■' V 
 
 
 ¥ 
 
 p^ 

 
 UAy^ 
 
 <A/^^ a/^&'To^uz/ny^yco^. 
 
 yco-i
 
 L I B R.AR.Y 
 
 OF THE 
 
 UNIVLR.5ITY 
 
 OF ILLINOIS 
 
 8^3 
 
 I
 
 THICKER THAN WATER 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 LONDON : PEIKTED BY 
 
 SPOTT18W00DE AJfD CO., KTEW-STREET SQUARE 
 
 AXD PAELIAMEXT STREET
 
 THICKER THAN WATER 
 
 BY 
 
 JAMES PAYN 
 
 AUTHOR OF 'BY PROXY' 'EIGH SPIRITS ETC. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON 
 LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO. 
 
 1883 
 
 All rifjhls reserved
 
 =0 
 
 
 
 f 
 
 ^^3 
 
 TO 
 
 G E E G E SMITH 
 
 THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED 
 BY HIS FRIEND 
 
 JAMES PAYN
 
 Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2009 with funding from 
 
 University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/thickerthanwater01paynj
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 OF 
 
 THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I. MES BECKETT 1 
 
 II. A FRIEND OF THE HOUSE 16 
 
 III. DEFIANCE 34 
 
 lY. LEAP-TEAR 56 
 
 V. THE OFFER OF MARRIAGE 71 
 
 VI. TWO TO ONE 81 
 
 VII. A fool's paradise 97 
 
 VIII. MR. RENNIE's instructions 109 
 
 IX. UNCLE AND NEPHEW 128 
 
 X. 'I SUPPOSE IT MUST BE *' YES " ' . . . 151 
 
 XI. THE SUBSTITUTE 172 
 
 XII. TWO WOMEN 191 
 
 XIII. MES. SOTHERAN 21:^ 
 
 XIV. BLACK TUESDAY 237 
 
 XV. FRIENDS IN NEED 255 
 
 XVI. THE PHILANTHROPIST 276 
 
 XVII. AN INTERRUPTED BARGAIN .288
 
 THICKER THAX WATEE 
 
 CKIPTEE I. 
 
 MES. BECKETT. 
 
 It is two o'clock in the July afternoon, and on 
 what the majority of Londoners, in spite of 
 Geronimo's opinion to the contrary, consider the 
 pleasantest day in the week, because it is a 
 half-holiday. Geronimo's objection to Saturday 
 was founded, the poet tells us, on the prolonged 
 wear of his shirt ; but to the city toiler that is 
 a small objection ; indeed the greatest of all 
 Londoners, and one who worked the hardest 
 (though not, it is true, unless he was obliged), 
 has left it on record, through his biographer, 
 that he did not like clean linen. 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 "A THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 Hyde Park is crowded with pleasure-seekers, 
 but the Eow is empty. The Upper Ten Thou- 
 sand have gone home to hmch, the Over Two 
 Milhons have just dined. Beside the mile-long 
 garden that extends from the Marble Arch to 
 Apsley House, the ' swart mechanic ' lounges, 
 pipe in mouth, admiringly ; he gazes at the 
 glowing parterres of wondrous shape and hue, 
 and wonders how ' them colour beds ' are made, 
 and (especially) who pays for them. He thinks 
 how his Missis and the kids would enjoy the 
 spectacle, and is half-inclined to fetch them ; 
 but upon reflection, and finding his mouth a 
 little dry, considers the morrow better adapted 
 for their recreation, and, crossing to the other 
 side of the road, drops into the public-house in 
 the mews. As he does so, he bestows, perhaps, 
 a glance at the stately pile at its corner, and 
 expresses an opinion, mingled with tobacco 
 juice, that ' the cove as lives there must have a 
 sight of money ' — in which he is quite correct. 
 
 Of all the mansions in Park Lane, albeit 
 there are some, although not many, larger,
 
 MRS. BECKETT. 6 
 
 Beckett House gives the strongest impression to 
 the passer-by not only of wealth, but, what is 
 a very different thing (and much better), the 
 possession of an abundance of ready money. 
 Just as on illumination nights we see the lines 
 of some pubhc edifice picked out with fire, so 
 all the summer long the balconies of Beckett 
 House show, tier on tier, their glowing lines of 
 flowers. Under the lai'ge portico there is a 
 miniature jungle of tropical foliage, and when 
 at night the opened door gives a glimpse of the 
 interior to the passing Peri, it seems to her au 
 Eden indeed. 
 
 Nor even in winter does this shrine of Flora 
 lack its gifts, for in the centre and on either 
 wing are great conservatories, to which ^ the 
 time of roses ' is but a poetic figment, and May 
 (for once) is happy in December's arms. 
 
 Mrs. Beckett, the owner of this palace, has 
 a passion for flowers, which her wealth enables 
 her to indulge to the full. Xor is this the only 
 proof of her good taste. She had once a handle 
 to her name, but laid it aside by an act of 
 
 b2
 
 4 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 voluntary abnegation. Emperors and others 
 have done the like before her, but a woman — 
 never. Her first husband was Sir Eobert Orr, 
 a City knight, who left her an immense jointure 
 and ' her ladyship.' He had never been re- 
 markable for personal beauty, and unless in the 
 sense of years — he was three times her age — 
 could hardly have been called accomplished. 
 It was a marriage of convenience ; but the old 
 man had been kind to her in life and death, 
 and she respected his memory. When she 
 married her second husband, John Beckett, the 
 lailway engineer, she dropped her ' ladyship ' ; 
 Sir Eobert had been intensely proud of the 
 title, and she felt that it belonged to him. The 
 law, of course, would have decided as much, 
 but she might have retained it by courtesy. 
 She was not a woman to parade her sentiments, 
 and, having some sense of humour, was wont to 
 account for this act of self-sacrifice upon moral 
 grounds ; she did not think it respectable, she 
 said, to figure with her husband in the ' Morn- 
 ing Post ' as Mr. Beckett and Lady Orr ; she
 
 MKS. BECKETT. 5 
 
 left that suspicious anomaly for the wives of 
 bishops. 
 
 John Beckett had been a rich raan, though 
 he could not have measured purses with Sir 
 Eobert, and he had ten times his wits. He had 
 not wasted them much on building bridges or 
 hollowing tunnels out of the ' too solid earth ' ; 
 he left such enduring monuments to scientific 
 theorists, and applied the great powers of liis 
 mind — he called them, without the faintest con- 
 sciousness of self-satire, its 'grasp ' — to contracts ; 
 mostly in connection with coal. He took the 
 same practical view of matrimony, which poor 
 Lady Orr had never guessed, and for her part 
 had wedded her second husband for love. It 
 was unintelligible to her that a man of so much 
 wealth should pant for more ; but he did so to 
 his last breath. If he could have carried all 
 his money (and hers) away with him — ' to melt,' 
 or ' to begin the next world with ' — he would 
 have done it and left her penniless. As it was, 
 he died suddenly — killed by a fall from his 
 horse below her very windows — and intestate.
 
 b THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 Even when his scarce breathing body was lying 
 in an upstair chamber, and she tending it with 
 all wifely solicitude, she could not stifle a sense 
 of coming enfranchisement after twenty-five 
 years of slavery, or the consciousness that her 
 Sir Eobert had been the better man of the 
 two. 
 
 A woman of experience at least, if not of 
 wisdom, was the present mistress of Beckett 
 House ; with strong passions, but with a not 
 ungenerous heart ; outspoken from the know- 
 ledge of her 'great possessions,' perhaps, as 
 much as from natural frankness ; a warm friend 
 and not a very bitter enemy ; and at the bottom 
 of it all with a certain simplicity of character, 
 of which her love for flowers was an example. 
 She had loved them as Kitty Conway, the 
 country doctor's daughter, when violets instead 
 of camellias had been ' her only wear,' sweet- 
 peas and wall-flowers the choicest ornaments 
 of her little garden, and Park Lane to her un- 
 sophisticated mind like other lanes. ' Fat, fair, 
 and forty,' she was wont to call herself at the
 
 ATRS. BECKETT. 7 
 
 date this story opens, and it was the truth ; but 
 not the whole truth. Fat she was and fair she 
 was, but she was witliin a few years of fifty. 
 Of course she was admirably preserved ; as the 
 kings of old took infinite pains that their bodies 
 after death should not decay, so women do 
 their best for themselves in that way while still 
 in the flesh ; and Airs. Beckett was as youthful 
 as art and care could make her. In shadow 
 and with the light behind her, persons of the 
 other sex might have set her down as even less 
 mature than she described herself to be. There 
 woidd have been at least ten years' difference 
 between their ' quotations ' — as poor Sir Eobert 
 would have called them — and that of her tiring 
 maid. 
 
 Five years she had had of gilded ease and 
 freedom, since drunken, greedy, hard John 
 Beckett had occupied his marble hall in Kensal 
 Green — Sir Eobert had a similar edifice of his 
 own in Highgate cemetery, for she had too 
 much good taste to mix their dust — and on the 
 whole she had enjoyed them. Far too well
 
 8 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 favoured by fortune, however, not to have her 
 detractors, she was whispered by some to be by 
 no means averse to a thurd experiment in matri- 
 mony. ' There swam no goose so gray,' &c., 
 they were wont to quote, and ' There was luck 
 in odd numbers.' Gossips will say anything, and 
 men dehght in jokes against the fair sex. There 
 is one about matrimony which was applied to 
 the present case. A student of human nature 
 once inquired of his grandmother (setat. 80) 
 at what age females ceased to experience the 
 tender passion. ' My dear boy,' she answered, 
 rather tartly, ' you must ask somebody much 
 older than I am.' There was even a rumour, 
 not old enough to be a legend, that Mrs. 
 Beckett had once sounded her confidential man 
 of business, Mr. Eennie, upon this subject. ' As 
 you consult me as a friend,' he said — by which 
 he meant gratuitously — ' my opinion, my dear 
 madam, is not worth much ; but as to the re- 
 marriage of widows — in cases where they have 
 thirty thousand pounds a year at their own 
 disposal — I think it risky.'
 
 MRS. BECKETT. \) 
 
 Mrs. Beckett sighed, for she remembered 
 that even when she was but twenty she had 
 been married for her money. Still ever}' man 
 was not like John Beckett ; and how nice 
 Sir Eobert must have been when he was 
 young. 
 
 On the day on which our story opens, the 
 widow was sittinor in her drawincr-room with a 
 novel in her hand, on which, however, she was 
 not bestowing that close regard, I do not say 
 which such an agreeable description of htera- 
 ture has a right to expect, but even the com- 
 monest attention; her glance wandered with 
 ill-concealed impatience over the top of her 
 book to the gorgeous timepiece on the mantel- 
 piece, the hands of which were traveUing over 
 gold and china towards two o'clock. 
 
 Suddenly her fair face flushed crimson ; her 
 eyes had met with another pair bound on the 
 self-same errand ; Miss Marvon, her young 
 friend and ' companion,' was also watching the 
 clock. 
 
 ' Do you want your lunch, Mary ? ' inquired
 
 10 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 the lady of the house, with a very good imita- 
 tion of a yawn. 
 
 ' Not at all, thank you, Mrs. Beckett,' was 
 the quiet reply, dehvered in the gentlest and 
 sweetest of tones. It was not her dependent 
 position that gave honey to her speech ; it was 
 natural to Mary Marvon to be sweet and gentle 
 to everybody, but especially to those who were 
 kind to her ; and Mrs. Beckett had been very 
 kind. The jewels on the girl's shapely wrist, 
 the lace about her dainty neck, the very dress 
 which fitted her slight but graceful figure with 
 such completeness, were all Mrs. Beckett's gifts. 
 Nay, in her dark-brown hair blushed a scarlet 
 flower, which Mrs. Beckett, in her characteristic 
 admiration for it, had placed there with her 
 own hands that morning, as being the fittest 
 setting for such a floral jewel. If anything 
 were wanting to show how smooth and even 
 was the social ground on which the two women 
 stood, notwithstanding the conventional relation 
 between them, it was found in the next words 
 that Mrs. Beckett spoke. As a rule ladies do
 
 MRS. BECKETT. 11 
 
 not think it worth while to excuse themselves 
 to their hired companions for this or that, 
 whereas our widow paid hers the comphment 
 of telKng a ' tarradiddle,' or white he, in order 
 to expkin her recent interest in the time- 
 piece. 
 
 ' I was thinking,' she said, ' what a want of 
 originahty and sense of appropriateness there 
 must be in clockmakers, since they all repre- 
 sent the progress of Time by hands, as if he 
 was an acrobat. If legs were too unpoetical 
 or indelicate, they might at least use wings.' 
 
 ' It is only with the exceptionally fortunate, 
 however,' retiurned Mary, smiling, ' that Time 
 moves on wings.' 
 
 ' I doubt whether people are always the 
 happier for that,' observed Mrs. Beckett. 
 
 ' Perhaps not,' assented Mary. ' I should 
 think those Hves are the most enviable which 
 are passed smoothly and equably, but not at 
 eagle speed.' 
 
 ' That was not quite what I had in my 
 mind,' returned the widow, rising and looking
 
 12 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 thoughtfully through the open window. ' I 
 was thinking that when Time seems to drag, 
 because of our expectations, it is often better 
 for us that it should drag on, and that they 
 should remain without fulfilment. The secret 
 of happiness in this world' — those three last 
 words were mere garnish, and suited with her 
 voice and manner no better than a flower made 
 of a carrot or a turnip with some delicate entree 
 — ' is not to expect, but to make the best of 
 w^hat we have Was not that the front- 
 door bell ? ' 
 
 The last observation was by no means 
 uttered in the same philosophic tone as the 
 rest, and a faint red suffused the widow's 
 cheeks. The colour too came into Mary Mar- 
 von's face, which was, however, averted from 
 her patroness, as she answered ' I think so.' 
 
 Then they remained silent. If they w^ere 
 listening for a step upon the stair they must 
 have been very sanguine, or else in possession 
 of the gifts of Fine Ear in the fairy tale ; for 
 thiee-pile carpets are not good conductors of
 
 MRS. BECKETT. 13 
 
 sound. If they could have seen what was going 
 on below stairs they would have seen this : a 
 young man of four-and- twenty or so, bright - 
 eyed and fresh -complexioned, but with that 
 subdued air w^hich betokens dry humour rather 
 than that of the sparkling kind, had been 
 admitted by the hall porter, and introduced 
 by the good offices of two tall footmen to the 
 butler, Harris. This personage preceded him 
 up the staircase with much solemnity, but on 
 the landing paused, perceiving that the visitor 
 w^as not follo^dng him. 
 
 ' All right, my man,' said a cheerful voice 
 
 from below, ' I will be with you at the finish, 
 
 but I really cannot go your pace.' 
 
 Then he came up three steps at a bound, 
 
 just in time to be announced at the drawing- 
 room door as ' Mr. Sotheran.' 
 
 ' Oh, it's you, is it, Charley ? ' observed the 
 
 wddow in a tone of undisguised disappointment. 
 ' Well, yes, in default of a better it 's poor 
 
 me. Were you expecting an hereditary prince, 
 
 or what ? '
 
 14 THICKEE THAN WATER. 
 
 ' Lunch ! ' said Mrs. Beckett, sharply. 
 
 Whether this was a reply to his question or 
 an order to Harris seemed doubtful ; but the 
 butler took it in the latter sense. 
 
 ' It is served,' he said, ' me lady.' 
 
 The title he used seemed out of place ; 
 but the fact was, though Mrs. Beckett had 
 voluntarily descended in the social scale, her 
 servants had objected to that arrangement. 
 The old ones had been permitted after her 
 second marriage to address her by the old 
 phrase, which they pretended they could 
 not forget, while the new ones adopted it 
 readily enough as giving importance to their 
 office. Mrs. Beckett had made certain efforts 
 to put a stop to it, and with this very 
 man — ' Eemember I am not " my lady," 
 Harris.' 
 
 ' Very good, me lady — I mean ma'am — but 
 having always been with persons of title, if you 
 will please to remember, it is difficult, in your 
 ladyship's presence too ' (Harris was astute and 
 would have made an excellent ambassador,
 
 iffiS. BECKETT. 15 
 
 except perhaps to the United States), ' not to 
 say " me lady." ' 
 
 And I think Mrs. Beckett rather liked a 
 practice which reminded the world how much 
 she had given up, and from the noblest motives.
 
 16 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 A FRIEND OF THE HOUSE. 
 
 It was hard upon ' Charley ' that his hostess 
 had made it manifest she would have preferred 
 to welcome somebody else ; but what he felt 
 much more was, that Miss Marvon also received 
 him with a similar lack of enthusiasm. 
 
 ' You are early to-day,' she said, not indeed 
 without a pleasant smile, but that belonged to 
 her and could no more be dispensed with than 
 the Austrian lip or the Caucasian nose by their 
 hereditary wearers : ' I am afraid you are 
 defrauding the revenue.' 
 
 ' And the tax-payers,' added Mrs. Beckett, 
 ' which is me.' 
 
 'And this it is to be in a Government 
 office ! ' exclaimed the young feUow, clasping
 
 A FRIEND OF THE HOUSE. 17 
 
 his hands despairingly ; ' to rise — but only by 
 ten pounds a year — with the lark, to work like 
 a horse at a mill-wheel, and if one shares a 
 half-holiday with the poorest, and gets aw^ay 
 from one's house of toil upon a Saturday ' 
 
 ' Come, take Mary's arm, sir,' interrupted 
 
 the widow, ' and lead her downstairs No, 
 
 my dear ' (for Mary had modestly drawn back) 
 — ' I will not inflict myself upon him, and he 
 hasn't the strength for it. The duties of the 
 young gentlemen in the Probate Office are too 
 overwhelming.' 
 
 ' No one can say we have not the Will,' he 
 began imploringly. 
 
 ' Be quiet, sir ; you learn nothing but jokes 
 there : Mary, I insist.' 
 
 Charley drew the young lady's arm within 
 his own, and with a murmur, ' How cruel she 
 is to me ! ' led the w^ay to the dining-room. 
 
 From the above it may be gathered that, 
 though she had behaved to him so scornfully, 
 Mr. Charles Sotheran was by no means looked 
 on with disfavour by the lady of the house ; 
 
 VOL. I. c
 
 18 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 and indeed she treated none of his sex with such 
 famiharity. His mother was a clergyman's 
 widow who had been her school friend, and to 
 whom she was still the ' Kitty ' of thirty years 
 ago. She had promised her, when the boy 
 came up to town, that Beckett House should be 
 a home to him, and he came in and out of it, 
 as he himself expressed it, hke a cat for whom 
 a hole has been cut in the door. It was plea- 
 sant to see the expression of the widow's eyes 
 as she followed the pair downstairs ; a woman 
 would have translated it at once. ' I intend 
 these two young people to be one, and a very 
 pretty pair they'll make.' 
 
 Flesh and blood, however, are not so easy 
 to match as Dresden china, and though Mrs. 
 Beckett couldn't see it, or rather would not, 
 there was an obstacle to her good intentions. 
 Though one of the young people was willing 
 enough to meet her views, the other was not. 
 A Scotch lady, whose daughter was recently 
 married, was asked by an old friend whether 
 she might congratulate her upon the event.
 
 A FRIEND OF THE HOUSE. 19 
 
 ' Yes, yes,' she answered, ' upon the whole it is 
 very satisfactory ; it is true Jeannie hates her 
 gudeman, but then there's always a something.' 
 Mrs. Beckett took a similar view ; she was 
 aware that Mary Marvon had no love for 
 Charley, but that circumstance did not deter 
 her from pursuing her plan. When one ha*: 
 thirty thousand a year the will is strong. There 
 was ' always a something,' she said to herself, 
 and, though her protegee might feel no great 
 affection for the young man at present, it would 
 surely come in time. She knew from her own 
 case that a marriage could be happy without 
 much previous attachment on the lady's part : 
 and, alas ! could be unhappy with it. Mary 
 Marvon did not hate her possible gudeman ; 
 on the contrary, she liked him very much, 
 except when he showed symptoms of liking her 
 too well, when she always put a stop to his 
 advances. This state of affairs puzzled her 
 patroness not a little. She would have sus- 
 pected any other girl in Mary's position of 
 * looking a little higher ' than at a clerk in the 
 c2
 
 20 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 Probate Office, especially as she might have 
 looked with success, for Miss Marvon's beauty 
 and accomplishments, and perhaps the con- 
 sciousness that she was the friend and protegee 
 of a miUionaire without a relative, had already 
 brought more than one eligible suitor to her 
 feet ; but Mrs. Beckett knew Mary too well to 
 impute any such motive to her. The girl was 
 of a proud and independent spirit, very suscept- 
 il)le to kindness, but of a nature that would 
 liave resented patronage from an archangel. 
 
 The wealth that surrounded her, notwith- 
 standing that until the last few months she had 
 been altogether unaccustomed to it, affected her 
 no more than summer sunshine. She admitted 
 to herself that it was pleasant and enjoyable 
 enough, but if it came on to rain or even to 
 snow, there were ways of passing one's existence 
 within doors ; she had resources of her own 
 and was independent of the weather. 
 
 These, however, were not material re- 
 sources ; she had no patrimony, indeed she had 
 never known either father or mother. The
 
 A FRIEND OF THE HOUSE. 21 
 
 one had died six months before she saw the 
 light, and the other when she was but an 
 infant. Mrs. Sotheran, who had been her 
 mother's friend, had put her out to nurse, 
 educated, and in a manner adopted her. But 
 though she had shown her every kindness, and 
 taken the utmost care in the selection of her 
 home as regarded her well-being and comfort, 
 that home had been a school. Though Mrs. 
 Sotheran had often come to see her, she had 
 never taken the orphan to her own house. The 
 reason she had given for this was the state of 
 her health, which indeed was delicate enough, 
 the number of her family, and the calls upon 
 her time made by an invalid husband ; but 
 the circumstance, taken in connection with the 
 undoubted affection Mrs. Sotheran entertained 
 for her, had been to Mary always unaccount- 
 able, and of late years, and since she had 
 begun to think for herself, even mysterious. 
 Mr. Sotheran had now long been dead, the 
 children (of whom Charley was the youngest) 
 had followed their father to the srrave, and
 
 22 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 there was plenty of room in the cottage at 
 Letcombe Dottrell for Mary Marvon. Yet she 
 had never been invited thither. 
 
 Mary's school, although not a fashionable 
 one, had been a high-class establishment. She 
 had been well treated, well brought up, and 
 had wanted for nothing. Mrs. Sotheran's ex- 
 planation of the matter was that only a 
 moderate sum had been placed in her hands as 
 provision for the orphan, and that it had been 
 Mrs. Marvon's dying wish that it should be 
 expended so as to shield her daughter's youth 
 from the pangs and pains of poverty (from 
 which she had herself suffered bitterly), and to 
 fit her as best might be for the battle of life. 
 There was not enough for Mary to live upon, 
 but there was enough to keep her in comfort 
 till she could provide for her own maintenance. 
 A few hundred pounds, as Mary vaguely under- 
 stood, was all that was left to her when, at 
 eighteen years of age, she had exchanged the 
 modest comfort of Minerva Seminary, Harrow- 
 gate, for the splendours of Beckett House.
 
 A FRIEND OF THE HOUSE. 23 
 
 To Mrs. Sotheran she owed — as she owed 
 everything else — her present position, and for 
 this she was more grateful to her than for ail 
 the rest. Not because it had opened for her 
 the door of luxury, but for its introduction to 
 one who had proved herself a gentle, con- 
 siderate, and loving friend. Only on one 
 subject had Mrs. Beckett and her young 
 companion disagreed since the latter had come 
 to share her home ; namely, as regarded the 
 young gentleman who was now escorting Mary 
 down to luncheon. That Mr. Charles Soth- 
 eran was good-looking, good-tempered, agree- 
 able, and very much a gentleman, Mary 
 admitted ; she had not a word to say against 
 him except as a lover. 
 
 When Mrs. Beckett had gone on to hint 
 that, though Charley's salary was small, 
 and increased by no means ' by leaps and 
 bounds,' a few strokes of her pen would soon 
 alter all that, and that it would give her great 
 pleasure to make them, Mary had demiu-ely 
 observed that Mrs. Beckett could not bestow
 
 24 THICKER TIIAX WATER. 
 
 ]ier bounty upon a worthier object than Mr. 
 Charles Sotheran ; but that, so far as she 
 (Mary) was concerned, he might have ten 
 thousand a year, but would still be unaccept- 
 able to her as a husband. 
 
 ' Then you must be either a born fool, 
 Mary,' cried the widow, for the first time 
 losing her temper with her young favourite, 
 ' or you must have had your brain turned by 
 romances.' 
 
 'As we were never allowed to read 
 romances at Minerva House, my dear Mrs. 
 Beckett,' returned Mary, cheerfully, but with a 
 spot of red on each cheek, ' I suppose I must 
 accept the former of your two alternatives.' 
 
 And she added a httle curtsey by way of 
 acknowledgment. 
 
 The curtsey, I think, went even further 
 with Mrs. Beckett than her words ; as a 
 reproof, it affected her not one whit, for very 
 rich people are rarely thin-skinned ; but it 
 showed the other's coolness and determination. 
 Though the widow by no means gave up her
 
 A FRIEND OF THE HOUSE. !io 
 
 object, from that moment she ceased to press 
 it ; she knew that, notwithstanding all the 
 resources of science, there are some fruits 
 which can never be brought on by forcing, 
 and was compelled to believe that this was 
 one of them. Henceforth she trusted to the 
 sunshine and the showers : circumstance and 
 opportunity. 
 
 As the three took their seats at the well- 
 spread board, Charley nodded in his off-hand 
 way to a vacant chair : ' What Banquo is 
 sitting there ? ' he inquired. 
 
 ' The Dornays promised to be here,' said 
 Mrs. Beckett curtly. 
 
 ' Oh, indeed, Banquo and Fleance ! Then 
 I've got one of their chairs.' 
 
 ' Of coiu'se you have, sir ; you were not 
 expected, though we are very glad to see you, 
 and they icere.' 
 
 ' It is better to come to a feast when you 
 are not asked,' observed Charley, with a philo- 
 sophic air, ' than to be asked and not come.' 
 
 ' And much better manners,' assented Mrs.
 
 26 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 Beckett, warmly. *For my part I don't 
 understand such conduct. Guests who come 
 late to lunch are almost as bad as those who 
 come late to dinner, and they are unpardon- 
 able. For my part I cannot understand why 
 Society tolerates it.' 
 
 'Still it is a sign of good position,' re- 
 marked Charley, with a twinkle in his blue 
 eyes. ' It is only important people who 
 venture to do it. They are titled and say to 
 themselves, " Our host is an inferior person, so 
 will not resent our rudeness," or they are rich, 
 and he owes them money and dares not.' 
 
 ' How can you be so foolish, Charley ? ' said 
 Mary, reprovingly. 
 
