 ' Look at us together,' she says, as coolly 
 
138 THE COUNTY 
 
 and unemotionally as if she were cataloguing 
 two cliina figures. ' I am only a pretty girl, 
 you are a beauty — there is no doubt about 
 it. The men look at you and they are con- 
 quered, whilst I have to toil after and make 
 my little mark by dint of unblushing flattery. 
 And that doesn't always succeed either,' she 
 continues with a sigh ; ' witness this after- 
 noon.' 
 
 ' Witness this afternoon,' I repeat, wheel- 
 ing round sharply upon her. 'What do you 
 mean ? ' 
 
 ' I thought I would try and distract Mr. 
 Vaudrey's attention,' replies Frances unblush- 
 ingly, ' but my little attempt was utterly in 
 vain. You needn't flounce about like that ; 
 you must see that our usual rules as to 
 respecting one another's preserves are sus- 
 pended by the unusual circumstances in which 
 we are placed ; and after all I have extracted 
 some useful information from him which I am 
 ready to retail to you. My efibrts to find the 
 
ANOTHER 139 
 
 precise nature of his respected parent's 
 malady were fruitless, so I suppose it is some- 
 thing unmentionable ; but I have discovered 
 that the old gentleman is really and truly on 
 his last legs. I shouldn't think he could hang 
 on much longer.' 
 
 ' You have been pretty searching in your 
 inquiries,' I exclaim angrily. ' I wonder you 
 didn't ask Mr. Yaudrey the exact figure of his 
 income and what his expectations were.' 
 
 ' I should have loved to,' rejoins my sister 
 placidly, ' but there exists a foolish prejudice 
 against questions of that kind. Civilisation 
 has its drawbacks ; there are lands, I believe, 
 where it is quite compatible with good 
 manners to ask anything one wants to know. 
 Don't you remember Johnny Elvers told us 
 that in the Argentine Eepublic it is considered 
 quite the correct thing for all the young 
 ladies to ask new-comers how much they are 
 worth ? What heart-burnings so simple a 
 custom must save ! ' 
 
140 THE COUNTY 
 
 CHAPTEE X 
 
 A COMPACT 
 
 It is Thursday evening. I have spent Mon- 
 day, Tuesday, and Wednesday in endeavour- 
 ing to propitiate Frances, that on this joyful 
 occasion her lance may not be raised against 
 me. I pray that my efforts be not in vain, 
 but I misdoubt the semi-sarcastic, semi-com- 
 passionate gleam with which those blue 
 Japanese eyes have been regarding me. 
 
 Mr. Yaudrey, Sir Joseph, and Mr. Mans- 
 field have just arrived from the station and 
 are being regaled with tea and solaced with 
 toast ; at least the two latter are, but Mr. 
 Vaudrey has declined the mild refreshment 
 and is hovering around the fireplace in front 
 of my low chair. 
 
A COMPACT 141 
 
 Sisterless, unmarried men rarely have tact. 
 Anxious as I am to talk to Mr. Yaudrey, I 
 should have preferred to see him exchange 
 a few mild nothings with Jacquetta first ; he 
 might as well ingratiate himself in her good 
 books, and it does not need much trouble on 
 his part to make women like him. He has a 
 taking way, purely natural and in no wise put 
 on, of appearing absorbed and interested in 
 all their little affairs. 
 
 'Well, and what have you been doing with 
 yourself since last Sunday ? ' he asks in a low, 
 appropriative tone. 
 
 ' Much the same as usual. Walking, 
 driving, eating, and slandering my neigh- 
 bours, I suppose.' 
 
 ' Ha, ha ! ' '(He is always appreciative of 
 the flattest joke, which in itself is soothing to 
 the feminine mind, whose humour is generally 
 of the mildest.) 'I hope I wasn't the un- 
 happy neighbour who has been catching it 
 this time ? ' 
 
142 THE COUNTY 
 
 ' Well, not this time,' I remark, craning 
 my neck up at liim — why do the tallest 
 men always stand bolt upright immediately 
 over one's chair ? ' One must have a little 
 variety in the object or the game is no fun.' 
 
 ' I am afraid you mean to imply that at 
 one period or another I was the slandered 
 object.' And at last he picks out a chair — 
 needless to say it is the smallest, most infan- 
 tine of chairs — and pulling it close to my side 
 deposits his large person upon it. 
 
 ' Of course you were. I remember mak- 
 ing some really witty remarks about you last 
 summer.' 
 
 ' Do you now ? I should like to hear one 
 or two of them,' leaning forward with an 
 amused smile. 
 
 ' Do you mean to tell me you want to hear 
 what your friends say of you behind your 
 back ? Your good opinion of yourself must 
 be firmly rooted ! ' 
 
 ' Not what all my friends say, but what 
 
A COMPACT 143 
 
 you say. Come now, what was the worst 
 thing ? ' 
 
 ' The worst thing,' I slowly consider while 
 Mr. Yaudrey gazes at me with the foolish, 
 fond expression proper to a lover — oddly 
 enough, I think it suits his face, though I 
 have never been able to endure it in anyone's 
 else — 'the worst thing was just about the time 
 you were so devoted to Mrs. Campbell ' 
 
 'Devoted to Mrs. Campbell! I!' he inter- 
 rupts angrily. ' I'll swear I never ' 
 
 ' I have just been able to secure a Dachs- 
 hund for you. Miss Nugent,' says Mr. 
 Mansfield, in his slow indistinct voice. ' He 
 is a first-rate little chap, and all his relations 
 have taken prizes.' And he calmly plants 
 himself just where Mr. Yaudrey has been 
 standing a few minutes before, and makes a 
 triangle of our tete-a-tete. 
 
 Allan Yaudrey looks at him sharply, but 
 Mr. Mansfield does not seem to see it. The 
 expression on liis round face never does vary 
 
14.4: THE COUNTY 
 
 in the slightest ; he contemplates a pudding 
 and me with the same gaze, and at the present 
 moment appears perfectly unconscious that 
 his society is not wanted. 
 
 'I am sure I am very much obliged to 
 you,' I say stiffly, after an expressive pause. 
 
 ' Not at all. You know very well that my 
 greatest delight is to please you,' in precisely 
 the same monotonous tone. 
 
 Mr. Yaudrey gives an angry shuffle, and 
 this time glances quickly at me. Why, oh ! 
 why do I foolishly turn scarlet instead of 
 looking calmly disgusted ? 
 
 'You have never told me yet how Sir 
 Joshua is getting on, Mr. Yaudrey,' calls out 
 Frances from the tea table, ' and Lady 
 Yarborough would like to know what Dr. 
 Jacobson thinks about him.' 
 
 And as he moves perforce towards them, 
 my straining ears distinctly catcli her arch 
 murmur. 
 
 ' You must not spoil sport, you know ! ' 
 
A COMPACT 145 
 
 'He is black-and-tan,' continues Mr. Mans- 
 field, ' and just the right size and weight. 
 You prefer black-and-tan, do you not ? ' 
 
 Twenty minutes later the dressing-gong 
 sounds, and I crawl discontentedly upstairs. 
 Not one glance have I had from Allan during 
 the whole twenty minutes. 
 
 ' I will dress quickly and be in the drawing- 
 room before the others,' I determine as I pull 
 off my morning frock ; ' I can manage my 
 white gown by myself, and if Frances wants 
 any help it is not I who will give it her ! ' 
 
 But when I reach the drawing-room, pant- 
 ing and with an uncomfortable consciousness 
 that my skirt is somewhat awry, for all my 
 pains I find Jacquetta happily installed and 
 knitting industriously by the shaded lamp. 
 
 ' How nicely you are getting on with that 
 jersey,' I say, hoping that she will not notice 
 the quaver of disappointment which my own 
 ears hear running through my voice. ' And 
 how pleased old Iken will be to get it ! ' 
 
 VOL. I. L 
 
146 THE COUNTY 
 
 ' Perhaps,' she answers dubiously ; ' but 
 he won't be satisfied by any means. When 
 I told him I was knitting him a jersey the 
 other day, he grumbled out, " Eh, what's 
 the good o' they without long stockings 
 made of new wool to keep a chap's legs 
 
 P>5 J 
 
 One by one the others straggle in, Mr. 
 Vaudrey last of all. I had made up my mind 
 to go straight up and ask him to take me into 
 dinner ; but somehow he looks stiffer in his 
 evening clothes, his eyes avoid mine, and he 
 appears all of a sudden to have awakened to 
 a proper sense of the little attentions due to 
 Lady Yarborough. 
 
 Dinner is announced. I turn away from 
 Eva Eenton, who is chattering on the hearth- 
 rug, and fiddle nervously with Jacquetta's ball 
 of wool. There is a good deal in proximity 
 on these occasions, and I am just at Mr. 
 Yaudrey's right arm ; Sir Joseph is sitting by 
 Frances on the sofa, and Mr. Mansfield can 
 
A COMPACT 147 
 
 divide himself between Jacquetta and Miss 
 Fenton as it pleases him. 
 
 So I argue rapidly ; but, alas ! I propose 
 and Frances disposes. Sir Joseph gets up, 
 walks across the room, and presents his arm 
 to me with a flourish. 
 
 ' What a sweet, dear sister you are blessed 
 with,' he informs me in a whisper on the way 
 to the dining-room. ' She gave me the kindest 
 little hint just now that my beautiful Esme is 
 a trifle — well, ever such a trifle jealous of her 
 rights as elder, and sometimes thinks that 
 Miss Nugent is not given fair precedence over 
 Miss Frances. So like dear Frances to be 
 ready and willing to take the second place, is 
 it not ? ' Dear Frances completes her pious 
 work by following us with Mr. Mansfield and 
 neatly piloting him into a chair at my right 
 hand ; she is also hastily finishing a whispered 
 assurance that Esme has been so touched by 
 his gift of a Dachshund. 
 
 'I dare say she did not half thank 
 
 l2 
 
148 THE COUJ^TY 
 
 you herself, but she is so reserved, you 
 know, almost shy where her feelings are 
 concerned ! ' 
 
 Sir Joseph says a consequential grace, 
 which makes one instinctively feel that the 
 Almighty is highly honoured, and in the pause 
 which ensues I boil over. 
 
 'What is that you are saying of me, 
 Frances ? ' with an angry frown. 
 
 ' Only that you were so delighted about 
 the Dachshund Mr. Mansfield has given you, 
 dear,' she returns sweetly. ' It is too kind of 
 him, isn't it, Sir Joseph ? ' 
 
 ' Ah — h ! we all know Mansfield can never 
 be too kind to Esme,' responds Sir Joseph, 
 with a waggish smile. 
 
 What is Jacquetta telling Mr. Yaudrey to 
 make him scowl so fiercely ? Something that 
 has distracted his attention from our end of 
 the table, I hope. 
 
 ' Even my boots I get in the village,' she 
 exclaims, ' though they are always badly made 
 
A COMPACT 149 
 
 and pinch me. But Sir Joseph likes us to 
 spend our money where we Hve.' 
 
 It cannot be this laudable, even heroic 
 patronage of local talent that has roused Mr. 
 Vaudrey's wrath. 
 
 Mournfully I refuse the soup and dismally 
 I shake my head at the fish. Want of pluck, 
 one might say, but I had pinned my hopes to 
 this evening ; and now everything seems going 
 wrong. 1 cannot blame Allan Yaudrey for 
 being angry with me. It is enough to disgust 
 him if he thinks that I have stooped so low as 
 to encourage ]\Ir. Mansfield. Encourage him 
 indeed ! Drawing myself up I shoot a wither- 
 ing glance at his round oily head — a withering 
 glance which is utterly thrown away upon 
 him, for he looks up tenderly and remarks 
 that I seem out of sorts this evening and pale. 
 
 'I hope you did not overtire yourself in 
 that charming walk we had together on Sunday 
 afternoon ! ' he says with affectionate solici- 
 tude. 
 
150 THE COUNTY 
 
 Nor do I fare any better in the drawing- 
 room after dinner. Directly the gentlemen 
 come in I rise determinedly from my seat and 
 passing close in front of Mr. Vaiidrey look up 
 appealingly at him. ' Won't you come and 
 open the piano for me ? ' I say softly, with 
 pitifully raised eyebrows. 
 
 *I shall be dehghted,' he answers stiffly. 
 But I do not mind the stiffness ; if I can only 
 get hold of him for two minutes it will be all 
 right ; for Allan is not of a sulky temper. 
 
 ' Where are you off to ? ' says Frances, 
 joining us suddenly. 'To the piano? Oh, 
 dear Esme, do you mind very much if I ask 
 you not to play this evening ? I have such a 
 headache, and I feel as if any noise would 
 make it worse. And Sir Joseph has just been 
 asking for a round game ; shall we all gamble 
 a httle ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, let us gamble,' strikes in Mr. Mans- 
 field over my shoulder. ' Will you bank with 
 me. Miss Nugent ? ' 
 
A COMPACT 151 
 
 ^ Don't say " No," Esme ; take my advice,' 
 says Sir Joseph, with a facetious pat on my 
 arm. ' Mansfield is not a bad fellow to bank 
 with, ha! ha! ' 
 
 It is eleven o'clock when we go upstairs. 
 At twelve I am still marching about my room, 
 cursing Mr. Mansfield and Frances with 
 impartial fury. At half-past twelve, my fire 
 having gone out, I betake mj^self to my little 
 white bed, cold though wrathful. One o'clock 
 strikes ; half-past one ; two. I sit up in bed ; 
 anger is taking the second place, and a great 
 fear fills my mind. What if I really lose my 
 love ? What if he goes away in foolish mis- 
 understanding to-morrow morning and we 
 never meet again ? And can I be sure that 
 I shall have the opportunity of undeceiving 
 him ? Have I not tried to edge in a word 
 this evening, all in vain ? How can I tell that I 
 shall fare better in the short hour before he 
 leaves to-morrow ? No, pride must go to the 
 
152 THE COUNTY 
 
 wall, and I will throw myself on Frances' 
 mercy. She shall help me. 
 
 I hurl myself out of bed and, too excited 
 to wrap up, rush into Frances' room. 
 
 She is fast asleep, of course. Neither 
 emotion nor indigestion ever play havoc 
 with Frances' slumbers. 
 
 ' Wake up, Frances, wake up ! ' I cry, 
 shaking her ruthlessly by the shoulder, ' I 
 want to talk to you.' 
 
 ' Good Heavens ! What's the matter ? Is 
 it you, Esme ? Oh ! do take that candle out 
 of my eyes. What do you want ? ' 
 
 'I want to talk to you,' I repeat more 
 slowly, for I am gradually awakening to the 
 consciousness that it is bitterly cold and that 
 the draught playing upon my feet from under 
 the door is positively arctic ; ' and^as I have a 
 good deal to say I think I had better get into 
 your bed.' 
 
 ' Ugh ! you are quite froggy ! ' grumbles 
 Frances as she flattens herself against the wall 
 
A COMPACT 153 
 
 to avoid tlie touch of my chilled limbs. ' And 
 what on earth do you want to say tliat won't 
 keep till the morning ? Ugh ! How disagree- 
 able you are ! ' 
 
 ' And how disagreeable you have been all 
 the evening, Frances ! ' I retort lachrymosely, 
 my mental woes rushing back upon me with 
 renewed vigour, now that my bodily discom- 
 fort is alleviated. ' What have I done that 
 you should be so cruel to me ! Oh, Frances, 
 you must help me ! I am so miserable I 
 don't know what to do.' 
 
 Frances gives an angry shuffle ; whether 
 to shake away the frozen hand with which I 
 am seeking hers or from annoyance at my 
 tears, I know not. 
 
 ' Don't be unkind to me, dear Frances,' I 
 plead ; ' you don't know how fond I am of 
 Mr. Yaudrey, and what shall I do if he goes 
 away in anger ? ' 
 
 ' Marry Mr. Mansfield, of course,' returns 
 my sister tartly. 
 
154 THE COUNTY 
 
 ' That I never will ! ' I exclaim with 
 vicious energy. ' Never, no never ! I will go 
 out as a governess first.' 
 
 'Not you,' says Frances with a derisive 
 laugh. 'Foolish you may be, but not quite 
 so foolish as that.' 
 
 I pause. It is no use arguing with 
 Frances. I must try another plan. 'Now 
 listen to me, Frances,' I say firmly, ' and I can 
 tell you I mean what I say. If you don't help 
 me about Allan Yaudrey I will never forgive 
 you as long as I live, and whomsoever I 
 marry you shall never set foot inside my 
 doors.' 
 
 ' Hoity-toity ! ' ejaculates my sister ; but 
 there is an uneasy ring about her giggle which 
 tells me that my shot has gone home. 
 
 ' Whereas, on the other hand, if you help 
 me and I marry Allan Vaudrey I will be 
 grateful to you all my life, and you shall come 
 and live with us, dear Frances, and we will love 
 you so much.' 
 
A COMPACT 155 
 
 ' Love will have to be our portion then,' 
 she sneers ; ' our fuel, board and lodging.' 
 
 ' Nonsense ! I don't know why you should 
 persist in saying that Mr. Vaudrey will have 
 no money. His father is dying, as you know, 
 and he is a milhonaire.' 
 
 There is another long pause. I am half 
 afraid Frances has dropped off to sleep in 
 spite of her cramped position, but presently 
 she speaks. 
 
 ' I suppose I must make a bargain with 
 you,' she says. ' If his father leaves him a 
 decent fortune I will do all I can to help you ; 
 and you must promise me that if he is left 
 badly off you will give up all idea of marrying 
 him.' 
 
 ' Well, we will see,' I rejoin discreetly, 
 feeling that for the moment I have gained my 
 point and that sufficient unto the day is the 
 evil thereof. ' We have plenty of time before 
 us to talk that over, and you will be nice to 
 us to-morrow morning, like a darling, won't 
 
156 THE COUNTY 
 
 you, Francie ? I should so like to have a little 
 chat with him before he goes.' 
 
 ' All right,' she says ungraciously, with a 
 gigantic yawn ; ' anything to get you out of 
 my bed now.' 
 