 ' But, my dear Mary, it must be so,' con- 
 tinued the young man, gravely, ' or why does 
 the host wait for them to the inconvenience of 
 his other guests, and though he knows the 
 dinner is spoiling? For my part I always 
 endure the extra half-hour with great patience 
 for my host's sake ; for I say to myself, " His 
 debts will be made easier to him on this
 
 A FRIEXD OF THE HOUSE. 27 
 
 account, or perhaps forgiven to him." He 
 can't be so foolish or so slavish as to put up 
 with such behaviour /(9r nothing' 
 
 ' Upon my word, I think Charley's obser- 
 vations are very sensible,' remarked Mrs. 
 Beckett, grimly. 'If people can get to a 
 railway station in time, they can come in time 
 for dinner. A quarter of an hour for the 
 difference of clocks I do allow, but beyond 
 that I would not wait for a Eothschild or a 
 Eoyal Highness.' 
 
 ' Yes, but then you see you don't owe 
 Rothschild anything, Mrs. Beckett, and Eoyal 
 Highnesses are always in time.' 
 
 ' Quite true,' rephed the hostess, with 
 approval. ' It is only your parvenus who take 
 such hberties.' 
 
 ' Still there are such things as accidents,' 
 put in Mary, apologetically. 
 
 ' Accidents and offences,' muttered Charley. 
 
 ' That is only another reason why nobody 
 
 should wait,' argued Mrs. Beckett; 'I always 
 
 say to persons who are so ill-bred as to be
 
 ^8 THICKEE THAN WATER. 
 
 behind time, " I was sure that nothing but an 
 accident would have detained you, and there- 
 fore we sat down." Nobody but a madman, 
 for example, would think of waiting for a 
 doctor, who may be sent for at a moment's 
 notice. Harris, let those two dishes be taken 
 out and kept warm.' 
 
 ' Justice tempered with mercy,' observed 
 Charley. 
 
 ' You are a very impudent young man,' 
 said the hostess, smiling. 
 
 ' My dear Mrs. Beckett, you are altogether 
 in error : it is native shyness ; a thing that is 
 often mistaken for sheer impertinence. I 
 should not have dreamt of coming here to-day, 
 for example — and without an invitation — and 
 especially at luncheon time' (his hostess was 
 hospitahty itself, but here she smiled satiric- 
 ally), 'if I had not had something to com- 
 municate to you of the last importance. I had 
 news to-day from Letcombe DottrelL' 
 
 ' Good news, I hope ? ' inquired Mrs. Beckett 
 with interest. 'The last time I heard from
 
 A FKIEXD OF THE HOUSE. 29 
 
 your mother, she wrote in what was, for her, 
 fairly good spii'its.' 
 
 ' She 's lost them now, poor thing ! ' sighed 
 the young man. 
 
 'But what has happened?' cried Mary. 
 'I heard from her only the other day. I 
 am quite sure there's not much the matter, 
 Charley, or, to do you justice, you would have 
 told us loner aojo, instead of talkincr such 
 nonsense.' 
 
 'That is the first civil word you have 
 spoken to me, Mary ; I'm so much obliged. It 
 is so nice to hear you say you believe I have 
 some natural afiection. It puts one quite on a 
 level with the brutes.' 
 
 ' Will you tell us your news, sir ? ' broke in 
 Mrs. Beckett, impatiently. ' Though we care 
 nothing about you, you know how interested 
 we both are in your dear mother. If you 
 kept her in a state of suspense hke this it 
 would frighten her to death.' 
 
 'That's just what's the matter with her,' 
 answered Charley. ' She is almost frightened
 
 30 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 to death. And no wonder! There's a giant at 
 Letcombe Dottrell.' 
 
 ' A what ? ' exclaimed both ladies simul- 
 taneously. 
 
 ' A giant ! eight feet, nine feet, ten feet — 
 I don't know how many feet he is — who takes 
 his seven-leagued strides about the parish quite 
 composedly. And he don't live in a caravan 
 either, as you may think, but at the hall itself. 
 He is Mr. Beryl Paton's last protege' 
 
 ' Oh, Charley, this is too absurd ! ' ejacu- 
 lated Mrs. Beckett. 
 
 ' It's as true as that I sit here, madam, 
 eating apricot omelette. In addition to the 
 ArchEeologists, the Metaphysicians, and the 
 Every thingarians, whom the squire has 
 gathered about him, there is now — last, but 
 by no means least — a Giant.' 
 
 ' But why ? There is nothing m being 
 nine feet high, or even ten feet, to excite good 
 Mr. Paton's sympathies. There must be merit, 
 or at least presumed merit, or some pitiful 
 misfortune, to do that.'
 
 A FRIEND OF THE HOUSE. 31 
 
 ' I don't know about that, Mrs. Beckett : 
 perhaps he's an orphan giant ; but there he 26'. 
 Looking down the cottagers' chimneys as he 
 takes his walks abroad; and, what is worse, 
 into the bedroom windows at the rectory. Mr. 
 Wells has complained about it, but the giant 
 says he can't help it ; it's his natural focus ; he's 
 not in the same plane with his fellow-creatures.' 
 
 ' Why, Mr. Paton must be going mad I ' 
 exclaimed Mrs. Beckett. 
 
 'Going?' echoed the young man; 'a less 
 charitable person would have said gone.' 
 
 ' How shocking ! Why, they say he owns 
 half the county.' 
 
 ' Yes ; that 's what of course makes the case 
 so very distressing.' Not a muscle of the 
 speaker's lips moved in the direction of a smile ; 
 nor did his hostess suspect the young man's 
 seriousness for an instant, but Mary shot at him 
 a reproving glance. 'Do you think it good 
 taste,' it said, or seemed to him to say, ' to 
 laugh at the weaknesses of so good a friend 
 before her veiy face ? '
 
 32 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 ' But where on earth, Charley, did Mr. 
 Paton first see the creature ? ' 
 
 'Well, one would think by my mother's 
 description that he must have seen him always ; 
 that it was impossible for such a portent, being 
 in the same hemisphere, to avoid observation. 
 But, as a matter of fact, Mr. Baton found him 
 in a caravan. You know his passion for the 
 w^onders of nature ; and, attracted by some 
 advertisement of a straight-haired negress, he 
 came upon this prodigy. Of course he was 
 charmed with him, and expressed his astonish- 
 ment that so great a man should not only con- 
 descend to be exhibited with the African lady, 
 and for the same moderate charge of a penny, 
 but should put up with a smaller type in their 
 caravan advertisement. This roused the giant's 
 ambition ; he struck for higher wages and a 
 separate establishment, and, on his master's de- 
 clining his terms, came straight aw^ay to Mr. 
 Baton as to his natural adviser and protector. 
 The excitement in the neighbourhood is prodi- 
 gious, and you may imagine the sensation his
 
 A FRIEXD OF THE HOUSE. 33 
 
 arrival at the hall has created in the Happy 
 Family itself.' 
 
 ' Oh dear ! dear ! I can indeed,' gasped the 
 widow, now fairly sobbing with laughter. ' You 
 have never seen Mr. Paton and the menage at the 
 hall, Mary, or you would know how to appre- 
 ciate this. But of course this creature is not 
 going to stop, Charley, — large as the house is, 
 where can they put him ? ' 
 
 ' I am sure I don't know ; perhaps Mr. 
 Paton will build a wing ' 
 
 At this moment, and while the air was rip- 
 pling with mirth, the door opened, and, in a 
 voice as though he were introducing the guests 
 to a fimeral feast, the butler announced ' Mr. 
 Domay and Mr. Ealph Dornay.' 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 34 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 CHAPTEE III. 
 
 DEFIANCE. 
 
 There are few social crimes more exasperating 
 — at all events to the raconteur — than the 
 entrance of an outsider into a room where an 
 excellent story is in course of narration. A 
 Newfoundland dog coming out of the water 
 and shaking himself over your light summer 
 costume is nothing to it. It is an interruption 
 not only unpardonable, but irreparable ; let the 
 new-comer be as anxious to mend matters as he 
 may, the story is .spoilt. Nothing can bring 
 back ' the splendour to the grass, the glory to 
 the flower,' or set Humpty Dumpty on his legs 
 again. This should be borne in mind by all 
 those folks who, having the intention to give 
 intellectual pleasure (which few of them have),
 
 DEFIANCE. 35 
 
 are wont to ask some of tlieir friends to 
 ' dinner,' and others ' in the evening.' The 
 former portion of the company are at their ease ; 
 they have estabhshed a mutual imderstanding, 
 and formed a regular regiment with their 
 watchwords and their countersigns ; the others 
 are raw recruits, and can never be welcomed as 
 comrades. 
 
 It was not easy to discomfit Mr. Charles 
 Sotheran, but the arrival of these new-comers 
 made him exceedingly angry, and the more so 
 because it was easy to perceive that his hostess 
 and Miss Mary by no means shared his dis- 
 pleasure. Mrs. Beckett's welcome to them was 
 indeed tinged with irritation : ' So you are 
 come at last,' she said, but it was in a tone 
 which implied that late was better than never, 
 and the pressure of her hand was in both cases 
 very reassuring. Miss Marvon said nothing but 
 ' Good morning,' but she said it with her 
 brightest smile, and her hand remained longer 
 in that of !Mr. Edgar Dornay (or so Mr. 
 
 D 2
 
 36 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 Sotheran thought) than the occasion at all 
 demanded. 
 
 Mr. Edgar was the younger of the two 
 visitors. A tall, well-favoured fellow enough, 
 save for a slight touch of effeminacy or dan- 
 dyism. His slight black moustache was twirled 
 into points so sharp that they might have 
 threaded the eye of a needle ; he had a frame- 
 less, stringless glass, which stuck in his eye 
 with the tenacity of a limpet, and he spoke 
 with an elaborate slowness which seemed to 
 suggest the extremity of exhaustion. But he 
 had an intelligent face nevertheless, and what 
 he said was well expressed. 
 
 Mr. Dornay the elder was Edgar's uncle, 
 and twice his age — the one being fifty or so, 
 the other twenty-five — but there was no such 
 disproportion of years in their appearance. 
 Edgar's quiet w^ays and well-considered speech 
 would have better suited one of an elder gene- 
 ration ; his manner was essentially mature; it 
 was only in his smile that youth was mani- 
 fested. He did not often smile, but when he
 
 DEFIANCE. 37 
 
 did so one acknowledged that a man could be 
 beautiful : he reminded you of the Sun-god. 
 Now Mr. Dornay senior's smile was the worst 
 part of him. He performed the operation, as 
 the Scotch gentleman acknowledged that he 
 joked, 'with deeficulty,' for fear of showing 
 certain false teeth. It is terrible to reflect that 
 when one grows old even a smile loses its 
 charm. It is nature's hint, perhaps, that it is 
 time that our laughing days were over, but it 
 is a very grim one. 
 
 When Ealph Dornay did not smile, or 
 smiled with care, he was an attractive object, 
 and not the least like an uncle. His age might 
 have been guessed at forty, and his figure, set 
 off by a dark-blue frock coat, and an irre- 
 proachable white waistcoat, was that of a man 
 still younger. His eye was bright, his voice 
 cheery, and his speech gay and fluent. One 
 would have set him down as a soldier of the 
 genial old-fashioned type, or one of those clever 
 Irishmen who have contrived to smother their 
 brogue. As a matter of fact, he was of no
 
 38 THICKER THAN WATEE. 
 
 occupation, and an Englishman. He belonged 
 to an ancient family, of which his nephew was 
 the chief, and he regarded him with great 
 respect accordingly. If it could not be said of 
 him that he passed his life in defending Edgar's 
 character, he was always ready to break a 
 lance for him against the many antagonists 
 whom the young man's airs and graces evoked. 
 And this was the more creditable to him as he 
 could derive no material benefit from such 
 championship. When the junior branches of 
 old famiUes are in these days demonstrative in 
 their attachment to the head of their house, he 
 has generally something to give them. Though 
 the feudal system is extinguished, human nature 
 is much the same as it used to be ; the differ- 
 ence is in degree and kind. Even a duke can 
 now hardly insure protection and immunity for 
 the peccadilloes of his vassals ; but even in less 
 ambitious quarters there are some good things 
 going still, and for the maintenance of family 
 loyalty there is no such preserving pickle as 
 expectations. Now Edgar Dornay, though in
 
 DEFIAXCE. 39 
 
 possession of Clifie Park, the hereditan' dwell- 
 ing-place of his race, could not afford to Uve 
 there even if he had wished to do so, which 
 was, however, far from being the case. The 
 estate was mortgaged up to the hilt, and bur- 
 dened with all sorts of payments to certain 
 elderly relatives and connections, to whom the 
 expression, ' first come, first served,' was much 
 more than a phrase. The present head of the 
 family was, in fact, less well provided for than 
 the branches, one of whom was Uncle Ealph 
 himself. ^Miat he had was not very much, it 
 is true ; but when one is prudent and careful 
 to spend every shilling upon one's own needs, 
 a little money may be made to go a great way. 
 He had certainly no hope of any increase from 
 his nephew's garner. 
 
 Yet there were some who denied that 
 Uncle Ealph's feudal attachment was altogether 
 disinterested, since it was to his nephew's 
 friendship that he owed his place in society. 
 Edgar Dornay was not popular among his own 
 sex, but his very unpopularity was in some
 
 40 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 sort a tribute to his importance; men do not 
 take the trouble to dishke the insignificant, and 
 Edgar had made a certain position for himself. 
 Without being a preacher of aesthetics, he 
 could talk its jargon, and thoroughly under- 
 stood the art of persuading folks that they are 
 catching gleams of the Unintelligible when in 
 reality they only understand what you are 
 saying about it. The women who wished to 
 be thought artistic, philosophic, and also ex- 
 ceptionally well dressed, adored him. Women 
 of a higher type he caught with another springe. 
 With them he was as frank as with the others 
 he was obscure ; each one was flattered with 
 the idea that he only ' spread himself for her, 
 and laid bare the aspirations of a noble nature 
 which were concealed from the multitude by a 
 mask of reticence and pedantry. For the rest, 
 he was not without his good points ; though 
 Mr. Charles Sotheran could never perceive 
 them. The one young gentleman had some- 
 thing too much of nature about him, the other 
 a great deal too much of art. They mixed
 
 DEFIANCE. 41 
 
 together no better than water and sulphur, and 
 it was no spoon that could smooth matters 
 between them. Mrs. Beckett had confided to 
 Mary that she always felt on thorns when they 
 were in each other's company ; and it was be- 
 cause she had been expecting the Dornays that 
 afternoon that ' Charley ' had not been received 
 with his usual cordial welcome. The whole 
 matter had been clear to him directly their 
 names were mentioned, and easily accounted 
 for the bitterness with which he had spoken of 
 the Unpunctual. A vice never seems so repre- 
 hensible as when it is practised by those we 
 dislike. 
 
 When the Dornays entered, Sotheran rose 
 from his seat and took his leave. 
 
 ' So soon ? ' said Mrs. Beckett in her kindest 
 tone. 
 
 The tone he knew was to make amends for 
 his voluntary exile ; the words were a mere 
 comphment. 
 
 ' You will give my love to your dear 
 mother when you write,' said Mary, warmly.
 
 42 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 He nodded, and smiled grimly as though he 
 were thinking ' I haven't got it to give,' or per- 
 haps because he felt that he was leaving her 
 with a happier rival. 
 
 A few words of kindness too were given 
 him by the hostess after his departure. ' What 
 a bright fellow Charley is ; I really don't know 
 any one with such a flow of spirits.' 
 
 To which Mr. Dornay the elder replied, 
 ' Quite true, a most engaging young man ; ' and 
 his nephew yawned approval. 
 
 These tributes to the departed having been 
 duly paid, the company proceeded to discuss 
 their usual topics. The conversation was not 
 intellectually above the level of that which 
 takes place at most afternoon teas, which , while 
 ranging from Shakespeare to the musical 
 glasses, has a decided tendency towards the 
 latter : though, thanks to the food and wine, it 
 had perhaps more vigour and spirit. Edgar 
 spoke with severity against some new theory 
 of admitting the principle of humour into de- 
 coration ; alluded to the fancy alphabet, with
 
 DEFIANCE. 43 
 
 its dropped H, in a well-known dining-room 
 at Kensington ; and animadverted against gar- 
 goyles in architecture. Though his views were 
 far from lucid they were well expressed, and 
 gave almost the same impression of sohdity 
 (though they had none) as a stereoscope ; the 
 red hght of a chemist's shop under similar ck- 
 cumstances — i.e. in a dense fog — assumes the 
 resemblance of the sun. Uncle Ealph, though 
 to all appearances rapt in admiration of his 
 nephew's eloquence, understood not one syl- 
 lable of it, and presently the widow herself 
 ' dropped off gorged ' with so much splendid 
 colouring, and observed in a low tone to 
 him — 
 
 ' You were at Ascot, of course, Mr. Dornay, 
 on Thursday ? ' 
 
 ' No, not I ; the Derby is my only dissipa- 
 tion in that way ; ' then added in a low voice, 
 ' Edgar was there, I am sorry to say, and, as 
 usual, unfortunate.' 
 
 ' How naughty he is I ' said the widow, 
 looking towards the young man with more pity,
 
 44 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 one would say, for his bad luck than reprehen- 
 sion of his bad habits. ' I shall take the oppor- 
 tunity of giving him a lecture. Mary, I see 
 Mr. Dornay has no flower in his buttonhole ; 
 choose him one from the conservatory.' 
 
 The observation of course referred to Uncle 
 Ealph ; Mr. Edgar Dornay would as soon think 
 of coming out without a flower in his button- 
 hole as without his hat. Mary rose at once to 
 obey, or oblige, her hostess. It was curious, 
 but short as was the interval that had elapsed 
 since Mrs. Beckett's attention had been diverted 
 from decorative art, its high priest had ended 
 his dissertation upon it, and was now conversing 
 with Mary in low tones upon some other sub- 
 ject — to judge from her look — at least an 
 equally attractive one. As she rose, he too left 
 his chair, and having opened for her the glass 
 door of the conservatory — hardly a sitting-room 
 in Beckett House was without one — was about 
 to follow her into it when the widow called 
 him back, in a tone which could not be gain- 
 said.
 
 DEFIANCE. 45 
 
 ' You are an arbiter of taste, !Mr. Edgar, as 
 every one knows, but surely your uncle is the 
 best judge of what flower he prefers for his own 
 coat.' 
 
 So Uncle Ealph took his place by the young 
 lady's side, closing the door behind them, while 
 the widow and Edgar were left tete-a-tete to- 
 gether. A glass-door is a non-conductor of 
 sound, but one can see through it ; and as Mr. 
 Ealph Dornay wished to have a few words with 
 his companion in private, he made a pretended 
 admiration for southern plants and trees his 
 excuse for straying with her beyond the flora, 
 portion of the conservatory, and among the 
 tropical vegetation. Though the old powers of 
 fern seed to render one invisible are scoffed at 
 in these days, there is no doubt of ferns doing 
 it if they are but tall enough ; and the same, 
 even without that reservation, may be said of 
 palms. 
 
 ' Do you know the language of flowers, 
 Miss Mary ? ' inquired Uncle Ealph in signifi- 
 cant tones.
 
 46 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 'When I was a child I learnt it/ she 
 answered indifferently, but with an inner sense 
 of expectancy, nevertheless, that it cost her some 
 pains to conceal. She did not anticipate that 
 Mr. Dornay was going to make love to her, 
 but there was something in his voice which, in 
 connection with what she knew of him, led her 
 to fear — or hope — that he was about to speak 
 of love. 
 
 ' Then you know what the palm signifies,' 
 he continued, looking up at the branches that 
 canopied them. It was observable that through- 
 out their interview Mr. Dornay always did look 
 either up or down, and never at the face of his 
 companion, so that a spectator (who did not 
 hear him) would have said, ' This gentleman 
 thinks of nothing but trees and flowers.' 
 
 'The palm indicates victory,' said Mary, 
 quietly. 
 
 ' Just so. I am here to say that it lies 
 within your grasp.' 
 
 ' T do not understand you, Mr. Dornay.' 
 
 ' T think you do. But it is only natural —
 
 DEFIAXCE. 47 
 
 or at all events pnident — that you should affect 
 unconsciousness. You imagine that you are 
 in the presence of an enemy, and are inclined 
 to look upon even his gifts with suspicion.' 
 
 ' I understand you now, ISlr. Dornay,' she 
 replied, and this time very coldly, * even less 
 than before.' 
 
 ' Then your change of tone behes you, my 
 dear young lady,' he answered curtly ; ' come, 
 the opportunity that has been afforded for our 
 speaking together must needs be short ; do not 
 let us waste time in fencing. You will admit, 
 I suppose, at least this much, that you love my 
 nephew. Your face indeed tells me so ; for 
 while I speak of him it has changed as though 
 this white camellia had become a red one. 
 But I have known it long ago ; Edgar and I 
 have no secrets from each other.' 
 
 'I am very sure that your nephew never 
 told you — what you have just now had the 
 impertinence to imply.' 
 
 ' Quite true, Miss Mary. He only told me 
 that he loved you ; I took it for granted that
 
 48 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 there was reciprocity ; the theory of " the most 
 favoured nation" holds equally good with in- 
 dividuals. I must needs add, in spite of your 
 disclaimer, that you knew that I knew it. 
 Confess, now, that you have hitherto con- 
 sidered me as — well, not as an enemy perhaps, 
 but an antagonist, an obstacle, but for which 
 the course of true love would have run more 
 smoothly. I have treated you, never, I hope, 
 with disrespect, but in a manner, I confess it, 
 that may have suggested hostility.' 
 
 The girl looked up at him with disdain ; 
 the expression was lost upon him, for he was 
 regarding an orange on its tree with all the 
 attention of an intending purchaser ; but he 
 could not escape the scornfulness of her tone. 
 
 'You have treated me, Mr. Dornay,' she 
 said, 'I do not say with studied indifference, 
 but with that indifference which is natural to 
 you when you are addressing persons of no 
 consequence, and from whom you can reap 
 no benefit.' 
 
 ' Bitter, bitter ! ' returned the other, with a
 
 DEFIAXCE. 49 
 
 reproachful look at the golden fruit ; ' to think 
 that a thing so beautiful should have pips in it.' 
 
 'As to your being an obstacle,' she con- 
 tinued, ' if anything which such as you can say 
 can turn a man's heart from her he loves, and 
 induce him to give her up, for her own sake he 
 had better do so : for if she be a true woman, 
 let her be ever so poor, he would not be 
 wortliy of her.' 
 
 ' Heroics,' muttered the other contemp- 
 tuously ; ' you should speak them in blank 
 verse.' Blank or not, however, there had been 
 something in her words that had gone home to 
 him, for his voice trembled with rage as he 
 added, ' Upon my Hfe, young woman, you are 
 not very conciliatory ! ' 
 
 ' It would be useless for me to be so, even 
 if I felt inclined, which I do not,' was the quick 
 rejoinder. ' Concihation with some people has 
 only the effect of encouraging them to tread on 
 you.' 
 
 'I recognise the sentiment. Miss Mary, 
 which I heard expressed the other day — only 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 50 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 more in the roiigli — by the young gentleman 
 who has just taken his leave of us. I would 
 respectfully advise you — for the object you 
 have at heart — not to sit at the feet of that 
 youthful Gamahel; Edgar and I do not like 
 him.' 
 
 ' Very likely. To one at least of you I can 
 imagine his independence of character being 
 very unwelcome.' 
 
 ' In a clerk of the Probate Office, of tender 
 years, I must confess it seems to me somewhat 
 out of place,' answered Dornay. ' On the 
 other hand it is an easy role to play, and 
 admits of great self-indulgence in the way of 
 impertinence; nor do I lose sight of the fact 
 that Mr. Charles Sotheran may think it accept- 
 able to a certain person as an agreeable change 
 from the flattery and adulation that she meets 
 with elsewhere.' 
 
 ' Fresh ah' after incense ! Well, that is 
 very complimentary,' said Mary, smihng for the 
 first time. 
 
 'I should rather call it pumped air,' said
 
 DEFIAXCE. 51 
 
 Mr. Doruav. ' However, Mr. Sotheran is not 
 worth debate. What I wish to say is, that 
 however right you may have hitherto been 
 with respect to my feehngs towards you as 
 regards my nephew, they have undergone a 
 complete change. I have done my best to 
 oppose your union with him and have failed. 
 I lay down my arms and acknowledge myself 
 vanquished. Henceforth I am upon his side 
 and yours. If you will not permit me to be 
 your friend ' 
 
 She shook her head and drew back : ' I 
 mistrust you, Mr. Dornay,' she said coldly. 
 
 ' Edgar told me that you were frankness 
 itself, and begad he 's right ! ' exclaimed the 
 other, admiringly. ' If he had but half your 
 determination of character he would be m a 
 very different position ; but he is so d — d 
 weak ! — I beg your pardon for the expression, 
 Miss Mar von.' 
 
 She bowed : ' You forget to whom you are 
 apologising, sir ; I am only a dependant.' 
 
 ' Very true, but you are going to be Mrs. 
 
 r. 2
 
 52 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 Dornay,' observed the other, naively. ' Now, 
 my dear young lady, do be reasonable,' he con- 
 tinned remonstratingly. ' If we can never be 
 friends — which is your suggestion, not mine, 
 remember — at least let us be allies. When you 
 become my nephew's wife, consider how in- 
 convenient — not to put it more strongly — this 
 mutual distrust will be to both of us. You v/ill 
 have great iufiuence, no doubt ; but I am the 
 nearest relation, and should anything occur to 
 shake the pillars of domestic peace, as Edgar 
 calls it, he will naturally look to me for advice. 
 Then I may do you a good turn.' 
 
 ' I do not believe you are picturing me as 
 your nephew's wife at all, Mr. Dornay,' was 
 the girl's quiet reply. 
 
 ' I am. Upon my soul and honour I am ! ' 
 put in the other vehemently. 'As sure as I 
 breathe I will do my very best to bring about 
 your marriage. That is what I have come 
 here to say, so help me Heaven ! ' 
 
 ' It may be so. But you have something 
 else to say. You have omitted to name the
 
 DEFIANCE. 53 
 
 price I am to pay for your valuable assistance.' 
 It could not have been the effect of sunlicrht, 
 because they both stood in the shade ; though 
 those who knew him best would certainly have 
 ascribed it to some atmospheric illusion ; but 
 here Mr. Ealph Dornay blushed. 
 
 ' I don't know what you mean, Miss Mary,' 
 he answered ; ' but of course there are con- 
 siderations. I have hinted to you how we 
 can, as near connections, be mutually useful to 
 one another in the future.' 
 
 'And in the meantime?' said the miL 
 scornfully. ' Is there nothing I can do for you 
 in the meantime ? ' 
 
 ' Nothing. You have already said, though 
 in a manner that I hope your better nature has 
 already repented of, that you could be of no 
 advantage to me.' 
 
 ' True. Still it strikes me that it may have 
 struck you, Mr. Dornay, that circumstances 
 may arise in which I might be of some disB.^- 
 vantage to you. Humble as is my position, it 
 is just possible my advice may be asked by a
 
 54 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 certain person upon a matter in which you are 
 very much interested ; one which has only 
 recently entered your mind, I think, but which 
 is now monopolising it, and concerning which, 
 to use your own candid language, I might do 
 you a good turn — or not.' 
 
 ' Well ? ' It was but a monosyllable, yet 
 pregnant with significance, and the speaker for 
 the first time looked full in his companion's 
 face with anxious intentness. 
 
 'If I am asked my opinion of that matter, 
 Mr. Dornay,' she continued, 'I shall give it 
 honestly. Nothing which you can promise 
 me ; nothing which you can give me (which is 
 very difierent), will deter me from so doing. 
 On the other hand, your secret is as safe with 
 me as it was before you spoke. I will do you 
 no voluntary injury, though you have done 
 many a one to me.' 
 