 I verily believe that it is entirely owing 
 to my making her uncomfortable tliat I 
 have been able to wrest any terms from 
 Frances. 
 
 'Well, I am going,' I rejoin, slipping 
 gently out and seizing my candlestick. 
 ' Bless you, oh my sister ! And in return I 
 will- do my best to lay my big dolly with the 
 round black eyes and 20,000/. a year at your 
 feet. Henceforth I devote myself to making 
 him understand how far more desirable a wife 
 you would be for him than I.' 
 
 ' Mind you shut the door,' says Frances. 
 
157 
 
 CHAPTEE XI 
 
 AU EEVOIR 
 
 It is blowing a gale from the north-east and 
 the last lingering leaves are being torn from 
 bare boughs and hurled hither and thither in 
 lawless frenzy ; the same blast which swirls 
 them along, crisp and crackling, is touching 
 up the colour in my cheeks and spreading its 
 carmine across my nose. But of roseate nose 
 and cerulean lips I am heedless, for am I not 
 conducting Allan Yaudrey to the station in 
 blissful dual solitude ? Have I not distinctly 
 and articulately assured him that Mr. Mans- 
 field is to me an unpleasing person ? Have I 
 not indistinctly and inarticulately conveyed 
 to him the understanding that my hand is 
 not a free one to deal that persevering gentle- 
 
158 THE COUNTY 
 
 man an open facer, but is tied and restrained 
 by gratitude to Sir Joseph Yarborougli for 
 favours past and to come ? I find it necessary 
 to hint this with judicious dehcacy, for, at 
 the bare idea of coercion, Mr. Yaudrey has 
 fired up with unnecessary energy. 
 
 ' It is most disgraceful to put on pressure 
 under the circumstances,' he says angrily. 
 
 ' Dear me, you are so fussy ! ' I remark 
 plaintively. ' There is no pressure put upon 
 me, but can't you imagine that it is wiser 
 sometimes to temporise ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, perhaps so,' he answered with a 
 sigh. ' I suppose I am temporising myself, 
 if it comes to that, but it won't be for long. 
 You understand me, Esme, don't you? It 
 seems heartless to say more, or indeed to 
 speak about myself at all when it is a question 
 of days how long my father lives.' 
 
 ' Is he really so ill as that ? ' I ask, awe- 
 struck, even in the midst of my joy. 
 
 He nods significantly in reply, and turns 
 
AU EEVOIR 159 
 
 his head aside. We pace along in silence. I 
 am brimming over with sympathy and don't 
 know how to express it. To say ' I am sorry ' 
 sounds feeble ; I should say that if his horse 
 or his dog were ill, and in the presence of this 
 great woe I can but be mute. I steal my 
 hand out of my muff and half stretch it out 
 to stroke his coat sleeve ; but shyness at the 
 thought of touching him suddenly seizes me 
 and I draw it back again. 
 
 Afterwards I regret my uneasy self-con- 
 sciousness ; he would have understood what 
 I meant and not have suspected me of any 
 unmaidenly demonstration. 
 
 Presently we reach the gate in the wall 
 which bounds Sir Joseph's grounds. The 
 station is only two minutes' walk along the 
 road, and the groom will be there with Mr. 
 Vaudrey's luggage. 
 
 'I must say good-bye here,' I tell him 
 gently. 
 
 ' Well, good-bye,' he replies, and takes 
 
160 THE COUNTY 
 
 both my hands firmly in his. His grey eyes 
 are wet, but not at the short parting from 
 me ; the thought of a longer, more awful 
 parting has moistened them, and the near 
 shadow of Death stands between us. How 
 can we chatter idly of meeting soon again, 
 when we both know it will not be until the 
 grave has closed over his father r 
 
161 
 
 CHAPTEE XII 
 
 HIS LETTER 
 
 After this I watcli the ' Morning Post ' 
 anxiously. That well-informed journal con- 
 tains daily bulletins of the state of Sir Joshua 
 Yaudrey's health. It is the dull time of the 
 year, and the announcements that ' Sir Heze- 
 kiah Longstaff and .Dr. Jacobson visited Sir 
 Joshua Yaudrey yesterday, and pronounced,* 
 &c., are given a more prominent place in the 
 column than they would be in May or June, 
 when the postponement of the Duchess of B.'s 
 dance, or the engagement of Lady Grace 
 Highclerc, would most probably have hustled 
 them into an out-of-the-way corner. 
 
 Three days after Allan Yaudrey's depar- 
 ture I read : 
 
 VOL. I. M 
 
162 THE COUNTY 
 
 ' The operation performed yesterday upon 
 Sir Joshua Yaudrey by Sir Hezekiah Longstaff 
 was successful, but the patient's strength is 
 not satisfactorily maintained.' 
 
 ' That means that they have killed the 
 poor old boy,' I conclude with a sigh. In a 
 day or two he dies ; and the newspapers are 
 full of the usual obituary notices. 
 
 ' One might really imagine that an errand- 
 boy had never been made a baronet before,' 
 says Frances, as she throws down a Society 
 paper. ' It is a pity, from Allan Yaudrey's 
 point of view, that the exalted honour was 
 not conferred upon his respected parent 
 twenty years ago instead of two ; the old 
 gentleman would have had time to get over 
 it and add a codicil to his will. He is sure 
 to have left every penny with the title in the 
 first flush of his delight at hearing himself 
 Sir Joshua'd.' 
 
 ' I think that I ought perhaps to call and 
 leave a card in Grosvenor Square,' remarks 
 
HIS LETTER 163 
 
 Sir Joseph, who is apparently hnpressed at the 
 size of type in which the ' Times ' retails tlie 
 departed Sir Joshua's possessions and cata- 
 logues his virtues. ' I imagine Mr. Allan 
 Yaudrey will expect some such little attention 
 after having stayed with us so recently.' 
 
 I am silent. My lips refuse to articulate 
 Allan Yaudrey 's name to my satisfaction now- 
 adays ; they either shoot it out with appalling 
 suddenness, or else mumble it with suspicious 
 indistinctness. 
 
 'Yes, I think you ought to call, dear,' 
 agrees Frances, ' and it is like your kind 
 heart to have suggested it. But before the 
 funeral, would you ? Don't you think after it 
 is all over would be the right time ? ' 
 
 Quick as lightning it flashes across me that 
 she wants him to find out about the will. 
 But why should I trouble myself over her 
 schemes? Allan and I understand one 
 another. 
 
 Of course Sir Joseph will call after the 
 
 M 2 
 
164 THE COUNTY 
 
 funeral — had always meant to call after the 
 funeral. Frances makes him do exactly as 
 she likes, to Jacquetta's growing uneasiness; 
 that worthy dame is accustomed to dividing 
 her knight with a bevy of Eva Teutons or 
 Hilda Wilsons, but has betrayed a heavy re- 
 sentment lately at seeing him heed so exclu- 
 sively the voice of one fair charmer. She 
 decidedly agrees with the old proverb that 
 ' there's safety in numbers.' 
 
 I cogitate much over a letter of condo- 
 lence to Mr. Yaudrey. A hateful, difficult 
 composition is such a letter in any case, but 
 how much more hateful and difficult in this 
 case, when I feel so tenderly and yet must ex- 
 press myself so guardedly ! I tear up half a 
 dozen rough copies in despair ; then I think 
 that I had really better not send anything ; 
 I leave the writing-table and go for a walk, 
 but the thought of him in that big gloomy 
 house all alone with his trouble drives me in 
 again, and I dash off this — 
 
HIS LETTER 165 
 
 ' Dear Mr. Vaudrey, — 
 
 ' I am so very, very sorry. 
 ' Yours truly, 
 
 ' EsME Nugent.' 
 And post it myself. 
 
 The days drag slowly along leadenfooted. 
 I hate myself for flaunting about in colours 
 when he is surrounded by the sable trappings 
 of mourning and plunged in all the harrow- 
 ing details of a funeral, but dare venture no 
 farther in my sympathy than to don the most 
 elderly garments of my wardrobe. Thus 
 dowdily attired I spend most of my time pac- 
 ing the chestnut-walk and gazing into the grey 
 river. The warm, cosy, commonplace atmo- 
 sphere indoors jars on my highly wrought 
 feelings at this crisis in my life. I can muster 
 up courage and sequence of ideas to follow 
 Jacquetta in her benevolent vagaries, and 
 found a positive balm to my nerves in the 
 complicated accounts of the Marylebone 
 
166 THE COUNTY 
 
 Association for Befriending Yoimg Servants 
 which I checked for her the other morning ; 
 but the tittle-tattle and chitter-chatter which 
 surrounds Frances from morning to night 
 drives me distracted — for Frances is rapidly 
 becoming as great an authority in the village 
 as at Eiverdale Place, and holds daily levees 
 of imitative damsels and admiring swains. 
 From them and from her I escape as best I 
 may — not that they make much effort to 
 detain me— and pace and stroll up and down 
 the river walk, alternately bemoaning the 
 grief my dear love must be feeling, and build- 
 ing castles in the air. 
 
 Modest castles they are ; in fact, to be 
 literal, not castles at all — edifices more bijou 
 than palatial. In my forecastings we are never 
 rich, Allan and T. I have laid to heart many 
 wise lessons during the last few weeks, and 
 have by no means such exalted ideas of my 
 own deserts as in my Bilhngton days. If I 
 am happy enough to marry the man I love, I 
 
HIS LETTER 167 
 
 must not expect much else from Fate. In my 
 airiest architecture we are settled in a nice 
 house in town, and Allan has been lucky 
 enough to get some good appointment which 
 adds jam to our bread and butter ; I have 
 more humble dreams than this, but in the 
 lowliest of them Allan and I are always to- 
 gether. 
 
 It is the day after Sir Joshua's funeral — 
 the first day on which Allan could possibly 
 come and see me. 
 
 At breakfast Sir Joseph announces his 
 intention of going up to town by the 11.5 
 train. 
 
 I wonder within myself whether he intends 
 to make that call in Grosvenor Square, but I 
 am too shy to ask. No one else seems to think 
 of it, and Frances merely inquires what train 
 he will return by, as she would like to walk 
 to the station to meet him. 
 
 ' I don't think Allan will come to-day,' I 
 
168 THE COUNTY 
 
 say to myself as I button my coat after break- 
 fast. I am in a hurry to get out, and have 
 fallen so complete a prey to the fidgets this 
 morning that I feel I must walk them off. 
 
 But I do think he will come to-day, 
 though I try to fortify myself against possible 
 disappointment ; and while stoutly assuring 
 myself that he must have fifty claims on his 
 time and attention, that business is business, 
 etcetera, etcetera, I put on my hat with 
 particular attention, and spend at least ten 
 minutes in fixing my hair under it to my 
 satisfaction. 
 
 I make straight for the chestnut walk ; 
 there is one bend of it which overlooks the 
 road from the station, and here I take up my 
 quarters, walking a hundred yards one way 
 and then back again, with eyes glued to the 
 road below, having a vivid recollection of the 
 Sunday afternoon when I missed him. Of 
 course he could not possibly be here before 
 eleven, so for the first half hour I muse tran- 
 
HIS LETTER 169 
 
 quill y enough and wave my hand to Sir 
 Joseph with a comparatively serene mind as 
 his quick blue roan bears him along to the 
 station. 
 
 When the 11.15 from London steams down 
 the line my heart goes pit-a-pat. Presently 
 there emerge from the station two open flys 
 and a dogcart. The dogcart belongs to the 
 Vicarage, and the flys contain two fat men and 
 a thin woman of the people. Half a dozen 
 pedestrians pass under my observatory. I 
 have forgotten what they were like before 
 they turn the corner — all I know is that Mr. 
 Yaudrey is not among them. 
 
 How foolish of me to think it even possible 
 that he could have been in this train ! Such 
 haste would have been indecent, positively 
 indecent under the circumstances. No, but 
 he may come by the 12.10 ; it is much more 
 likely. The 12.10 would leave him time to 
 give a few instructions after his breakfast, 
 before he drove off to Waterloo. 
 
170 THE COUNTY 
 
 Between 11.15 and 12.10 one would think 
 I might reLix a little ; but no, my self-imposed 
 beat has a fascination for me, and I am too 
 restless to do ought but pace, pace, pace up 
 and down. 
 
 At 12.10, flushed and hot in spite of the 
 high cold wind, I go through the same round 
 of expectation and disappointment. Allan is 
 not in this train. He will not come this morn- 
 ing, I suppose. 
 
 There is only the 1.20 ; he is not likely 
 to choose a train which would bring him 
 to the house just as we are lunching. No, 
 of course not ; but all the same I may 
 as well walk about here as do anything 
 else. 
 
 When the 1.20 arrives, as blank and as 
 uninteresting to me as its predecessors, I 
 suddenly feel conscious that I am frightfully 
 tired. I am never much of a walker at any 
 time, and this morning fatigue, excitement, and 
 disappointment have combined to break my 
 
HIS LETTER 171 
 
 back. I trudge slowly towards the house, 
 foolishly, unreasonably cast down. 
 
 'It may be true that it was absurd to 
 expect him so soon,' I say to myself, ' but, if 
 our places had been reversed I should have 
 hurried to him by the first train this morning, 
 I must love him better than he loves me/ 
 
 Frances is standing at the morning-room 
 window, and as I approach the house she runs 
 to open the garden door for me. There are 
 red rims round her eyes, though she greets me 
 in her usual light tone. 
 
 ' You look as if you had been on a pedes- 
 trian tour and had found it less lively and 
 more tiring than a treadmill. Get ready for 
 lunch, you silly old thing,' with an affectionate 
 stroke on my arm that brings the tears to my 
 eyes. 
 
 ' Who will come with me this afternoon ? ' 
 demands Jacquetta at lunch. 'I want to 
 drive over to Thurston and call upon Mrs. 
 Kingslake.' 
 
172 THE COUNTY 
 
 She half turns to me as she speaks, being 
 accustomed to my ready companionship at all 
 times ; but this afternoon ropes would not 
 draw me from home, and I throw an appealing 
 glance to Frances. 
 
 * I should like to go so much, Jacquetta, if 
 you will have me,' she responds readily ; ' only 
 do you mind starting early, so that I shall be 
 back in time to meet Sir Joseph at the station 
 at a quarter to five ? ' 
 
 ' I have to be back here at half-past four,' 
 returns Jacquetta, none too well pleased. 
 ' The carpenter is coming up from the village 
 to take my designs for a new overmantel.' 
 
 I watch them drive off with heartfelt satis- 
 faction. I have the house to myself this after- 
 noon, be it for weal or for woe. I am not a 
 religious girl — not even a good girl, I am 
 afraid, but directly they drive away I run up 
 to my room and throw myself on my knees. 
 A sort of bargaining with Providence is run- 
 ning through my mind. Allan Yaudrey, 
 
HIS LETTER 173 
 
 goodness, and poverty, or at best a modest 
 competence, seem ranged together ; but if 
 Allan Yaudrey come not I shall never have 
 the courage to be good and poor alone. 
 
 The weary moments dawdle one after the 
 other. In November an afternoon cannot be 
 long drawn out, yet it seems an eternity to 
 me ; and with the lengthening shadows of 
 evening despair settles upon my heart. 
 
 In vain 1 remind myself that this morning 
 I had been sure that to-day was too soon to 
 expect him. In vain I attempt to persuade 
 myself that his recent loss demands more time, 
 a longer mourning ; that to-day was too early 
 for him to seek my sympathy and form new 
 ties. A black, unreasoning dread overwhelms 
 me. 
 
 The carriage returns with Jacquetta ; but 
 I remain in the fireless library, whither I have 
 retreated because it commands a good view of 
 the entrance drive. 
 
 Presently I hear a banging of doors and a 
 
174 THE COUNTY 
 
 pounding of footsteps, and I am unearthed by 
 the youngest and callowest of Jacquetta's 
 henchmen. 
 
 ' If you please, 'm, her ladyship's love, and 
 would you kindly join her ladyship in the 
 morning -room ? ' 
 
 I cannot say I am ill — it would be true, 
 but not expedient — so listlessly dragging my 
 weary limbs along I betake me to the morn- 
 ing-room, where Jacquetta is fortunately too 
 absorbed in her designs to notice my white 
 face and trembling hands. 
 
 'Look here, Esme,' she cries excitedly, 
 'here's a Chippendale, and here's a Louis 
 Seize. Which do you like best ? ' 
 
 And she flourishes two sheets of paper 
 before my undiscerning eyes. The village 
 carpenter is ' standing meekly by.' He and 
 Jacquetta are old allies ; the house teems with 
 weird pieces of furniture, joint products of her 
 fertile brain and his undaunted hand. 
 
 'I like the Louis Seize best myself,' she 
 
HIS LETTER 175 
 
 continues, waving her right arm, whence I am 
 happily enabled to gather which is the Louis 
 Seize, ' but Briggs seems to think there might 
 be a little difficulty about the inlaying.' 
 
 'Ah — h! yes. Perhaps the Chippendale 
 would be safer,' I am inspired to answer. 
 
 ' And yet it is so monotonous always doing 
 the same thing,' objects Jacquetta dubiously. 
 ' You see we have done so much Chippendale 
 for this room that I thought a Louis Seize 
 overmantel would be a nice change.' 
 
 ' Why not combine the two, my lady ? ' 
 begins Briggs, but pauses respectfully as with 
 a bustle and a rush of cold air Sir Joseph 
 Yarborough and Frances enter the room. 
 
 Frances comes straight up to me and 
 stands between me and the light, while Jac- 
 quetta vociferously lays the question of Chip- 
 pendale versus Louis Seize before her spouse. 
 
 ' Come upstairs,' whispers my sister. ' I 
 have something to tell you.' 
 
 I knew she had from the moment she came 
 
176 THE COUNTY 
 
 into the room, but she can only have heard 
 her news from Sir Joseph on his way from the 
 station, I swiftly argue, and I will hear it from 
 him too ; I will believe nothing at second- 
 hand, nothing that has filtered through 
 Frances. 
 