 ' I never have,' he murmured. 
 
 ' Yes, sir ; for slights, humiliations, even 
 neglect itself, to one like me, are injuries. 
 Though you used no daggers you have spoken
 
 DEFIANCE. 55 
 
 them designedly, and of malice prepense ; 
 words that he as ready to the tongue of the 
 upstart and the coward, as does the dagger to 
 the hand of the assassin. I do not forgive 
 them ; I do not forget them ; but I should 
 scorn myself as I scorn you if they suggested 
 retahation. — And now that we clearly under- 
 stand one another, what flower shall I gather 
 for your buttonhole, Mr. Dornay ? ' 
 
 Without a word he pointed to the nearest 
 flower, which happened to be a blush rose. 
 She clipped it Avith her scissors, and gave it to 
 him ; then turned and led the way back to the 
 dining-room.
 
 56 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 CHAPTEE IV. 
 
 LEAP-YEAR. 
 
 It is not the scene which dictates the senti- 
 ment, or the conversation between Uncle Ealph 
 and Mary Marvon among the ferns and flowers 
 would have been of a very diflerent kind to 
 that we have described. 
 
 The dining-room, on the other hand, 
 thoygh a very noble apartment, would hardly 
 have suggested by association — not to mention 
 the debris of lunch which still strewed the 
 table — any tender topic ; yet no sooner did the 
 other couple leave it, and the widow find 
 herself alone with Mr. Edgar Dornay, than 
 her voice and manner softened, and her 
 face became full of a gentle earnestness and 
 sympathy.
 
 LEAP-YE-VR. 0< 
 
 'My dear Edgar,' she said, in a pleasant 
 voice, ' I have got something very serious to 
 say to you.' 
 
 He took the chair beside her to which slie 
 had beckoned him, and answered with his 
 brightest smile, 'Your preface frightens me, 
 my dear Mrs. Beckett ; but you don't look 
 serious, which gives me consolation.' 
 
 ' I wish to look serious, Edgar ; vexed and 
 disappointed too ; nay, I would be downright 
 angry with you, only somehow I never can. I 
 am sure I don't know what it is that makes me 
 so kind — nay, blind — to your failings ? ' 
 
 She spoke half interrogatively, as though if 
 he had any theory upon that point she would 
 be glad to hear it ; but he only shook his head. 
 
 ' That is my best chance with you and 
 with everybody,' he said hastily, ' that they 
 should shut their eyes, or at the worst wink 
 at my peccadilloes; for thiy are mxay.' 
 
 ' Well, it is something that you show 
 humihty,' she answered, though with a touch 
 of disappointment mingling with that faint
 
 58 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 praise ; ' and I do believe they are but pecca- 
 dilloes, Edgar.' 
 
 I don't know,' he answered ; ' some moral- 
 ists would be very severe on me ; but you, I 
 venture to think, are not a hanging judge.' 
 
 ' By which you mean, I suppose, you 
 naughty man, that I would not hang you' 
 She tapped his hand lightly with her fingers, 
 and looked at him certainly with an expression 
 very difierent from that of a judge when he 
 puts on the black cap. Mrs. Beckett had not 
 actually taken to caps, but, perhaps as much 
 for concealment as for ornament, a piece of 
 lace, scarcely the size of her own plump hand, 
 was arranged becomingly enough in her brown 
 hair, still unmixed with grey. 
 
 ' Well, yes, I venture to think you would 
 lean to mercy's side in my case.' 
 
 ' But then, Edgar, I don't beheve you have 
 ever done anything very wrong.' 
 
 ' That is very good of you, though it shows 
 an excess of charity. It is true, however, that 
 I have never committed murder.'
 
 LEAP-YEAR. 59 
 
 ' Xor suicide,' said the widow, lightly. 
 ' Come, that 's two off the list of your possible 
 delinquencies.' 
 
 ' I am not so sure about suicide,' returned 
 the young man, laughing. ' There are some 
 people who. if they knew all, would at least 
 accuse me of contemplating it.' 
 
 The widow's face grew grave, and the 
 colour rushed to her cheeks. ' \yhat people ? ' 
 she asked, in a tone of indignation. 
 
 ' The world at large ; you know what an 
 interest it takes in one's private affairs.' 
 
 ' Yes ; how much better it imagines it 
 understands them than oneself,' she added, 
 contemptuously ; ' for my part I have long 
 learnt to value its opinion at its true worth.' 
 
 She took up a leaf that had fallen from the 
 flower-stand on the table and flipped it from 
 her with a finger snap. 
 
 ' But, then, my dear ^Irs. Beckett, you are 
 above the world. This earthly ball hes at 
 yoiu" feet.' 
 
 ' And at yours also,' she said gravely.
 
 60 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 ' That is true in a sense, of course, but in a 
 very different sense,' he rejoined thoughtfully ; 
 ' young men are always given that comfortable 
 assurance ; but if they kick the ball — or even 
 at it — they have often cause to repent of their 
 audacity. What happens to those who " fly in 
 the face of society " is very similar to the fate 
 of those sea-birds who dash themselves to 
 pieces against the lanterns of lighthouses.' 
 
 ' That happens from their ignorance,' 
 observed his companion. 'They are right 
 enough in seeking for warmth and light. To 
 my mind the real happiness of life lies in 
 comfort.' 
 
 ' That is a wide term, my dear Mrs. 
 Beckett. Your ideas of comfort, for example ' 
 — he glanced round the room, on the walls of 
 which hung landscapes of Linnell (the widow's 
 favourite painter), and on whose ceiling glowed 
 the bright hues she loved, arranged with 
 harmonious skill — 'would to some people 
 appear very hke luxury.' 
 
 ' And why not ? The more of comfort one
 
 LEAP-YEAR. 61 
 
 has the better. Everything else in the way 
 of enjoyment sooner or later fades. I have 
 experienced it myself, Edgar. You will say, 
 perhaps, '* But you are a womau ; " I doubt 
 whether that makes much difference in the 
 long-run, but if you think otherwise, ask your 
 uncle. He is a man of the world, and 
 thoroughly understands it.' 
 
 ' But, my dear ^Mrs. Beckett,' objected the 
 young man, ' you have called a most damaging 
 witness. Uncle Ralph is a martyr to fashion. 
 His boots and, what is worse, his waistcoats 
 are a size too small for him. He dines out 
 continually — here, for example — where he can 
 get no smoke after dinner, though he r.ines for 
 tobacco after every meal hke the bulbul for its 
 mate ; he even goes to evening parties, and 
 from sheer exhaustion — not from dancing (he 
 knows better than that), but from boredom — 
 is driven to partake of bad champagne. Com- 
 fort ! why, comfort is not more " scorned of 
 devils " than it is by Uncle Ealph.' 
 
 ' I beg your pardon ; he does not scorn it.
 
 62 THICKER THAIS" WATER. 
 
 On the contrary, lie sacrifices himself for the 
 present in the hope of finding himself at last in 
 cotton wool.' 
 
 ' Indeed,' smiled the young man. ' Well, 
 it may be so ; you ladies have sharper eyes 
 than we have.' 
 
 ' At all events we see further. What I 
 wish to urge upon you is not only to think of 
 to-day, but of to-morrow.' 
 
 ' Just so ; the future,' said Edgar, rising 
 from his chair and pacing the room. It was 
 evident that he had forgotten where he was. 
 ' After the suicide of which we were speaking 
 there is another life.' 
 
 ' May I ask what was the particular form 
 of self-destruction you were contemplating ? ' 
 inquired the widow. Her eyes were on the 
 table, her hand was busy with some crumbs 
 that lay before her. 
 
 ' I cannot tell you that,' replied the young 
 man ; ' it would not be fair to others.' 
 
 There was a long silence ; the widow bit 
 her lip ; she looked disappointed, vexed, like
 
 LEAP-YE.\R. 63 
 
 one who has been pursuing the wrong tack ; 
 she was not vexed with her companion, how- 
 ever, for it was in a voice even gentler than 
 before that she once more addressed him. 
 
 ' If I may be allowed to say so, Edgar, you 
 have two great failings — imprudence and in- 
 decision. It is about the first I wish to speak 
 to you — that is to say, if you will listen.' 
 
 ' I beg your pardon,' said the young man, 
 suddenly stopping in his walk, and resuming 
 his seat beside his companion ; ' I was lost in 
 thought, and for the moment imagined myself 
 at home.' 
 
 ' It was not such a very great mistake, I 
 hope,' was the gentle reply. 
 
 ' It was not, indeed,' replied the other ; 
 ' your house has been always, ever since I 
 have had the pleasure of knowing you ' (it was 
 some eighteen months), ' like home ; that 
 is, it isn't the least hke it,' he added, with 
 ludicrous inconsistency : ' Ealph and I live 
 in a garret.' 
 
 ' You are always welcome, always, always,'
 
 64 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 continued the widow, earnestly, and without 
 paying attention to this melancholy statement, 
 ' and will ever be so. It is here, above all, 
 that you must come when you need help, 
 Edgar.' 
 
 The young man coloured to the roots of his 
 hair; the beautiful path that ran straight up 
 the middle of it looked as if it had been 
 newly gravelled. 
 
 ' Your advice, I know, has been always 
 most kindly proffered,' he answered evasively, 
 ' and would be most valuable if I only had the 
 sense to take it.' 
 
 ' Advice, my dear Edgar, is what everybody 
 is willing to give ; it costs less than a gas fire 
 and looks as warm and genial ; but, though it 
 fills the giver with a virtuous glow, the recipient 
 is often not much the better for it. Now, when 
 I say help, I mean it.' 
 
 'I am sure you do,' answered the young 
 man, drawing lines upon the table-cloth with 
 one of his filbert nails, and listening with feverish 
 impatience for the click of the glass door. A
 
 LEAP-YEAR. 65 
 
 gentle perspiration, such as doctors hail iu a 
 feverish patient, bedewed his brow. He was 
 not so much afraid of the widow — indeed, he 
 had a very kindly regard and esteem for her — 
 as he was distrustful of himself. He felt that 
 a crisis was approaching which would compel 
 him to take one of two courses which had long 
 presented themselves to him ; he had, in fact, 
 made up his mind which to choose, only deci- 
 sion was abhorrent to him. It was especially 
 abhorrent now, since the course he had deter- 
 mined upon would be unwelcome to his com- 
 panion. His artist nature shrank from inflicting 
 pain on any one, but especially on himself; his 
 position was really a painful one. 
 
 ' A little bird tells me that you had an 
 unlucky day at Ascot,' said the widow, gently. 
 
 • A blue bird with a white breast, was it 
 not ? ' answered the young fellow, forcing a 
 laugli and nodding towards the conservatory. 
 ' It is the birds of bright plumage that talk the 
 most, though they are not good at singing.' 
 
 ' He sings your praises, at all events, you 
 
 VOL. L F
 
 66 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 ungrateful man ; knowing, doubtless, that they 
 are always pleasing to me.' 
 
 ' You are very good to say so, Mrs. 
 Beckett.' 
 
 'Was the sum a large one, may I ask, 
 Edgar, which you so unfortunately ventured ? ' 
 
 Again the colour rushed to the young man's 
 face. ' I am not accustomed to bet more than 
 I can pay,' he answered stiffly. 
 
 ' That you are not accustomed to do 
 anything dishonourable, Edgar, I am well 
 aware,' was the gentle reply, ' but you are 
 very imprudent.' 
 
 ' It is my nature,' he returned quickly. 
 ' People talk of " living up " to this and that ; 
 I tliink I may honestly say that, whatever 
 income I possessed, I should live up to the last 
 shilling of it.' 
 
 ' Perhaps if you were very rich you would 
 think differently,' said the widow, gravely. 
 ' There is a certain sense of responsibihty that 
 attaches to great wealth.' 
 
 ' I don't think that would oppress me.
 
 LEAP-YEAR. 67 
 
 whatever else might, in such a case,' answered 
 the young man Hghtly. 
 
 ' Then I am afraid you must be naturally 
 extravagant.' 
 
 ' I am,' he replied, with a certain earnest 
 frankness ; ' and I resent above all things any 
 check or restraint ; that is one of the reasons 
 why I hate Cliffe Park, because it is tied up 
 and I can't get rid of it.' 
 
 'But surely, Edgar,' argued the widow, 
 gravely, ' it must be a comfort to feel that 
 something — though it may not be much — is 
 made secure to you in spite of all reverses 
 of fortune.' 
 
 'Xot a bit of it. If I could sell that 
 wretched place to-morrow, for example, and 
 pay these Ascot debts — not, of course, but that 
 I can pay them,' he added hastily, ' from other 
 sources.' 
 
 ' Just so ; only it is inconvenient to part 
 with a few thousands.' 
 
 ' It would be if I owed them,' returned the 
 p 2
 
 68 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 young man, laughing ; ' most uncommonly 
 inconvenient.' 
 
 ' Then your loss is a mere trifle,' remarked 
 the widow, with an involuntary sigh. 
 
 ' To you it -would be a mere flea-bite, my 
 dear Mrs. Beckett,' he replied ; ' but to me five 
 hundred poimds is — well, five hundred pounds.' 
 
 ' You have stated the case quite correctly, 
 Edgar ; in a manner, too, that I could not have 
 done, since it would have savoured of ostenta- 
 tion. As this sum is to me " a mere flea-bite," 
 while to pay it is to you a matter of some con- 
 sequence, will you not allow me — it would be a 
 very great pleasure — to take the privilege of 
 an old friend ? ' 
 
 ' My dear Mrs. Beckett, the thing is impos- 
 sible,' exclaimed the young man, starting to his 
 feet. 
 
 ' Nay, nay, it is certainly not impossible,' 
 she answered, ' because it is as easy for me to 
 do it, as it is for you to resume your seat.' 
 
 He bit his lip, but took the chair which she 
 pushed gently towards him.
 
 LEAP-YEAR. 69 
 
 ' There is nothing to be offended at, surely, 
 Edgar. When we posted to Virginia Water the 
 other day, you thought it no humiliation, I sup- 
 pose, because I paid for the postilions and the 
 turnpikes. This caraffe of water is more than I 
 need, more than I can drink : shall I not fill 
 3'Oiu- glass for you if you are thirsty ? ^Mlere is 
 the obligation ? ' 
 
 ' All that is different,' murmured the young 
 man ; ' you know it is different.' 
 
 ' Because money, forsooth, is held by foolish 
 persons to be different from everything else. 
 Suppose, then, I were to die to-morrow, and it 
 was found that I had not, as the phrase goes, 
 " forgotten " you : that it was my wish, as it is 
 my wish, Edgar, Heaven knows, to make the 
 road of life smooth for you : that I had, in 
 short, left you half my fortune. You would 
 accept it then ; but now, when I am alive, and 
 when the knowledge of my having conferred 
 some benefit upon you would give me pleasure 
 — the greatest pleasure, perhaps, of which my 
 mind is capable — you reject it ; you spurn it.'
 
 TO THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 ' Pardon me, dear Mrs. Beckett, I do not 
 spurn it, I appreciate your generosity exceed- 
 ingly ; and if I hesitate, it is not so much on 
 my own account, beheve me.' 
 
 ' Nay, nay,' she interrupted haughtily, ' I 
 cannot admit that plea. I am old enough — I 
 mean I have had experience enough of life, 
 Edgar, to be fully capable of taking care of my 
 reputation. I know my position thoroughly ; 
 what the world thinks of me I care not ; what 
 it w^ill dare to say of me is not much. They 
 are coming in ' (she looked towards the glass 
 door). ' There is no time to speak further on 
 this matter ; reflect upon it ; turn it over in 
 your mind.' 
 
 'I will.' 
 
 ' In the meantime I will write to you 
 
 What, Mary, only a common rose for Mr. 
 Dornay, after all this time spent in choosing it ! ' 
 
 ' A common rose, madam,' said Uncle Ealph, 
 with a bow and a smile, ' like common honesty 
 and common sense, is not so very common ; 
 and, moreover, it stands for True Love, which 
 is rarer still.'
 
 CHAPTER Y 
 
 AN OFFER OF MARRIAGE. 
 
 It seems to have escaped the notice of those 
 social teachers who are so good as to point out 
 to their fellow-creatures how to get on in the 
 world, how great a factor in that matter, some- 
 times for good, more often for evil, is rapidity 
 of action caused by the hatred of suspense. It 
 is not exactly impatience, the ' raw haste ' 
 which the poet describes as 'half-sister to 
 delay,' but the desire to know the worst or 
 the best. Though most frequently found in 
 impulsive natures, it is not peculiar to them. 
 One of the most methodical men of his time, 
 and the most successful in his calling? of all 
 time, possessed this attribute in excess. On 
 the one hand it caused him never to lose an
 
 72 THICKER THAN WATEK. 
 
 opportunity ; he ' caught the skirts of happy 
 chance ' throughout his life ; but on the other 
 he often renounced great gains in order to get 
 a matter settled and off his mind. 
 
 Mrs. Beckett, notwithstanding her boasted 
 experience of hfe, had never learnt to be patient ; 
 she had always acted more or less upon impulse, 
 and her vast wealth had increased this ten- 
 dency. Eoyal personages do not wTite when 
 they have a fancy for anything ; they telegraph 
 for it, or send a special messenger. We read 
 of Louis XIV. that on one occasion ' he had 
 almost to wait,' but the catastrophe itself was 
 averted. 
 
 No sooner had her two visitors departed 
 than the widow was consumed with a desire to 
 despatch that letter to the younger of them of 
 which she had spoken to him. ' In the mean- 
 time I will write to you,' she had said, not 
 because she had found speaking difficult, but 
 the getting an answ^er from him. She felt 
 that he had stood on his guard and parried 
 her thrusts, without absolutely becoming her
 
 AX OFFER OF MARRIAGE. 73 
 
 antagonist. He had been very careful not to 
 hurt her feelings, whereas if he had quite made 
 up his mind to reject her advances he might 
 have repelled them with a word or two, such 
 as she could have scarcely blamed him for 
 using in self-defence. It was plain to her that 
 he was in a state of indecision : on the one 
 hand well disposed for a life of ease and opu- 
 lence ; on the other, sensitive to the ridicule 
 that would attach to him for the price he 
 would have to pay for it. She did not dream 
 of having a rival in her affections ; she had 
 never heard a whisper of such a thing ; that 
 view of the case did not occur to her at all, 
 perhaps because she was secretly conscious that 
 affection — on his side at least — was not much 
 concerned in the matter. She knew that 
 Edgar liked her, and persuaded herself that 
 his liking, when he came to know the sacrifices 
 she was prepared to make for him, would turn 
 to love. But in the meantime she could 
 hardly write of the sacrifices ; she could not 
 say, ' If you marry me I will settle this and
 
 74 THICKER THAN WATEE. 
 
 that upon you absolutely, and make you 
 entirely independent of me.' She was secretly 
 conscious that he had exaggerated his tendency 
 to extravagance and his dislike to all financial 
 control, in order to dissuade her from her pur- 
 pose; but she ignored it. Her Edgar, if he 
 would be hers, should be as extravagant as' 
 he pleased, and have nothing to complain of 
 in the way of restriction. She had fallen over 
 head and ears in love vdth him. 
 
 There was certainly some disparity in their 
 ages, and that on the wrong side ; but Edgar 
 looked old for his years, while she looked 
 young, and, what was more, felt so. She had 
 had troubles, severe ones, but they had not 
 broken her spirit ; her capacity for affection 
 was as great as ever. In her first marriage she 
 had not looked for love ; in her second she had 
 looked in vain for it. It was still, as it were, 
 owed to her, and there was yet time to enjoy 
 it ; and even if it were not thoroughly recipro - 
 cated, might not her third union be as happy 
 as her first, where reciprocity had also been
 
 AX OFFER OF MARRIAGE. 75 
 
 wanting, though, in that case, from her own 
 side? At the worst she was convinced, and 
 not without reason, that Edgar Dornay would 
 never treat her ill. For her friends she had 
 arguments enough for taking this step. With 
 her enormous fortune she felt the need of a 
 protector and adviser, &c. ; she knew their 
 remonstrances would not be very strong ; and 
 as for her enemies, she could afford to defy 
 or to despise them. But the unfolding of her 
 intentions to Edgar himself was a very different 
 matter. Even the simple ' yes ' or ' no ' re- 
 quired from the blushing maiden whose hand 
 has been asked in marriage is said to be an 
 embarrassing affair. Conceive then what a 
 task lay before the ^ndow, who was herself 
 about to put the question instead of answering 
 it! And she had not even the excuse of a 
 leap-year. It was easy enough to begin ' My 
 dear Edgar,' and to end ' Yours faithfully, Kate 
 Beckett ' ; the difficulty lay in the intermediate 
 matter. 
 
 A snow-storm of torn-up letters went on in
 
 76 THICKER Til AX WATER. 
 
 the widow's boudoir before she could compose 
 one to her mind ; if it was not a pretty letter 
 after all, that may be set down to the necessity 
 of the case ; under the circumstances it was 
 perhaps as good a one as could have been 
 written. 
 
 My dear Edgar, — If we had not been 
 interrupted this morning, I had made up my 
 mind to speak to you upon a certain subject 
 about which — for suspense in this matter is in- 
 tolerable to me — I am now compelled to write. 
 It is a subject so very delicate and difficult for 
 me to touch upon, that I should not venture to 
 do so but for the confidence I feel that I am 
 not only addressing a man of honour, who will 
 respect my secret, but a man of feeling, 
 who will understand what it costs me to 
 reveal it.' 
 
 The above sentence was not composed in a 
 hurry. Even when it was written she was dis- 
 satisfied with it. She thought the expression 
 ' costs ' might remind him inopportunely of her
 
 AN OFFER OF MARRIAGE. 77 
 
 mone3\ ' It is not usual for ladies to write to 
 gentlemen upon such a topic ; my very house- 
 maid would hesitate to give to the young man 
 with whom she " keeps company " that fateful 
 ring (with 0. K. K. B. W. P. on it) which she 
 accepts from him with such alacrity ; it is 
 a woman's province to wait for her wooer. 
 Unhappily I do not share the common lot. 
 My position is an exceptional one. If I am so 
 fortunate as to have won tlie affections of an 
 honourable man, certain considerations would 
 seal his lips ; and the more worthy he is of 
 being beloved the more closely they would seal 
 them. Ever since I have known you, Edgar, I 
 have been a happier woman ' (perhaps it was 
 fortunate that their acquaintance had not been 
 a prolonged one ; it would have been mal a 
 propos under the circumstances to remind him 
 that she had known him from his childhood). 
 ' Your companionship has cheered me ; your 
 intelhgence has dehghted my mind ; and, above 
 all, your heart, or so I have flattered my- 
 self, has beaten responsively to mine. Your
 
 78 THICKER Til AX WATER. 
 
 behaviour of late, and especially to-clay, leads me 
 to believe that a mistaken sense of independ- 
 ence may have kept you silent upon a matter 
 in which your happiness may be, as mine most 
 certainly is, concerned. The inequality of our 
 fortunes may, to one of your sensitive nature, 
 have put a padlock on your tongue. That is 
 foolish, Edgar, for there is an inequahty of age 
 between us — ten years or more, I fear ' (it was 
 nearer twenty) — ' which if this matter were 
 one of bargain, which Heaven forbid, might 
 fairly be written oflf against it. If a false pride, 
 or an unfounded mistrust, prevents your speak- 
 ing to me of what is in your heart, I entreat 
 you for both our sakes to discard them. If, 
 on the other hand, I have deceived myself, it 
 is better that I should be undeceived. Your 
 generous heart will forgive a fond and foolish 
 woman who has mistaken regard for love, and 
 a natural kindliness of heart for a particular 
 inclination. 
 
 'Yours faithfully, 
 
 'Kate Beckett.'
 
 AX OFFER OF .AIARRIAGE. 79 
 
 Then came the postscript, which, though it 
 would be cynical to say it contained the pith 
 of the matter, was of considerable importance. 
 ' Whatever may be your reply to this, I trust 
 you will accept the inclosed ; if not as an 
 earnest of the many oflSces of loving-kindness I 
 hope to do for you, then as a small testimony 
 of what at all events will be a lifelong friend- 
 ship. I will only add that, instead of being 
 five hundred, I wish it were five thousand.' 
 
 Having concluded this remarkable com- 
 position, it seemed to the writer that every 
 moment it lay on her table or even in the post-t 
 office was lost time ; the possibility of the 
 Sunday intervening before Edgar could hear 
 from her was a terrible thought ; so she sent 
 the note by hand. 
 
 ' Any answer, me lady ? ' inquired the tall 
 footman to whom its custody was intrusted. 
 
 That she expected an answer we may 
 well imagine, and it was not without an in- 
 ward struggle that she replied, ' Xo ; you need 
 only leave the letter ; ' she would in truth have
 
 80 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 liked the man to have waited in the hall of the 
 Aglaia Club for her correspondent's reply. 
 
 When the letter had gone she half regretted 
 not having added another postscript, ' Please 
 acknowledge cheque ; ' not that she was solicit- 
 ous about its safety, but that it would have 
 necessitated an immediate response. Nor was 
 this wholly owing to impatience of suspense. 
 If she did not know quite as much about Mr. 
 Edgar Dornay as she thought she did, she was 
 well aware that he was a man of impulse, and 
 that her best chance of carrying his somewhat 
 slackly defended heart was by a coup de main.
 
 81 
 
 CHAPTER YI. 
 
 TWO TO ONE. 
 
 The withdrawal of Mrs. Beckett to her boudoir 
 was a matter of sorae surprise to Miss Marvon, 
 for it was not the custom of the elder lady thus 
 to seclude herself. She did not much care for 
 general society, of which she had seen enough 
 and to spare, but she liked companionship, 
 and especially that of her young friend. It 
 seemed, therefore, incumbent on her to offer 
 some sort of explanation for her late seclu- 
 sion. 
 
 ' I have been writing some letters, my dear,' 
 she said ; which was true enough, if twenty 
 copies of one letter constitute a plural. 
 
 ' Could T not have helped you, dear Mrs. 
 Beckett .P' 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 82 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 ' Well, no ; I don't think you could, ray 
 dear.' 
 
 There was a tinge of red in the widow's 
 cheek as she said so, and also a faint smile on 
 her lip, for she was not without some sense of 
 humour. ' Would it be indiscreet to inquire 
 what you and Mr. Ealph were talking about all 
 that time in the conservatory ? ' 
 
 It was Mary's turn to blush now. 
 
 ' Well, among other things, he was eloquent 
 upon the language of flowers.' 
 
 ' Indeed,' said the widow, smiling. ' I must 
 take more care of you, Mary. I had no idea 
 that you had made an impression in that 
 quarter.' 
 
 N or I,' answered the other, drily. 
 
 ' I am glad you do not take his attentions 
 very seriously, for I am afraid Mr. Ealph is 
 rather a butterfly. However, no one can deny 
 that he is very agreeable, though he always 
 rather reminds me of the poet of whom it was 
 said that he could write lines to a broomstick. 
 He is so very enthusiastic about everything, and 
 at the shortest possible notice.'
 
 TWO TO ONE. 83 
 
 Mary, who had been ahvays careful to 
 eviuce uo personal hostiUty to Uncle Ealph for 
 the very reason she had given to him, was 
 now more chary of her censure than ever. She 
 only smiled adhesion to her companion's senti- 
 ments. 
 
 ' How Charley hates him ! ' continued the 
 widow. ' It is such a pity.' 
 
 ' It is a pity, at all events, that lie shows it 
 so,' observed Mary. 
 
 'No doubt. A young man who has his 
 way to make in the world should not make 
 himself enemies.' 
 
 ' Still, Mr. Ealph Dornay tiied to snub 
 hiai.' 
 
 ' True. And, as you say, " tried " without 
 altogether succeeding in it. Charley has a cool, 
 quiet way with him, which I have often re- 
 proved, but which I confess not a little tickles 
 me. In a Minister of State it would be ad- 
 mirable, but in a young Government clerk it is 
 very impertinent. What an immense difference 
 social position makes ! Supposing a young
 
 84 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 man— I don't say Charley, but one like 
 Charley ' 
 
 ' Upon my word, dear Mrs. Beckett,' inter- 
 rupted Mary, laughing, ' I don't believe there 
 is one.' 
 
 ' I am glad to hear you say so, my dear,' 
 said the widow, significantly. 
 
 ' Oh, I didn't mean anything so very much 
 in his favour,' answered Mary, quietly ; ' we 
 were talking of his cool ways. But I am in- 
 terrupting you ; yon were supposing a young 
 man.' 
 
 ' Yes ; suppose a young man, I was about 
 to say, equal to Charley in intelligence, though 
 in another line, who should suddenly exchange 
 a moderate position for one of great wealth, 
 what a splendid future w^ould lie before 
 himl' 
 
 Mary gave a little shrug of her shoulders. 
 
 ' That depends, my dear Mrs. Beckett. Of 
 course, as you have just said, his liveliness 
 would pass for wit, and his talents for genius ; 
 but the motive for exerting himself would be
 
 TWO TO ONE. 85 
 
 taken from him. Being in the lap of luxury, 
 there is a temptation to sit there, and take 
 what the gods provide one in a golden 
 spoon.' 
 
 ' Yet it would surely be a spur to his am- 
 bition to feel that, with the advantages he has 
 become possessed of, almost anything would be 
 within his grasp. In a man of moderate means, 
 however able, the sense of the impossibility of 
 success crushes endeavour. In a general wav, 
 you know, I am rather a sentimental person, 
 but, for the reason I have just given, I do not 
 think that clever young men should marry 
 penniless girls.' 
 
 ' Perhaps not,' said Mary, gravely. ' You 
 presume, however, that the alternative is given 
 them of marrying for money.' 
 
 ' Let us say marrying money. Why should 
 we say " for " money because a man marries a 
 woman who happens to possess it .^ Of course 
 there must be the alternative. If Charley, for 
 instance, had had any chance of winning an 
 heiress, I am not sure, my dear, notwithstanding
 
 S6 THICKEE THAN WATER, 
 
 my higli opinion of you, that I should have 
 recommended him to your attention.' 
 
 ' Then I wish he had had the chance,' said 
 Mary, smiling. She could speak lightly enough 
 of Charley ; but some one else had been 
 brought to her mind by her companion's words, 
 of whom she could not so speak. The thoughts 
 of both ladies, without any mutual conscious- 
 ness of the fact, had been dwelling on the same 
 man. The case Mrs. Beckett had been suppos- 
 ing was that of Edgar Dornay ; and it had 
 suggested to Mary whether her encouragement 
 of that young man's attentions might not be 
 an act of selfishness which would smother an 
 honourable ambition, and cut him ofi* from pos- 
 sibilities of greatness. It was a very delicate 
 scruple, for, beyond the recommendation of a 
 change of colour in the decoration of Mrs. 
 Beckett's boudoir, Mr. Edgar Dornay had at 
 present efiected no particular intellectual re- 
 volution, nor, indeed, accomplished anything 
 which the world would not have willingly let 
 die.
 
 TWO TO OXE. 87 
 
 ' I never denied that Charley had his foiihs. 
 my dear,' continued Mrs. Beckett, forgetting 
 her role as advocate of Charley's cause, and 
 only using him as a perch from which to fly to 
 the subject \vhich was monopolising her mind ; 
 ' his prejudices, for example, are often as strong 
 as they are groundless. I don't believe, for 
 example, he likes Edgar himself one bit better 
 than he likes his uncle.' 
 
 'I don't think he quite understands his 
 character,' observed Mary, with a show of 
 indifference. 
 
 ' He doesn't give himself the trouble to 
 study it,' said the wddow, vehemently. 
 
 ' It 's a great pity,' observed Mary, gently. 
 
 ' I call it abominable of him,' continued the 
 widow. ' The way in which he jumped from 
 his seat when our other visitors entered the 
 room to-day, and murmured something about 
 *' another engagement," was too transparently 
 indecent. One would have thought they had 
 had the small-pox out upon them.' 
 
 ' They did interrupt his story, however,'
 
 88 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 said Mary, apologetically. Her sympathies were 
 always 'retained for the defence,' and, more- 
 over, she was anxious to turn the conversation 
 from its present topic. She loved to think 
 about Edgar Dornay — indeed, she thought 
 about him whether she would or no — quite as 
 much as her companion ; but, unhke her, she 
 was averse to speak about him. ' I confess I 
 was very much interested about the giant at 
 Letcombe Dottrell. What a curious person Mr. 
 Paton must be ! ' 
 
 ' Curious is no word for him, my dear. He 
 is as mad about some things as a March hare ; 
 but, being so very rich, he is only considered 
 eccentric' 
 
 ' But I have always heard he was very 
 benevolent.' 
 
 ' Well, yes ; except in one particular direc- 
 tion. In that respect he is like Howard the 
 philanthropist, who liked everybody except his 
 own flesh and blood.' 
 
 'Why, I understood Mr. Paton had no 
 relations ! '
 
 TWO TO OXE. 8y 
 
 ' Nor has he any near ones. But he once 
 had an only son. " A Uttle more than kin, and 
 less than kind," should be the family motto, for 
 they two hated one another like poison,' 
 
 ' How shocking ! ' 
 
 ' It was indeed ; I don't know who was to 
 blame for it in the first instance ; but the breach 
 grew wilder and wider, till there was no bridging 
 it over. At last the son ran away with a young- 
 woman very inferior to him in social station — 
 the villaore oro^anist — which caused a dreadful 
 scandal.' 
 
 ' That is the sort of marriage which the 
 world is slowest to forgive,' sighed Mary, 
 thoughtfully. 'I suppose the world is right, 
 but it seems very hard.' 
 
 ' In this case its forgiveness was not re- 
 quired,' observed the widow, drily, ' for they 
 were never married at all. For all tliat, how- 
 ever, young Henry Paton stuck to the girl in a 
 certain fashion — not that he could have really 
 loved her, for he ill-treated her, and, in tlie end, 
 deserted her ; but he would never marry any
 
 90 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 one else. He declined to form an alliance 
 which would have been at least respectable, 
 and on w^hich his father insisted as the basis 
 of their reconciliation. And, last of all, he 
 crowned his enormities (for I assure you they 
 were not mere peccadilloes) by trying to put 
 his father into a lunatic asylum, which he very 
 nearly accomplished.' 
 
 ' What a terrible history ! ' exclaimed the 
 girl. ' And is the young man dead ? ' 
 
 ' Yes. He was killed in some drunken 
 brawl in New York, and mourned by no one 
 except by his poor mother.' 
 
 ' She is alive, then ? ' 
 
 ' Yes ; and as good a woman as ever 
 breathed. Mr. Paton, too, to do him justice, is 
 the kindest of husbands ; but he has forbidden 
 her ever to mention her son's name to him. 
 What was at first mere heat against him, in the 
 end turned to hate, so that his very memory is 
 loathsome to him. What is stranger than all, 
 this vehemence of detestation has affected the 
 old man's general views of life. Naturally of a
 
 TWO TO OXE. 91 
 
 most tender and sympathising disposition, he 
 -wdll never admit the tie of blood as a motive 
 for affection. He looks upon relations as 
 humourists depict mothers-in-law, while, on 
 the other hand, his great house is full of living 
 objects of benevolence, not always chosen with 
 good judgment. Charley called them, if you 
 remember, " the Happy Family " — poets, 
 painters, inventors, and all the intellectual 
 tagrag and bobtail who are always on the 
 look-out for money and a patron.' 
 
 ' How very curious ! And do you know 
 this Mr. Paton ? ' 
 
 ' A little. He had some acquaintance at 
 one time ' — here the widow pressed her lips 
 together — 'with my second husband. Mr. 
 Eennie has been his man of business for years, 
 and your friend, Mrs. Sotheran, of course, is 
 very intimate at Letcombe Hall, since she lives 
 in the same parish.' 
 
 ' And yet she has never mentioned to me 
 one word about Mr. Paton,' said Mary ; ' I 
 have only heard of him from others.'
 
 92 THICKER THAN WATER, 
 
 ' How curious ! —Thanks.' This to the 
 servant, who had just placed a letter in his 
 mistress's hand. A glance at the address was 
 sufficient to tell her from whom it came. It 
 was the one she had been expecting with such 
 impatience, but she had certainly no right to 
 complain upon the score of delay. It was not 
 yet dinner time, and her own letter had not 
 been despatched more than two hours. She 
 argued favourably (from what she knew of 
 Edgar's character) from this prompt reply. 
 At all events, she held in her hand the key of 
 her future happiness, or, let us say, discontent, 
 for misery would certainly be too strong a 
 word. 
 
 The moment was a supreme one, but then 
 she was not unaccustomed to such supreme 
 moments. Moreover, as we get on in years, 
 all moments (save that in which death is 
 beckoning to some dear one, true and tried) 
 become less supreme. There was a ' catch ' in 
 her breath, but her face showed nothing of the 
 anxiety that consumed her. If it had done
 
 TWO TO OXE. 93 
 
 SO, however, her companion would not have 
 observed it. Her thoughts, attracted for the 
 moment by the sad domestic history to which 
 she had just been hstening, had already re- 
 verted to more personal affairs — not exactly 
 her own affairs, though her own were bound 
 up in them. Mary Marvon used a very rare — 
 though, among women, a not unexampled — 
 system of notation. With her Number One 
 was not always first, and was sometimes 
 naught. She had every reason to believe, 
 short of an actual offer of marriage, that Edgar 
 Dornay proposed to make her his wife. She 
 had liked him — even, perhaps, what is called 
 fallen in love with him — from the first, but she 
 had kept that fact carefully locked up in her 
 own heart. She had given him no sort of 
 encouragement, but had behaved to him 
 exactly as she behaved to Mrs. Beckett's other 
 visitors ; not, indeed, with the humility often 
 used by persons in her position, for nature had 
 not fitted her for the conventional role of a 
 ' companion,' but certainly with no forward
 
 94 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 assurance. On the contrary, she had put a 
 constraint upon herself when in his company, 
 and rephed to him whenever he had addressed 
 her with studied reticence. He had pushed 
 aside this veil with his own hands, had sought 
 her out, though with no demonstration of 
 manner, in her modest retirement, and had 
 won her heart. 
 
 He was not, however, quite sure that he 
 had won it, nor had she quite made up her 
 mind to give it him. Her hesitation arose 
 solely upon his own account. In one point of 
 view — the most common one — she was without 
 doubt a bad match for him. She could give 
 him nothing but her love. Nay, as ^Irs. 
 Beckett had just been unconsciously pointing 
 out, she might be not even a plus at all, but a 
 minus. His union with her might take away 
 from him certain opportunities. They did not 
 present themselves to her in the precise form 
 that they had appeared to her friend ; she 
 could not picture the man of her choice 
 marrying for money, but she could understand
 
 TWO TO ONE. 95 
 
 that her poverty might be a check upon his 
 advancement in hfe. His parents were dead, 
 and he had no one but his own wishes to 
 consult in the matter — unless Uncle Ealph 
 might be considered in a paternal light, an 
 idea which she rejected ^vith some contempt. 
 But this very freedom of choice increased her 
 hesitation. It behoved her all the more not to 
 take advantage of this uncontrolled attachment 
 to his own hurt What the world might say 
 of it would be a very small thing to her in 
 comparison with what her own conscience 
 might say. It did not enter into her considera- 
 tion at all — what Mrs. Beckett, on the other 
 hand, saw very clearly — that Edgar Dornay 
 was of that impulsive and indecisive nature 
 which needs, above all others, alHance with a 
 firm, unwavering one ; that a wife such as 
 Mary Marvon would, in fact, to a young 
 gentleman of his incompleteness be ' thie 
 making of him.' But, in spite of all her 
 doubts, she had a secret conviction in her 
 heart that she could make him a happy man.
 
 96 THICKER THAX WATER. 
 
 She was not so absolutely ignorant of 
 human nature as to suppose this sort of love 
 was reciprocated, but she believed that Edgar 
 loved her as truly and unselfishly as man could 
 do. It was most fortunate for her hostess that 
 Mary was thus sunk in reflection, for with 
 Edgar Dornay's letter in her hand Mrs. Beckett 
 felt very unequal to conversation. If her 
 young friend had looked up at that critical 
 moment with the very natural observation, for 
 example, ' Who is your correspondent ? ' one 
 can hardly imagine what would have happened, 
 though it is just possible, I fear, that she might 
 have replied, ' Only a bill, dear,' with the most 
 innocent smile in the world. 
 
 Before conversation was resumed, however, 
 the dressing gong began to boom through the 
 house, which afforded her an excuse for retreat 
 with all the honours of truth.
 
 CHAPTEE Vn. 
 A fool's paradise. 
 
 Even in the seclusion of her own apartment 
 the widow did not tear open her Edgar's letter 
 and greedily devour it with her eyes ; nor, as a 
 matter of fact, perhaps, is that course of action 
 the usual one in such cases except upon the 
 stage, where one has to consider the conditions 
 of distance — the gallery. In real life such 
 treatment is only applied to telegrams. When 
 a woman, especially, has a billet-doux in her 
 hand, or what she hopes will prove one, she is 
 in no hurry, however impatient may be her 
 natural disposition, to become possessed of its 
 contents ; and this is more particidarly the 
 case when she has good reason to believe them 
 to be agreeable. 
 
 VOL. L H
 
 98 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 That the cheque had not come back Mrs. 
 Beckett had assured herself by the ordeal of 
 touch ; her delicate fingers had weighed the 
 missive and decided that it was too hght to 
 contain an inclosure. If her Edgar had kept 
 the cheque she felt that he was secured to her, 
 or, as brutal mai^ would have expressed it, 
 ' sold ' ; for, though she had urged his accept- 
 ance of it in any case, she knew that there was 
 in reality no alternative for him. 
 
 As she gazed on his handwriting her 
 thoughts reverted to the day, now thirty years 
 aoo, when her father had placed a similar 
 letter in her hand with the quiet remark, 
 ' This is from Sir Eobert, my darhng ; you will 
 do as you please about it.' 
 
 How diflferent were her present feelings ! 
 It seemed to her as she compared her ' now ' 
 and ' then ' that she could scarcely be the same 
 woman. Her second offer had been made by 
 word of mouth ; and how differently again had 
 that proposal been received ! With what 
 rapture had she heard it ! With what
 
 A fool's p.\radise. 99 
 
 promise it had seemed to blossom, and how, 
 alas, that blossom had withered ere it ever 
 grew to bud ! She could not conceal from lier- 
 self that there was no such blossom now ; yet 
 if there was less to win — and there was less, 
 much less — she on her part had less to lose. 
 
 ' My dear Mrs. Beckett, — Your kind letter 
 has affected me beyond measure. I feel I am 
 not worthy of your love, but 1 hope to become 
 worthy of it. I am compelled to spend to- 
 morrow at Brighton, but I shall be with you at 
 three o'clock on Monday, when I shall trust \i^ 
 find you alone. 
 
 ' Ever yours affectionately, 
 
 ' Edgar Dorxay.' 
 
 'X.B. — Cheque received.' 
 
 If the letter was not all that the widow 
 could wish, it was without doubt an acceptance 
 of her proposal ; if it did not fulfil her expec- 
 tations, it removed from her all apprehensions 
 of disappointment ; nay, it realised her hopes : 
 but she didn't like his putting off his visit till 
 H 2
 
 100 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 Monday. Why should he not have come on 
 Sunday? Even supposing he had a previous 
 engagement for that day, why should he not 
 have cancelled it ? Was he not now engaged 
 to her? The notion of Mr. Edgar Dornay's 
 having any coDscientious scruples concerning 
 Sunday did not, I regret to say, enter into her 
 mind. What, however, she resented a great 
 deal more was Edgar's postscript, ' Cheque 
 received,' which seemed almost to have a 
 double signification for her. Her first act, 
 indeed, was to produce a pair of golden 
 scissors — one of a set of implements fitted into 
 a sea shell, such as Aplirodite might have 
 used at a marine Dorcas Society — and cut that 
 neatly out. The note looked a little shorter, but 
 much sweeter, without that little addition. 
 
 Mrs. Beckett had not only overlived her 
 illusions, but had, what very few women 
 possess, a due sense of proportion. She 
 acknowledged to herself that concerning the 
 matter between herself and ' another ' — so her 
 dividends expressed it — she had got decidedly
 
 A fool's paradise. 101 
 
 the best of it. If Mr. Charles Sotheran, whom, 
 to do her justice, she would have no more 
 thought of as a husband than of marrying her 
 grandson, had been in the place of Mr. Edgar 
 Dornay, she would have taken a different view 
 of the affair ; the obligation would, in that 
 case, have seemed to lie on the other side. 
 His circumstances were such that, to use a 
 homely but very sigaificant expression, he 
 might well have 'jumped at' such an offer. 
 But Edgar Dornay was well born, in possession 
 of moderate means, and had made for himself 
 a certain position in the world. She was not 
 only very pleased that he had accepted her 
 proposal, but grateful. It was impossible for 
 him of course to speak of ' terms,' but she at 
 once resolved that they should be made as 
 much to his liking as possible. Her first idea 
 — the idea of a woman in love, but one which 
 fitted also with the natural generosity of her 
 disposition — was to make him independent of 
 her. And it was not enough for her to tell 
 him her intentions ; she wished to be able to
 
 102 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 assure him that they were already in process 
 of being carried out. This was a notion that 
 would never of course have entered into the 
 head of a young girl ; but in her case it had a 
 certain pathos in it — it was a tacit confession 
 that she knew she was not loved for herself 
 alone. If the other reason for which he loved 
 Jier should be strengthened, would he not then 
 love her more ? There was at least nothing 
 sordid in such an act of voluntary munificence. 
 
 She dashed off three lines to her man of 
 business, Mr. Eennie, to request his attendance 
 on her after breakfast on Monday morning : 
 ' Come to breakfast if you can,' she added im- 
 pulsively, ' though I am afraid our hour (9.30) 
 will be a little late for you.' Then she went 
 down to dinner in the highest spirits. 
 
 There are some unphilosophic persons who 
 do not much believe in the chastening influence 
 of adversity ; who confess that they are never 
 so unsympathetic as when they are in low 
 spirits, and that melancholy and moroseness are 
 with them synonymous terms. We admire
 
 103 
 
 their candour, but pity the httleness of their 
 iniuds. Still, it must be acknowledged that 
 when folks are in good luck they iire more 
 agreeable as companions than when the}" are 
 depressed ; kindly natures expand under the 
 influence of crood fortune, and are very willinii; 
 that their fellow-creatures sliould share, or at 
 all events receive the overplus of it. Mrs. 
 Beckett had been always kind to her young 
 companion, but never had she borne herself so 
 warmly towards her as on the present occasion ; 
 in the famiharity of their conversation when they 
 had gone up to the drawing-room, she even 
 ventured once more to hint at the subject of 
 Mary's settling in Kfe, though without any 
 direct reference to the husband she had chosen 
 for her. 
 
 ' You are very young still, my dear, it is 
 quite true ; but age is relative ; to a girl of 
 fortune it is of small consequence, but, to one 
 with small means, every year after she becomes 
 marriageable is twelve months lost.* 
 
 'I have never heard the value of time
 
 104 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 pointed out with such particularity,' said Mary, 
 smiling. 
 
 ' My dear, I am quite serious ; it is the 
 fact,' returned the widow, earnestly ; ' and I 
 need not tell you, Mary, that whomsoever you 
 may choose for a husband — though you know 
 my especial wishes in that matter — I shall take 
 care that you do not go to him without a 
 dowry.' 
 
 ' You are very good and very kind,' said 
 Mary, with a faint flush ; she was used to hints 
 of the widow's intentions towards her which 
 had at first made her very uncomfortable ; 
 there was something in her nature which re- 
 volted against them, though she had found 
 from experience that it was better to pass them 
 lightly by. ' But unless, my dear Mrs. Beckett, 
 your generosity partakes of the nature of what 
 Mr. Eennie was trying to explain to us the 
 other day, a time bargain, or that you want to 
 get rid of me as soon as possible ' 
 
 'Nay, nay,' interrupted the widow, 'you 
 know I don't mean that.' She was conscious.
 
 A fool's paradise. 105 
 
 however — under the new conditions of her 
 hfe that was to be — of having contemplated 
 Mary's departure as a possibihty. Xo idea of 
 jealousy had crossed her mind, but it had 
 occurred to her that when she became Mrs. 
 Dornay, not only would Mary's office become 
 a sinecure, but that there would be something 
 embarrassing in her presence. In the case of 
 turtle doves, however roomy their nest may 
 be, the happy pair, or the female at all events, 
 prefers it to be free from lodgers. ' My house 
 will always be your home, Mary, but circum- 
 stances may alter as regards myself — I may not 
 be in a position — nobody knows what may 
 happen.' 
 
 The widow was in a quagmire, in which 
 her struggles to escape only sank her the 
 deeper ; she felt she had gone too far in hint- 
 ing at any alteration in her mode of life, and 
 she did not know liow to erase the impression 
 her words might have conveyed. 
 
 Mary, however, was quite innocent of all 
 suspicion. She thought Mrs. Beckett was
 
 106 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 referring to the uncertainties of human hfe. ' It 
 will be long indeed, I hope, and have every 
 reason to believe,' she answered earnestly, 
 ' before I need to come to any resolution on 
 that account.' 
 
 The widow bit her lip and was silent. It 
 was possible, had Mary given her any en- 
 couragement, that she might have made a 
 confidante of her then and there ; but under 
 present circumstances that was out of the 
 question. It was certainly very unpleasant 
 that the idea of change in her condition had 
 only associated itself in Mary's mind with her 
 decease. She would take care to let Mr. 
 Eeunie understand that she had sent for him 
 with quite other views than to give him her 
 testamentary instructions. 
 
 ' I know you hate to perform in public, 
 Mary,' she said with some abruptness (it was 
 the one thing in Mrs. Beckett's manner which 
 now and then betrayed the relative positions 
 occupied by Miss Marvon and herself), ' but
 
 A fool's paradise. 107 
 
 since we are quite alone, perhaps you will play 
 something on the piano.' 
 
 It was an elastic request, and Mary took 
 full advantage of it, for music was her delight. 
 She played piece after piece, now grave, now 
 gay, and at the end of each the widow mur- 
 mured, ' That is indeed a treat,' or ' Thank 
 you,' or ' How charming ! ' But what was 
 played was in fact only the accompaniment, 
 more or less suitable, to her own thoughts. 
 
 When Mary's fingers evoked pathos, Mrs. 
 Beckett's mind reverted to her girlhood, so 
 long past and gone ; to the simple pleasures of her 
 youth, and to its dreams ; which, though great 
 things had befallen her, had been far indeed 
 from being realised. When the strain grew 
 sombre her middle life passed once more 
 before her, haunted by the ghost of love, and 
 shadowed by a hated presence. When the 
 tune was bright and joyous, she painted her 
 future in bright colours, and likened the re- 
 mainder of her days to an Indian summer.
 
 108 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 But as to whether Beethoven was being played, 
 or Mozart, or Chopin, the widow neither knew 
 nor cared, so long as the notes were not so 
 loud as to interfere with her own reflections. 
 And so it is with a good many other people 
 who affect to ' doat on music'
 
 109 
 
 CHAPTER YIII. 
 
 MR. EENXIE's instructions. 
 
 The next day was Sunday, a dies non ; the day 
 of all days — since in well-regulated establish- 
 ments no work is permitted — on which sus- 
 pense is most intolerable. Again and again 
 did ]\lrs. Beckett congratulate herself that she 
 had taken time by the forelock, and secured 
 her Edgar's reply. How dreadful it would 
 have been to have pictured him at Brighton, 
 ignorant of her devotion to him, and — it 
 was really within the bounds of possibihty — 
 flirting with somebody else ! Even as it was, 
 the day was a very long one, and contrary to 
 her custom she went twice to church, not so 
 much, however, with the idea of special thanks- 
 giving as of withdrawing her mind from its
 
 110 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 monopolising topic. The preacher was elo- 
 quent and fashionable, but it is doubtful 
 whether he succeeded in producing in her that 
 description of meditation which, above all 
 others, should be ' fancy free.' 
 
 Contrary to the widow's expectations, Mr. 
 Eennie arrived at the breakfast hour on Monday 
 morning. The lawyer was a man of slight, 
 almost insignificant figure, young for his years, 
 which were verging on sixty ; but with an 
 astute and intelligent face. His eyes, blue and 
 keen as a sword blade, like it were kept in 
 scabbard until there was need for them. Their 
 lids were usually pressed so close together that 
 it was a wonder he saw out of them. The 
 habit was ascribed to near-sightedness, an idea 
 which he was very far from wishing to combat. 
 The peculiarity had arisen perhaps in trick, but 
 he had found it useful to him. When he 
 heard things from his clients (and he sometimes 
 did) which would have opened ordinary eyes 
 very wide indeed, they only lifted his lashes a 
 little. Nothing seemed to astonish him. On
 
 MR. renxie's ixstructions. Ill 
 
 the other hand, he sometimes astonished others ; 
 on occasions which demanded their exhibition, 
 some folks knew that he could open his eyes to 
 some purpose, when their effect was that of a 
 policeman's bull's-eye suddenly turned on a 
 detected thief. Mr. Eennie was an old bachelor, 
 and his manners were of the old school of 
 politeness : his behaviour to women, always 
 kindly but mingled with a certain respect, was 
 quite different from the affected devotion dis- 
 played to them by men of fashion ; his ways 
 with men were various, but he had a general 
 reputation for something more than mere scru- 
 pulous integrity ; a man of honour first and a 
 lawyer afterwards. His business was mainly 
 confined to the affairs of great families, and the 
 administration of large estates ; but he had 
 been known to give valuable advice to persons 
 of comparative insignificance, and, what was 
 more, in a very unprofessional manner — with- 
 out a fee. Mrs. Beckett adored him, and told 
 him so ; just a little to his alarm. A woman 
 who had buried two husbands was, he thouorht,
 
 112 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 capable of reverting to first principles in the 
 way of matrimony, and of capturing the third 
 by force. But on the whole he liked her ; and 
 not least for her treatment of Mary Marvon. 
 He had seen a great deal of the dependants of 
 the great, and they did not impress him favour- 
 ably ; but in this young lady he recognised 
 modesty without subservience, and an unflinch- 
 ing self-respect. 
 