 I put her impatiently aside — to my dying 
 day I shall hate grey fox for the remembrance 
 of her soft boa which falls over my shoulder 
 as she moves — and turn to Sir Joseph, who is 
 for the moment Jacquetta's prey ; but not for 
 long will he listen to her discourse — he is 
 bursting with news and swelling with import- 
 ance. 
 
 ' H'm, ha ! It is a matter for daylight, it 
 appears to me,' dismissing Briggs and the 
 designs with a summary wave of the hand. 
 ' You had better come and see her ladyship 
 again in the morning, Briggs. Good-evening 
 to you. Well, well,' with a sigh of rehef as 
 he sees his audience before him, ' I have a 
 sad piece of news. I went to call on young 
 
HIS LETTER 177 
 
 Vaudrey this morning, and found him very 
 much cut up. And would you beheve it,' 
 looking round triumphantly upon the women- 
 kind hanging on his words, ' his father has 
 only left him ten thousand pounds out of that 
 enormous, that colossal fortune ? They say in 
 the City to-day that at least two millions will 
 go with the baronetcy to the son in India.' 
 
 Sir Joseph clears his throat and pauses. 
 
 ' What a shame ! ' exclaims Jacquetta in- 
 dignantly. 
 
 ' Yes, it is too bad,' echoes Frances, and 
 again moves between me and the lamp. 
 There is more to follow evidently. 
 
 ' He is a sensible fellow, young Vaudrey,' 
 says Sir Joseph, and my straining ears catch 
 a stiffer, more set tone in his voice, as if his 
 words had been prepared beforehand. 'He 
 sees quite plainly that life in England on such 
 an income is impossible, and he is going off to 
 the Colonies at once. He said he should start 
 in a day or two and visit his brother in 
 
 VOL. I. N 
 
178 TUE COUNTY 
 
 Bombay on the way out. He begged me to 
 convey his apologies for not being able to run 
 down and say good-bye,' goes on Sir Joseph, 
 addressing himself impartially to Jacquetta, 
 Frances and me ; ' and, by the way, Esme, he 
 said you had been kind enough to write him 
 a letter of condolence. He asked me to be 
 the bearer of a note in reply,' fumbling in his 
 breast-pocket. 
 
 My heart gives a great bound of relief — a 
 letter for me ! 
 
 ' Thank you,' I murmur, and muster up 
 courage to give Daclis a piece of tea cake with 
 careful deliberation. I cannot open that 
 wonderful, that fateful letter before them all ; 
 yet to take to my heels too suddenly would 
 certainly awaken suspicions. 
 
 ' How you do stuff that dog ! ' interposes 
 Frances mercifully. 'You had much better 
 leave him alone and come upstairs with me, 
 while I take my things off.' 
 
 Once outside the door I shoot from her 
 
HIS LETTER 179 
 
 arm like an arrow from a bow, and in two 
 seconds am crouching, panting, by the fire- 
 hght in my bedroom while I tear open my 
 letter. I will not even stop to strike a match. 
 
 How white the page looks ! How short 
 it is ! 
 
 ' Dear Miss Nugent, — I thank you for 
 
 your kind letter. Sir Joseph will tell you 
 
 that I am leaving England, and am sorry not 
 
 to be able to call and say good-bye. — I remain, 
 
 'Yours sincerely, 
 
 ' Allan Yaudrey.' 
 
 N 2 
 
180 THE COUNTY 
 
 CHAPTEE XIII 
 
 The small sheet of note-paper falls from 
 my hand and a cold shiver runs over 
 me. My body aches and my mind seems 
 benumbed. 
 
 Painfully I grope my way to the sofa close 
 by, and bury my face with a vague sensation 
 of hiding from my trouble ; but with the con- 
 tact of the soft cushions I find that my cheeks 
 are wet. 
 
 I jump up in sudden fear lest grief should 
 overwhelm me utterly. 
 
 ' Dinner, you fool ! ' I exclaim aloud. * Ee- 
 member you have to appear at dinner ! ' 
 
 And I rush up and down the room from 
 window to door, clenching my hands and 
 
TEARS, IDLE TEARS 181 
 
 biting my lips in agonised effort to get the 
 mastery of the hot tears which stream down 
 my face. But stream they will, in spite of 
 the compact I would fain make with them, 
 that if they will only wait awhile they shall 
 have free play by-and-by. 
 
 ' You poor-spirited craren ! ' I exclaim 
 aloud as I am forced to acknowledge their 
 existence and mop them up, ' do you want to 
 proclaim to Jacquetta, to Sir Joseph, to Eva 
 Fenton, to Paton, to the very footmen, that 
 you are jilted and forsaken ? ' 
 
 For one wild moment I feel that I must 
 give way utterly ; it would not be so hard to 
 bear, I fancy, if I could have my cry out. 
 Then summoning up my courage, I picture to 
 myself the fuss at the dinner-table if I fail to 
 appear — the cause must indeed be mighty 
 which keeps one from one's dinner ! — and the 
 curious glances I shall infallibly encounter if 
 I do appear with swollen features and crim- 
 son eyes. My small, pale visage has the un- 
 
182 THE COUNTY 
 
 happy trick of showing traces of tears for 
 hours afterwards. 
 
 Braced by the fear of that inquisitive 
 scrutiny, I pkmge my face in a basin full of 
 cold water, pull my hair well over my eyes, 
 and rush downstairs again with the courage 
 of despair. I am afraid to be alone, and I 
 surely can trust myself not to give way in 
 public. Tremblingly I turn the handle of the 
 morning-room door, and fortune favours the 
 brave. Jacquetta is in solitary possession, far 
 too occupied with a new song which demands 
 a double accompaniment of guitar and piano 
 to heed my red eyes and blu "^ed features. 
 
 ' Oh, there you are, Esme ! ' she exclaims. 
 'I was just wondering where you had got 
 to. Do come and play the accompaniment for 
 me, like a dear ; and could you just hum the 
 words while I get these guitar chords in right 
 time ? ' 
 
 At night grief has its way ; but through 
 
TEARS, IDLE TEARS 183 
 
 all my floods of tears and bitter bemoanings 
 anger and hurt pride stand in the background, 
 ready to come forward and strengthen me 
 when the first outburst of disappointment is 
 over. 
 
 How dare he treat me so cavalierly ? 
 
 Eunning away, positively running away 
 lest he sliould be entrapped. Entrapped by 
 me ! Just Heavens, how I have misjudged 
 that man ! What meanness, what cold calcu- 
 lation lie hidden beneath his open face and 
 genial bearing ! 
 
 Even in his rude farewell how cautiously 
 he has entrenched himself behind Sir Joseph 
 Yarborough, actually making that old wind- 
 bag the unconscious witness of his uncivil 
 leave-taking — ' He begged him to convey his 
 apologies, etc. etc' 
 
 Well, there is one consolation. No one 
 but Frances knows of my discomfiture ; I shall 
 at least be spared the pity of those around 
 me. 
 
184 THE COUNTY" 
 
 But even as I congratulate myself, the 
 recollection of that forced tone in Sir Joseph's 
 voice when he announced Allan's departure 
 recurs to my mind ; and I remember also how 
 studiously he averted his eyes when he handed 
 ]ne the note. 
 
 That, indeed, would be the finishing touch 
 — public sympathy under my wrongs ! With 
 hot flushes of shame and indignation I breathe 
 a determined vow that if any such suspicion 
 be afloat by no demeanour of mine shall it be 
 strengthened. 
 
 Next morning I open my eyes with a 
 heavy sense of trouble before I am sufficiently 
 awake to know what it is ; then, as full re- 
 collection returns to me, I close them again 
 and feebly attempt to snatch back my drowsy 
 unconsciousness. In vain, of course ; and to 
 my mental woes are added the dull headache 
 and smarting eyes which naturally result from 
 a nocturnal orgy of tears. 
 
TEARS, IDLE TEARS 185 
 
 * If I only liad something to do,' I moan as 
 I turn uneasily in my bed to avoid even the 
 dull light of a winter's morning, ' I could face 
 existence more cheerfully.' Something to do ! 
 The cry of half womankind. Not a self- set, 
 purposeless hammering at some fine art ; but 
 steady hard work for an intelligent end — 
 work which, though oftentimes a weariness to 
 the flesh, yet in itself carries its own reward. 
 
 Get leave to work 
 In this world — 'tis the best you get at all. 
 
 But what work, I ask myself, can I do ? 
 Surely, if I had any natural bent worth culti- 
 vating, it would have shown itself before this. 
 I can play a little, sing a little, paint a little, 
 and talk bad grammar with an insular accent 
 in three foreign languages ; but not one of 
 these accomplishments presents itself to me 
 just now in the guise of a comforter. 
 
 As for pottering about among poor people 
 with a soup- can and a tract, I am clearly not 
 fitted for it. I don't know what to say to 
 
186 THE COUNTY 
 
 them, and they only ask me for money. 
 Besides, I am not in a position to play the 
 Lady Bountiful legitimately ; both the soup 
 and the tract are Jacquetta's. 
 
 At breakfast I make studious conversation, 
 though each morsel of food and each inane 
 remark stick painfully in my throat ; and 
 find, to my disgust, that I am seconded with 
 suspicious zeal by Sir Joseph as well as 
 Frances. They are neither of them at ease, 
 and the only thoroughly natural member of 
 our quartette is Jacquetta. May her density 
 be for ever blessed ! 
 
 ' Will you write some notes for me this 
 morning, Esme ? ' she exclaims. ' I have 
 more to do before lunch than one pair of 
 hands can get through, and I thought perhaps 
 you would undertake the tickets for the 
 Mothers' Tea Meeting ; a ticket must be sent 
 to each mother, with a note to say that I 
 expect them all to bring their own knives and 
 tea-spoons.' 
 
187 
 
 Eagerly I promise to convey the desired 
 information to the maternal mind of Eiver- 
 dale ; but my occupation is unfortunately too 
 mechanical to require fixed attention. After 
 I have once decided the form of words in 
 which to request the thirty matrons to furnish 
 their own hardware, a copying machine might 
 have done the rest. The morning-room 
 windows face the garden, and from the writ- 
 ing-table I look out towards the drenched 
 chestnut walk — for yesterday's high wind has 
 given place to a dull, soaking rain. 
 
 Can it be only twenty-four hours since I 
 rushed along there — full of hope and trembling 
 with delight at the thought of meeting my 
 lover ? Splash, splash — a big tear drops on 
 the envelope addressed to Mrs Briggs, worthy 
 spouse of the artistic carpenter. 
 
 She will think it was done in the post ; 
 and I watch the round blotch it makes with 
 vacant eyes. Fitter, patter — two more join it. 
 Mrs. Briggs will remember it was a wet day. 
 
]88 THE COUNTY 
 
 A loud, bigh-pitclied voice — Eva Fenton's 
 — ^in the passage outside interrupts my medi- 
 tations. 
 
 ' Yes, certainly, Lady Yarborough, you 
 may trust me for seeing that they are all 
 riorht. She is in the morninor-room, I 
 suppose.' And that fair damsel bounces into 
 the room. 
 
 The damp has taken the curl out of her 
 fringe, which hangs hmply down, and the dye 
 from her cheap black veil is freely bestrewn 
 over her glowing countenance. 
 
 ' How d' do ? ' she says with cursory 
 greeting. She has long ago grasped the fact 
 that no good will accrue from propitiating 
 me. ' Lady Yarborough's afraid you will 
 make a mess of these addresses as you don't 
 know the people, so she sent me in to help 
 you. I've come to spend the day,' she adds, 
 taking off her hat at the mirror close by — there 
 is plenty of plate-glass always handy in this 
 house — ' it was really too terrible to contem- 
 
TEARS, IDLE TEARS 189 
 
 plate the idea of stopping at home in such 
 dismal weather. My ! ' with a prolonged 
 stare as she catches sight of my ashen coun- 
 tenance, ' whatever's the matter with you ? ' 
 
 'I — I have frightful toothache,' I stam- 
 mer desperately. 'I have had it all night. 
 Please don't say anything about it. I hate 
 having a fuss made over me.' 
 
 'Well, yes, it is tiresome,' assents Eva 
 quietly ; and as she turns away and bestows 
 her attention upon her own smudged com- 
 plexion I have the pleasing knowledge borne 
 in upon me that my fib is unavaihng, and 
 that she is cudgelling her brains as to what 
 can have upset me so. 
 
 ' Mr. Mansfield been here since Sunday ? ' 
 she inquires briefly. 
 
 ' No — yes — I really don't remember,' I 
 say indifferently. If Miss Eva likes to imagine 
 that I have been weeping for him, she may ; 
 and yet an inconsistent twinge shoots through 
 me that even thus distantly his name rather 
 
190 THE COUNTY 
 
 than Allan's should be connected with 
 mine. 
 
 ' Has Sir Joseph been very wearing ? she 
 asks again, pulling out a hairpin and making 
 angry dabs at her straightened locks. The 
 obstinacy of their limpness is evidently aggra- 
 vating her. 
 
 ' Not at all/ I return stiffly ; ' I never 
 find him wearing, as you call it. This is 
 the right address for Mrs. Minchin, is it 
 not?' 
 
 ' Ah, well, that depends on how you take 
 him,' retorts Miss Fenton with a spiteful 
 quiver in her voice, and ignoring the envelope 
 I am holding up. 'I should imagine you 
 would have found it very unpleasant to hear 
 him say so often that you are staying here on 
 charity.' ^ 
 
 I will not wrestle with a sweep ; but 
 neither will I sit down at the same writing- 
 table with a sweep. ' There is Lady Yar- 
 borough's list, Miss Fenton,' I say, rising from 
 
TEARS, IDLE TEARS 191 
 
 my seat with as much cahn dignity as I can 
 muster. ' I will leave it with you so that you 
 can address the envelopes, and I will finish 
 the notes in my own room.' 
 
192 THE COUNTY 
 
 CHAPTER XIY 
 
 ADVICE GRATIS 
 
 The weary weeks drag on ; and liow weary 
 they are to me can be judged from the fact 
 that in that heavy time anger is my best 
 comforter. The days when I can conjure 
 up the bitterest wrath against him who is 
 making me suffer so sorely are the least 
 painful days to get through. The moments 
 I dread most are those weak ones which 
 seize me oftentimes, when a horrible longing 
 to see Allan again — only just to see him — 
 makes my very heart ache and my spirit 
 faint within me. 
 
 He has left England, so Frances tells me. 
 She has kept up a desultory correspondence 
 with Mrs. Stuart, at whose house we first 
 
ADVICE GRATIS 19 o 
 
 met him, and hears through her of his depar- 
 ture for India — he had time to run down to 
 Loamshire and say good-bye to Mrs. Stuart, 
 it seems ! 
 
 Frances was very kind to me at first. 
 She would hsten patiently with silent tact 
 and sympathy while I rambled on of my woes 
 and my wrongs ; but now in these later days 
 she begins to turn the subject towards our 
 future prospects. 
 
 ' I always did think the heart a mistaken 
 organ,' she says one day when we are stroliing 
 aimlessly through the glass-houses, ' and now 
 I am sure of it. How much more comfortably 
 one would get along if one were all head and 
 no heart, metaphorically speaking ! ' 
 
 ' Your well-regulated seat of the affection3 
 doesn't give you much trouble,' I interpolate 
 enviously, with an admiring glance at her clear 
 eyes and shell- tin ted cheeks. 
 
 ' No, but take your case,' returns ray 
 sister carelessly ; ' how much better off you 
 
 VOL. I. o 
 
194 THE COUNTY 
 
 would be if you could get the upper hand of 
 your feelings ! Instead of fretting yourself to 
 the figure of a paper-knife about some one who 
 doesn't care for you, you might be enjoying 
 every good thing that this world can give.' 
 
 ' As how ? ' I inquire, sniffing greedily at 
 a pink hyacinth which has overgrown itself 
 with much forcing. 
 
 Frances shrugs her shoulders impatiently. 
 ' You know very well what I mean,' she 
 declares. 
 
 I answer not. I do know what she means. 
 Does not every mental sign-post about the 
 place point out to me that my duty is to 
 marry Bryan Mansfield ? Do not the broadly 
 expressed hints of Sir Joseph, Jacquetta, and 
 their entourage^ intimate what is expected of 
 me with frequent insistence ? 
 
 ' We have been here three months,' goes 
 on Frances, ' and, if you remember, when we 
 left Billington we said we would only stay for 
 a short time until something turned up. Mr. 
 
ADVICE GRATIS 195 
 
 Bryan Mansfield is the best that has turned up ; 
 and I think we have been here long enough.' 
 
 ' Jacquetta is very glad to have us,' I mur- 
 mur uneasily. 
 
 ' I am not so sure about that,' returns 
 Frances oracularly, ' and I am sure that our 
 position is becoming every day more undigni- 
 fied. I have not hked to bother you lately — 
 you have had trouble enough — but I really 
 must ask you, Esme, what you propose that 
 we should do.' 
 
 It suits Frances to identify herself with me 
 for the moment ; but in truth she has made 
 herself a home here and I have not. If I 
 were to leave the Yarboroughs now, by the 
 gate of an approved marriage, she would 
 easily slide into the place of daughter of the 
 house ; but with my future uncertain we are 
 still poor relations. 
 
 ' Isn't it horrible to think what money will 
 do ? ' I break out presently with illogical 
 sequence. 
 
 2 
 
106 THE COUNTY 
 
 ' It is more horrible to think what the 
 want of money wall do,' says Frances calmly. 
 ' Every evil under the sun is summed up in 
 it.' 
 
 ' Oh well,' in feeble remonstrance, ' not 
 every evil.' 
 
 ' Every evil,' repeats Frances firmly. ' It 
 used to be the survival of the fittest ; nowa- 
 days it is the survival of the richest.' 
 
 Outside the glass-houses the air is sharp 
 with frost and the garden desolate with the 
 desolation of January, each twig outlined in 
 black precision, each clod barren and dry. 
 We make our way to the south wall, and 
 pace up and down, sheltered by the lifeless 
 peach trees from the biting north wind. 
 