 ' This is a compliment indeed, Mr. Eennie,' 
 were the widow's first words of welcome. ' I 
 never thought you would come to breakfast.' 
 
 ' It is almost as dangerous to give an 
 invitation, madam, under the impression that 
 it will not be accepted,' was his reply, ' as to 
 back a bill under the contrary impression. 
 You seem to have made every preparation, 
 however, for my entertainment.' 
 
 ' There are some cutlets and fish ; oh, I see 
 what you mean ; why, of course there is Mary.' 
 The lawyer was shaking hands with her with 
 something more than his usual politeness. ' I 
 knew you would never dare to take breakfast
 
 113 
 
 with me alone. Under pretence of being my 
 chaperon, or sheep dog, every one knows that 
 Mary is here for the protection of the public' 
 
 ' Quis custodiet ? ' murmured the lawyer, 
 with a glance of pity towards the orphan girl. 
 
 ' What do you say, sir ? ' inquired the 
 widow, sharply. ' I always suspect the dead 
 lancruacres.' 
 
 o o 
 
 ' I was merely quoting a legal phrase, my 
 dear madam, with reference to the custody of 
 infants. By-the-by, I have been having some 
 correspondence ^dth our friend Mr. Peyton that 
 would surprise you. What do you think of an 
 infant nine feet high ? ' 
 
 ' The giant ! Oh, we 've heard of him ! ' 
 exclaimed Mary, laughing. - 
 
 'Well, he's a minor, and since it was 
 through Mr. Peyton's ad\^ce that he threw up 
 his engagement, my client thinks he is respon- 
 sible for his future. As he shakes the pillars 
 of domestic peace at the Hall — and, indeed, 
 the Hall too — it has become necessar}- to place 
 him somewhere else, and I have been offering 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 114 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 premiums to proprietors of travelling shows to 
 take him. Never was a respectable family 
 solicitor placed in such a false position.' 
 
 ' The mention of Mr. Eennie's profession, 
 Mary,' observed the widow, ' which nobody, I 
 am sure, would ever guess, unless he referred 
 to it ' 
 
 ' Now, do you really expect me to take 
 that as a compliment, Mrs. Beckett ? ' inter- 
 posed the lawyer. 
 
 ' The mention of his profession,' continued 
 the widow, ' reminds me that he has come here 
 professionally, and that I must deny myseK the 
 pleasure of your company this morning ; but 
 you can have the carriage, of course, as usual.' 
 
 ' Thank you, dear Mrs. Beckett, but I had 
 much rather walk.' 
 
 'Then take Simmons with you, I beg, my 
 dear : you are much too young and pretty to 
 go without a maid.' 
 
 ' I would much prefer Alexander,' said 
 Mary. 
 
 ^ Now did you ever know such a girl, Mr.
 
 MR. rexxie's ixstructioxs. 115 
 
 Eennie ? ' exclaimed the widow, appealingly. 
 ' She prefers walking to driving, and the com 
 pany of Alexander to that of Simmons.' 
 
 ' It depends upon who Alexander is,' ob- 
 served the lawyer, judicially. 'If he's an 
 attractive young man ' 
 
 ' It is a dog, my dear sir ; it 's Mr. Beckett's 
 old St. Bernard.' 
 
 ' Oh, indeed ! One of those animals who 
 go about with a bottle of Chartreuse — no, by- 
 the-by, that's the other monastery — of brandy 
 round their necks, and save people in the 
 snow. In winter a most admirable companion, 
 but in summer I should have thought ' 
 
 'He is charmincr at all times,' laughed 
 Mary, rising from her seat ; ' I 've not had a 
 walk with him for weeks, so that we shall have 
 lots to say to one another.' 
 
 And with a pretty curtsey and a pleasant 
 smile she left the seniors to their conversation. 
 
 ' That's a good girl, I'm sure,' observed the 
 lawyer, when the young lady had left the 
 room.
 
 116 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 ' An excellent girl,' assented Mrs. Beckett, 
 warmly ; ' she is quite like a younger sister to 
 me.' 
 
 'Without the little jealousies and an- 
 tagonisms which relations sometimes give rise 
 to, eh ? ' observed Mr. Eennie, slily. 
 
 ' Upon my word, you 're as bad as Mr. 
 Peyton,' exclaimed the widow. ' I suppose that 
 is why you lawyers get such a bad character : 
 you mix with such queer clients and catch 
 their complaints.' 
 
 ' Yes, that's it. We go about doing good 
 at all risks.' 
 
 ' Well, I want you to do some good to-day, 
 or rather to put me, as your client, in the way 
 of doing it. I particularly wish to benefit a 
 certain person — who shall remain nameless, if 
 you please, for the present — pecuniarily. I 
 wish that person, though closely connected 
 with me, to be made independent of me, no 
 matter what may happen as regards change of 
 circumstances, or even of feehng in myself.' 
 
 'A very generous proposition,' observed
 
 MR. REyNIE'S INSTRUCTIONS 117 
 
 the lawyer, stirring his tea, and thinking to 
 himself, ' Now she is going to provide for that 
 young girl. A very good thing too. Com- 
 panionship is no inheritance, and one woman's 
 affection for another is never to be depended 
 on ; though it looks as firm as the solid 
 earth, there is always a possibihty of a land- 
 slip.' 
 
 As Mrs. Beckett remained silent, he looked 
 up at her through his screwed-up eyes and 
 nodded encouragement. The widow was 
 blushing, and pursuing a peach stone across 
 her plate with a trembling finger — a sign of 
 embarrassment which by no means astonished 
 the lawyer. People, in his experience, wTre 
 generally more ashamed of their benevolent 
 intentions, especially if they were of a Quixotic 
 character, than of their revenges. 
 
 ' A highly laudable idea,' he continued, ' if 
 one is only assured, w^hich, no doubt, you are 
 in this case, of the worthiness of the individual 
 to be benefited.' 
 
 ' I have every confidence in the person in
 
 118 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 question, Mr. Eennie. Perhaps, without beat- 
 ing about the bush, it may be as well to state 
 to you, of course in the strictest confidence, 
 that the person I have in my mind is my 
 future husband.' 
 
 For the moment Mr. Eennie forgot his 
 office and even himself. He opened his eyes 
 to their fullest extent, not in reproof, as usual, 
 but in sheer amazement. 
 
 ' Alexander has gone out with Miss Mar- 
 von,' said the widow, severely. 
 
 ' Alexander, my dear madam ? ' stammered 
 the other. 
 
 ' Yes — the dog. I thought you whistled, 
 sir.' And, indeed, it was true that the least 
 ghost of a whistle had somehow escaped from 
 the old lawyer's lips. 
 
 ' Good heavens, madam ! nothing was 
 further from my thoughts. It is no whistling 
 matter.' 
 
 'So I should hope,' returned the widow, 
 implacably ; she was very much offended. 
 
 'Thank heavens, it isn't me; that's one
 
 MR. renxie's ixstructioxs. 119 
 
 comfort,' was the lawyer's reflection, which 
 assisted hiiii in summoning a gentle smile. 
 
 ' If I have exhibited any amazement, my 
 dear ^Irs. Beckett,' he said, ' it was from the 
 consideration of your great courage and con- 
 fidence in human nature.' 
 
 ' I think I am old enough to know my own 
 mind, Mr. Eennie.' 
 
 ' I don't know as to that. A woman, they 
 say, is as old as she looks, in which case I 
 must needs doubt your judgment.' 
 
 ' I am glad you have something civil to say 
 at last.' 
 
 ' Civil ! My dear Mrs. Beckett, you must 
 be well aware that my feelings towards you 
 are not those of a mere acquaintance, or even 
 such as should exist between lawyer and client.' 
 
 ' You would not have dared to say that ten 
 minutes ago,' smiled the widow, who had by 
 this time recovered, not only her self-possession, 
 but her good-humour ; from which it may be 
 gathered that she was not absolutely im- 
 pervious to flattery.
 
 120 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 ' Well, I clare to say it now ; and some- 
 thing more. On one occasion, when I had 
 had the opportunity of being of service to you, 
 you were graciously pleased to call me your 
 guardian.' 
 
 ' I went further, and said " guardian 
 angel," ' put in Mrs. Beckett, frankly, but with 
 a tinge of colour. He was referring to a cer- 
 tain time when his advice had restrained her 
 from placing what would have been a most ill- 
 judged confidence in her late husband. 
 
 ' As your friend and well-wisher, at all 
 events,' pursued the lawyer, modestly, 'it is 
 my duty now to point out to you that your 
 position is a very exceptional one. The 
 gentleman you have in your mind you will 
 make not only your husband, but a prince 
 consort.' 
 
 ' And how do you know that he is not a 
 prince already ? ' inquired the widow, smihng. 
 
 The question was a little embarrassing, for 
 the man Mr. Eennie had in his mind was cer- 
 tainly not a prince, nor at all like one, being in
 
 MR. rejs'nie's instructions. 121 
 
 fart no other than Mr. Ealph Dornay. He 
 knew tliat he was intimate at the house, and 
 thought him just the sort of calculating hum- 
 bug to have learnt the length of Mi^s. Beckett's 
 foot. 
 
 ' If he had been a prince I think you would 
 have called him a personage and not a person,' 
 returned the lawyer, dexterously. 
 
 'He is a prince to me,' said the widow, 
 gently ; ' to us women all men seem so while 
 they are our lovers.' 
 
 ' I suppose they do,' observed the lawyer, 
 drily. He was considering whether, even to 
 his betrothed, ^Ir. Ealpli Dornay could appear 
 to possess any princely attributes. 
 
 ' This is a matter, Mr. Eennie,' continued 
 the widow, stung by his cynical tone, ' in 
 which I have no need of advice, except pro- 
 fessionally. My mind is quite made up as to 
 the main question.' 
 
 The lawyer bowed, and took a pinch of 
 snuff: it was the only vice of which he had 
 ever been accused — or at least convicted.
 
 122 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 ' I am here, my dear madam, to obey your 
 instructions. You wish, as I understand, that 
 this fortunate gentleman should enjoy a hand- 
 some life interest in your estate.' 
 
 ' That is of course. It is the usual arrange- 
 ment, is it not ? ' 
 
 'It is a common one, but by no means 
 without exception. In such a case as yours, a 
 woman's fortune is settled upon her and her 
 children, but, if she wishes it, a sufficient 
 income is reserved to her husband should he 
 survive her.' 
 
 ' Well, you can draw up the settlement ; 
 but I wish a certain sum to be gi\en abso- 
 lutely to my husband on the day of our mar- 
 riage ; fifty thousand pounds.' 
 
 ' My dear Mrs. Beckett ! ' 
 
 ' Such are my wishes ; be so good as to 
 embody them in — I don't know how to express 
 myself technically — but I know what I want to 
 have done.' 
 
 Mr. Eennie smiled as though he had no 
 doubt of that.
 
 MR. rexxie's ixstructioxs. 123 
 
 ' I suppose as regards the lump sum a 
 deed of gift will be necessary ? ' continued 
 the widow. 
 
 ' Not at all. There will be certain pre- 
 liminary arrangements, and then you have only 
 to sign a cheque.' 
 
 The widow's eyes sparkled with pleasure. 
 To place a cheque for 50,000/. in the hands of 
 her intended w^ould be, she felt, an enormous 
 pleasure to her. 
 
 ' A draft of your instructions shall be pre- 
 pared for your approval,' resumed the lawyer, 
 who had no mtention of precipitating matters. 
 ' Is there anything — or any one else — you wish 
 to mention ? ' 
 
 Since cheques for 50,000/. were flying about, 
 it struck the kind-hearted lawyer that Mary 
 Marvon might well be brought to his chent's 
 remembrance before Mr. Ealph Dornay came 
 into his kingdom, after which her chance would 
 be small indeed. 
 
 ' No,' said the widow, thoughtfidly. ' No- 
 thin cr else occurs to me. You will not be lono-
 
 124 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 about it, I conclude ; it is all so very 
 simple.' 
 
 ' Very,' assented the lawyer, without moving 
 a muscle ; but his eyes, if he had been so 
 foolish as to open them, would have betrayed 
 the satire. 
 
 ' Then it could be done at once, in half an 
 hour ? ' 
 
 'What? The deed? The settlement ? ' 
 The idea of despatch is to a lawyer always 
 hateful ; but the suggestion of tying- up a pro- 
 perty like Mrs. Beckett's — as if it had been a 
 brown-paper parcel — in half an hour, sounded 
 to Mr. Rennie like a blasphemy in the ears of 
 a bishop. 
 
 ' I don't mean that, but I should like 
 to have a note of my intentions drawn out 
 in a proper manner, for my own satisfac- 
 tion.' 
 
 ' What she means,' said the lawyer to him- 
 self, ' is for private exhibition. She thinks it 
 will bring the tears into the eyes of that specious 
 humbug, whereas it will only make his mouth
 
 MK. kexnie's ixstructions. 125 
 
 water. My dear madam, what a fool you are 
 about to make of yourself! It is curious when 
 Nature has done her very best almost in that 
 way, how some folks will improve upon it.' 
 Then he added aloud, ' You shall have a note 
 of your instructions before your luncheon hour, 
 Mrs. Beckett.' 
 
 He named that time because he felt sure 
 that if the man she had in her mind was ]\Ir. 
 Ealph Dornay he would come to lunch ; but 
 he was not quite certain that he was the man. 
 A curiosity very foreign to his charact3r im- 
 pelled him, as he took his leave, to learn her 
 secret. 
 
 ' I suppose it would be indiscreet in 
 me, dear Mrs. Beckett, to hazard a guess as 
 to the subject of our conversation this morn- 
 ing?' 
 
 ' It would be indiscreet in me to tell,' said 
 the widow, smiling, which, indeed, considering 
 that no word of love had passed her Edgar's 
 lips, it certainly would have been. 
 
 ' If I was to say that the name of the
 
 126 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 unknown began with a D and ended with a Y, 
 should I be very far wrong ? ' 
 
 ' You would be getting " warm," sir, as the 
 children say at " hide and seek," ' returned the 
 widow, blushing. ' I need say no more than 
 that.' And she held out her hand. 
 
 Mr. Eennie took and pressed it kindly, but 
 he did not utter one word of congratulation. 
 He thought his chent very foolish ; but also 
 that she was about to bring upon herself a 
 greater punishment than her folly deserved. 
 
 Mrs. Beckett was well satisfied with his 
 silence ; in a case hke hers she knew enough of 
 the world to be grateful for small mercies. It 
 was something — nay, it was a good deal — that 
 so old a friend and adviser had not dropped a 
 word about the disparity of years. She had 
 not the faintest suspicion of the cause w^hich 
 made any such remarks an impossibility. Her 
 mind was full of her Edgar, and she concluded 
 that of Mr. Eennie was preoccupied with the 
 same individual. If she had told him the truth, 
 it is probable that the lawyer would have known
 
 MR. rex.vie's instructions. 127 
 
 better than to attempt remonstrance, but a 
 certain line in the Table of Forbidden Degrees 
 in the Prayer Book would certainly have sug- 
 gested itself — ' A man may not marry his 
 grandmother.'
 
 128 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 CHAPTEE IX. 
 
 UNCLE AND NEPHEW. 
 
 The Aglaia in Piccadilly is one of those luxuri- 
 ous establishments for the suppression of mar- 
 riage called clubs, which lets its upper floor in 
 apartments to members. Those who are so 
 fortunate as to secure them need never step out 
 of doors in search of domestic comfort. After 
 eating and drinking and smoking — nay, even 
 reading, if their tastes are so exceptional as to 
 lead them to literature — a pass key opens a 
 private door for them on the second floor, and 
 they have only to go up to bed. ' Home is 
 home, no matter how homely,' and the sitting- 
 room and two bedrooms rented by the Messrs. 
 Dornay, uncle and nephew, above their club, 
 were as much their home as though they pos-
 
 UNCLE AXD NEPHEW. 129 
 
 sessed a bouse in the neighbouring square. 
 Indeed, as to decoration, these three apartments 
 were by no means homely, while the sitting- 
 room was furnished with great luxury. Some 
 of the treasures of Cliffe Park, too precious to 
 be left to the tender mercies of tenants, had 
 been imported into it, and the taste of Mr. 
 Edgar Dornay had supplied whatever had been 
 wanting to its original embelhshment. 
 
 To the ordinary eye, however, nothing would 
 have seemed to be wanting, from Cliffe Park or 
 anywhere else, for the Aglaia Club, though the 
 beauty of its architecture was disputed (and 
 what is not disputed in architecture?), was 
 famous for its fittings. Everything was so 
 mellow and subdued and harmonious, that, if 
 mellowness and subjugation and harmony can 
 effect one half of what is ascribed to them upon 
 the human soul, all the members of the Aglaia 
 Club Avould have been as sure of paradise as a 
 Crusader who had killed a Paynim, or vice 
 versa. On the other hand, notwithstanding 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 130 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 these elegant surroundings, these gentlemen 
 could scarcely be set down as spiritually minded, 
 nor indeed did they concern themselves much 
 with paradise at all. They were mostly golden, 
 or, more accurately, gilded youths, who resem- 
 bled lilies less in their purity than in their 
 exemption from toil : for, when folks are idle, 
 it is my firm conviction that not all the sage- 
 green furniture in the world will keep them 
 out of mischief. 
 
 In some cases these gilded youths were not 
 very youthful, and in others they had rubbed 
 some of their gilt off. 
 
 Mr. Ealph Dornay suffered from both these 
 disadvantages more than people were generally 
 aware of, for, to do him justice, he was a man 
 of courage ; nay, of dauntless audacity, and 
 could hold his head up like a man where 
 another would have held it down through con- 
 sciousness of not being worthy of that title ; 
 one of great resource and of some ingenuity, fit 
 to breast the blows of circumstance and grapple 
 with his evil star if Fate so willed it, and very
 
 IWCLE AND NEPHEW. 131 
 
 apt to take advantage of his opportunities when 
 she chanced to be in a better humour. 
 
 Sometimes he even made opportunities for 
 himself. A great idea had been shaping itself 
 in his mind of late, or, rather, had suddenly- 
 been born there, perfected and complete, as 
 Pallas sprang from the brain of Jove. It was 
 a magnificent conception, the result of which 
 might place him above the aspirations of ambi- 
 tion, but one that was proportionally difficult 
 to carry out. It was not only that there were 
 obstacles in the way, huge as a mountain and 
 as solid, but that his plan required a total change 
 of front in his own views and proceedings. 
 Hitherto he had been a mere satellite of his 
 nephew, content to shine with a very modest 
 lustre in the same firmament, and, upon the 
 whole, a faithful satellite. His best advice, 
 according to his lights, had been always at 
 Edgar's service, and in some things he had 
 given him material aid, not, indeed, from affec- 
 tion, nor even from that tie of blood on which 
 he so much insisted, but because their interests 
 
 K 2
 
 132 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 were identical. But now he had it in his mind 
 to be no more a satelHte, but a sun, with a 
 system of its own. At present, however, as 
 regarded the attainment of his object he had 
 no system whatever, but only an audacious and 
 well-nigh desperate resolve ; it was necessary 
 to feel his way, and with all the more caution 
 since on some portion of it he would have to 
 retrace his steps. 
 
 It was the evening of the day on which 
 Edgar Dornay had accepted Mrs. Beckett's offer, 
 and uncle and nephew were alone together in 
 their private apartment. They had not met 
 since they had lunched together in Park Lane, 
 the younger man having dined out, and the 
 elder at the club, as was usual in both cases. 
 The former had donned his dressing-gown and 
 slippers, but the latter was in full evening 
 panoply. Uncle Ealph was not often seen in 
 dishabille — not because that process of ' break- 
 ing up ' had by any means begun with him 
 with which most of us, when our ship is no 
 longer classed Al , are acquainted, and which
 
 UXCLE AND NEPHEW. 133 
 
 men are often quite as solicitous to conceal as 
 are the softer sex — but because he felt the 
 danger, at his age, of once giving way to slovenly- 
 habits. He was as fond of ease as most people 
 — nay, fonder — but in his present circumstances 
 he did not consider that he could afford to take 
 it. His attire, though quite as faultless and 
 more equable — he was never seen in dittos 
 even in September — was not so splendid as 
 that of some members of the Aglaia, and, 
 remembering, perhaps, the dictum of the 
 poet — 
 
 What are myrtles and wreaths to the brow that is wrinkled ? — 
 
 he seldom had a flower in his buttonhole. On 
 the present occasion, however, he wore a sprig 
 of stephanotis, which attracted his companion's 
 attention. 
 
 ' What ! two flowers in one day in your 
 coat, Ealph! You must be going to be 
 married.' 
 
 'The first one, my dear Edgar,' returned 
 Uncle Ealph, slowly expelling the smoke of his 
 cigar from his hps, and nodding towards the
 
 134 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 mantelpiece, on AvLich Mary's rose was blush- 
 ing in a wine-glass as though ashamed of 
 the association, ' can hardly be considered my 
 own ; I look upon it as having been given in 
 trust.' 
 
 ' How so ? ' inquired the other, with a tinge 
 of colour in his cheek, which did not escape his 
 companion's notice. 
 
 ' Well, I hardly think Miss Marvon would 
 have given me anything of her own free will. 
 Moreover, her choice was peculiar. You know 
 the signification of the common rose, no 
 doubt ? ' 
 
 ' I heard you say it w^as " true love," ' said 
 Edgar, with a touch of incredulous contempt. 
 
 ' That was to spare your feelings. ' It 's 
 true meaning is " Love's Ambassador." If you 
 yourself are not learned in the language of 
 flowers. Miss Marvon is, you may depend upon 
 it/ 
 
 ' I don't beheve Miss Marvon ever gave her 
 attention to anything so foolish,' said Edgar, 
 with irritation.
 
 UNCLE AND NEPHEW. 135 
 
 ' You ought to know best,' returned the 
 other, shrugging his shoulders. ' I admit that 
 there is as httle doubt of her sagacity as of her 
 beauty ; but she is a woman, and, being so, 
 must needs have her httle weaknesses.' 
 
 ' You have insisted upon them often enough, 
 and called them by a worse name,' remarked 
 his companion, drily. 
 
 ' Yes, I own I have been prejudiced, but, 
 really, her sweetness and gentleness made a 
 convert of me this afternoon. Peccavi.' 
 
 ' What the devil do you mean ? ' exclaimed 
 the young man, sharply. ' Why, it was only 
 the other day you told me her tongue w^as like 
 a whip.' 
 
 ' So it was — to me. But when she speaks 
 of some one else who bears the same name, it 
 is a privilege to listen to her. Her lips drop 
 honey. As for me, I fairly threw down my 
 arms to-day, and owned myself vanquished. 
 " I confess, my dear Miss Marvon," I said, 
 " that hitherto I have been in opposition to you, 
 but henceforth I am your ally ; you may rely
 
 136 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 on me to advance your interests and your 
 wishes in every way in my power." ' 
 
 ' And what did she say to all that ? ' 
 
 ' I had hoped you would not have asked 
 me,' said Uncle Ealph in an injured tone ; ' she 
 told me that she had no confidence whatever 
 in my protestations, and that as for my alliance, 
 she didn't care one halfpenny whether I was 
 her ally or her enemy — or words to to that 
 effect.' 
 
 ' A brave girl, an honest girl ! ' murmured 
 the young man, admiringly. ' Dear, dear,' he 
 sighed, ' what a happy world this would be if 
 one could only do as one liked in it ! ' 
 
 ' Now really, Edgar, you astonish me ! ' 
 returned the other with raised eyebrows. ' I 
 should have thought that was the very condi- 
 tion under which you had accepted existence. 
 May I ask what you have ever done that you 
 didn't like ? ' 
 
 'Well, for one thing, I lost five hundred 
 pounds at Ascot.' 
 
 ' True,' replied Uncle Ealph, sententiously ;
 
 U.NXLE AND NEPHEW. 137 
 
 'that was certainly a miscarriage of justice. 
 Still it is not an overwhelming misfortune.' 
 
 * You would have found it deucedly incon- 
 venient, Kalph, if it had happened to you' 
 
 To this observation, as being absolutely in- 
 disputable, Uncle Ealph made no reply. ' As 
 to the turf,' he observed, ' whether one has 
 fifty pounds a year or fifty thousand, the end is 
 the same to everybody who goes in for it. If 
 you would only resolve to give up betting, my 
 dear Edgar, every other pleasure would lie 
 within your grasp. You have a very tolerable 
 income. Although I have often advised you to 
 marry money, I am not sure whether in your 
 case an economical wife without a dowry would 
 not in the end be cheaper to you than a rich 
 one who had been brought up — as they all are 
 — in habits of extravagance. It is not as if 
 you would have to live on bread and cheese.' 
 
 ' This is quite a new view of affairs ! ' said 
 Edgar, scornfully. 
 
 ' I know it ; I have confessed as much, and 
 how I have been converted. Moreover, this
 
 J 38 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 Ascot business put this in my mind : perhaps 
 if my nephew married the girl he loved, and 
 who will be absolutely dependent on him, he 
 would consent to give up for her sake a dan- 
 gerous habit, which he wall never forego for his 
 own. With her he is secure of happiness if he 
 vvill only be content with that ; and how few 
 of us are able to look forward to such a 
 future.' 
 
 ' How strange it is,' returned the other with 
 quiet scorn, ' that a man of your age. Uncle 
 Ealph, and who knows that it is deadly to you, 
 will continue to take champagne at dinner, and 
 such lots of it.' 
 
 A quick, uneasy smile flitted over his com 
 panion's face. ' No, Edgar, I am quite sober, 
 and very serious ; nay, in sackcloth and ashes. 
 I am afraid I have done mischief to you through 
 meaning well. In one matter, at least, and a 
 most important one, I have hitherto used w^hat 
 little influence I may be so fortunate as to have 
 with you for evil and not for good. It is not 
 pleasant to have to eat one's words, but I
 
 U>XLE AND NEPHEW. 139 
 
 believe I have been all wrong about Miss 
 Mar von.' 
 
 * Your repentance, like that of most people, 
 Uncle Ealph,' replied the young man, gravely, 
 ' comes a little too late.' 
 
 ' How so ? How can it be too late ? ' put 
 in the other quickly ; ' why, it is not six hours 
 ago since Miss Marvon herself ' 
 
 'Very likely,' interrupted the young man, 
 with a forced smile ; ' but to the otlier party 
 interested — the humble individual who is now 
 addressing you — something has happened within 
 those same six hours. In point of fact, my 
 dear fellow, I am going to be married to Mrs. 
 Beckett.' 
 
 Uncle Ealph's cigar dropped from his lips, 
 and lay unheeded where it fell on the delicate 
 carpet. 
 
 ' Impossible ! Incredible ! You cannot be 
 really serious, Edgar ? ' 
 
 ' It is true as I sit here. It need not astonish 
 you so far as the widow is concerned. I am not 
 so vain, or so base, as to boast of such things.
 
 140 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 but you must surely have observed that she had 
 a tendresse for me.' 
 
 ' A tendresse ! I know of course she Hked 
 you — looked upon you with maternal affection/ 
 Edgar shook his head and screwed up his 
 mouth ; then, observing the look of genuine 
 disgust on his companion's face, he burst out 
 into a peal of laughter. 
 
 ' If it 's a joke,' said Uncle Ealph, ' I '11 laugh 
 with you, Edgar, and welcome. If you really 
 mean that you are thinking of marrying Mrs. 
 Beckett ' 
 
 *I am not thinking of it, I have thought 
 of it,' put in the other, ' and I am going to 
 do t.' 
 
 ' Then you 're going to disgrace yourself, 
 Edgar, and the honour of the family." 
 
 ' As to the family, Uncle Ealph,' was the 
 quiet reply, ' I know no one belonging to it, 
 except yourself, for whose opinion I care one 
 farthing.' 
 
 'There are the Dead, Edgar,' answered the 
 other, impressively ; ' your long line of illus-
 
 UXCLE AXD ^'EPHEW. 141 
 
 trious ancestors are not, I hope, to be put 
 altogether out of account.' 
 
 ' What a marvellous humbug you are, 
 Ralph ! You are like the cardsharper, who 
 through long practice could deceive himself in 
 his own looking-glass, when practising his 
 sleight-of-hand tricks. From continually maun- 
 dering about the Dornay blood you have got to 
 persuade yourself that there is something in it 
 different from that of other people.' 
 
 ' I venture to think there is,' returned 
 Uncle Ralph. 
 
 ' Very good ; stick to your theory, for all I 
 care ; but don't try to force it down the throat 
 of your connections, who know better. Keep 
 it for the general public. And another thing I 
 must request of you — not to talk to me about 
 my disgracing myself. I am the best judge of 
 my own actions and intentions, and I will sub- 
 mit to neither reproof nor dictation from any 
 human being.' 
 
 The young man had risen from his chair, 
 and, striding from one end of the room to the
 
 142 THICKER THAX WATER. 
 
 Other, delivered these words with much fire and 
 fury. 
 
 ' If I said disgrace, Edgar, I withdraw the 
 word,' said the other, gently ; ' my affection 
 and respect for you must be my excuse for my 
 warmth of expression. What I shrank from 
 was the contemplation of such self-sacrifice. 
 That you, with your social position, your 
 talents, your youth, should thus throw all your 
 advantages to the winds ; it is pitiful, my dear 
 Edgar, it is pitiful ! ' 
 
 Uncle Ealph regarded his nephew with the 
 same sort of regretful admiration that an aunt 
 might entertain for a niece who had announced 
 her intention of becoming an old man's darling. 
 ' So young, so fair,' he seemed to be saying to 
 himself, ' how is it possible that you can thus 
 sell yourself to this comparatively ancient 
 personage ? ' 
 
 ' I have very good reasons for the step I am 
 about to take,' said Edgar, molKfied in spite of 
 himself by this high estimate of his personal 
 value.
 
 UXCLE AND XEPHEW. 143' 
 
 ' Thirty thousand of them per annum,' sug- 
 gested Uncle Ralph, drily. ' Still there is a 
 saying that one may buy even money too 
 dearly. And it won't be your money, to do 
 what you like with, my poor fellow.' 
 
 ' That is ray affliir, Ealph ; though indeed I 
 have every confidence in Mrs. Beckett's con- 
 sideration and generosity.' 
 
 ' Still it is more than likely that her hands 
 are tied.' 
 
 ' Xonsense ; it is well known that Mrs. 
 Beckett has entire control of her income. Xot 
 that / should want that, as her late husband 
 did, Heaven knows. The man was a greedy, 
 ill-conditioned brute.' 
 
 ' Oh, I don't question that she will find you 
 a much more agreeable consort,' put in Uncle 
 Ralph. ' There is not the least fear of your 
 suffering from any unpleasant comparisons. 
 But what was Mr. Beckett's happy fate as 
 respects finance may not be yours. Sir Peter 
 may have left his widow free to maiTy once, 
 but not a second time.'
 
 144 THICKER THA]S' WATER. 
 
 ' Pooh ! that 's ridiculous.' 
 
 ' Nevertheless, before committing yourself it 
 would ba worth while to look at Sir Peter's 
 will. If it 's too much trouble, just ask young 
 Sotheran, who is at the Probate Office, to look 
 the thing up.' 
 
 ' Sotheran be hanged ! ' exclaimed Edgar. 
 The irritation in his tone did not escape the 
 keen ear of his companion, who had by this 
 time recovered both his equanimity and his 
 cigar. 
 
 ' Just as you please, my dear boy ; but if I 
 were in your place I would do nothing in a 
 hurry in this matter. There is plenty of time 
 before you at all events.' 
 
 'The matter is done, Ealph. The widow 
 
 ' Here he stopped, for, with all his 
 
 faults, Edgar Dornay was too much of a 
 gentleman to expose a woman who loved him 
 to ridicule, as would certainly have been the 
 case had he told the true story of his engage- 
 ment. 'I have already proposed to Mrs. Beckett, 
 and have had the good fortune to be accepted.'
 
 rXCLE AND XEPHEW. l-4o 
 
 ' Not in writing, Edgar ? ' inquired the 
 other, eagerly. ' Surely not in writing ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, in writing.' 
 
 ' I never heard of anything so ill-judged 
 and infatuated in my life,' cried Uncle Ralph, 
 taking liis handkerchief from his breast and 
 passing it across his face. There was no doubt 
 about the genuineness of his emotion ; though 
 he did not slied tears, the dew was literally 
 upon his face. ' How could you, could you, 
 thus wreck all your prospects in life ? ' 
 
 ' One would think T was a novice takin:^ 
 the veil,' observed Edgar, grimly. ' Your tone 
 and manner would scarcely be justified if I 
 were a boy of twenty and Mrs. Beckett were 
 threescore years and ten.' 
 
 ' But what on earth could have induced 
 you to do it, my poor Edgar ? ' 
 
 ' Well, I acted from mixed motives ; it was 
 done on the spur of the moment.' 
 
 ' Ah ! you were intoxicated by the con- 
 templation of her charms I ' 
 
 ' You will be so good as to remember, 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 146 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 Ealph,' observed the young man sharply, ' that 
 we are speaking of my future wife.' 
 
 'True. Pardon me. The whole thing is 
 so like a dream — a nightmare — that I forgot it 
 was reality. But what was the reason of this 
 sudden resolve of yours ? Was it gratitude ? ' 
 
 ' Possibly — that is to say, in part.' 
 
 ' She has laid you, then, under some pecu- 
 niary obligation. Oh, Edgar, Edgar, why did 
 you not come to me ? ' 
 
 ' What would have been the good of it ? 
 You couldn't have given me a cheque for five 
 hundred pounds, I suppose ; and how were my 
 Ascot debts to be settled ? ' 
 
 ' Five hundred pounds ! Do you mean 
 to say you have sold yourself for five 
 hundred pounds ? ' Uncle Ealph started to his 
 feet with a speed of which one would have 
 supposed him incapable. He drew a key from 
 his pocket, opened his desk, and, taking out 
 his banking book, pitched it into his nephew's 
 lap. ' I have more than two thousand pounds 
 there, as you can see for yourself, only await-
 
 UNCLE AND NEPHEW. 147 
 
 ing investment, to which you are as welcome, 
 my lad, as flowers in May.' 
 
 ' You are very kind, most kind, Ealpli, 
 said Edgar, gently ; ' perhaps if I had known 
 about it before I might have been your debtor. 
 I had thought you were as hard up — at least 
 for ready money — as myself.' 
 
 Uncle Ealph looked a little embarrassed ; 
 he had certainly not sought the reputation of 
 being the sort of man who has two thousand 
 pounds lying idle at his banker's. 
 
 ' I kept the money there for a purpose 
 which no longer exists,' he explained, ' for an 
 emergency that has passed away. Pray take 
 it, or what you need of it.' 
 
 ' It is too late,' answered Edgar, with a 
 sigh. 'Mrs. Beckett would, indeed, have a 
 right to complain of me if I withdrew my oifer 
 because the necessity which impelled me to 
 make it had ceased to exist. Indeed, I am 
 wrong to speak of necessity in the matter ; I 
 again repeat that I had mixed motives. I 
 like Mrs. Beckett very much.' 
 
 L 2
 
 148 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 ' I am afraid, my dear Edgar, that there is 
 another woman who, in the event of this mad 
 marriage, will also have a right to complain.' 
 
 'You didn't think so yesterday,' returned 
 the young man scornfully. 
 
 ' Yes, I did, yesterday afternoon, when I 
 heard her speaking about you unreservedly for 
 the first time. Poor, dear Miss Marvon ! ' 
 
 Edgar Dornay's brow grew very dark. 
 
 ' You, at least,' he answered vehemently, 
 'have no right to taunt me about Miss 
 Marvon ; nor will I listen to another word as 
 regards my conduct towards her from your 
 lips. It is enough to feel that one has behaved 
 dishonourably, without being preached at by 
 those who are no better than ourselves.' 
 
 To this somewhat pointed remark a slight 
 elevation of his broad shoulders was all the 
 reply that Uncle Ealph ventured to make. 
 
 ' We shall meet at breakfast to-morrow 
 morning, I conclude,' he said as he lit his bed- 
 room candle. 
 
 ' No ; I breakfast out.'
 
 UXCLE AND NEPHEW. 149 
 
 ' In Park Lane, I suppose ? ' 
 
 ' No ; I shall not make my appearance 
 there till Monday, at three o'clock.' 
 
 He did not think it necessary to mention 
 that he was going to Brighton on the morrow 
 till Monday, and would be out of the reach of 
 his companion's arguments for the next six- 
 and-thirty hours. 
 
 As Uncle Ealph opened his bedroom door 
 he turned and said, with a slight smile, * There 
 is somebody who will say of this that "it is 
 an ill wind that blows nobody good." Mr. 
 Charles Sotheran — or Charley, as Miss Marvon 
 calls him — will now have the field all to 
 himself.' 
 
 ' Mary will never marry Sotheran,' cried 
 Edgar, vehemently. 
 
 * Why not ^ ' inquired Ealph with sim- 
 plicity. 
 
 ' Because — because — why, because, of 
 course, she doesn't care for him.' 
 
 ' Nay ; you mean that at present she would 
 not marry him because she doesn't care for him
 
 150 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 SO much as for you. If No. 1 marries some 
 one else, of course she will fall back on No. 2. 
 However, that is her affair, and one of very- 
 small consequence in comparison with other 
 matters. Good-night, my dear fellow.' 
 
 Having shot that Parthian shaft. Uncle 
 Ealph closed his bedroom door. If what 
 happened to Mary, inclusive even of her 
 possible union with Charley, was of small con- 
 sequence to the speaker, it seemed to be of 
 some moment to his nephew. His lips were 
 absolutely pale with rage, and he muttered 
 words concerning the probate clerk which, if 
 set down in a will, would have invalidated it, 
 as evidencing madness in the testator. No 
 argument which Uncle Ealph had hitherto hit 
 upon had had such weight with him as that 
 parting arrow loosed at random. It had gone 
 home to the young man's very heart, and the 
 barb was rankling in the wound.
 
 151 
 
 CHAFTEE X. 
 
 'I SLTPOSE IT MUST BE ''YES." 
 
 Some apology seems owing that so very pro- 
 minent a member of the Park Lane household 
 as the Emperor Alexander has not as yet been 
 introduced to the reader. But the fact is, his 
 title, through the affability of his manners, had 
 long fallen into desuetude, and of late years — 
 that is, since the death of his late master — he 
 had been confined to the ground-fioor apart- 
 ments, and was seldom seen. The dog, a 
 magnificent St.- Bernard, had been a great 
 favoiu'ite with Mr. Beckett — almost the only 
 creature besides himself, I think, which that 
 tippling civil engineer had any regard for ; and 
 in his time he had wandered over the house at 
 will. Nothinof was further from his mind than
 
 152 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 mischief; one look at his thoughtful eyes and 
 massive head would have convinced you he 
 was incapable of it ; but in the drawing-room, 
 crowded as it was with costly nick-nacks, he 
 did with his colossal tail a good deal of in- 
 voluntary damage. The 'Brush system,' as 
 Charley said, is an admirable one if you only 
 have it under control ; but this was not the 
 case with that of Alexander. It w^orked inces- 
 santly, and with great power, but to no useful 
 purpose. On the contrary, it w^as destructive. 
 Like his great namesake of old, his path was 
 marked with devastation, but, unlike the 
 Imperial Madman, he meant no harm. How 
 could the poor animal know wdiat was going 
 on behind him ? 
 
 His heart, like his frame, was a noble one ; 
 there was but one blot in his character — fidelity 
 to his former master. This, however, was an 
 error of race ; the dog is to be won by fear, 
 but the cat never — a circumstance w^hich, if 
 there were no other cogent reasons for it, would 
 always place the cat above the dog in my
 
 'I SUPPOSE IT MUST BE "YES."' 153 
 
 opinion. So far, however, as his hghts could 
 guide him, Alexander was perfection. His 
 mistress was rather set against him, as she 
 averred, because of his behaviour towards her 
 blue china, though I suspect that was not the 
 real explanation of her coldness ; but Mary 
 Marvon adored him, and her affection was 
 reciprocated. She Hked nothing better than a 
 walk in tlie Park with Alexander for her sole 
 companion ; he enjoyed it equally, and when 
 once his first manifestations of dehght, which 
 resembled the gambols of some hairy elephant 
 with his trunk at the wrong end of him, were 
 over, in a no less sober fashion. Instead of 
 being the ' off and on companion of her walks,' 
 as Wordsworth's dog was, he stuck to her like 
 Una's lion, and would not have deserted his 
 charo'e even to fight a unicorn. As to other 
 dogs, he ignored their very existence. He 
 never made any excursions of curiosity into 
 the animal, vegetable, or mineral kingdoms, 
 but trotted by her side with a majestic slouch, 
 deaf to every call but that of duty. If another
 
 154 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 dog forced itself on his attention — a very rare 
 occurrence except with bull-dogs — he never 
 bit them, nor so much as opened his mouth; 
 he literally fell upon them and crushed their 
 breath out. Those who had any pride left in 
 them accounted to their friends for their flat- 
 tened condition by ascribing it to a steam 
 roller. 
 
 On the morning of Mr. Eennie's visit, Mary 
 Marvon and her four-footed friend took their 
 way across the Park to the Serpentine. It was 
 their favourite walk ; Mary enjoyed the bright- 
 ness and beauty of the scene, liked to see the 
 children saiHng their toy boats, and feeding 
 the ducks, and all the stir of innocent enjoy- 
 ment. The Emperor Alexander took a gracious 
 interest in the water-dogs, and had a secret 
 curiosity, which his sense of dignity forbade him 
 to gratify, to discover if they were web-footed. 
 Mary's pet standpoint — for she always lingered 
 a minute there — was the bridge by Kensing- 
 ton Gardens, which has a view to northwards 
 equal in beauty and superior in extent to that
 
 ' I SUPPOSE IT MUST BE '* YES.'' ' 155 
 
 from the bridge iu St. Jaraes's Park ; to tlie south 
 there is a still finer prospect, if the eye can only 
 avoid that equestrian image (now removed) of 
 the Duke of Wellington, which makes one wish 
 that Fame were indeed a bubble, and could 
 evanesce without enduring brass. She is gazing 
 now on the shining water and the stately trees, 
 but her heart is far from them. She has only 
 to say one little word, as she believes, and it 
 will be further still — in another's keeping. 
 
 With young ladies of the present day — 
 those, at least, who permit themselves to love 
 at all, who are said to be in a minority — it is 
 the fashion, as Douglas did with the heart of 
 Bruce, to throw that organ before them and 
 follow it into the fray. They flatter themselves 
 that, having risked so tremendous a intake, they 
 must needs evoke a declaration and win their 
 lover. Such a practice is doubtless a spur to 
 exertion, but it has its drawbacks and its 
 dangers. In my opinion it is more maidenly 
 to wait till they have answered ' Yes ' to a very 
 important question. Mary Mar von was of this
 
 156 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 opinion ; her heart was still her own, but it 
 roved, and took short swallow flights from 
 home — how could she help it? — in the direction 
 of Edgar Dornay. 
 
 She was thinking over what Mrs. Beckett 
 had said to her the previous day ; no doubt it 
 /vould be to her advantage to marry the man 
 she loved, but that was the very reason which 
 gave her pause. It is w^ell to look closely into 
 any course which is recommended to us by 
 inclination and our own interests. The ques- 
 tion with her was, would her marriage with 
 Edgar Dornay be to his advantage ? She knew 
 that his present life was a luxurious one ; and, 
 though she credited him with certain genuine 
 qualities, the notion of his possessing which, in 
 those who knew him better, would have evoked 
 a smile, she doubted of his fitness for a life- 
 long ' day of small things ' ; an existence miti- 
 gated by cheap and unfrequent pleasures, and 
 flawed by economies and acts of self-denial. 
 At times she even thought she had noticed in 
 him aspirations after great wealth, or at all
 
 ' I SUPPOSE IT MUST BE " YES." ' 157 
 
 events an admiration of it. She was not so 
 foolish as to imagine that three months after 
 marriage he would be as much in love with 
 her as he professed to be at present ; but her 
 beauty was not her sheet anchor, as it is with 
 so many girls. She had some hope that by 
 that time he would have learnt to love her for 
 what she had in her of true worth. 
 
 For Mary Marvon, though portionless and 
 almost friendless, was much too honest to hold 
 herself worthless ; in her heart of hearts she 
 believed herself worthy of Edgar's love, and 
 would have done so had he been as rich as 
 Mrs. Beckett — not that she exaggerated her 
 own merits, but because she was little more 
 impressed by mere money than w^as her four- 
 footed companion. 
 
 ' Wough, wough ! ' said Alexander, who 
 was looking through the balustrade by the 
 side of his mistress, and had recognised an 
 acquaintance upon the south side of the lake. 
 It was a hoarse murmur rather than a growl ; 
 but it was not a note of welcome. It seemed
 
 158 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 to say, ' There 's a person I don't much care 
 about coming towards us yonder ; but, since 
 you know him, perhaps it 's as well to mention 
 the fact.' 
 
 Mary, who understood Alexander quite 
 well, looked in the direction of his gaze, and 
 at once perceived its object. 
 
 The ' person ' was Edgar Dornay, hand- 
 some even in the morning, but whose bright 
 intelligent facp, or what she could see of it, for 
 his head was bent, was fuller of thought than 
 usual. At the sight of him her heart gave a 
 quick jump, her cheeks became suffused with a 
 sudden glow, and the light leaped into her 
 eyes ; for the moment, love, taking advantage 
 of her solitude — for, as it happened, there was 
 no other passenger on the bridge — had asserted 
 itself. The next moment she was herself again ; 
 but if she could have looked into the young 
 man's mind, she would have despised herself 
 for that momentary weakness. He was think- 
 ing of the momentous interview that was to 
 take place that afternoon at Beckett House,
 
 *I SUPPOSE IT MUST BE "YES."* 159 
 
 and of the conversation he had held on the 
 Saturday night with his uncle. That gentle- 
 man, as we know, had failed to turn him from 
 his purpose, but his arguments had been by no 
 means without their effect ; and he shrank from 
 any recapitulation of them. He had not seen 
 his relative since he returned from Bnirhton, 
 and did not intend to see him (though there 
 was an opportunity of doing so, since Uncle 
 Ealph always lunched at his club) till he had 
 seen the widow. His best chance, he felt, of 
 carrying out his plan was to see him no more 
 till it was completed, or till he had asked Mrs. 
 Beckett, in propria persona^ to marry him, and 
 been formally accepted. And above all, until 
 this was done it was his intention to keep clear 
 of Mary Marvon. 
 
 Every word Ealph had spoken concerning 
 her had had a barb in it ; and what his uncle 
 had said was as nothing compared with the 
 gnawings of his own thoughts, the sense of 
 cowardice and falsehood and shame, and above 
 all the consciousness of loss. For in his own
 
 160 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 way Edgar Dornay loved the girl — shrank from 
 losing her, and was rendered desperate by the 
 thought of another possessing her. When she 
 was by his side she was all in all to him ; but 
 apart from her, or, as he grossly expressed it to 
 himself, when ' in his sober senses,' he loved 
 other things better — such as luxury and pleasure 
 and ease. He had never made Mary an offer, 
 but he had meant to do it, and he felt that she 
 knew he meant it ; he believed that he had 
 won her heart, or rather stolen it, since it now 
 turned out it was gained under false pretences, 
 and that after to-day she would regard him as 
 a thief and a liar. 
 
 In comparison with this reflection all other 
 drawbacks in connection with the widow faded 
 into nothing ; if her age had been doubled and 
 her income halved, and his conduct to Mary 
 Marvon could only have been blotted out, his 
 condition would have been preferable to what 
 it was at that moment. How could he ever 
 hold up his head in her presence and meet her 
 reproachful eyes? He foresaw that her first
 
 'I SUPPOSE IT MUST BE "YES."' 161 
 
 act on learning what he had done would be to 
 leave Beckett House for a life of poverty and 
 dependence, since from the woman who was 
 her rival, and whose gold had outweighed 
 her worth in his eyes, she would scorn to 
 take a penny. Although a selfish man, Edgar 
 Dornay was (as yet) by no means callous, and 
 the thought of these things gave him great dis- 
 comfort. After much pondering, he had come 
 to the conclusion that the best thing he could 
 do for himself after his interview with Mrs. 
 Beckett was to leave to^\Ti for a few days ; 
 when, on his return to Park Lane, he felt well 
 assiu:ed he should find the coast clear. Having 
 made his plans thus far, he drew a long breath, 
 like a man who ' sees his way ' through at least 
 the first part of a difficidty ; and, raising his 
 eyes from the ground for the first time, saw 
 Mary Marvon standing on the bridge. 
 
 At the same moment their eyes met ; if 
 they had not done so, Mr. Edgar Dornay would 
 without doubt have turned his face homeward 
 and gone back again ; but though he felt him- 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 162 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 self to be a coward every incli of him, he was 
 not such a coward as that. He mounted the 
 slope that led to the bridge, and met her with 
 an outstretched hand. 
 
 ' I had no idea that you were to be found 
 abroad so early, Mr. Dornay,' said Mary. 
 ' Keport has maligned you.' 
 
 ' Eeport generally does,' he answered 
 gravely. ' It is unfortunate for poor human 
 nature, whose motives need extenuation rather 
 than to have things set down in malice ' 
 
 He was thinking of what she would say of 
 him when she came to know all. 
 
 ' You are philosophic,' she said, smiling. 
 ' That is a bad sign ; I am afraid you have not 
 yet breakfasted, Mr. Dornay.' 
 
 It was very true ; he had sat down to the 
 morning meal at Brighton, but, notwithstanding 
 the boasted effects of the sea breeze, had left it 
 almost untasted. ' You are taking your walk 
 earher than usual, yourself, are you not, 
 Mary?' 
 
 He would have said ' Miss Marvon ' had he
 
 'I SUPPOSE IT MUST BE "YES."' 163 
 
 dared, but bis famiHarity of manner bad gone 
 beyond tbat ; sbe still gave bim bis proper title, 
 but wben tbey were alone togetber be bad of 
 late addressed ber by ber Cbristian name. 
 
 ' Yes,' sbe answered. ' ^Irs. Beckett is 
 engaged ^ntli Mr. Eennie ; be bas come to 
 transact some pressing and important matter, 
 sbe told me, wbicb would deprive me of ber 
 companionsbip.' 
 
 'Wbat did sbe mean?' inquired Edgar, 
 turning pale. To bis disordered mind tbere 
 seemed a dreadful significance in tbose simple 
 words. 
 
 ' Well, sbe meant tbat I must be content 
 witb my four-footed friend bere tbis morning 
 — down. Alec ! down, my dear ! ' for tbe 
 afiectionate creatiu-e, catcbing tbis allusion to 
 bimself or at least tbe glance tbat accompanied 
 it, wisbed to place by way of epaulettes a 
 gigantic paw on eacb of ber dainty sboulders — 
 ' I did not of coiu-se calculate upon tbe pleasure 
 of meeting you, Mr. Dornay.' 
 
 ' No,' be answered gently, 'no.' His beart 
 j: 2
 
 164 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 was melting within liim like wax ; the sight of 
 her beauty, the sound of her voice, were over- 
 coming him. Absence is said to ' make the heart 
 grow fonder,' but presence, especially if the ob- 
 ject of our aflfections is attractive, has a still more 
 powerful influence in that way. This was the 
 very thing that he had been afraid of — to meet 
 her face to face — and he had reason to fear 
 it. 
 
 ' And how was Mr. Eennie looking ? ' He 
 did not dare to speak of Mrs. Beckett. ' As 
 like the Sphinx as usual, I suppose ; full of his 
 secrets ? ' 
 
 ' He is never secretive with me ; not of 
 course that he ever tells me anything, but he is 
 most frank and kind. I venture to think that 
 I am rather a favourite of his.' 
 
 ' I do not wonder at that.' 
 
 She gave him, with infinite grace, an almost 
 imperceptible curtsey. ' Thank you, sir ; but 
 I am afraid it is from no personal merit that 
 Mr. Eennie is so civil to me. I fancy it is a 
 ^^leasant change to him to talk with one who
 
 'I SUPPOSE IT ircST BE "YES. 165 
 
 never speaks of money, because she has none. 
 Mrs. Beckett tells me that he has no such thinor 
 as a poor chent. They are now probably dis- 
 posing of tens of thousands — millions, for all I 
 know — those two.' 
 
 Edgar sighed. 
 
 ' You are ^vishing that you had millions 
 yourself, Mr. Domay ? ' 
 
 ' No ; quite the contrary. I mean,' he 
 added hastily, ' that my heart was not just then 
 fixed on — the subject you suggest.' 
 
 ' Then it sometimes is, I infer.' 
 
 ' Sometimes ; that is, I have sometimes 
 thought — as most of us have — how pleasant it 
 would be to be rich.' 
 
 They had left the bridge by this time, and 
 were slowly crossing the Park in the direction of 
 the Reformers' Tree. There was no one near 
 them except Alexander, who followed closely be- 
 hind. His brow was clouded, his head depressed ; 
 his massive jaws seemed to find attraction in 
 the calves of Mr. Edgar Domay's legs, as they 
 alternately presented themselves to his notice.
 
 106 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 ' I have never speculated upon that subject 
 myself,' said Mary, gravely ; ' perhaps from the 
 impossibihty, in my case, of such a dream being 
 realised. But I can easily understand your 
 doing so. I do not think you are fitted to be a 
 poor man.' 
 
 ' You mean a poor bachelor. In my pre- 
 sent position I own that wealth has its allure- 
 ments. Pleasure can be purchased, but 
 happiness cannot ; and, after all, what man 
 desires is happiness ; the lasting good.' 
 
 ' But one must be sure of its lasting,' she 
 answered gravely ; ' that is the difficulty.' 
 
 ' Ko doubt. The best road to it, however, 
 it is agreed upon all hands, is to secure a loving 
 wife.' 
 
 ' That is not your uncle's view,' said Mary, 
 lightly. She knew whither his talk was tend- 
 ing, and did not wish to encourage it. Was it 
 some presentiment that w^arned her to keep him 
 at arm's length that morning r 
 
 ' There are doubtless some who are happiest 
 as single men,' admitted Edgar. 'My uncle
 
 'I SUPPOSE IT MUST BE ''YES. 167 
 
 Ealph perhaps for one ; but do not suppose he 
 does not advocate matrimony for others ; for 
 myself, for instance. Your ears should have 
 burnt the other night, since he spent hours of it 
 in singing your praises.' 
 