 ' There is always governessing to fall back 
 upon,' say I dubiously. 
 
 Frances gives a snifi'of silent scorn. 
 
 ' I don't like the notion of it,' I continue 
 hurriedly, afraid lest the very putting the 
 hated idea into words might make it more 
 
ADVICE GRATIS 197 
 
 probable, ' in fact I don't mind going so far as 
 to say that at present I have not the remotest 
 intention of trying it ; but in scanning the 
 landscape of our prospects it is as well to look 
 upon the worst that may befall us ; and if I 
 have to earn my own living I don't see any 
 other way, do you ? ' 
 
 Frances scouts the very discussion with a 
 contemptuous shrug. 
 
 ' There is a glut of women in the market,' 
 I remark dismally, going over the well-known, 
 hopeless ground that so many thousands have 
 gone before ; ' unless I try for a cook's place 
 I am sure to be elbowed out by press of com- 
 petitors, and even in the cookery line it is 
 always the men who draw the prizes. Did you 
 ever hear of a woman getting 300/. a year 
 and her claret like the Nortons' chef? ' 
 
 ' This is shirking the question,' says 
 Frances impatiently ; ' I asked you just now 
 what you proposed to do, and you have not 
 answered me.' 
 
198 THE COUNTY 
 
 It is my turn to be silent. 
 
 * I can tell you what I propose/ she goes 
 on. ' To-day is the 14th of January. I pro- 
 pose that you should become Mrs. Bryan 
 Mansfield before February is over ; that you 
 should go abroad for a month or so (I would 
 recommend the Eiviera — Cannes is charming 
 in the early spring) ; that you should take a 
 house in town immediately upon your return, 
 where I will come to you, and we will have 
 such a season together ! ' 
 
 Her eye brightens, her cheek flushes, and 
 she pushes her hand caressingly through my 
 arm. 
 
 I shake it off coldly. 
 
 'You are very ready to map out my 
 future,' I rejoin bitterly. ' I wonder what you 
 would do if the positions were reversed.' 
 
 * Do ? ' repeats Frances in righteous sur- 
 prise. ' Why, you know^ Esme, I would jump 
 at the idea of marrying a man as rich as Bryan 
 Mansfield. More than that, I would marry 
 
ADVICE GEATIS 199 
 
 Bryan Mansfield himself this very moment if 
 I could, all besotted with your charms as he 
 is — and I can't imagine anything more trying 
 to a woman than to have her sister's praises 
 perpetually dinned into her ears ! ' 
 
 ' Yet you expect that same sister to do a 
 thing which is loathsome to her,' I exclaim 
 violently, ' in order to make a home for 
 you ! ' 
 
 Frances lifts her shoulders deprecatingly. 
 She feels she has been too anxious, and be- 
 thinks her, perchance, of Talleyrand's ' surtout 
 point de zele/ 
 
 ' It is not expressly to make a home for me, 
 my dear Esme,' she says with suspicious sweet- 
 ness ; ' if it comes to that, you must see that 
 Sir Joseph would view your departure from 
 his red-brick halls with serene indifference, 
 whereas he would be broken-hearted at the 
 mere thought of living without his " naughty 
 little Francie," ' mimicking Sir Joseph's mouthy 
 intonation. 
 
200 THE COUNTY 
 
 ' In fact, no one seems to want me,' I rejoin 
 with lachrymose want of spirit, too miserable 
 to quarrel long with Frances. 
 
 ' Bryan Mansfield wants you,' she replies, 
 slipping her hand through my arm again, with 
 coaxing gesture, and this time I do not shake 
 it off; 'and allow me to tell you that Mrs. 
 Bryan Mansfield will have a very jolly time of 
 it. He is awfully good-natured, and his wife 
 will twist him round her finger. As to money 
 — Sir Joseph says that to put his income at 
 20,000/. a year is a low estimate. I wonder 
 you can hesitate ! ' 
 
 ' He is so second-rate,' I object compre- 
 hensively. 
 
 ' You can't expect everything,' returns 
 Frances with vicarious and flippant philoso- 
 phy ; ' it is better for him to be second-rate 
 than antique. Now / should draw the fine at 
 sick-nursing myself, and yet look what heaps 
 of girls marry rich old cripples and then have 
 
ADVICE GRATIS 201 
 
 to spend the best years of their hfe physicking 
 them. There is nothing disagreeable about 
 Mr. Mansfield ; he is young enough — not 
 forty, I am sure — and really not at all bad- 
 looking.' 
 
 ' That is a matter of opinion,' I rejoin 
 bitterly. ' If a man looks like a gentleman he 
 may be as ugly as sin ; and if he doesn't, big 
 black eyes and greasy black hair and a straight 
 fat nose won't make up for it.' 
 
 ' Of course Mr. Mansfield is not so strictly 
 beautiful as Allan Vaudrey, if that is what 
 you mean ! ' retorts my sister. ' But Allan 
 Vaudrey has gone away, evidently determined 
 not to marry you on so small an income — 
 and far be it from me to blame him,' with 
 judicial impartiality ; ' / would not marry any- 
 one upon such prospects myself, though he 
 were a combination of Apollo and all the 
 saints. Come, now, Esme, be reasonable ; 
 what can you do if you refuse Bryan Mans- 
 
202 THE COUNTY 
 
 field ? Take my advice and make hay while 
 the sun shines, or the day will come when 
 you will bitterly regret your obstinate senti- 
 mentality/ 
 
2o; 
 
 CHAPTEE XV 
 
 ENGAGED 
 
 ' Well, Mr. Mansfield, I don't mind confessing 
 to you that I can't go on like this much longer, 
 and that I don't know what to do or where to 
 turn ' — and I gaze undecidedly at my inter- 
 locutor. 
 
 A hard frost has set in, and we are skating 
 on the flooded meadows. Sir Joseph fancies 
 himself immensely upon the ice and has invited 
 the village to come and admire — has also in- 
 vited Mr. Mansfield down from town. That 
 pillar of the Stock Exchange is not at home 
 upon his skates, and follows me about with 
 tottering gait and many a fall. He has suc- 
 ceeded this afternoon in making me a formal 
 proposal, which I, as formally, have declined ; 
 
204 THE COUNTY 
 
 I have then feebly lapsed into argument and 
 exposed the weakness of my defences. 
 
 'Ah — h, and you will find the world a 
 hard place to a penniless girl,' rejoins Mr. 
 Mansfield, with trite solemnity. 
 
 Just then he staggers, so long and so help- 
 lessly that in very charity I am forced to hold 
 out a helping hand. He grips it, steadies him- 
 self, and skates slowly on beside me, still 
 clutching my hand. 
 
 ' I can afford to give you every luxury, 
 every comfort,' he continues, so painfully in 
 earnest that he quite forgets the ludicrous 
 spectacle he is presenting. ' You shall choose 
 your homes ' — emphasising the plural — ' you 
 shall have your own way in everything, and I 
 will devote my life to making you happy.' 
 
 ' It is no use talking any more about it,' 
 I say firmly. ' Please let go my hand.' 
 
 'According to your own confession you 
 have no better prospects in view,' exclaims 
 Mr. Mansfield. ' Then why should you be 
 
ENGAGED 205 
 
 SO bent upon saying " No " ? Think it over 
 and you will change your mind. I am sure I 
 could make you happy, Miss Nugent — Esme 
 — I do love you so awfully,' and he winks 
 away a tear. 
 
 I shake my head, and freeing my hand by 
 an artful twist, skate rapidly off and join the 
 group surrounding Sir Joseph. 
 
 ' How do you do. Miss Nugent ? ' says Mr. 
 Douglas Thorpe. 'We are going to play 
 hockey. Let me get you a stick.' 
 
 Mr. Douglas Thorpe is a neat young 
 man, with a very sweet smile and a very 
 finished bow — and that is about the list of his 
 possessions. He is always being started in 
 something fresh by his father and always 
 returning to the bosom of his family. 
 
 ' Hockey ! ' I exclaim. ' Isn't it a very 
 rough game ? I thought everybody tried to 
 trip up everybody else at hockey.' 
 
 'Ah, we don't play it hke that here,' 
 returns ^Ir. Thorpe, with his engaging smile. 
 
206 THE COUNTY 
 
 * Come and take a turn with me, and I will 
 tell you all about it.' 
 
 Mr. Thorpe is an inflammable young gen- 
 tleman, and has long ago given me to under- 
 stand that my graces have made sad havoc of 
 his heart ; but as he took care to inform me 
 in the same breath that his prospects were 
 nil and his debts portentous, I consider myself 
 free to scout his sighs. 
 
 ' You see what makes hockey perfectly 
 safe for the ladies here, is Sir Joseph,' he 
 explains, with that contempt for Lindley 
 Murray which marks the British youth. 
 ' The other side always let him get hold of the 
 ball, and then he trundles it along through 
 the goal with everybody skating gently be- 
 hind him and calling out, " Wonderful ! 
 Most astonishing ! " ' 
 
 ' Nonsense ! ' I exclaim. 
 
 ' Fact,' says Mr. Thorpe ; ' and then we 
 start again from the other end, and Sir Joseph 
 makes another goal the same way.' 
 
ENGAGED 207 
 
 * Well, I give you fair warning that I am 
 not going to play like that,' I declare laugh- 
 ing. ' If I can get the ball away from him 
 and make a goal myself, I shall. No, thank 
 you,' to Mr. Mansfield, who has dragged himself 
 up to us by aid of a kitchen-chair, and is now 
 vahantly offering it to me ; 'I don't want to 
 sit down ; we are just going to play hockey ' 
 
 ' Are you ? ' asks Mr. Mansfield anxiously. 
 ' I wish you wouldn't, Miss Nugent ; it is a 
 rough game, and you know accidents on the 
 ice are nasty.' 
 
 There is a ring of genuine solicitude in his 
 voice which touches me. I have no doubt he 
 exaggerates the dangers of hockey — in fact, 
 from his point of view skating at all is peri- 
 lous — but I do believe he would care, and care 
 very much, if I tumbled upon my head and 
 had concussion of the brain, and I don't think 
 anyone else would. 
 
 I turn with a grateful smile. 
 
 ' You needn't be alarmed, Mr. Mansfield. 
 
208 THE COUNTY 
 
 I am told that the liockey played here is of 
 the mildest description.' 
 
 ' At any rate you ought not to begin with 
 a strap hanging down like that,' he says, 
 pointing to my right skate, from which indeed 
 the ankle strap is dangling. ' Sit down, and I 
 will put it right for you.' And he kneels cauti- 
 ously on the ice by aid of his friendly chair. 
 
 As I sit down I shoot an upward glance at 
 Mr. Thorpe ; rightly interpreted it means, 
 ' Wait for me,' but apparently he takes it the 
 other way, for, after a dubious look at Mr. 
 Mansfield, who clearly and palpably wants to 
 get rid of him, he skates slowly away with a 
 murmured, ' I will get a hockey-stick for you, 
 Miss Nugent.' 
 
 Mr. Mansfield, plump on his knees, seizes 
 my foot, holds it up in the air, and seems in- 
 clined to embrace the sharp edge of my skate ; 
 we might serve as models for a Worshipper 
 and Foot. 
 
 ' I do believe if I could only get you to 
 
ENGAGED 209 
 
 listen to me it would make a difference,' he 
 urges breathlessly. 'Do you know I have 
 loved you ever since I first saw you ? I 
 would cut ofi* my right arm if it would give 
 you any pleasure.' 
 
 ' But it wouldn't, indeed,' I interpose 
 lightly. 'You have got hold of the wrong 
 strap.' 
 
 ' And I will not take "No " for an answer,' 
 he continues, his usually stolid features work- 
 ing with emotion. ' I shall go on asking you 
 to marry me ; I haven't an atom of pride 
 where you are concerned.' 
 
 ' I wonder you haven't a little more dig- 
 nity,' I retort crossly, and jumping up, I 
 skate smoothly away, leaving Mr. Mansfield to 
 regain his feet by aid of the chair. 
 
 Sir Joseph and Frances are choosing sides 
 for hockey. 
 
 Frances is looking radiant ; the cold has 
 whipped red roses on her cheeks, and her yel- 
 low hair is curling crisply under her fur toque. 
 
 VOL. I. p 
 
210 THE COUNTY 
 
 She has been much exercised in mind lately 
 abont her clothes. We have a tiny income 
 from our mother's side, enough to dress upon 
 at a pinch, but I have set my face against our 
 spending any of it just now ; we can surely 
 rub on for a while, and, though Frances has 
 grumbled sorely, she looks charming to-day in 
 the green cloth and sable tails of last winter. 
 
 ' I will have Mr. Tliorpe,' she calls out. 
 
 ' Then you must take me too, Frances,' 
 I say boldly, ' for Mr. Thorpe is my responsible 
 instructor.' 
 
 ' Very well,' she agrees. ' You don't mind 
 my taking two people together. Sir Joseph ? ' 
 
 ' I don't in the least mind your taking 
 Esme,' he says, with such rude emphasis that 
 I flush angrily. 
 
 Sir Joseph is flourishing his hockey-stick 
 and disporting himself generally with the air 
 of a champion skater ; I have not seen him do 
 anything more imposing than going straight 
 ahead, and that with more solemnity than 
 
ENGAGED 211 
 
 agility ; but doubtless ' he can an' he will ' 
 outshine the best Canadian of them all — ' he 
 says so, and he ought to know.' 
 
 ' Now, Frances,' he exclaims, ' marshal 
 your forces and let us begin.' 
 
 The bung is produced. Frances leads off 
 with a stroke, Eva Fenton passes her, crooks 
 the bung, and surrenders it to Sir Joseph, 
 who makes the goal in the identical fashion 
 described by Mr. Thorpe. Once is all very 
 well ; but when the performance is repeated a 
 second time, and I discover that we are really 
 and truly expected to spend the afternoon 
 skating slowly behind Sir Joseph Yarborough 
 and his hockey-stick, T grow indignant. 
 
 ' This is too absurd,' I declare to Mr. 
 Thorpe, who is practising the outside edge 
 beside me to beguile the time, for Sir Joseph's 
 pace is a measured one. ' Go and take the 
 bung away from him and see what will 
 happen.' 
 
 ' Not I, says the cow, moo, moo. 
 Such a thing I'd never do,' 
 
 p2 
 
212 THE COUNTY 
 
 quotes my cowardly little admirer, witli 
 deprecating gesture. ' The angel who guards 
 the gates of Paradise — otherwise old Mrs. 
 Figg, the lodge-keeper — would be given strict 
 orders never to admit me again, and where 
 should I be then ? ' sighing windily and 
 araatorily. 
 
 I glance contemptuously around. Frances, 
 with two village swains in tow, is Dutch- 
 roUing gently behind Sir Joseph. Eva Fenton 
 is attitudinising gracefully in front of Bryan 
 Mansfield and his kitchen-chair ; she wdll 
 scuffle up in a minute in plenty of time to 
 chorus delight at Sir Joseph's third goal. 
 Hilda Davis, another girl, and a hobbledehoy 
 who is none too steady on his feet, complete 
 the little flock who follow their leader with 
 obedient submission. 
 
 'Then I must do it myself,' I retort, 
 excited out of my usual caution by the frost 
 and exhilarating exercise. ' A game is a 
 game, and I am not going to play like this.' 
 
ENGAGED 213 
 
 I skate quickly to Sir Joseph's side and 
 try for the bung. The onslaught is evidently 
 totally unexpected, for, to my horror, at the 
 first touch of my hockey-stick Sir Josepli's 
 fiies wildly in the air ; there is a violent 
 stagger, and before one can draw breath he 
 falls heavily on his back. 
 
 A hushed, awe-stricken pause : then a 
 wild scream from the bank where Jacquetta, 
 like a blowsy Hebe, has been superintending 
 tea and a bonfire. I fall on my knees beside 
 Sir Joseph's prostrate form ; his eyes are wide 
 open, but he makes not the slightest move- 
 ment. 
 
 ' Are you hurt, dear Sir Joseph ? ' I cry in 
 anxious tones. 'I a.m. so sorry. Do say you 
 are not hurt ! ' 
 
 No reply ; but instead of staring straight 
 up he turns his eyes with an angry glare on 
 me, thereby giving instantaneous relief to my 
 terror ; I think he is more cross than hurt. 
 
 ' Try and get up,' I exclaim, still quaking. 
 
214 THE COUNTY 
 
 ' Let me help you.' And I seize his hand, 
 which he roughly jerks away. 
 
 At this movement the floodgates of sym- 
 pathy, pent up by the first shock, break forth 
 from his faithful. 
 
 ' Dear, dear Sir Joseph ! ' exclaims Eva, 
 casting herself on the ice beside him. ' How 
 could you be so clumsy, Miss Nugent ? * 
 
 ' Put your head on my lap till you feel 
 well enough to move, darling,' says Frances. 
 
 ' Oh, get some snow to rub his forehead,' 
 cries Hilda Davis distractedly. 
 
 ' Nasty cropper, that ! ' murmurs one 
 village swain sympathetically. 
 
 'Yes, the ice is awfully hard,' agrees 
 another. 
 
 ' Can you manage to sit up, dearest Sir 
 Joseph ? ' asks Eva Fenton. ' We are all 
 anxious. Do try.' 
 
 . With judicious assistance, chiefly feminine, 
 the worthy knight sits up and looks around 
 him. 
 
ENGAGED 215 
 
 I am still on my knees, close by, and the 
 tears are in my eyes ; to tell the truth, I am 
 in a horrible fright. I don't think Sir Joseph 
 is much hurt, but I know he will never forgive 
 me. 
 
 Scrub — b ! Scrub — b ! From behind 
 comes the sound of the kitchen-chair heavily 
 pushed along ; Jacquetta, skateless and 
 goloshed, has been gallantly presented with 
 his prop by Mr. Mansfield, that she may 
 hurry to the scene of action. 
 
 ' Are you much hurt ? ' she cries an- 
 xiously. ' Is your head cut ? Sit on this 
 chair, dear.' 
 
 And having established Sir Joseph upon 
 that ever-useful article of furniture, she pro- 
 ceeds to examine him anxiously. 
 
 ' No, my head is not cut, and there are no 
 bones broken, I trust,' he replies, shaking his 
 wrist tentatively in the air ; ' but the shock 
 has been tremendous.' 
 
 ' I am sure it has,' I murmur guiltily. ' 1 
 
216 THE COUNTY 
 
 cannot tell you how sorry I am to have been 
 so awkward.' 
 
 No response from Sir Joseph. 
 
 ' How did it all happen ? ' inquires Jac- 
 quetta. ' I was not looking ; the kettle had 
 just boiled over.' 
 
 An awkward silence. Then, forgetful of 
 that righteous maxim, 'Whatever happens, 
 never apologise,' I again raise my unhappy 
 voice with : 
 
 ' I am afraid it was my fault, Jacquetta. 
 We were playing hockey — and — and — I got 
 in Sir Joseph's way.' 
 
 Sir Joseph gives a short contemptuous 
 laugh. 
 
 ' That is a very mild version,' he says, with 
 a nasty sneer. ' It would be more correct to 
 say that Esme deliberately tripped me up with 
 her hockey-stick just as I was making a goal 
 for our side.' 
 
 Sensation among the bystanders. 
 
 * Most dangerous ! ' murmurs Hilda Wilson. 
 
ENGAGED 217 
 
 ' How could she ! ' exclaims Eva Fenton. 
 
 ' It was very clumsy at any rate,' says 
 Frances severely. 
 
 ' Oh come, Sir Joseph, not deliberately, 
 you know,' interposes Mr. Thorpe in weak 
 remonstrance. 
 
 Jacquetta gazes from one to the other in 
 round-eyed bewilderment. 
 
 T draw myself up disgustedly. I have 
 apologised enough — nay, too much, and Sir 
 Joseph glares at me in vain. 
 
 ' Give me a hand, Thorpe,' says Mr. 
 Mansfield's slow voice from behind. ' I have 
 skated from the other side without any help 
 and with only two falls. Well, Sir Joseph, 
 are you all right again ? How did you 
 manage to come such a cropper ? You rolled 
 over like an intoxicated ninepin.' 
 
 ' Say rather was pushed over,' retorts Sir 
 Joseph crossly. 
 
 ' Well, what can you expect if you go 
 in for hockey ? ' returns Mr. Mansfield cheer- 
 
218 THE COUNTY 
 
 fully. ' Miss Nugent, will you tell me if I am 
 managing my left foot any better ? I have 
 been practising your instructions.' 
 
 And he skates ponderously off, followed 
 only too gladly by me. 
 
 ' Is that better ? ' he says, pausing at the 
 other end of the ice. 
 
 ' I really was not watching,' I reply. * I 
 am so angry with Sir Joseph. How am I to 
 go back to his house and eat his food when 
 he treats me so abominably ? ' 
 
 And while the words are yet in my mouth 
 I declare to myself that I will marry Bryan 
 Mansfield. 
 
 He is not slow to see his advantage. 
 
 ' And why should you go back to his 
 house ? ' he asks eagerly. ' Why will you 
 not ' 
 
 I raise my hand imperatively. If I allow 
 him to go on talking, my resolution will 
 evaporate before his arguments ; he is his 
 own worst advocate. 
 
ENGAGED 219 
 
 ' I will marry you if you still wish it after 
 hearing what I have to say. I do not care 
 for you. I would not be your wife if any 
 other resource were open to me ; I only con- 
 sent to it now because I am homeless, friend- 
 less, and not courageous enough to battle with 
 the world. At the same time, if I marry you 
 I will do my duty towards you to the utmost 
 of my power. Now, it is for you to decide.' 
 
 ' For me to decide ! ' he cries joyfully, his 
 face twitching, his hands outstretched. ' Oh, 
 how can you think I would hesitate ? It will 
 be the dream of my life to make you happy.' 
 
220 THE COUNTY 
 
 CHAPTEE XVI 
 Bryan's family 
 
 I AM not allowed much time in which to 
 change my mind. Everyone seems to think 
 the bargain such a peculiarly fortunate one 
 for me that I ought to lose no time in clinch- 
 ing it. 
 
 It is difficult to be coy in fixing the 
 wedding-day when the bridegroom's entreaties 
 are powerfully backed up by a host and 
 hostess anxious to get rid of one, and by a 
 sister — sole representative of the family — 
 more than anxious to hurry the whole affair. 
 
 The question of the date is raised the very 
 same evening, almost in the same breath, it 
 seems to me, with the announcement of the 
 engagemen . 
 
Bryan's family 221 
 
 I have left Mr. Mansfield to tell Sir Joseph 
 and anyone else he likes, and have made my 
 v^ay from the ice to my own room, having for 
 the moment totally forgotten my theatrical 
 objection to return to Sir Joseph's roof and 
 partake of his food in the frantic desire to 
 escape from Mr. Mansfield's blandishments — 
 blandishments restricted upon the ice by force 
 of surroundings, but which threaten to be- 
 come extremely disagreeable in the shrub- 
 beries on our way home. 
 
 I crouch over my fire, dry- eyed and 
 heart-sick. 
 
 ' I can't go on with it, I can't,' I murmur, 
 Avith a cold shiver at the thought of the kiss 
 Bryan Mansfield succeeded in imprinting on 
 my left ear just before we emerged from the 
 laurel walk. ' I will tell him that I did not 
 mean it — that I have changed my mind. He 
 must acknowledge that I only said what I did 
 in a fit of temper with Sir Joseph.' 
 
 But even as T mention Sir Joseph's name, 
 
222 THE COUNTY 
 
 the recollection of his rudeness this afternoon 
 returns to me, and like a weathercock I veer 
 again ; I certainly cannot live any longer upon 
 his charity, and if I add the further insult of 
 jilting his friend to my crimes, must leave his 
 liouse forthwith. 
 
 The sound of joyous voices below strikes 
 on my ear, and from behind the window cur- 
 tain I watch a happy family party coming 
 towards the garden door — Sir Joseph, Jac- 
 quetta, Bryan Mansfield, and Frances, all 
 chattering and laughing in highest glee. 
 
 ' Esme, Esme, where are you ? ' calls out 
 my sister in her clear high tones. There is a 
 stampede up the stairs and along the passage ; 
 then Frances taps at my door. 
 
 ' May we come in ? ' she cries. ' We are 
 all so delighted, and we have come to congra- 
 tulate you — Sir Joseph and Jacquetta and I — 
 you dear, lucky creature ! ' 
 
 ' You are indeed most fortunate and much 
 to be congratulated, my dear girl,' declares 
 
eryan'f rA:.:TLY 223 
 
 Sir Joseph with pompous magnanimity — he 
 has apparently forgotten and forgiven our 
 little fracas upon the ice. ' You are about to 
 make a match worthy in every way of your 
 family and former position ; and personally 
 Bryan Mansfield is a fiance of whom any girl 
 may be proud.' 
 
 ' Yes, indeed,' chimes in Jacquetta ex- 
 citedly ; ' and what a beautiful house you will 
 be able to have, Esme ! ' 
 
 I stand stonily silent ; their grief at losing 
 me is so happily tempered by joy at my glow- 
 ing prospects I It appears, however, that my 
 demeanour is unexpectedly correct under the 
 circumstances ; modest elation ought to be 
 represented by bashful silence. 
 
 ' You have been a sly httle lady,' says Sir 
 Joseph with benevolent banter. ' I have been 
 aware for some time past of Mansfield's feel- 
 ings, but was not sure whether they were re- 
 ciprocated.' 
 
 ' Esme was quite right not to make a fuss 
 
224 THE COUNTY 
 
 until she had landed her fish,' approves Jac- 
 quetta. 
 
 ' Well, we must not leave Mr. Mansfield 
 all alone in the drawing-room,' says Frances. 
 
 Having sealed the betrothal by formal 
 congratulations, she prudently withdraws her 
 forces from too long converse with the fair 
 betrothed ; so with a pat on the back from 
 Sir Joseph, a bristly embrace from Jacquetta 
 — whose moustache would not disgrace a light 
 dragoon — and a hug from Frances, I am again 
 left to contemplate my bliss. 
 
 During dinner I am protected from any- 
 thing more difficult to parry than jocose hints 
 and mild waggery by the hovering presence 
 of Paton and his subordinate sprites ; but 
 when the door finally and reluctantly closes 
 upon them — with professional y?azV they have 
 scented news in the atmosphere, and have 
 lingered, pressingly attentive with the dessert 
 — I am mercilessly put through my facings. 
 
 ' How dark you have been about it, Esme,' 
 
BETAI^'S FAMILY 225 
 
 begins Jacquetta. * It really has come upon 
 me quite as a surprise. I used always to 
 fancy that you liked some one we did not 
 know — one of your old friends.' 
 
 ' Ah ! Sir Joseph and I did not make that 
 mistake,' interposes Frances quickly. 'We 
 guessed what was coming off, didn't we, 
 dear ? ' 
 
 Frances is very much on the alert to-night 
 and very excited ; her eyes are brilliant and 
 her laugh frequent and forced. 
 
 ' Yes, we thought it was in the air,' 
 responds Sir Joseph. ' We had our suspicions. 
 And when is the wedding-day to be ? ' 
 
 I start angrily ; they are indecently quick 
 to draw the toils around me. 
 
 'You are in a hurry,' I exclaim with a 
 nervous smile. ' Why, we have not had time 
 yet to get accustomed to the idea of a wed- 
 ding-day at all.' 
 
 ' I expect Mansfield has been afraid of 
 scaring you by mooting the question,' says 
 
 VOL. I. Q 
 
226 THE COUNTY 
 
 Sir Joseph, beaming affably as he cracks a 
 walnut. ' He wants support — ha ! ha ! You 
 ask her to fix the day, and we will all back 
 you up, Mansfield ! ' 
 
 My fiance bears his honours stolidly ; he 
 has been gazing at me with heavy sentiment 
 between the courses, but otherwise maintains 
 his usual impassivity. Thus conjured by Sir 
 Joseph, he says gravely — 
 
 ' Esme must know that the earliest date is 
 the one that will please me the best.' 
 
 ' There is the trousseau to be got,' exclaims 
 Jacquetta ; ' but that can be done in a month. 
 The shops are so much quicker than they 
 used to be.' 
 
 'Yes, and no one goes in for a long 
 engagement nowadays,' declares Frances. 
 ' Janie Yerschoyle was engaged the other day 
 and married within three weeks.' 
 
 ' But that was because they had to leave 
 for India by a certain date,' I retort in- 
 dignantly. 
 
BRYAIV'S FAMILY 227 
 
 ' Not at all,' maintains Frances. ' It was 
 because her father said he would rather have 
 a mad dog in his house than an engaged 
 couple.' 
 
 Somehow or other it is assumed before 
 bedtime that my wedding is to come off 
 within a month ; and I offer no firm resistance. 
 Since I am going to marry Bryan Mansfield in 
 order to have a Jiome of my own I may as 
 well marry him at once as in six months' 
 time ; the intermediate days are not so bliss- 
 ful that I should haggle violently for more of 
 them. 
 
 ' Tell me all about your people,' 1 say one 
 day to my future spouse. We have been left 
 alone in the drawing-room. Frances, who 
 usually devotes herself to the post of buffer 
 between his tender demonstrations and my 
 thorny fretfulness, being temporarily off duty, 
 I have hastily started the first subject which 
 promises to distract his attention from the 
 
228 THE COUNTY 
 
 charms of my person — the smoothness of my 
 skin and the shmness of my waist. ' I know 
 nothing whatever about them. Have you a 
 father and mother, or are you " an orphan of 
 parents bereft " ? ' 
 
 ' Well, not exactly,' replies Mr. Mansfield, 
 with as much slow caution as if he were 
 responding to a vexed question of mental 
 arithmetic. ' At least, my father is dead, but 
 my mother is alive.' 
 
 'And what is she like?' I inquire 
 gloomily. 
 
 He has moved along the sofa and is putting 
 his arm round my waist again. He pauses 
 before answering, and this time I do not blame 
 him. Who amongst us, wise, witty, and 
 epigrammatic though he be, would not 
 hesitate before cataloguing his mother, before 
 summarising in a few words her personal 
 appearance, her virtues and her vices ? 
 
 ' She is very fond of talking,' he says at 
 last, * and she has bad headaches sometimes.' 
 
Bryan's family 229 
 
 ' What a graphic description ! ' I exclaim 
 impatiently. ' I never heard of a woman who 
 wasn't fond of talking and hadn't bad head- 
 aches sometimes. You might as well say she 
 has two eyes and a nose ! ' 
 
 ' It is so difficult to describe one's mother,' 
 responds my betrothed plaintively. ' Wouldn't 
 it be the best plan for you to ask me some 
 questions about her, and then I could answer 
 them ? ' 
 
 ' Evidently not merely the best but the 
 only plan,' I agree tartly. ' But first I 
 must put that sofa cushion straight ; it 
 worries me beyond endurance to see things 
 crooked.' 
 
 Having corrected the cushion on the 
 opposite sofa with two smart taps, and then 
 taken up my position beside it with the width 
 of the fireplace between me and my fiance — 
 why am I thus reduced to French ? Surely 
 it is a reproach to our language that there is 
 no corresponding English expression except 
 
230 THE COUNTY 
 
 indeed ' my young man' — I become more 
 cheerful. 
 
 'Well, to begin with, how old is your 
 mother ? ' 
 
 ' Ton my word, I don't know,' with doubt- 
 ful hesitancy. ' I never asked her, and she 
 is the sort of person who might be any age, 
 you know.' 
 
 'H'm! Is she well off ? ' 
 
 ' Oh, yes ! — at least tolerably — nothing 
 much to speak of — not rich and not poor ! ' 
 
 To my astonishment he becomes so con- 
 fused that I look away and gaze into the fire. 
 Perhaps I have been unduly curious. I dare 
 say he supplements her income by a good 
 allowance and does not care to say so ; he 
 seems very generous about money matters. 
 
 ' Well, what is her pet hobby ? ' 
 
 ' Hobby ? ' he repeats, the dark flush in his 
 face slowly dying out as I refrain from further 
 financial inquiries. ' I don't think she has 
 any hobby in particular.' 
 
BRYAN'S FAMILY 231 
 
 ' No hobby ! ' I exclaim disappointedly. 
 ' We don't seem to be getting along at all. 
 Age uncertain, income ditto, no particular 
 tastes or occupation ! I must point my ques- 
 tions a little more. What does she do with 
 herself all day ? ' 
 
 ' She goes to see people mostly.' 
 
 ' Poor people ? ' 
 
 ' No. Her friends.* 
 
 ' Where does she hve ? ' 
 
 ' At Frampton.' 
 
 ' Frampton ? ' 
 
 ' A village in Hampshire.' 
 
 ' Ah, now I am beginning to see my way. 
 She is sociable. She likes talking. She has 
 no particular occupation. She lives in a vil- 
 lage. Shall I offend you if I mention the word 
 gossip ? ' 
 
 ' Not at all,' rephes Bryan. ' She is a 
 regular old gossip.' 
 
 I smother a yawn. His mother seems 
 dreadfully uninteresting ; but after all what 
 
232 THE COUNTY 
 
 can one expect ? I must feign an interest in 
 her if I cannot feel one — 
 
 It is my duty to, 
 
 and as I am going to take all manner of good 
 things from Bryan Mansfield's hands, I want 
 to do my duty by him. 
 
 ' And have you any brothers and sisters ? ' 
 I ask suddenly. 
 
 Mr. Mansfield has left his sofa and is stand- 
 ing on the hearth-rug half-way towards mine. 
 
 ' Only one brother,' he replies briefiy. 
 
 ' And what is he like ? ' 
 
 ' Well, he is in the army,' replies Bryan 
 comprehensively. 
 
 No need to ask his regiment — the hun- 
 dredth and something in the line, of course. 
 
 I glance anxiously at the clock. What an 
 age Frances has been ! She went away to 
 write a note for Sir Joseph quite half an hour 
 ago. 
 
 A tete-a-tete with my fiance is fatiguing 
 work ; it gives me the sensation of pushing a 
 
Bryan's family 233 
 
 heavy stone up a steep liill, and I am men- 
 tally out of breath in a very few minutes. 
 
 I suppose all his wits have run into finance, 
 and he must be perpetually calculating rates 
 of interest and bills of exchange when he sits 
 so solemnly and ponderously silent. The 
 ability which succeeds in the City wears an 
 excellent disguise in everyday Hfe. 
 
 ' Good Heavens ! how you scratch me ! ' 
 I exclaim crossly. ' I really never could have 
 imagined how bristly a moustache is.' 
 
 From which it may be inferred that Bryan 
 has established himself beside me. 
 
 ' I will shave it off if you like,' he says sen- 
 timentally. 
 
 ' No, don't. It would be very disastrous to 
 your personal appearance, and I shouldn't like 
 being kissed any the more,' I rejoin illogically. 
 
 'You said just now it was only because of 
 the bristly ' he begins reproachfully. 
 
 ' No, indeed,' I interrupt. ' I hate being 
 kissed, anyhow ; I always did ; ask Frances.' 
 
234 THE COUNTY 
 
 ' I shall do no such thing,' he declares with 
 more animation than usual. 'I am sick of 
 Frances. She pokes her finger in every pie.' 
 
 ' It is very ungrateful of you to say so,' I 
 retort. ' She is always singing your praises, 
 and indeed I should never have dreamt of 
 marrying you if it had not been for Frances.' 
 
 ' Very likely,' he responds, and a mulish 
 expression comes over his face ; ' but that 
 does not make me any fonder of Frances.' 
 
 ' Complimentary to me ! ' 
 
 * I don't mean anything rude to you, dar- 
 ling,' he answers hastily, and as I see reconcili- 
 atory caresses impending, I strike in firmly — 
 
 ' Well, don't let us waste our time quarrel- 
 ling and making it up again, when there are 
 so many more interesting things we have to 
 talk about. Do you know we haven't settled 
 yet where we are to live ? ' 
 
 ' In Loamshire, of course,' says Bryan. ' I 
 thought that was understood.' 
 