 ' A somewhat new departure for him, was 
 it not ? ' she inquired drily, hut without sur- 
 prise ; for ^Ir. Ealph Dornay, as we know, had 
 himself prepared her for it. 
 
 ' Yes ; it is never too late to mend, how- 
 ever, and I will do him the justice to say that 
 his recantation has been a very full one.' 
 
 Here some one met them on the path ; and, 
 in drawing nearer to the girl, his arm touched 
 hers. Wlien he had shaken hands with her 
 twenty minutes ago, his mind had been divided 
 between her and another; the clasp of her 
 hand had thrilled him a httle, but that had 
 been all. But now, since he had been some 
 time in her company, and his mind had been 
 dweUing on her and no other, that touch set his 
 pulses ' throbbing with the fulness of the spring.' 
 In an instant, as a sudden wind from the gates
 
 168 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 of the sun clears the heavens of cloud, all sordid 
 thoughts were swept away ; the widow and her 
 money were forgotten. 
 
 ' As for Uncle Ealph, Mary,' he continued, 
 in a low and fervid tone, ' he was never an 
 obstacle to my love for you ; nothing could be 
 that ; but he is my nearest relative, and of 
 course it pleases me to feel that such opposition 
 as it was in his power to give has been with- 
 drawn. Instead of being your enemy he is 
 now your ally.' 
 
 ' So he was so good as to tell me on Satur- 
 day,' said Mary, coldly. 
 
 The young man saw that he had lost 
 ground. 
 
 ' Of course, Mary,' he put in quickly, ' it 
 matters even less to you than it does to me 
 whether Uncle Ealph approves of our being 
 engaged or not. I only mentioned it to show 
 that there were now no hindrances to it, how- 
 ever sHght. You will not say " no," darling, 
 merely because there is no reason for it, out of 
 sheer caprice ? '
 
 ' I SUPPOSE IT MUST BE " YES. ' 169 
 
 ' Certainly not,' she said. ' My doubts — for 
 I have doubts — arise from no fanciful cause, 
 but from what I know of your own nature.* 
 
 ' My nature ! Would to heaven, Mary, you 
 could this moment look into my inmost heart; 
 you would see yourself and no other mirrored 
 there.' 
 
 ' I was not thinking of any other, Edgar,' 
 she said with a sUght blush ; ' to do you justice, 
 I do not believe you capable of double- 
 deahng.' 
 
 His eyes left hers and sought the ground ; 
 the blush on her face was reflected on his own, 
 and she attributed it to the same cause ; she 
 took it for modesty because she had praised 
 him — and not for shame. • Moreover,' she 
 continued, ' I quite beheve that at this moment 
 you think you could be happy with me with- 
 out those luxuries — or with a great diminution 
 of them — on which your happiness has hitherto 
 so largely depended.' 
 
 'My darling,' he answered vehemently, 
 ' what is luxury, what is wealth, compared with
 
 170 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 the possession of such a treasure as you ? That 
 is what I pine for ; all else is as nothing to 
 me. Oh, Mary, if you would only believe 
 me!' 
 
 ' I wish to believe you, Edgar,' she answered 
 hesitatingly ; ' but I dare not.' 
 
 His very fervour increased her reluctance, 
 even while it filled her with dehght ; it seemed 
 to her that it was wrong to take advantage of 
 such headlong and unreasoning passion. 
 
 ' Then, if you wish it, that is all / wish,' 
 he put in hastily. ' My darling ! my dar- 
 ling ! ' 
 
 He longed to clasp her in his arms; but 
 that was impossible, as the trees in Hyde Park 
 offer by no means that ' boundless contiguity 
 of shade ' so essential for such a proceeding ; 
 moreover (though he would have risked tliat)^ 
 Alexander would have probably resented any 
 such demonstration. As for Mary, her limbs 
 trembled beneath her, and thereby typified 
 her mental condition. Shaken by the vehem- 
 ence of his protestations and the fascination
 
 171 
 
 of his presence, her resolution was fast giving 
 way. 
 
 ' I must go in now. Edgar,' she murmured. 
 
 'But not as you came out, Mary,' he 
 answered quickly ; ' you are no longer a free 
 woman, remember ; you are mine.' 
 
 'Not yet,' she said, but this time ^nth a 
 faint smile. 
 
 It was her last protest. 
 
 ' That is only because the agreement is not 
 ratified,' he murmured tenderly. 
 
 ' I will come ' — then he suddenly remem- 
 bered that he could not come ; that he no 
 more dared enter into Beckett House on the 
 errand in question than into the abode of the 
 queen Uoness in the Zoological Gardens — ' that 
 is, I will write to-day,' he stammered ; " then 
 you will send me yoiu: answer in black and 
 white ; and it will be " Yes," my darhng. I 
 know it will be " Yes." ' 
 
 'I suppose it must be "Yes," ' said Mary, 
 softly.
 
 172 THICKER THAN WATEE. 
 
 CHAPTEE XI. 
 
 THE SUBSTITUTE. 
 
 Having once, though it is true only tacitly, 
 consented to engage herself to Edgar Dornay, 
 Mary Marvon ventured to be very happy. It 
 is not, as we have been told, for companions 
 and dependants to indulge themselves in the 
 luxury of woe ; how much more, then, in that 
 of happiness ! And though Mary herself, thanks 
 to the fortunate circumstances of her position 
 as much as to her native pride, felt little of 
 this social depression, she seldom gave way to 
 vivacity. On this occasion, however, the girl 
 returned home in high spirits ; and it was for 
 this reason, perhaps, that she did not notice the 
 unusual gaiety of her hostess. Mrs. Beckett 
 was generally what, if she were a man, would
 
 THE SUBSTITUTE. 173 
 
 have been called ' good company,' but she had 
 never before been so bright and merry. She 
 was happy in the consciousness that she had, 
 with Mr. Eennie's aid, conferred great advan- 
 tage upon the man she loved ; and happy also 
 on her o^\ti account. But she did not, as on 
 the last occasion when she and Mary were 
 alone together, make marriage the topic of 
 conversation. It would be necessary sooner or 
 later, of course, to allude to her engagement, 
 but at present she shrank from it. Notwith- 
 standing her protestations of independence and 
 carelessness of the opinion of the world, she 
 felt some embarrassment in communicatinor her 
 news even to Mary Marvon. 
 
 Mary herself felt something of the same 
 kind. She indeed had nothing to be ashamed 
 of in those future prospects of which not sooner 
 or later, but very soon, it behoved her to speak 
 to her hostess ; for had not Mrs. Beckett with 
 her own lips advised her to accept the first 
 eligible offer ? But she had an idea that her 
 news would very much astonish the widow,
 
 174 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 and felt some coyness in broaching the subject 
 a propos des bottes. 
 
 The only approach that Mrs. Beckett made 
 to it, so far from encouraging her to pursue it, 
 had quite a contrary effect. Her hostess in- 
 formed the butler at luncheon that she would 
 not require her carriage that afternoon ; and 
 also that she would be at home to nobody 
 except Mr. Dornay. 
 
 'Mr. Ealph or Mr. Edgar, my lady?' he 
 inquired. It was a most unfortunate question, 
 for the widow's remark was intended to be of 
 great significance. It was, in fact, her method 
 of preparing the way for informing Mary of 
 what had happened. 
 
 ' I said Mr. Dornay,' she answered with 
 severity. ^ If I had meant Mr. Ealph I should 
 have said Mr. Ealph.' 
 
 It was rather hard on the butler, who, less 
 acquainted with precedence than with per- 
 quisites, naturally imagined that Mr. Ealph, 
 being the elder, was of right Mr. Dornay. The 
 sharpness of the widow's tone did not escape
 
 THE SUBSTITUTE. 175 
 
 Mary's attention, but the remark itself filled 
 her with amazement. How was it, if Eclgar 
 h:id an appointment with the widow, tliat he 
 had not informed her (Mary) of it while they 
 were in the Park together ? and why had he 
 spoken of writing to her when he was thus 
 about to have so early an opportunity of seeing 
 her? On the other hand — not, of course, 
 anticipating their recent interview and its 
 happy result — perhaps he had sought a per- 
 sonal interview with Mrs. Beckett, to enlist her 
 assistance in pressing his suit. 
 
 Never were two women placed in a more 
 false position to one another than were Mary 
 Marvon and her hostess, and yet through no 
 fault of their own. 
 
 After luncheon, Mrs. Beckett retired to 
 her boudoir, and Mary to her own room ; each 
 glad enough to be alone, but without the 
 least mistrust or ill-feeling as respected the 
 other. 
 
 By three o'clock the widow's impatience had 
 become considerable. She was very far from
 
 176 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 wishing that any particular respect should be 
 paid to her on the ground of age, but she 
 could not but remember that when her last 
 husband was courting her he was always rather 
 before his time than after, and that even 
 against Sir Eobert there had been nothing to 
 complain of as regarded punctuality. At a 
 quarter past three o'clock she felt that she had 
 been foolish in making her Edgar so completely 
 independent of her, and experienced some 
 satisfaction in reflecting that the document 
 which Mr. Eennie had sent to her according to 
 promise was only a copy of her instructions. 
 She appreciated, not for the first time, the 
 wisdom of the legal doctrine that judgment 
 should precede execution. 
 
 At half past three, her indignation against 
 her Eds^ar was so considerable that she not 
 only repented of all her good intentions to- 
 wards the young man, but repented — not for 
 the money's sake, but that of her own self- 
 respect — of having sent him that little cheque 
 for bOOl. Then her maid knocked at her door.
 
 THE SUBSTITUTE. 177 
 
 and her heart leapt up with a joyful bound, 
 and she felt she could forgive him anything. 
 
 ' If you please, my lady, ^Ir. Dornay is 
 here.' 
 
 ' Why is he not shown up at once ? Did I 
 not give orders to Harris to that effect ? ' 
 
 ' Why, yes, my lady ; but he says as this is 
 the wrong !Mr. Dornay.' 
 
 ' The ^vrong Mr. Dornay ? What do you 
 mean ? Who is it ? ' 
 
 ' Well, please my lady, it 's Mr. Ealph.' 
 
 This did not please my lady at all ; indeed 
 it was ver}' far from pleasing her ; but she 
 could not say so. At first, indeed, she was 
 even more alarmed than disgusted. She feared 
 that some accident had happened to Edgar. 
 Good heavens, suppose he had been thrown 
 from his horse ! And she had just been 
 accusing him of ingratitude, and of such 
 infidelity as man, and man alone, was capable. 
 
 ' Show Mr. Ralph Dornay up.' 
 
 He came, the very pink of perfection as to 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 178 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 apparel ; with his head erect and a quick 
 elastic step ; a very presentable gentleman of 
 four-and-forty to all appearance at oldest ; but 
 with a certain air of tender gravity which she 
 had never before known him to wear. 
 
 He took the hand she extended towards 
 him, and pressed it respectfully. ' Nothing 
 has happened to your nephew, I trust ? ' she 
 inquired, with irrepressible anxiety. 
 
 ' Nothing — that is to say, physically ; he is 
 well enough in health.' She knew at once that 
 he had changed his mind about her, as cer- 
 tainly as though she had heard it from his own 
 hps. A mist seemed to form itself before her 
 eyes, but not from tears ; the weakness to 
 which she was giving way was not of that sort 
 at all ; she was livid with fury, the spretce 
 injuria formce — second only to a wrong done 
 to her offspring in its power of arousing 
 woman's hate — was raging within her. But 
 there was no heat. Her face was pale and 
 stiff as marble, and it was in a very quiet tone 
 that she observed : —
 
 THE SUBSTITUTE. 179 
 
 ' You know, I suppose, that I was expect- 
 ing him.' 
 
 Uncle Ealph closed his eyes and uplifted 
 his hands ; no words could have more clearly 
 expressed his shame and abhorrence of what 
 had occurred ; he looked like some virtuous 
 father in a melodrama, desolated by the mis- 
 conduct of an unworthy son. 
 
 ^My dear Mrs. Beckett,' he answered im- 
 pressively, 'I know all\ that is to say,' he 
 added hastily, remembering that there were 
 some incidents in the matter in hand (such as 
 Mrs. Beckett's letter to his nephew) which he 
 had better not know, ' all that a man who feels 
 he has behaved recklessly and discreditably 
 dares to tell another. I am come here not to 
 excuse Edgar, nor even to palhate his conduct, 
 but, so far as it admits of explanation, to ex- 
 plain it/ 
 
 The widow sat like a statue, ' staring right 
 on ' at the wall behind him with straining 
 eyes ; she could not trust herself, such was the 
 humiliation and sliame — but above all the 
 
 N 2
 
 180 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 anger — that consumed her, to make so much 
 as a sign. If life should stir within her ever 
 so little, it seemed to her that the pent-up 
 torrent of her wrath must needs burst forth, 
 and that she must ' say things ' of which she ■ 
 would repent her whole life long. This im- 
 passiveness was extremely embarrassing to 
 Uncle Ealph, who was much in want of a lead ; 
 he felt like a man who starts upon an aerial 
 voyage without a straw to tell him which way 
 the wind is blowing, and is very much afraid 
 of his balloon going to sea. 
 
 ' The fact is, my dear Mrs. Beckett, my 
 nephew Edgar is impressionable — too impres- 
 sionable — tender-hearted, very susceptible of 
 kindness, but a creature of impulse. Of 
 course he did not acquaint me with the actual 
 details of the transaction in question ; but I 
 understand that you exhibited the generosity 
 that is habitual with you, though it is such as 
 does not enter into the dreams of others. 
 There lay his error ; he attached too special 
 and particular significance to an act which was
 
 THE SUBSTITUTE. 181 
 
 with you one of everyday practice ; in point of 
 fact,' concluded Uncle Ealpb, beginning to lose 
 confidence in his balancing pole upon this very 
 high rope, ' you sent him some money.' 
 
 ' I did ! ' The words shot out from the 
 poor lady's tight-shut lips like a pellet from a 
 pop-gun. ' The sum,' she added with more 
 self-command of tone, ' was a very small one.' 
 
 ' No doubt ; that is, it seemed so to you, 
 dear Mrs. Beckett ; but we have not all'yoiu: 
 princely revenues. Moreover, it is the charac- 
 teristic of a nature such as Edcrar's to exacf^e- 
 rate a kindness. His heart was overflowino- 
 mth gratitude. On the impulse of the moment 
 he wrote to you a letter which he now regrets ; 
 since in it (as I am given to understand) he 
 offered you, though it is true only by impHca- 
 tion, what was not his to give.' 
 
 The widow smiled faintly ; she felt sick at 
 heart. This news that Edgar loved another 
 was worse — infinitely worse — than all ; but 
 still she smiled. 
 
 ' You did not take it in that sense ? ' con-
 
 182 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 tinued the other eagerly. ' I am indeed 
 dehghted to hear it ; that was the very view of 
 the matter I took myself. " My dear Edgar," 
 I said, " if Mrs. Beckett has taken your com- 
 munication in earnest " ' — the widow's brow 
 darkened. Uncle Ealph altered his course 
 with the speed of a skater who nears a hole — 
 and a very deep one — ' " or rather I should 
 say if Mrs. Beckett fails to see that your grati- 
 tude has overwhelmed your judgment, your 
 letter will give her annoyance. She will very 
 justly consider it a piece of impertinence. 
 That you are a great favourite of hers is true 
 (which emboldens me to hope that she will 
 forgive you) ; but she has never given you the 
 slightest encouragement — even if you were free 
 to do it, which you are not — to make any such 
 proposal to her. It is one which a man, much 
 more suitable for her than yourself, would, 
 under her exceptional circumstances, hesitate 
 to make, however he might admire and adore 
 her." ' 
 
 Here Uncle Ealph's voice faltered ; it was
 
 THE SUBSTITUTE. 183 
 
 clear that he was suffering from personal 
 emotion. 
 
 ' " Such a proceeding on his part would be 
 open to so much misconstruction, that he 
 would prefer to carry his secret with him to 
 the grave. But you, you have rushed in 
 where — that is to say, where a more eligible, 
 though not perhaps a more worthy, suitor 
 would have hesitated to tread. My only hope 
 — which, however, is a firm one — is that this 
 dear and excellent lady will have appreciated 
 your motives, and therefore understood your 
 mistake." I told him all that,' concluded 
 Uncle Ealph, wiping his forehead instead of 
 his eyes. He was quite conscious of the anti- 
 climax involved in the last sentence, but he 
 really could not maintain this noble style any 
 longer ; it was like keeping five balls going in 
 the air at once — all spiked. 
 
 ' I quite understood the matter,' returned 
 the widow, beginning to recover her self- 
 possession and feeling not a little grateful to 
 her companion for pointing out to her any road
 
 184 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 which avoided the valley of humiliation ; ' but 
 I thought your nephew would have had the 
 grace to make an apology with his own lips.' 
 
 ' Ah, madam, pray have pity upon him ! ' 
 returned Uncle Ealph, pathetically. ' He was 
 ashamed to do so ; perhaps he feared, in the 
 presence of so much graciousness and beauty ' 
 (Mrs. Beckett blushed not unbecomingly, and 
 certainly not because she was offended), ' that 
 he should again waver in his allegiance where 
 it was due by rights — for indeed it had been 
 offered and was accepted.' A hope that his 
 previous words had fanned anew in the 
 widow's breast here faded away and became 
 cold embers. Uncle Ealph read it in her face, 
 but he could not afford to spare her. It was 
 necessary to his own interests that that hope 
 should die ; and he accordingly set his heel 
 upon it. ' Yes, madam, my nephew is engaged 
 to another lady. So far, as I told him, he is 
 the more excusable, since, being so situated, 
 his conduct towards yourself shows that he had 
 taken leave of his senses.'
 
 THE SUBSTITUTE. 185 
 
 Without taking notice of this plea of in- 
 sanity Mrs. Beckett inquired in quiet tones, 
 ' Has your nephew been long engaged to be 
 married ? ' 
 
 The word 'lojg' in respect of time is 
 almost as vague and variable as the carpenter's 
 definition of magnitude — ' about the size of a 
 piece of chalk.' Uncle Ealph knew very well 
 — for Edgar had made a clean breast to him 
 of everything at luncheon, and besought his 
 assistance — that his engagement to Mary was 
 about three hours old, but it would have been 
 injudicious to say so. ' Xot a very long time,' 
 he replied evasively ; ' but the attachment is an 
 old one, and to me I must say,' he added with 
 a gentle sigh, ' a most inexphcable one.' 
 
 'Why?' 
 
 The curtness of this monosyllabic inquiry 
 seemed to disconcert Mr. Ealph Dornay ex- 
 ceedingly. 
 
 ' Well ; there are certain reasons, madam, 
 if you compel me to mention them. Under 
 the same roof with the object of my nephew's
 
 186 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 affections, who has httle beyond personal 
 beauty, and (I admit) a sweet disposition, to 
 recommend her, there dwells another lady 
 equally attractive in those respects, and, in 
 my humble opinion, a thousand times more 
 worthy of a man's devotion/ 
 
 ' Do I know this young woman, Mr. 
 Dornay ? ' 
 
 ' You do, madam.' 
 
 She had anticipated no other reply ; but its 
 effect was extraordinary. Her eyes literally 
 flashed fire ; she did not speak, but her hps 
 moved rapidly ; her foot tapped vehemently 
 upon the floor as if in warning to something 
 within her — her temper — to keep itself within 
 bounds. 
 
 ' I have heard of a fit of jealousy,' thought 
 Uncle Ealph to himself, ' and begad she is 
 going to have one. This is the worst bit of 
 the road, and I wish I was well over it.' 
 
 '• So — so, Mr. Dornay,' continued the 
 widow, in a voice between a hiss and a scream, 
 ' your nephew has been paying court to Miss
 
 THE SUBSTITUTE. 187 
 
 Marvon — my companion — has he, beneatti my 
 very roof? I hope at least that his intentions 
 were honourable.' 
 
 'Come, that's well,' thought Uncle Ealph ; 
 ' that must have reheved her.' But it was with 
 a deprecating air and in very gentle tones that 
 he rephed, ' Oh yes ; as far as that goes, cer- 
 tainly. Indeed, I have a letter from him to 
 the young lady herself which, as I have reason 
 to believe, sets forth ' 
 
 ' Give it me ! ' and ^Irs. Beckett held forth 
 her hand with an imperious gesture. 
 
 Here was a crisis indeed. If he committed 
 what he knew to be Edgar's private offer of 
 marriage to Mary Marvon into the widow's 
 hands, good-bye for ever to his nephew's 
 friendship ; a long farewell to all the advan- 
 tages flowing from ' the head of the family ' 
 and ancestral ties ; but if he refused, it was 
 equally plain that he would lose the 
 widow. 
 
 ' There is nothing, my dear Mrs. Beckett, 
 nothing — that I could find in my heart to
 
 188 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 refuse you ; I would that you could read that 
 heart.' 
 
 ' I have, I do,' she said significantly. He 
 took her still extended hand and kissed it. 
 ' Is it possible,' he whispered softly but boldly, 
 ' that I may hope one day to call this mine ? ' 
 
 She did not say 'Yes' — though she had 
 certainly well understood him — and she did 
 not say 'No.' Many emotions were at work 
 within her — though none of them was love — 
 which urged her to accept him. The most 
 powerful of them was pique — which has driven 
 both man and woman into wedlock with more 
 precipitancy than ever love did ; there was 
 revenge which she could wreak by this means 
 both upon the unfaithful Edgar and on Mary ; 
 and there was pride, for thus she saw her way 
 to save herself from humihation in the eyes of. 
 Mr. Eennie. But amidst it all her thoughts 
 were much more occupied with her old love 
 than with her new. 
 
 ' Give me the letter ! ' she repeated—' your 
 nephew's letter.'
 
 THE SUBSTITUTE. 189 
 
 Uncle Ealph put a note into her hand ; it 
 was addressed to herself in Edgar's hand- 
 writing. 
 
 * What is this ? ' she inquired. 
 
 ' Carried away by emotion and over- 
 whelmed by gratitude to you for holding out 
 a hope to me which I myself had scarcely 
 ventured to entertain, I had forgotten this 
 little matter,' he said. 'I believe it contains 
 nothing but your cheque.' 
 
 She tore it across and across with vehem- 
 ence, and snowed the fragments on the floor. 
 
 ' I want his letter to Mary Marvon.' 
 
 It was certainly a breach of confidence and 
 something worse, but ^Ir. Ealph Dornay had 
 gone too far to retreat ; he gave her Mary 
 Marvon's letter. She clutched it with eager 
 haste. 
 
 ' I know you will respect the contents,' he 
 said ; not that he thought she would, but by 
 way of protest against their violation, and be- 
 cause he had been brought up as a gentleman. 
 
 ' Truly, they merit respect,' was the scorn-
 
 190 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 ful rejoinder. ' You may depend, Mr. Dornay, 
 upon this letter reaching its destination ; and 
 now, if you please, I must be alone.' 
 
 ' And when, my dear Mrs. Beckett ' — he 
 did not even yet dare address her by her 
 Christian name — ' may I hope to see you 
 again ? After having made me the happiest 
 of men, do not doom me to banishment, every 
 moment of which will be torture.' 
 
 ' To-morrow.' 
 
 ' At what hour shall I find you alone ? ' 
 
 ' At any hour,' she answered (with an 
 exultant look which the other neatly trans- 
 lated ' Miss Sharp-tongue will get her conge 
 then at once ') ; ' you may come to lunch if 
 you like.' 
 
 'At two o'clock then, to-morrow; good- 
 bye.' He took her hand, and, once more 
 raising it to his hps. whispered so that she 
 could hear it or not, as she pleased, ' Dear, 
 dearest Kitty.'
 
 191 
 
 CHAPTER Xn. 
 
 TWO WOMEX. 
 
 There are bad men as there are bad women — 
 and a great many more of the former than of 
 the latter — but good does not become bad in 
 the male with such rapidity as in the female. 
 Nemo repente^ &c., is a remark that does not 
 apply to the softer sex. They are quicker 
 about ever}'thing ; and, for one thing, to take 
 offence. Wound a womau, even by accident, 
 in her susceptibilities, her admiration for her 
 husband, her love for lier children, her own 
 good looks, or her age, and you will ' see 
 sparks.' Should she be supplanted in the 
 affections of her lover it will arouse a sleeping 
 devil such as you would never believe could have 
 found harbom' in so fair a form. Whether
 
 192 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 you resist him or not, he will not ' flee from 
 you.' and you may be considered excep- 
 tionally fortunate if he does not fly at you. 
 
 If Mrs. Beckett has not given the reader 
 the impression of being on the whole a good 
 sort of woman, it is the fault of him who has 
 described her ; but just at present she is hardly 
 recognisable as a woman at all. Edgar Dor- 
 nay's letter to Mary Marvon lies before her un- 
 opened ; I don't say she would have read it if 
 she could, but I think it fortunate that he did 
 not put it into an adhesive envelope, but took 
 the precaution to seal it. In a metaphorical 
 sense she had already read it, for her eyes 
 pierced through and through it ; she would 
 have given a thousand pounds to have been 
 able to possess herself of its contents without 
 detection ; but the Dor nay crest was a pecuhar 
 one, and though she might be said to have 
 duplicated her arrangements with certain mem- 
 bers of the family, she had no duplicate of 
 that. 
 
 Another letter lay beside it in the same
 
 TWO WOMEX. 193 
 
 hand^vriting ; the one she had herself received 
 but yesterday from her faithless swain — he had 
 lied to her, humiliated her, played her false, 
 and she had not one spark of affection left for 
 him. But she did not at that moment hate 
 him as she hated that 'impudent, treacherous, 
 designing minx ' — who, as a matter of fact, had 
 not injured her in thought or word or deed — 
 Mary Marvon. 
 
 The second letter — the widow's own — was 
 loathsome to her, but she was glad that she 
 had not torn it up in her first paroxysm of fury 
 (which she had been tempted to do) as she had 
 torn the cheque ; for it still had its uses. Pre- 
 sently, though it was hke putting a serpent 
 there, she placed it in her bosom, and with the 
 other (Mary's letter) in her hand she descended 
 into the drawing-room and rang the bell. 
 
 ' Is Miss Marvon within doors ? ' 
 
 ' I beUeve so, my lady.' 
 
 ' Tell her — that is, tell Simmons to tell her 
 — that I wish to see her in her own room.' 
 
 After a few minutes, to admit of her being 
 
 VOL. I. o
 
 194 THICKER THAT^" WATER. 
 
 prepared for her and alone, the widow went 
 upstairs as Eleanor visited Eosamond ; the bowl 
 in one hand, the dagger in the other. But her 
 errand was less merciful — it was her intention 
 to use both. 
 
 Mary, inclined for sohtude, and chewing the 
 cud of sweet reflection, had been more annoyed 
 than surprised by the maid's message ; it had 
 interrupted some bright day-dreams, but it was 
 not unusual for Mrs. Beckett to seek half an 
 hour's intimate talk with her young companion, 
 which she playfully termed ' a kegmeg.' Poor 
 Mary, who had been waiting for the postman 
 with her ears pricked, little imagined what sort 
 of a kegmeg it was destined to be. 
 