 ' Oh, yes ! I know you intend to buy a 
 
Bryan's family 235 
 
 place there, but we should not go to it just 
 yet, should we ? I should like to be in town 
 for the season. I love town, and ' — so does 
 Frances, I was about to say, when I remember 
 in time that this will not be much of an argu- 
 ment with Mr. Mansfield ; I mumble a httle 
 and finally conclude my sentence with — ' and 
 we shall have a house in London, of course.' 
 
 I suppose Bryan has noticed my prevarica- 
 tion, for he does not reply at once ; presently 
 he asks constrainedly, ' Which do you prefer, 
 Mayfair or Belgravia ? ' 
 
 ' Belgravia,' I answer ; ' but so much 
 depends on the house. Have you been look- 
 ing at any ? ' 
 
 ' I have had so little time,' he says apolo- 
 getically. ' Coming down here nearly every 
 evening makes my day in town very short, 
 and I have a lot to get through before the 
 28th. It is drawing very near, isn't it, darling ? 
 Only fifteen days more to wait. How are you 
 getting on with your trousseau ? ' 
 
236 THE COUNTY 
 
 ' How is she getting on with her trousseau ? ' 
 strikes in Frances, looking round the hideous 
 Japanese screen which cuts off the draught 
 from the door. 'Very badly indeed. Ugh ; how 
 cold it is ! Make room for me by the fire and 
 I'll tell you all about it, Bryan. Esme is awfully 
 foolish over her clothes ; she won't let Sir 
 Joseph give her a sou towards them, and the 
 consequence is the trousseau will be a miracle 
 of shabbiness ! ' 
 
 ' Don't you care for fine clothes ? ' asks 
 Bryan curiously. 
 
 ' Care for them ! ' I laugh much more at 
 my ease in Frances' protecting presence. ' I 
 adore them ! I give you fair warning that my 
 dressmaker's bills will be preposterous after I 
 am married. Indeed it is only right you should 
 understand once for all that my tastes are ex- 
 pensive all round. Hike diamonds, and good 
 horses, and old French furniture, and new 
 French gowns. So now you know what 
 is before you ! ' 
 
237 
 
 CHAPTEE XVn 
 A doctoe's opinion 
 
 My wedding-day draws on apace. I am utterly 
 miserable ; but at least I am occupied. 
 Before, I was utterly miserable and had no 
 occupation to distract my thoughts from my 
 misery. Allan Yaudrey haunted me day and 
 night ; now he is sometimes shelved in my 
 mind by the bustle, the thanksgiving for 
 presents, the letter-writing, the gown-fitting, 
 the hundred and one petty distractions that 
 attend a wedding. 
 
 Poor paltry consolation for the loss of one's 
 happiness ! Yes, but it is easier to endure 
 life when a tired body and a weary brain stifle 
 recollection and deaden pain, than when one 
 
238 THE COUNTY 
 
 awakes in the morning to a long, empty 
 day, with only aching memories to dwell 
 upon. 
 
 I have insisted upon a quiet wedding. Sir 
 Joseph wanted to send into the highways and 
 hedges for guests ; in other words, to ask every- 
 one he knows and everyone I know to come 
 and witness the crowning ceremony of his 
 benevolent tact — the marriage of a pauper 
 Nugent and 20,000/. a year. 
 
 But I have been firm ; no one of my friends 
 shall be beholden to him through my instru- 
 mentality for a crust of bread or a grain of 
 salt, and I do not want to be gaped at by an 
 appraising crowd of his friends, who will 
 minutely adjust the balance between my family 
 and good looks and the happy bridegroom's 
 money-bags. 
 
 I have my way, the future Mrs. Bryan 
 Mansfield being a personage whose wishes 
 carry more weight than the Esme Nugent of 
 the past ; and one damp February morning 
 
A doctor's opinion 239 
 
 the hungry-looking Vicar of Eiverdale reads 
 that most terribly solemn marriage service 
 over my qualdng body and stunned mind, in 
 the same monotonous jog-trot voice in which 
 he welcomes a helpless infant into the Church's 
 fold, or speeds a still more helpless traveller on 
 his last long journey. 
 
 I am feebly glad that I have been too busy 
 and too tired during the last month to read 
 the marriage service over. If I had fully 
 remembered those awful words, could I have 
 come here to forswear myself thus ? 
 
 I mean to do my duty to Bryan Mansfield 
 certainly, but how far do I fall short of those 
 tremendous promises ! 
 
 It is over now. Bryan Mansfield and I are 
 man and wife. We have left the church and 
 eaten of the bridal feast ; we have said good- 
 bye to consequential host and red-brick halls. 
 As we bowl down the drive I lean out of the 
 carriage window and take my last glance at 
 that pompous stucco portal — oh ! if only all 
 
240 THE COUNTY 
 
 that had happened to me since I first passed 
 under it were but a hideous nightmare ! 
 
 But here I am awake and in the flesh. 
 Am I not seated by my husband's side, and is 
 he not vainly endeavouring to possess himself 
 of my ungloved hand ? Are we not off and 
 away, eji route for the Eiviera and the good 
 things of this life ? 
 
 I have taken Frances' advice to the letter, 
 have I not ? I am married before February 
 is over ; I am going to Cannes for the honey- 
 moon — Cannes is so charming in the early 
 spring ! I am coming back for the London 
 season. Altogether I had better try and 
 model myself upon Frances for the future. I 
 think I should be happier if I could. 
 
 We are breakfasting, my husband and I, 
 in our tiny yellow salon at the Hotel des lies 
 Britanniques. 
 
 It is a glorious Cannes morning, and our 
 windows are thrown wide open, the gentle, 
 
A doctor's opinion 241 
 
 balmy March breeze, which barely stirs the 
 window curtains, bearing no relation whatever 
 to the tearing east wind which is relentlessly 
 probing each individual flaw in each British 
 constitution at home. 
 
 How pretty the outlook is ! The eucalyp- 
 tus waving its blue-green leaves, the orange 
 trees laden with yellow fruit ; here, just under 
 the window, a grey olive bearing aloft the 
 white blooms of a Banksian rose which has 
 climbed right on to its crown — and through 
 everything the blue, blue sea dancing in the 
 sunlight. 
 
 A paradise in truth ; but to enjoy paradise 
 one must have a mind at ease, a heart at 
 peace. With bitter memories perpetually 
 surging up, restless discontent gnawing cease- 
 lessly, and an uncongenial companion always 
 at one's elbow, it is surely better to turn back 
 again to our grey, bustling, work-a-day island. 
 So I opine ; but so seemeth it not good to my 
 lord and master. 
 
 VOL. I. R 
 
242 THE COUNTY 
 
 ' Now we have really got away from home, 
 I don't see why we should be in a hurry to 
 put our necks into the collar again,' he is 
 saying lazily. 
 
 ' In fact, you are like a child at a panto- 
 mime who says he never wants to go home 
 again, never, never ! ' I respond, sniffing 
 doubtfully at my boiled egg — can one ever be 
 aught but doubtful of hotel eggs ? 
 
 ' Well, I do think we are having rather a 
 good time, don't you, darling ? What do you 
 say to going slowly along the coast line into 
 Italy, spending May at the Lakes and the 
 summer in Switzerland ? ' 
 
 'Good Heavens! what a hideous pro- 
 gramme,' I cry with snappish haste. 'A 
 whole spring and summer of trains and dirty 
 railway stations, and smelly foreigners and 
 impudent hotel-keepers, and skinny guinea- 
 fowls ! ' 
 
 ' You certainly are determined to look on 
 the black side of everything,' says Bryan, with 
 
A doctor's opmiox 243 
 
 sucli crest-fallen mortification that I repent 
 me immediately of my rude speech. 
 
 'Perhaps I was morose,' I acknowledge, 
 with an apologetic wave of the hand towards 
 his tweed sleeve ; ' but you must put it down 
 to disappointed greediness ; this egg is not so 
 fresh as it once was.' 
 
 ' What a shame ! ' exclaims Bryan — poor 
 fellow ! he is easily mollified by the sketchiest 
 excuse for a caress from me. 'I will ring for 
 another at once.' 
 
 'Dear Bryan, an egg, like Cassar's wife, 
 should be above suspicion. Please don't ask 
 me to suspect another this morning. We 
 were talking about our plans, weren't we ? 
 Don't you think the season in town would be 
 nicer than so much wandering ? ' 
 
 Bryan looks away and answers not. 
 
 ' I love London,' 1 continue ; ' and when 
 I have been away from it for long I get quite 
 homesick for the nice towny smell and the 
 bustle and the life ; there are moments, I assure 
 
 E 2 
 
244 THE COUNTY 
 
 you, when the very German bands and organ- 
 grinders have a place in my affections.' 
 
 Still my husband does not respond. Pre- 
 sently he gets up and walks to the open 
 window. 
 
 ' I really never heard anyone imply before 
 that smells were desirable,' he says at last, 
 with a somewhat sulky intonation. 
 
 'Not smells in the plural, of course,' I 
 explain, warming with my subject as I per- 
 ceive a mute resistance ; ' but the smell of the 
 pavement — you know what I mean. London 
 always feels more homelike to me than any 
 other place ; and as for Frances, she positively 
 adores it. She says that Paradise may be 
 all very well in its way, but that the published 
 accounts of it don't sound half so cheery as 
 London in the season.' 
 
 * How profane of her ! ' remarks Bryan, 
 with righteous disapprobation. 
 
 ' I dare say ; but then Frances very often 
 is profane,' I respond lightly, being too anxious 
 
A doctor's opimoi^ 245 
 
 about the subject in hand to do battle over 
 my sister's reputation for sanctity. ' I am 
 afraid you don't quite agree with me in my 
 rhapsodies, but at any rate you have no ob- 
 jection to our spending part of the year in 
 London, I suppose ? ' 
 
 No answer ; and Bryan still presents me 
 with a full back view of his person. 
 
 ' Well, you might say something ! ' I 
 declare at last. ' I thought it was an under- 
 stood thing. When the subject was discussed 
 before our wedding you led me to beheve so.' 
 
 ' I can't imagine what makes you so an- 
 xious about it,' he says presently. ' Town ia 
 all very well for girls who want to rush 
 about and meet heaps of men, but when once 
 a woman is married it ought not to make any 
 difference to her where she and her husband 
 live.' 
 
 As this mascuhne view of the case is pro- 
 pounded my eyes fill with tears of disappoint- 
 ment. My nerves are on edge with the 
 
246 THE COUNTY 
 
 worries of an already too prolonged tete-a-tete 
 with my husband. For three solid weeks 
 I have breakfasted with Bryan Mansfield, 
 walked with him, lunched with him, driven 
 with him, dined with him, played bezique 
 with him — he never reads — made tea for him. 
 It has been dreary uphill work ; we have not 
 two ideas in common ; and now am I to find 
 out that a similar performance is expected of 
 me in the long indefinite future ? 
 
 ' Will you tell me your objection to our 
 spending part of the year in London ? ' I ask, 
 after two or three minutes spent in trying to 
 regain control of my voice and my eyes. ' If 
 it were a question of money I would not say 
 another word : but as that is impossible, I 
 should like to know why you are so opposed 
 to it. You have hitherto lived principally in 
 town, have you not ? You cannot dislike it.' 
 
 My voice sounds quavery, and the tears 
 won't be winked away, though I am not yet 
 despondent of the ultimate result of our argu- 
 
A doctor's opixion 247 
 
 ment. My will is stronger than my husband's, 
 and he is fonder of me than I of him ; there- 
 fore I must prevail. But so appalhng is the 
 prospect of his company, and his alone, 
 during months to come (for we shall be alone, 
 whether touring as he proposes, or settling 
 in Loamshire, totally deserted during the 
 summer), that the bare idea of it fills me with 
 consternation. 
 
 Bryan turns sharply round as my snuffly 
 accents strike his ear. 
 
 ' You aren't crying, my darling, are you ? 
 Don't be foolish, now, like a dear, good girl ; 
 there's nothing to cry about,' he says, in the 
 nervously soothing tone one would use with a 
 screaming infant. 
 
 ' I am not crying,' I retort, with menda- 
 cious dignity, * and I am not foohsh ; but as 
 I have already remarked about half a dozen 
 times, I wish you would tell me if you have 
 any sensible reason why we should not go 
 back to London.' 
 
248 THE COUNTY 
 
 Thus cornered, my liusband at last brings 
 out the following — 
 
 ' Well, the fact of the matter is, my doctors 
 have forbidden me to live in London.' 
 
 ' Your doctors ! ' I cry curiously. ' Why, 
 Bryan, what's the matter with you ? I didn't 
 know you had any doctors.' 
 
 ' They say that if I live in London I shall 
 be certain to go into the City : and I must not 
 go into the City,' replies my husband in a 
 parrot-like voice. 
 
 ' How very extraordinary ! ' I murmur 
 apprehensively. 'But what is the matter 
 with you, Bryan ? What made you consult a 
 doctor ? ' 
 
 'It was my head,' returns Bryan. 'My 
 head got queer, you know.' 
 
 He makes this tremendous statement with 
 an utter absence of emotion, and stands by the 
 breakfast table gently flipping his watch-chain, 
 apparently rather relieved that my tears have 
 so suddenly dried up. 
 
A doctor's opi:n"ion 249 
 
 * Your head ! ' I repeat in an awe-stricken 
 whisper 
 
 'Yes. Too much excitement. You have 
 no idea what a place that City is. So old 
 Jenkinson said I must knock off work and 
 amuse myself.' 
 
 Having got over his first reluctance to 
 enter upon the subject, Bryan becomes quite 
 chatty as he proceeds — 
 
 ' An outdoor life — that is what he recom- 
 mends. Hunting, shooting, skating, lawn- 
 tennis — anything and everything to keep me 
 out-of-doors. No hot crowds, no excitement ; 
 but plenty of air and a little quiet, cheerful 
 society. English country life, in fact, with an 
 occasional trip on the Continent ! ' 
 
 My eyes feel round with terror, but I bend 
 my head and trifle with my tea-spoon. 
 
 ' His head got queer.' What a frightfully 
 vague statement ! A whole gamut of horror 
 may be comprised in it, from raving madness 
 down to a mere threatening of brain fever. 
 
250 THE COUNTY 
 
 'So you see, my dear,' continues Bryan cheer- 
 fully, ' we had better not risk this season in 
 London/ 
 
 ' Certainly not ! ' I gasp ; then as a new 
 complication strikes me I raise my head. 
 'And your business, Bryan? How did you 
 manage about leaving your business so sud- 
 denly?' 
 
 ' Oh, I can well afford to retire,' he says, 
 turning sharply away. ' I can well afford to 
 retire, I tell you,' with angry repetition. 
 
 ' Well, dear, we ought to be very thankful 
 for that,' I respond gently. 
 
 There is more guile than affection in my 
 gentleness ; I am naturally not inclined to 
 argue with a person who has just imparted 
 information of so peculiar a character. 
 
 Bryan has his way as to our summer plans, 
 of course. There are few things worth con- 
 testing with a person whose head has a habit 
 of ' getting queer,' especially in the first scare 
 
A doctor's opinion 251 
 
 of hearing thereof; and I raise no further ob- 
 jection to dawdhng slowly along the Eiviera 
 towards the Italian lakes. 
 
 I make many wily attempts to probe the 
 exact nature of the mental trouble which 
 caused his abrupt retirement from business — 
 with varying success. Bryan does not always 
 avoid the subject, and will sometimes descant 
 volubly upon what he said to the doctor and 
 the doctor said to him ; but his own impres- 
 sions of his illness are hazy, its trifling details 
 being magnified out of all proportion to the 
 main fact. 
 
 I gather, however, that it was never con- 
 sidered necessary to place him under the least 
 restraint, and the more I talk to him the 
 more satisfied I become that his illness was 
 entirely brought on by business worry and 
 excitement. 
 
 Oddly enough, though my husband is 
 communicative enough about everything else, 
 I can never get a single business detail from 
 
252 THE COUNTY 
 
 him. I know he made his money in stock- 
 broking, but that is all I know about it ; and 
 to tell the truth, I don't much care. It is the 
 spending of it which will interest me. 
 
;53 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 MATEIMONIAL FELICITY 
 
 Of that spring and summer I cannot write. 
 No words will express its blank dreariness. 
 
 From one bright landscape to another we 
 journey, from the smiling Mediterranean to 
 fair Como, from the laburnum-decked shores 
 of Lugano to the snow-clad hills of the Enga- 
 dine ; and everywhere, among the loveliest 
 scenes of God's earth, I carry the swift pun- 
 ishment of my short-sighted folly with me ; 
 everywhere I acknowledge desolately to my- 
 self, ' I have made a mistake. I have spoilt 
 my life.' 
 
 I wake up each morning to wonder how I 
 am to go through the weary day. I lie down 
 
254 THE COUNTY 
 
 each night praying God to protect me from 
 torturing dreams of a bygone time wherein I 
 hear again my faithless lover's voice and watch 
 the fond Hght in his eyes. 
 
 My happiness is wrecked. Only duty re- 
 mains. I have been a weak, self-indulgent 
 girl. I have longed, I have struggled for 
 happiness, and God in His wisdom has with- 
 held it. Then there arises in me a vague, 
 bhnd, groping wish to do what is right. 
 
 In this torturing tete-a-tete^ more painful, 
 more lonely than the completest solitude chat 
 earth could afford, it is borne in upon me that 
 the only chance of enduring the consequence 
 of my mad rashness is in clinging blindly to 
 my duty. Peace will only come in fulfilling 
 as best I can each trivial task, in enduring as 
 smilingly as in me Hes each trying rub of my 
 self-chosen lot. 
 
255 
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 A LOAMSHIRE MEET 
 
 ' You must have had a perfect orgy among the 
 dressmakers in Paris,' says Frances, as she 
 fingers one gown after another in a tour round 
 my wardrobe-room ; ' and Heaven knows you 
 deserved it, poor thing ! What on earth you 
 found to do in those outlandish regions passes 
 my comprehension ! ' 
 
 ' I never heard Italy and Switzerland called 
 outlandish before,' I remark witheringly. 
 
 'Any place not within a mile of Hyde 
 Park Corner is outlandish in May and June, 
 according to my lights,' declares Prances. 
 ' However, as you turn crusty whenever we 
 talk about it, by all means let bygones be by- 
 
256 THE COUNTY 
 
 gones ; and if you have left me in the lurch all 
 the summer, at any rate you have provided a 
 very charming refuge for the sole of my foot 
 now.' 
 
 ' I am glad you approve/ 
 
 ' I had great doubts at first,' responds my 
 candid sister. ' When you wrote and told me 
 the place was not an old one — how old is it ? 
 twenty, forty years old ? — my heart, oppressed 
 by Sir Joseph's red brick, misgave me. I said 
 to myself, " Esme never had enough back- 
 bone ; she is letting her husband have a voice 
 in the matter." But I see I need not have 
 doubted you. Milbourneis a delightful place 
 in the most delightful of counties. I declare 
 I feel my old self again, though I have not 
 been breathing Loamshire air for twelve hours 
 yet. And I'm going to have a real good 
 time, am I not, Esme ? ' 
 
 'As far as I am concerned you are,' I 
 respond heartily ; ' and you know Bryan loves 
 having people about the place too. But I 
 
A LOAMSHIKE MEET 257 
 
 must tell you, Frances, that we have not been 
 too cordially received. The village has flown 
 at us, it is true, but the county seems in no 
 hurry to call.' 
 
 ' You don't mean to say that ! ' exclaims 
 Frances, her face falUng disappointedly. ' How 
 long have you been here? You came in 
 August, and it is now the end of October — 
 two months. Why, what can be the matter ? 
 I can't imagine Loamshire people turning their 
 backs on a Nugent.' 
 
 ' Well, you must remember we are fifteen 
 miles from Billington, practically out of 
 reach of cur old friends ; and then Uncle 
 Frank has not particularly glorified the family 
 name, and — and of course they don't know 
 Bryan ! ' 
 
 With this last remark I turn a mortified 
 crimson face away from my companion. No 
 one, be he saint or be he sinner, likes to be 
 shunned by his fellows ; and the coolness of 
 our neighbours in a county where I once 
 
 VOL. I. S 
 
258 THE COUNTY 
 
 held my head so high has been particularly 
 galhng to my unheroic soul, which ought to 
 be, but is not, so inured to misfortune as to 
 despise pin pricks. It has taken away half 
 the pleasure Frances' advent would otherwise 
 have given me, for I know full well that her 
 sharp eyes will see each slight as quickly as 
 mine, and that she will trace it, even more 
 quickly than I, to its true origin — doubt of 
 my husband. 
 
 She understands my annoyance now with- 
 out further explanation, and does not insist 
 upon details. 
 
 ' Of course they don't know Bryan,' she 
 says cheerfully, with a kindly pat on my 
 shoulder, ' and a tortoise is lively in its ways 
 compared with an average Loamshire squire ; 
 but when they do know Bryan, and the 
 amount of bullion at his back, you take my 
 word for it they will rush here fast enough. 
 Now let us come and inspect the stables, shall 
 we ? It is awfully kind of Bryan to give me a 
 
A LOAMSHIRE MEET 259 
 
 mount next Monday. The meet is at Shooter's 
 Court, of course.' 
 
 The meet is at Shooter's Court. It always 
 is on the first Monday in November, and all 
 Loamshire is there. 
 
 Loam shire is by no means a hunting 
 county. It is a county for big meets, and 
 ladies, and wheels, and old gentlemen who 
 study their gates ; but the men who want to ride 
 shake their heads and leave us for the shires. 
 
 We look very neat, Frances and I, and our 
 nags are perfect, for Bryan pours out money 
 like water over horseflesh. 
 
 He himself is in a lamentable state of ner- 
 vousness as to our social reception upon this 
 first appearance in public. His hunter is a 
 beauty, his hat of the glossiest, and his coat 
 of the pinkest, but not all this faultless array 
 inspires him with a tithe of the modest confi- 
 dence a new Paris gown will impart to the 
 most cowardly of women. As to the hunting, 
 he has not given that a second thought ; the 
 
 s 2 
 
260 THE COUMT 
 
 best run over the best country will coldly 
 comfort him if Lady Dromore fails to see me, 
 or Sir Geofirey Mordaunt forgets to say ' Good- 
 morning ' to him. 
 
 Shooter's Court is overflowing with carri- 
 ages of every description ; the entrances are 
 blocked with all manner of vehicles, from 
 family chariots down to the minutest of per- 
 ambulating wash-baskets. 
 
 As we amble past the familiar faces we are 
 greeted with cool indifference. No one heeds 
 us much, and it is evident that some sup- 
 pressed excitement is in the air. 
 
 ' The Prince is here,' says my sist^^r before 
 we have passed half a dozen carriages. 
 
 ' Indeed ! ' returns Bryan with solemn 
 reverence. ' Who told you so, Frances ? Are 
 you sure ? ' 
 
 ' I am quite sure, though no one has told 
 me so,' says Frances placidly. ' I see it 
 written all around in the rapt expression 
 of holy joy which always pervades Loam- 
 
A LOAMSHIRE MEET 261 
 
 shire faces at a glimpse of the coat tails 
 of Eoyalty. Look at Mrs. Westby, Esme ; 
 the Prince must have bowed to her as he 
 rode past.' 
 
 ' She would smile just like that if he had 
 only kicked some mud into her carriage,' I 
 reply. ' What is she getting out on to the wet 
 grass for ? ' 
 
 ' How do you do ? How do you do ? ' cries 
 Mrs. Westby gushingly, as we make a detour 
 to avoid running over her. ' Did you ever 
 see such a mob? You know the Prince is 
 here, of course. We have been five minutes 
 without advancing one step : so I am really 
 compelled to get out and walk, for the Prince 
 would think it so very odd if none of us were 
 to go into the house, and I don't know where 
 Mr. Westby and Ethel have got to. If you 
 see them would you mind telling them from 
 me that the Prince bowed in such a very sur- 
 prised way when he passed my carriage just 
 now, that I feel sure he expected me to be on 
 
262 THE COUNTY 
 
 the doorstep of Shooter's Court to receive 
 him ? ' 
 
 And she waddles hurriedly along with a 
 friendly wave of her dumpy hand ; in her 
 loyal transport she has evidently overlooked 
 my marriage, and has also forgotten that she 
 did not see me when I met her in Brackham 
 last week. 
 
 'That is Mrs. Westby, is it not?' asks 
 Bryan in an impressed whisper. 'But why 
 does the Prince expect her to receive 
 him?' 
 
 'Why indeed?' I ejaculate. 'The only 
 reason that I can imagine is that Mr. Westby 
 was returned for Brackham the other day by 
 a majority of three, but I can't quite see what 
 that has to do with a meet at Shooter's 
 Court.' 
 
 ' That woman has the elements of true 
 greatness in her,' remarks Frances. 'She will 
 get on in the world. Just fancy, Bryan ! her 
 children have to learn half a page of the 
 
A LOAMSHIKE MEET 263 
 
 " Peerage " and repeat it to her every morning 
 after breakfast, collaterals and all.* 
 
 ' Dear me ! That's rather a long task,' 
 returns Bryan gravely. ' The " Peerage " is 
 always so closely printed.' 
 
 Frances turns her head and bestows an 
 amused smile upon me, at which I only colour 
 uncomfortably. I suppose a girl does not 
 understand the annoyance any wife must feel 
 at seeing her husband laughed at, however 
 indifferent he may be to her. 
 
 As we leave the drive, with its femininely 
 freighted carriages, and emerge upon the 
 grass in front of the house, we make the 
 pleasing discovery that the men are not going 
 to eye us from a distance, and shake their 
 heads over our misdeeds, after the manner of 
 their womankind. In five minutes Frances and 
 I are the centre of a little mob. 
 
 ' How do you ? Jolly mornin', isn't it ? ' 
 
 ' Good-mornin'. Not much chance of a 
 fox to-day.' 
 
2GI THE COUNTY 
 
 ' Good-mornin'. That's a nice animal 
 your ridin'.' 
 
 And so on, exactly as if we had all met 
 last week ; and if their conversation is not of 
 the most intellectual, it is at any rate cheery 
 and the scene amusing. 
 
 ' You know the Prince is in the house,' says 
 little Sir Charles Dalziel, sidling confidentially 
 up to me ; ' and I call it most inconsiderate the 
 way everyone is mobbing him there. I went 
 in, of course, because you see we were up at 
 Cambridge together, and I thought I ought to, 
 but really the place was so crammed I was 
 edged out again— positively not standing 
 room.' 
 
 ' I am afraid he will be hunted up more 
 or less all day, poor fellow,' I respond sym- 
 pathetically. ' It is not likely we shall have 
 a fox to divide the honours. There they are, 
 coming out.' 
 
 And in five minutes we are trotting 
 serenely along the road after the hounds, a 
 
A LOAMSHIRE MEET 265 
 
 soothing sense of being in the most exalted of 
 company permeating the whole assemblage 
 down to the village fishmonger in his donkey- 
 cart. 
 
 ' Lady Dalziel is very anxious for the Prince 
 to come to our place and have something to eat 
 in the afternoon,' says Sir Charles, continuing 
 his confidences as we jog along. ' He has 
 been in at most places about and never at ours, 
 though I was up at Cambridge with him ; but 
 you know it is a difficult thing to manage. 
 Hounds don't very often run our way from 
 here, and I don't see how I am to get hold 
 of him unless they do. I couldn't go and ask 
 him now, when we are nine miles from my 
 house, could I ? ' looking up— for Sir Charles 
 is a little man on a little nag — questioningly 
 into my face. 
 
 Sir Charles and I are old friends — many 
 is the run we have seen together — and Lady 
 Dalziel is of domestic tyrants the most tyran- 
 nous. 
 
266 THE COUNTY 
 
 ' No. I don't think it would do just yet,' 
 I answer sympathetically ; ' but you might 
 find out if the Master is going to draw your 
 way, as it seems probable we shall be at it all 
 day.' 
 
 In front of me is a neat little figure which 
 is terribly distracting my attention from Sir 
 Charles' hopes and fears — a little figure whose 
 pretty shoulders and slim waist generally do 
 present a back view when the hounds are 
 running to any but the hardest riders. It is 
 Mrs. Stuart, Allan Vaudrey's friend. 
 
 I do not want to talk to her. I would 
 rather keep out of her way. Why should I 
 give myself more pain to bear ? for the sound 
 of Allan Vaudrey's name would be acutest 
 pain to me. Yet, having seen her, I can think 
 of nothing else ; she may have heard from 
 him lately ; at any rate her eyes have rested 
 on his face since mine ; she is still his friend, 
 while I — what can I hope for except never to 
 meet him again ? 
 
A LOAMSHIRE MEET 267 
 
 Where is Bryan ? I have not noticed him 
 since we left the carriages ; but as I turn and 
 look around I find him jogging quietly behind 
 me. 
 
 ' Come and ride by me, Bryan/ I say, with 
 a smile whose brightness is quickly reflected 
 on his face ; ' if I miss you in this crowd 
 I shall never find you again. Sir Charles, 
 I am not sure whether you know my 
 husband ? ' 
 
 But Sir Charles has not much to say to 
 Bryan. He evidently does not consider him a 
 fit confidant for those overwhelming perplexi- 
 ties anent the Prince's snack and Lady Dalziel, 
 and of nought else can he discourse this morn- 
 ing ; so he falls away and Bryan and I go on 
 together. 
 
 Other men come up; Major Johnstone, 
 whose electioneering speeches I used to manu- 
 facture as we hung about the coverts two 
 winters ago ; poor Lord Chadwyck, who, on 
 the other hand, would compose halting son- 
 
268 THE COUNTY 
 
 nets on my charms, to which he compelled me 
 to listen ; and many more. 
 
 But they all seem to fight shy of Bryan ; 
 and, naturally, the more clearly I perceive this 
 the closer do I stick to him. 
 
 * There is a short cut through the covert/ 
 says Major Johnstone, as we approach Perry's 
 Wood. ' If Mr. Mansfield will trust me to 
 take care of you I will show you the way, and 
 we shall escape this muddy lane.' 
 
 ' I know that short cut,' I retort scorn- 
 fully, ' and it would land us in the watersplash 
 on the other side. We had much better keep 
 to the lane, don't you think so, Bryan ? ' 
 
 But suddenly there is a halt ; the hounds 
 are put into Perry's Wood ; those in front 
 back a little, and Mrs. Stuart and I are 
 brought face to face. 
 
 With an exclamation of delight she sepa- 
 rates herself from the group of men surround- 
 ing her — she always is surrounded by a group 
 of men — and makes straight for me. 
 
A LOAMSHIEE MEET 269 
 
 ' I have been looking out for you,' she 
 cries. ' I thought you would be here to-day. 
 Why have you taken a place so far away ? 
 Ten miles from me as the crow flies.' 
 
 ' And fifteen miles by road from my new 
 aunt,' I rejoin with a laugh. ' We couldn't 
 go and settle just under her nose, could we ? ' 
 
 * The family relations might certainly be 
 strained,' agrees Mrs. Stuart ; ' but what of 
 that ? Family relations mostly are ; and at 
 any rate you would have been near all your 
 friends. By the way, talking of friends, a 
 great admirer of yours is coming to stay with 
 me in a day or two — Allan Vaudrey. You 
 remember him, don't you ? Will you kick, 
 eh ? ' (This to her quadruped, who resents 
 having his back turned to the hounds.) ' Or 
 was it Frances he was so devoted to in those 
 historic times ? ' 
 
 ' Whichever of us it might have been he 
 loved and rode away,' I answer calmly — 
 thank Heaven I am quite calm ' — * for the 
 
270 THE COUNTY 
 
 last I heard of him was that he had gone 
 abroad — to AustraUa, or New Zealand, was 
 it?' 
 
 * India/ amends Mrs. Stuart. ' Well, any- 
 how he has had no end of luck since then. 
 His brother died of cholera just after he got 
 out there, and Allan has come into the title 
 and any amount of money.' 
 
 ' How severe you are this morning ! ' I 
 laugh — and if my laugh is suddenly checked 
 because it sounds forced in my own ears, I 
 don't think anyone else has noticed it. ' First 
 you are down on family relations in general, 
 and now you call a man's brother dying " no 
 end of luck." Have any of Mr. Stuart's peo- 
 ple been walking over you lately ? ' 
 
 ' He hasn't got any ; and I give thanks 
 after every meal for that one sweetener of my 
 lot,' returns Mrs. Stuart devoutly. ' Well, I 
 must get on, or this animal will have me in 
 the ditch. I'll bring Sir Allan over to see you 
 one day soon.' 
 
271 
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 TOO LATE 
 
 ' Bryan, I am so tired,' I say wearily, about 
 an hour afterwards. ' Will you stay with 
 Frances and let me go home alone ? ' 
 
 ' Tired, are you ? ' returns Bryan kindly. 
 ' I don't wonder at it, you have been riding so 
 little lately. I'll come with you.' 
 
 ' No, no, you forget Frances ; it would be 
 a shame to take her home so early. It is only 
 one o'clock, and she is so enjoying herself.' 
 
 She is indeed. With half a dozen men 
 around her, her cheeks painted the colour of 
 a cherry by the fresh air, her blue eyes danc- 
 ing, her willowy figure looking almost fragile 
 in her dark habit, Frances is in great form ; 
 and fragile though she may look, I, who know 
 
272 THE COUNTY 
 
 her, am fully aware that she will tire out most 
 of her admirers and come home at nightfall as 
 fresh as a daisy. 
 
 I, too, have been in great form and in 
 great request ; I, too, have chattered gaily 
 since I met Mrs. Stuart, and have bidden 
 numberless m\en to come and see me, reckless 
 for the moment as to whether they bring their 
 feminine belongings or not. 
 
 But all of a sudden I feel ' I can no more,' 
 as our Gallic neighbours expressively put it ; 
 if I don't get away my collapse will be patent. 
 
 After arguing for five minutes Bryan re- 
 signs himself to the task of chaperoning his 
 fair sister-in-law, and leaves me to slip quietly 
 off and turn my face homewards, alone. 
 
 Once well away from field and hounds, I 
 crouch wearily in my saddle and moan dis- 
 mally as the tears roll, one by one, down my 
 cheeks. 
 
 'Oh, Allan, the pity of it, the mocking 
 pity of it ! ' I cry aloud. ' That you should 
 
TOO LATE 273 
 
 have left me not one short year ago for 
 money's sake — and now should be so rich ! ' 
 
 And if it had not been for want of wretched 
 money I should never have known how 
 weakly he loved me ; for love me he did — 
 only not enough to brave poverty for my 
 sake ! 
 
 How am I to meet him ? 
 
 I tell myself over and over again that it is 
 hard, it is cruel to have so stern an ordeal 
 forced upon me — and am conscious all the 
 while of a shrinking joy in the very thought 
 that I shall see his face again ; and with that 
 troubled joy comes also a terrible loathing of 
 my present lot. 
 
 Why has he come to unsettle me ? I was 
 not happy yesterday, it is true ; but I had 
 striven for and earned a certain dull peace. 
 I had pushed my grief so far away as to take 
 an interest in the details of my daily life. I 
 have even cared much about making my house 
 beautiful. 
 
 \0L. I. T 
 
274 THE COUNTY 
 
 As I slip off my horse at the door and 
 walk upstairs, I remember with astonishment 
 that I was quite excited about this time 
 yesterday over a screen which I am hav- 
 ing made to match the ivory panelhng 
 and pink hangings of my bedroom ; yes, I 
 fingered that old rose du Barry brocade 
 with genuine affection and talked for half 
 an hour about it ! 
 
 To-day I am thrown back again into a 
 miserable whirlpool of emotion, and all my 
 crushed- down misery starts up and confronts 
 me afresh. 
 
 ' Madame a I'air fatigu^, mais tres fatigu^,' 
 says my maid as she bustles around me. 
 
 Julie is a comfortable sort of female with 
 a bundley figure and a homely visage, chosen 
 in careful contrast to the too enticing charms 
 of Priestman. 
 
 Madame glances at herself as she stands in 
 front of the long glass while Julie deftly un- 
 buttons her habit, and it is a wretched little 
 
TOO LATE 275 
 
 white face she sees reflected there, and 
 Madame's tall slim form is drooping brokenly. 
 
 ' I have overridden myself, Julie,' I murmur 
 apologetically, in wholesome awe of down- 
 stairs gossip. ' You have no idea how tiring 
 hunting is.' 
 
 About half-past four I hear the horses led 
 round to the stables, and presently Frances 
 marches into my room, in a gorgeous, flowered 
 silk tea-gown — she has been running riot as 
 to clothes as well as I. Why should she not, 
 with so rich a brother-in-law at her back ? 
 
 ' Julie said you were lying down,' she 
 remarks, ' and I told her to bring my tea in 
 here.' 
 
 How much does Frances know, I wonder ? 
 
 ' Yes, curl up on that end of the sofa,' I 
 say, ' and tell me what you have been doing 
 since I left you. I have been reading all the 
 afternoon till my eyes are aching.' 
 
 And so they are, but not with reading. 
 Julie has been sent to fetch a novel from the 
 
276 THE COUNTY 
 
 drawing-room, and it is now ostentatiously 
 lying open at my side ; if Frances had asked 
 me its title, however, my mendacity would 
 have been exposed. 
 
 ' Mrs. Westby has collared the Prince and 
 taken him home for some hght refreshment,' 
 begins Frances conversationally ; ' but the re- 
 freshment will be very light, and I shouldn't 
 think the Prince would be in a hurry to go 
 there again, for Mr. Westby told me that his 
 butler had gone up to town for the day and 
 taken the key of the cellar in his pocket.' 
 
 ' What a fool the woman must be to 
 ask people there when she knew that ! ' I 
 rejoin. 
 
 ' She is by no means a fool,' dissents 
 Frances solemnly. 'It is perfectly astonishing 
 how she is getting on. Talk about wit, 
 beauty, or brains ! Why, they are as nothing 
 compared with brass. A front of brass is 
 what Mrs. Westby's fairy godmother must 
 liave brought to her christening, and I am 
 
TOO LATE 277 
 
 quite convinced it will land her in the Peerage 
 one of these fine days.' 
 
 ' And whom did you ride with, Frances ? ' 
 I ask, indifferently consigning Mrs. Westby to 
 oblivion and the Peerage. 
 
 * Oh, heaps of people ! Captain Mouat and 
 Mr. Vincent and Sir George Churchill ' 
 
 * I dare say,' I break in, as she pauses to 
 pour out a cup of tea; *I can imagine the 
 men. But didn't you talk to any women ? ' 
 
 ' Not I,' returns my sister, shaking her 
 curly head decisively. ' Did you ever know 
 me waste my breath over our own sex when I 
 could get hold of a man ? ' 
 
 ' Mrs. Stuart was inquiring very tenderly 
 for you,' I say with studied calm. 
 
 Frances glances at me, and that lovely 
 colour of hers flutters a little. 
 
 'I didn't see her,' she says hurriedly. 
 ' Did you speak to her ? Was she telling you 
 any news ? ' 
 
 ' A great piece of news,' I return steadily, 
 
278 THE COUNTY 
 
 still watcliing Frances. * She says that Allan 
 Vaudrey's brother is dead, and that he has 
 come into everything/ 
 
 'You don't say so! ' ejaculates my sister. 
 ' What a perverse stroke of luck ! ' 
 
 'You knew, Frances,' I exclaim angrily. 
 ' It is no use pretending you didn't. I can see 
 it in your face.' 
 
 'Well, and if I did know, what was the 
 good of talking about it ? ' she asks boldly. 
 
 ' I think it would have been kinder to tell 
 me,' I answer, ' instead of leaving me to 
 hear it from a stranger. How long have you 
 known ? ' 
 
 ' Some months,' she returns. ' I saw it in 
 the papers while you were abroad.' 
 
 There is silence for a few minutes, only 
 broken by the crackling of the fire and the 
 noise of Frances' tea-spoon as she fiddles with 
 her cup, a sullen expression clouding her 
 bright face. 
 
 ' Well, we needn't squabble over it,' I say 
 
TOO LATE 279 
 
 at last ; ' it comes to the same thing in the 
 end. I am so sorry about his brother dying — 
 he will be quite alone in the world now.' 
 
 ' One need never be alone with two mil- 
 lions in one's pocket,' retorts Frances cynically. 
 
 ' " The World" said he was going to spend 
 the next twelve months touring in the East 
 with friends.' 
 
 '"The World" was wrong then,' I remark. 
 ' He is coming to stay with Mrs. Stuart in a 
 day or two.' 
 
 ' What! ' exclaims Frances, and she jumps 
 up so violently that the tea is spilt out of her 
 cup all over the front of her pretty tea-gown. 
 
 ' Oh, Frances ! It marks so,' I cry sorrow- 
 fuUy. 
 
 A genuine love for fine clothes is deeply 
 implanted in my bosom — I think I should try 
 and mop up a tea stain if I were dying — and 
 in a moment I am on my knees before 
 my sister brandishing a cobwebby pocket- 
 handkerchief 
 
280 THE COUNTY 
 
 But Frances jerks her gown out of my 
 hand and walks straight out of the room. As 
 she passes the long mirror I see the reflection 
 of her face ; it is white as death, her features 
 are quivering, and her blue eyes widely 
 opened as if in terror. 
 
281 
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 OUR NEXT MEETING 
 
 Then begins a purgatory for me. 
 
 When I had thought Allan at the other 
 end of the world it was comparatively easy to 
 go through my daily round, to write letters 
 and busy myself with household affairs — for 
 we have scarcely had time to shake down 
 into the usual routine of a well-ordered 
 household — to go for a constitutional at 
 twelve o'clock, and for a drive or ride at half- 
 past two, coming back to tea with no greater 
 excitement to agitate me than the prospect of 
 a new novel, or of a httle mild village gossip. 
 
 But how am I to endure these trivialities 
 when I am torn in pieces with fear and joy at the 
 thought of meeting my lost love ? How can I 
 
282 THE COUNTY 
 
 listen to the housekeeper's babble about the 
 wicked ways of Monsieur Dubois, the chef^ who 
 makes surreptitious love to her maidens the 
 moment her broad back is turned ? How can 
 I feign sufficient interest in the nicknacks for 
 completing the drawing-rooms which are sent 
 by cartloads from London for my inspection ? 
 
 How can I pretend to care whether I ride 
 Bonny Bess to-day and Bluebell to-morrow, or 
 Bluebell to-day and Bonny Bess to-morrow, 
 when at every crunching of wheels in the 
 drive I turn hot and cold by turns ; when at 
 every ring of the door-bell I lose all control 
 over my shaking voice ; and when even the 
 sight of the postman makes the end of my 
 sentences fly out of my head ? 
 
 ' Wouldn't you like to go away for a week 
 or two ? ' asks Frances, one morning when I 
 am pulling my needle idly through a piece of 
 embroidery, having been even more restless 
 than usual since breakfast, wandering aim- 
 lessly from room to room, from my writing- 
 
OUR NEXT MEETING 283 
 
 table to the piano, and from the piano to the 
 conservatory, where I have plucked half a 
 dozen flowers and then carelessly thrown 
 thera aside. 
 
 I drop my work and stare angrily at 
 Frances. I am very tenacious of my dignity 
 just now, and have not mentioned AJlan's 
 name since the day I met Mrs. Stuart. 
 
 ' Go away ! ' I repeat severely. ' Why 
 should I want to go away from home ? ' 
 
 ' You are not looking at all well, and I 
 think you want a change,' returns my sister 
 boldly. 
 
 ' A change, when we have been roaming 
 for months ! My dear Frances, I think it is 
 a rest and not a change I want.' 
 
 ' It would be so nice to have a week or 
 two in town and do the plays,' says Frances 
 coaxingly. 'Do ask Bryan to take us up. 
 This frost will stop the hunting for longer 
 than that.' 
 
 ' And miss the Brackham ball ! ' I exclaim. 
 
284 THE COUNTY 
 
 scanning her curiously. ' Eeally, Frances, 
 you are too absurd/ 
 
 And I march stiffly away to escape a 
 further discussion which might lead to sore 
 topics. 
 
 There is something behind this solicitude 
 for me, I feel sure. Frances is not so afraid 
 of my making a scene, or otherwise miscon- 
 ducting myself, when I meet Allan Yaudrey 
 as to be willing to forego the delight of dis- 
 porting herself at the Brackham ball in the 
 new gown she has specially ordered for the 
 occasion. 
 
 ' What can she be driving at .^ ' I wonder 
 as Julie envelopes me in furs, preparatory 
 to my morning walk. ' She cannot seriously 
 imagine that I shall say or do anything 
 foolish.' 
 
 But astonishment of Frances' sudden 
 whim is quickly chased out of my preoc- 
 cupied mind by the weighty problem as to 
 whether I shall walk along the Brackham road. 
 
OUR NEXT MEETING 285 
 
 which leads towards Mrs. Stuart's place, and 
 court the nervous excitement certain to ensue 
 upon the appearance of any biped, quadruped, 
 or wheeled chariot ; or whether I shall earn 
 the dull applause of my conscience by potter- 
 ing righteously upon the road to Fairley in 
 the opposite direction. 
 
 Virtue carries the day. I have bolstered 
 myself so assiduously with good resolutions 
 during the last forty-eight hours, and have 
 laid down so many rules for my own guidance, 
 that a premeditated lapse into doing those 
 things which I ought not to do, with such 
 small temptation, would be weak indeed. 
 Thinking things which I ought not to think 
 is another matter ; and I am not half-way to 
 the Fairley lodge before I find myself calcu- 
 lating how long I have been out of the house, 
 and consoling myself with the fact that if any- 
 one comes while I am away the servants are 
 sure to say that Frances is at home. 
 
 ' I will walk as far as the cross roads,' I 
 
286 THE COUNTY 
 
 exclaim aloud, giving myself an angry shake, 
 ' and I will inquire for Mrs. Morgan at the 
 lodge into the bargain.' 
 
 How cold it is ! One must almost run to 
 keep warm. Not a morning this on which to 
 dawdle lazily along, leaning on gates and sitting 
 on stiles at every convenient opportunity ; a 
 morning rather on which to make a record 
 mile, and announce triumphantly at lunch 
 that one was not twenty minutes between the 
 two mile-stones. 
 
 ' I will inquire for Mrs. Morgan on my 
 way home,' I decide, as I march rapidly past 
 the lodge. ' I will get my walk over first.' 
 
 Br — r I How sharp the air is, and how 
 firm the ice by the roadside ! We shall have 
 skating soon, I expect. And with the touch of 
 the ice under my feet there rises in my mind 
 the nauseating recollection of the last time I 
 skated — on Sir Joseph Yarborough's flooded 
 meadow, the day I promised to marry Bryan. 
 
 ' It is no use looking back ! ' and I twist 
 
OUR NEXT MEETING 287 
 
 my hands impatiently in my muff. ' As I 
 have made my bed so must I He on it. Oh, 
 most cheering of proverbs ! There, when 
 I turn that corner by Hackett's Wood, the 
 cross roads will be in sight.' 
 
 I turn the corner with a swing, panting to 
 reach my boundary and then set homewards 
 again, though I am all the while feebly en- 
 deavouring to propitiate my self-respect by 
 reminding it that I generally do walk fast in 
 frosty weather. I rush round the sign-post, 
 which stands at the angle of the road, and 
 there, not twenty yards off, coming slowly 
 towards me, is Allan Yaudrey. I stop sud- 
 denly, and all the blood in my body seems to 
 fly painfully to my face ; but nevertheless my 
 greedy eyes take in every detail of him as 
 he dawdles along, absently flicking a dead 
 bramble off the end of his cane. How changed 
 he is ! How drawn his face ! Surely it must 
 be the black clothes which make him look so 
 thin — and at the sight of that dark livery of 
 
288 THE COUNTY 
 
 woe a sharp pang of pity strikes through me. 
 Poor fellow ! He has been in the grim com- 
 pany of death. 
 
 My pause in the middle of the road attracts 
 his attention and he looks up. His listless 
 attitude disappears as if by magic, and he 
 comes firmly towards me, his face set and 
 hard. 
 
 ' Good-morning, Mrs. Mansfield,' he says, 
 without the least embarrassment. ' Mrs. Stuart 
 was just going to bring me to call upon you.' 
 
 I look up at him, and to my horror, to my 
 infinite disgust, my voice sticks obstinately in 
 my throat and I cannot get out a word. The 
 sight of that dear face which 1 have so un- 
 utterably longed for has completely taken 
 away my self-possession, and I can only gaze 
 mutely at him — all my wrongs, all my tutored 
 calmness totally swallowed up in the un- 
 reasoning delight of beholding him once more. 
 But I am to be rudely restored to a proper 
 sense of the status quo. 
 
OUR NEXT MEETING 289 
 
 ' I am afraid you have forgotten me,' says 
 Allan, with a cool sneer ; ' and yet it is not so 
 very long ago since we met.' 
 
 Pride may be one of the seven cardinal 
 sins, but surely upon this occasion it comes 
 to my aid in guise of virtue. What right 
 has he to speak to me in that contemptuous 
 tone? 
 
 ' I have not forgotten you in the least. Sir 
 Allan,' I return, with sudden aplomb ; ' and, 
 by the way, I must congratulate you upon 
 your new honours.' 
 
 ' The congratulations ought to come from 
 me, I think,' he answers quickly. ' I hear 
 you have everything which the soul of woman 
 can desire.' 
 
 And so we glare angrily at one another. 
 We have not even shaken hands ; mine are 
 trembling violently inside my muff, and he 
 has made no movement towards that conven- 
 tional sign of friendship. 
 
 VOL. I. u 
 
290 THE COUNTY 
 
 * You said something about Mrs. Stuart,' 
 I remark at last, shifting uneasily under his 
 wrathful eyes. Good Heavens ! that Allan 
 Vaudrey's eyes should ever look at me with 
 that expression, as if I were some vile, 
 abominable thing ! 
 
 ' She is in that little cottage just round the 
 corner,' he answers, waving his stick vaguely 
 behind him. ' She has gone in to see an old 
 servant who hves there, and will drive along 
 presently to pick me up.' 
 
 ' Then, as you are both coming to 
 Milbourne, we may as well turn and walk that 
 way,' I say hesitatingly. 
 
 It is no desire to be in his company that 
 inspires my proposition ; though I have not 
 been fiYe minutes with him, it is clear as sun- 
 light to me that we were not farther apart 
 when he was in another hemisphere. But he 
 and Mrs. Stuart were evidently coming to 
 luncheon, and I view hospitality as sacredly 
 as any Arab. 
 
OUR NEXT MEETING 291 
 
 So we pace awkwardly homewards side by- 
 side. 
 
 I am tongue-tied again while the memory 
 is thrilling through me of the last time we 
 walked together — to Eiverdale Station just 
 before his father died. With that odd sense 
 of trifles which pervades all my mental woes 
 I am nearly as much occupied with the lugu- 
 brious effect of his black clothes as with his 
 altered demeanour. It makes me realise so 
 forcibly that this is not Allan Yaudrey, my 
 gay, light-hearted, easy-going lover, but a man 
 who has seen much trouble, is full of care, 
 and weighted with heavy responsibilities. 
 
 So it falls to him to make conversation. 
 
 ' How is Mr. Mansfield ? ' he begins with 
 happy choice of subject, for is it not right and 
 seemly that he should evince the usual pohte 
 anxiety as to the well-being of my lord and 
 master ? 
 
 ' Quite well, thank you.' 
 
 ' And your sister ? ' 
 
292 THE COUNTY 
 
 ' Quite well, thanks.' 
 
 ' She is staying with you, I hear.' 
 
 ' Living with me,' I correct. ' Of course 
 my home is Frances' too.' 
 
 A pause, which Sir Allan apparently 
 employs in cudgelling his brains for something 
 stinging. 
 
 ' You were wise to return to Loamshire,' 
 he remarks presently with bitter emphasis. 
 ' It evidently suits you ; I have never seen you 
 looking so well and flourishing.' 
 
 The colour which has been burning in my 
 cheeks since I first caught sight of him deepens 
 at this, but I make no reply. It hurts me to 
 wrangle with him, and I wonder miserably 
 within myself why he has come to see me 
 if he cannot speak more kindly. If we were to 
 fall to reproaching one another, surely it is I 
 who ought to have the most to say. 
 
 The crunching of wheels on the gravel 
 drive behind us is a welcome sound, and when 
 
OUR XEXT MEETING 293 
 
 Mrs. Stuart pulls up her cobs she is hailed with 
 that fictitious warmth usually accorded to a 
 third party by two combatants. 
 
 ' Has Sir Allan broken the news that we 
 are going to invade you for lunch ? ' she calls 
 out in her loud cheery tones ; ' or has he been 
 too occupied with making himself agreeable to 
 mention so prosaic a fact ? ' 
 
 ' He really has not made himself particularly 
 agreeable,' I answer as I hurl myself into the 
 seat beside her, leaving Sir Allan to scramble 
 up with the groom behind. 
 
 ' It is a shame of you to say that, Mrs. 
 Mansfield,' he declares, bending forward and 
 speaking in the same jeering tone, ' when I 
 have just paid you so pronounced a compli- 
 ment upon your blooming appearance.' 
 
 ' And Avell you might ! ' says Mrs. Stuart. 
 ' I am certain you have seen nothing half so 
 sweet since you left your native shores — how 
 long ago ? ' 
 
294 THE COUNTY 
 
 But Sir Allan makes no rejoinder, unless 
 turning and telling the groom to put the brake 
 on be taken as a polite dissent from her 
 amiable sentiments. 
 
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