 Directly she caught sight of Mrs. Beckett's 
 face, indeed, she knew that something was 
 wrong, and very wrong ; not a suspicion, how- 
 ever, crossed her mind of the real state of the 
 case. She rose quickly, with a look of affec- 
 tionate sympathy. ' My dear Mrs. Beckett, 
 what has happened ? ' 
 
 ' I have brought you a letter, Miss Marvon ; '
 
 TWO WOMEN. 195 
 
 here she threw it on the table. ' It is for you, 
 is it not ? ' for ITary was gazing at it with wild 
 surprise. ' You know the handwriting, I sup- 
 pose, and I fancy you must have been expect- 
 ing it.' 
 
 ' Yes, Mrs. Beckett, I did expect it.' 
 
 Mary had drawn herself up to her full 
 heicrht, and was looking the widow straight in 
 the face ; her manner was respectful, but by no 
 means subservient. Her voice was resolute and 
 without a tremor. It seemed to say, ' You are 
 my social superior, but you have no right to 
 interfere with my private affairs.' 
 
 'Oh, you did, did you? You have the 
 impudence to tell me that.' 
 
 ' Madam ! ' 
 
 ' Yes ; I repeat it, the impudence. How 
 dare you look me in the face hke that, con- 
 scious as you must be of such underhand and 
 shameful ways P Yes, you may well blush ; I 
 am glad to see you can blush.' 
 
 ' You must have gone mad, Mrs. Beckett,' 
 interrupted Mary ; not because she thought so, 
 2
 
 196 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 but because, though a sweet-tempered and 
 generous girl, she was not a patient Griselda. 
 
 ' That is true,' was the widow's unexpected 
 reply. ' I must have gone stark staring mad to 
 have so long believed in the innocence of such 
 a treacherous, artful creature ; to have wasted 
 kindness and consideration on such an ingrate. 
 I ought to have remembered the proverb about 
 setting beggars on horseback.' 
 
 ' And when, madam, may I ask, have I ever 
 begged of you ? ' 
 
 It was a pertinent question ; for twenty 
 times had the widow protested to her young 
 companion that she was a treasure that no 
 money could buy, and that the obligation in 
 the matter of her engagement at Beckett House 
 lay on the side of the employer, and not of the 
 employed. Mary's salary, though a hberal one, 
 was not excessive, and she herself had declined, 
 notwithstanding Mrs. Beckett's repeated solici- 
 tations, to have it raised. It could certainly not 
 be said with any truth that she tad begged of 
 her. There was a faint mitigation in Mrs.
 
 TWO WOMEN. 197 
 
 Beckett's tone. It was still vinegar, but vine- 
 gar without cayenne pepper, as she repHed, 
 ' At all events. Miss Marvon, your condition 
 here was that of an inferior, and it ill became 
 you indeed to set your cap, as you have done, 
 at a gentleman like Mr. Domay, my guest and 
 equal.' 
 
 ' Measured by the piu-se, madam,' returned 
 Mary, coldly, ' no doubt you are in a very supe- 
 rior position ; still, there are other standards. 
 I will admit — though I see it now for the first 
 time — that my proper course was to have told 
 you of Mr. Dornay's attentions to me ; but I 
 will not admit — no, not for a moment — that 
 there was anything to be reprobated in my 
 encouracrincr them, even if I did encouracre 
 them, which, as he will tell you, I never did.' 
 
 ' Re will tell me ! ' echoed the other dis- 
 dainfully. ' Do you think I shall stoop to ask 
 him? Do you think I don't know how your 
 w^hole scheme was carried on as though I had 
 seen it played ? Your pretence of modesty, 
 your mock humility, your innocence, while all
 
 198 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 the time your heart — no, not your heart, your 
 cunning, artful mind — was fixed on making him 
 your husband ; him in whose veins runs the 
 best blood in England, and you a base-born 
 nobody — nobody's child.' 
 
 ' That is false ! ' interrupted the girl, with 
 a deep flush. ' Everything you say is false. 
 Who told you I was — what you said just 
 now ? ' 
 
 'Never mind who told me. I know it. 
 Ask your friend Mrs. Sotheran. You to marry 
 Edgar Dornay ; you ! I wish him joy of you. 
 Eead his letter, his offer of disinterested love ; 
 and w^hen you have read it, read that' She 
 took the note that lay in her bosom and threw 
 it on the table beside the other. ' You will see 
 there that you were not the first to whom he 
 has offered himself ; that you were but a second 
 thought, such as strikes a man on the spur of 
 the moment — a pis aller, a makeshift, that he 
 takes up with out of pique, when he has failed 
 to secure for himself wealth and station.' 
 
 She was gone in a moment, leaving the
 
 TWO WOMEN'. 199 
 
 letters behind her, and Mary gazing at them 
 with bewildered looks. 
 
 What had happened? ^Yhat did it all 
 mean ? All that she knew for certain was that 
 a terrible change had befallen her, and that she 
 was not the same woman who but a few minutes 
 ago had been indulging in dreams of happiness, 
 lapping herself in soft Lydian airs, or rather to 
 that ' imheard music ' which the poet truly 
 tells us is sweeter far than any evoked from 
 chord. 
 
 Mrs. Beckett had said many things which, 
 whether true or false, demanded her immediate 
 attention ; it behoved her to look them in the 
 face, and, for the future, hfe itself in the face. 
 She knew even now that she would have to 
 fight her way in the world alone ; and well in- 
 deed for her if that should prove the worst of 
 it. Poor she knew she was, but base-born ! 
 If that was true — well, what mattered ? What 
 need is there to blush for offences for which 
 we ourselves are in no way to blame ? Yet 
 the colour was high in poor Mary's cheeks.
 
 200 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 First to be considered, however — if, indeed, 
 she was capable of consideration or reflection — 
 were the letters. Mrs. Beckett had recom- 
 mended her to read them in a certain order. 
 It was but natural that she should take the 
 contrary course. She read the widow's letter 
 first. 
 
 ' My dear Mrs. Beckett, — Your kind letter 
 has affected me beyond measure. I feel I am 
 not worthy of your love, but I hope to become 
 worthy of it. I shall be with, you at three 
 o'clock on Monday, when I shall trust to find 
 you alone. 
 
 ' Ever yours affectionately, 
 
 'Edgar Dornay.' 
 
 The date was Saturday — only Saturday ! 
 He was to have been with Mrs. Beckett to-day 
 almost at that very hour. Doubtless he would 
 have been with her had she not rejected him 
 by letter in the meantime ; and having received 
 that letter and found his chances of ' seciuring 
 wealth and station' (those were the woman's
 
 Tvro wo^fEX, 201 
 
 very words) were over, lie had offered his dis- 
 dained hand that very morning to herself. 
 Poor Mary ! If her rival's advice had been 
 followed, her cup would without doubt have 
 been made more bitter for her ; to have opened 
 her lover's letter first, and afterwards to have 
 learnt his infidelity, would have been hard in- 
 deed. But she was forewarned and forearmed. 
 His burning words of passion reached her heart 
 but could not sear it ; it had to some extent 
 been rendered callous; his protestations of 
 eternal love awoke no answering chord, and 
 even some contempt. She had misplaced her 
 love; but,ha\ing discovered her mistake, she was 
 not one of those who waste it to the very dregs 
 upon an unworthy object. She was not angry 
 with him as Mrs. Beckett had been ; nay, even 
 while she despised him, she pitied him. ' What 
 was luxury, what was wealth,' he had said to 
 her only a few hours ago, ' compared with such 
 a treasure as herself?' And only a few hours 
 before he had told her so, he had proposed to 
 the richest widow in England ! She did not
 
 202 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 know, of course, what had actually occurred ;' 
 that the widow had sent him money and pro- 
 posed to him ; yet she pretty accurately 
 guessed how matters lay and the motives 
 that had actuated him. She felt that Edgar 
 Dornay had preferred her to her rival all 
 along ; that his love for her had even to a 
 certain extent been genuine ; nay, she believed 
 (reading his conduct of the mornmg by the 
 light now thrown upon it) that he had expe- 
 rienced a certain sense of rehef in having been 
 rejected by the widow, and left free to follow 
 what had been his inclination throughout. But 
 Mary Marvon was not the sort of woman who 
 is willing to accept a man's inclination in ex- 
 change for her love. Not for one single in- 
 stant did she entertain the thought of his now 
 becoming her husband. It was not the appre- 
 hension of any weakness on her own part — 
 the idea that with reflection should intrude 
 the least shadow of a doubt — which caused 
 her to sit down and pen him these few lines 
 at once : —
 
 rvvo woMEX. 203 
 
 'Dear Sir, — Mrs. Beckett has just handed 
 me your letter, as well as your note of Satiu-day 
 addressed to herself. I have no more to say to 
 you, save that I wish you well. 
 
 ' Yours sincerely, 
 
 ' Maky Marvo>\' 
 
 She merely wished to get that matter over 
 and done with. As to RettuiCT it ' off her mind,' 
 
 DO ' 
 
 that, alas ! was quite another thing. It was 
 Ukely to remain as long as memory held its seat 
 there. It seemed to her as though her love had 
 not so much been misplaced as mislaid ; that 
 the faculty of entertaining the passion was irre- 
 vocably lost. If she had not had that faculty 
 she would have missed nothing ; it is not the 
 man who is born blind who suffers, but the man 
 who has had the use of his sight and becomes 
 bUnd. 
 
 There are certain cases of misfortune in 
 which our very deficiencies are of advantage to 
 us ; not in matters material^every drawback 
 is there an additional source of imhappiness —
 
 204 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 but in those of sentiment and spiritual life. 
 When, for instance, one is poor, and there is an 
 absolute necessity for exertion, the bruised heart 
 does not feel its pain as it does when one is 
 prosperous ; one must needs be up and doing, 
 either for one's own sake or for that of others, 
 and work not only prevents us from brooding 
 over our calamities but is itself a balm. To stay 
 another hour under Mrs. Beckett's roof seemed 
 intolerable to Mary; there was an immediate 
 necessity for her leaving it ; but whither, in her 
 forlorn and friendless condition, should she 
 go? 
 
 To Letcombe Dottrell she could hardly go 
 without an invitation, or at least an express 
 permission from Mrs. Sotheran. There had 
 been always a disinclination on the part of that 
 lady to see her at her own home ; she had been 
 so kind and friendly to her in all other respects 
 that this had hitherto seemed inexplicable to 
 Mary. But now, after those cruel words of 
 Mrs. Beckett, she felt that there might be some 
 reason for it. Base-born ! If so, the Past,
 
 TWO WOMEN. 205 
 
 like the Future, was full of humiliation and 
 bitterness ; it had been a mistaken kindness to 
 conceal such a misfortune from, her ; but now, 
 at all events, it behoved her to know the 
 worst. Only there were things still more press- 
 ing. First and foremost, her letter to Edgar 
 must be despatched ; while it remained unsent, 
 it seemed to her that she was boimd by invisible 
 but shameful chains ; and then she must cast 
 about in her mind for some temporary home 
 in town till Mrs. Sotheran could be communi- 
 cated with. She was about to ring the bell 
 when Simmons entered. 
 
 My lady's lady's-maid, as she dehghted to 
 call herself, was of mature years and of a rue- 
 ful countenance ; her inferiors addressed her as 
 Mrs. Simmons, but it was but a title of courtesy, 
 she still withered upon the virgin thorn. She 
 was a mere anatomy of a woman, reminding 
 you, in her extreme scragginess, of the poet's 
 ungallant observation, ' Madam, if I know ypur 
 sex by the fashion of your bones.' But her 
 frame was always elegantly apparelled, and
 
 206 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 within it there was a kindly heart. She had 
 never felt the antipathy of her class towards her 
 mistress's ' companion ' ; and, now she was in 
 trouble, she sympathised with her. What had 
 actually happened of course she did not know ; 
 she would have given her ears to know, though 
 they were an exceptionally large pair ; but she 
 well understood that Miss Marvon had had 
 notice to quit, or, as Mr. Harris below stairs 
 had more concisely expressed it, ' had got the 
 sack.' 
 
 ' If you please, Miss, my lady bade me give 
 you this note.' 
 
 It ran as follows : — 
 
 ' Mrs. Beckett thinks it possible that, after 
 what has taken place. Miss Marvon may think 
 it expedient to remove at once from Beckett 
 House. This, in Mrs. Beckett's opinion, is not 
 necessary, as the house is large enough to 
 afford Miss Marvon accommodation and privacy 
 without annoyance to any one. The inclosed 
 cheque, due to Miss Marvon for her services, is 
 simply sent for her personal convenience, and
 
 TWO WO^klEX. 207 
 
 by no means as a hint that her presence is no 
 longer desirable. During the remainder of 
 Miss Marvon's stay at Beckett House her meals 
 will be served — since that arrangement will 
 probably be more agreeable to her — in her 
 own apartment.' 
 
 ' Please to thank Mrs. Beckett, Simmons,' 
 said Mary, softly, ' and say I will take advan- 
 tage of her consideration ; and be so good as to 
 have this letter sent by the first post.' 
 
 Even as it was, she was touched by her 
 hostess's note ; and if she had known all — that 
 is, how severely the widow's amour propre had 
 been wounded — she would have regarded her 
 late conduct with still greater charity. The 
 fact was, as was remarked in the servants' hall, 
 where opinion is in the main correct, ' My lady 
 was not a bad sort.' Though, hke most of her 
 sex, she could be very * small ' upon occasions 
 (or even when there was no occasion), her 
 nature was not a petty one, and, albeit easily 
 moved to passion, she was quick to repent of it. 
 Nay, even when still angry, and very angry —
 
 208 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 as in the present instance — she had a certain 
 generosity of spirit towards the object of her dis- 
 like. She felt it would be a mean and cowardly- 
 action for one in her position to thrust forth 
 from her doors, in doubt as to where she 
 should lay her head, a poor and friendless girl, 
 even though she had been her successful rival. 
 She was her guest, too ; and enough of sim- 
 plicity of character remained to the widow to 
 make her feel the duties of hospitality ; perhaps 
 she even confessed to herself that she was old 
 enough to be Mary's mother, and that it was 
 her duty to protect her. That remark about 
 the house being large enough for two might 
 even have been taken for conciliation, had the 
 girl been inclined that way. Then, as to 
 material matters, Mrs. Beckett had been 
 generous ; she had added a quarter's salary, in 
 lieu of notice, to the money due to her late 
 companion. This, however, through her per- 
 tm-bation of mind, had for the moment escaped 
 Mary's attention. 
 
 Though the necessity for her departure
 
 TWO WOMEX. 209 
 
 seemed no longer so pressing, she was very 
 anxious to depart, and unwilling to wait till 
 letters could be exchanged between herself and 
 Mrs. Sotheran. The only friend except Charley, 
 who, under the circumstances, was out of the 
 question, upon whose advice she could rely in 
 London, was Mr. Eennie. She had no claim 
 upon him, indeed, whatever ; but his manner 
 to her had been always so cordial — mth a touch 
 of the guardian too, which encoiu:aged her even 
 more than its cordiahty — that she resolved to 
 ask his aid. It was a very small thing she re- 
 quired of him — namely, a recommendation to 
 some respectable lodging — but it w^as essential 
 she should have it. She did not, of course, 
 enter into the reasons which caused her to 
 desire so immediate a change of quarters ; and 
 she knew, even if Mr. Eennie should come to 
 her, that he was far too reticent and judicious 
 a man to compel her to give them. It would 
 be enough for him to know that a breach had 
 taken place between herself and her hostess that 
 was irreparable. Curiously enough, while Mary 
 VOL. I. p
 
 210 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 was penning lier simple despatch to the worthy 
 lawyer, her hostess was also writing a few lines 
 to the same gentleman, upon a ^videly different 
 subject, and dealing with much more important 
 matters. 
 
 ' Dear Mr. Eennie, — I have been thinking 
 over our conversation of this morning, and have 
 come to the conclusion that your opinion is the 
 correct one. You may consider my previous 
 instructions — a copy of which you were so good 
 as to send me —as cancelled. My engagement, 
 of course, remains an accomplished fact ; but I 
 shall not settle the fifty thousand pounds, nor, 
 indeed, any sum, upon Mr. Dornay. Your 
 suggestion that he should have a life interest 
 out of the estate is, after all, the most reason- 
 Tible, and will, I am sure, be quite satisfactory 
 to him. I mil communicate with you further 
 upon the matter in a few days. 
 
 ' Yours most faithfully, 
 
 ' Kate Bece.ett.'
 
 TWO WOMEN. 211 
 
 ' What a fortunate thing it is,' reflected the 
 widow, as she sealed her letter, ' that, though 
 I admitted his name began v/ith a D and ended 
 with a Y, I never told Mr. Eennie which Mr. 
 Dornay it was ! ' 
 
 p 2
 
 212 THICKER THAN WATEK. 
 
 CHAPTEE XIII, 
 
 MRS. SOTHERAN. 
 
 Although no immediate help or advice could 
 be looked for from Letcombe DottreU, the need 
 for writing to Mrs. Sotheran seemed to Mary 
 the most imperative of all the matters that 
 pressed upon her attention. She had little 
 doubt, since Mrs. Beckett had said so, that her 
 parentage had not only been obscure but dis- 
 tjraceful. That it was more humble on the 
 one side than on the other she had guessed for 
 herself; partly from what Mrs. Sotheran had 
 told her, and partly from her silence upon the 
 subject. Either her father or her mother had, 
 by their marriage, annoyed certain members of 
 =:the family of one of them, and what was so
 
 MRS. SOTHERAX. 213 
 
 likely to have been the cause as an inequality 
 of social position ? The effect of this had been, 
 she had been led to understand, disinheritance ; 
 and, having this fact in her mind, it is certain 
 that if Edgar Dornay had had either father or 
 mother to say him nay, Mary would never 
 have consented to become his wife. But these 
 conclusions of hers had, it now seemed, been 
 drawn from wrong premisses, and Mrs. Sotheran 
 had had a better (or worse) reason for her long 
 reticence as respected her parents than she had 
 ever suspected. It was necessary to resolve all 
 doubt upon this matter, if doubt she could be 
 said to have ; though she had to face the world 
 alone, she would do so under no false colours. 
 Pretence and concealment were abhorrent to 
 her. She almost thanked Mrs. Beckett for 
 having opened her eyes, however roughly, to 
 her true position. How terrible it would have 
 been to have suffered Edgar's engagement to 
 have gone on in ignorance of the stain of her 
 birth! She was far, however, from being 
 angry with Mrs. Sotheran, whose silence, she
 
 214 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 well understood, had been dictated by kind- 
 ness and consideration. 
 
 By the same post by which her note was 
 despatched to Mr. Eennie she wrote to Let- 
 combe Dottrell : — 
 
 ' My dear Mrs. Sotheran, — A very serious 
 disagreement has taken place between Mrs. 
 Beckett and myself which will at once neces- 
 sitate my leaving her house ; so be so good as 
 to reply to me to the care of Mr. Eennie, who 
 will be in possession of my address. Of the 
 cause of quarrel I cannot write now at any 
 length ; let it suffice to say that Mrs. Beckett 
 is angry with me for having encouraged the 
 attentions of a visitor at her house, and has 
 spoken to me upon the subject in such terms 
 as renders any further communication with her 
 impossible. It is not true that I encouraged 
 his attentions : they were paid to me without 
 the least encouragement ; but it is quite true 
 that, but for other circumstances to which it 
 is now unnecessary to allude, I should have
 
 MRS. SOTHERAN. 215 
 
 accepted them. All that is over now ; but what 
 most annoyed LIrs. Beckett, as she gave me to 
 understand, was the difference in social position 
 between myself and the gentleman in question. 
 As I knew of no difference, save the mere con- 
 ventional ones of rank and money, I defended 
 myself from her reproaches with some spirit. 
 I am not aware of it, but it is possible that I 
 even lost my temper. Then she told me — 
 what I certainly did not know, and which if I 
 had known would have caused me to take a 
 very different view of the case — that I was 
 base-born, " nobody's child," as she termed it. 
 Dear JMrs. Sotheran, do not think I blame you 
 for having so long concealed so painful a fact 
 from my knowledge : but is this true ? One 
 word will be sufficient — " Yes," or " No." It 
 would have been better, far better, had I known 
 it before ; but it is absolutely necessary that I 
 should know it now. It will make no difference 
 to me ; nothing can make any difference to 
 me.' 
 
 Here the girl uttered a deep sigh and laid
 
 216 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 her pen down upon the table. That last sen- 
 tence had expressed the whole state of the case 
 as regarded her own feelings. Happy the man, 
 and happier the woman, who has never been 
 forced to utter, from the depths of a bruised 
 heart, ' nothing can henceforth make any differ- 
 ence to me.' It is never true, of course ; for 
 everything makes a difference ; but in that 
 supreme hour of agony and despair in which 
 we hear nothing but the mould upon Hope's 
 coffin-lid, it seems to be true. 
 
 ' I wish to know,' she went on, ' my true 
 position in every respect. I have no expec- 
 tations of any kind, so you need not be afraid 
 of disappointing me. Dear Mrs. Sotheran, this 
 is not, I feel, how I should write to so old and 
 tried a friend, and one to whose kindness I 
 owe so much. Forgive me and be frank with 
 me. However low my lot may be in the world, 
 let me at least stand on firm ground. 
 ' Yours affectionately, 
 
 ' Mary Marvon.'
 
 MRS. SOTHERAN. 217 
 
 The tongue of man is but a small member, 
 yet (like Cromwell, who represented Hunting- 
 don) what great things doth it effect ! And 
 even still more may this be said of the pen. 
 It is of small consequence who writes with it ; 
 it is the thing written which does the work and 
 remains. Who would think that a few words 
 jotted down in despondency by a penniless girl 
 just turned out of her situation, coidd affect 
 any one but herself ? Human society, however, 
 is but as one great body full of nerves, sensitive 
 in all its parts, and conscious even of a thorn 
 in its foot — which is fortunate, for otherwise 
 some of us would care httle on what (or whom) 
 we trod. 
 
 That missive of poor Mary's, a mere wail of 
 impotent distress, dropped into the pillar-box 
 by John Thomas with a sniff of contempt for 
 the ex-companion — for every one knew she was 
 ' going ' — sorted with ten thousand others as 
 though they were the rags from which they 
 came, but each bearing its message of weal or 
 woe, was fated to cause some commotion.
 
 218 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 Its destination was a village in Dorsetshire ; 
 its recipient, a w^idow of fifty-five or so, living 
 in a cottage of gentility (though it had no 
 double coach-house) called ' The Bank.' Any 
 dwelling less hke a bank it was difficult to 
 imagine ; it was very slightly built, and, being 
 in a part of the country where thieves were 
 never known to break through and steal, it 
 had neither bolt nor bar belonging to it. The 
 front door was indeed religiously locked every 
 night, but as the two windows on either side of 
 it opened to the ground, and had only outside 
 jalousies by way of shutters, the precaution 
 was somewhat superfluous. Above it towered 
 a huge sandbank (from which it took its name) 
 pigeon-holed by sand-martins who kept the air 
 about it in a perpetual twitter. A verandah 
 festooned with creepers, now in blossom, ran 
 round the front of the house, which commanded 
 a lovely view. In the foreground, a pretty 
 lawn and garden with a few noble trees ; 
 beyond, a vast expanse of landscape with a 
 misty line on the horizon, which was the sea.
 
 MKS. SOTHERAX. 219 
 
 Half-way down the hill on which the 
 cottage was set was a confused mass of towers 
 and turrets, betokening the presence of some 
 stately mansion. 
 
 The mistress of the cottage, a faded and 
 somewhat sickly looking lady, though with 
 that expression of kindliness and good- will 
 which is the dower of a gentle and harmless 
 nature, was watering some flowers in the 
 verandah, when that quick, firm step (at once 
 suggesting haste and burthen) which belongs 
 to postmen, was heard upon the gravel sweep 
 without. She looked up from her occupation 
 with a flush of apprehension ; not that she ex- 
 pected bad news, but because from her tem- 
 perament, and it must be added from her ex- 
 perience — for it had been a sad one — bad news 
 always suggested itself to her more naturally 
 than good news. At the sight of the missive 
 the man put in her hand, however, her coun- 
 tenance resumed its usual expression. It was 
 only a letter from Mary Marvon, She was 
 glad it was not from Charley, for she had heard
 
 220 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 from him the day before, and a second letter 
 from him might have betokened something 
 amiss. It did not strike her that there could 
 be anything amiss with Mary. 
 
 The girl had fallen into her hands under 
 what Mrs. Sotheran called ' very trying ' cir- 
 cumstances ; and had at first imposed upon her 
 a responsibility which she had felt to be greater 
 than she could bear ; but from the date of that 
 event — which still stood up in her life, other- 
 wise barren of sensational incident, like a 
 pyramid on a plain — all things had gone on 
 smoothly (and far more so than she had ven- 
 tured to expect) as regarded her young charge. 
 
 For eighteen years Mrs. Sotheran had 
 carried the burthen of the secret of Mary 
 Marvon's birth, shared with her by only one 
 other person ; and she was a woman as little 
 fitted for secrets as a cat for draught. Not 
 that she was a gossip — far from it; but she 
 was timid and diffident, unequal to the weight 
 of her own affairs, much more to conduct, or to 
 be privy to, those of other people. She did
 
 MRS. SOTHER.iX. 221 
 
 her duty, but always in fear and trembling, 
 lest she should fall short of it. She had seen 
 her husband and all her children, save Charley, 
 fade and die ; she had fought the battle of hfe 
 with narrow means and little strength, but still 
 without absolute defeat ; and yet she shrank 
 from its dangers as though she had been a 
 young recruit, who had never heard a shot 
 fired, or seen the moonbeams sleeping on the 
 upturned faces of the dead. Her spirit was 
 broken, her frame was weak ; she ' had had 
 enough of it.' Her one prayer to the Divine 
 Mercy, save for Charley, would have been, 
 ' Take me out of this.' 
 
 If there had not been other and stroncrer 
 reasons for keeping Mary Marvon at a distance, 
 she felt that she would have been no fit com- 
 panion for a young girl, a flower that needs 
 the sunshine ; but she had done her best for 
 her elsewhere, and, on the whole, with 
 success. 
 
 There had been no murmurs from Mary; 
 if there had been matters to complain of she
 
 222 THICKER THAX WATER. 
 
 had concealed them, and above all she had not 
 troubled her with questions about her past. 
 The knowledge that her parents were dead, and 
 that she had no relations who showed any 
 solicitude about her, seemed suiScient for her. 
 There would be some trouble about it doubt- 
 less when she married (Mrs. Sotheran always 
 foresaw troubles long before the shadow of 
 them fell upon her) ; but until then matters 
 promised to go smoothly enough. 
 
 Mary's letters, therefore, were among the 
 few things that did not agitate Mrs. Sotheran, 
 or, to use her own homely phrase, ' put her 
 into a pucker ' — a moderately cold perspiration. 
 In fact, she rather liked to hear from Mary, 
 who wrote pleasant little records of her doings, 
 anecdotes of the gay world, and opened for 
 her, as it were, a door through which, without 
 being herself observed, she could catch a 
 glimpse of Vanity Fair. And not a letter had 
 come without the narration of some kindness 
 on Mrs. Beckett's part to her protegee^ for 
 which Mary seemed to thank her original pro-
 
 AIRS. SOTIIERAN. 223 
 
 tectress at second hand. As the morning was 
 cool and balmy, Mrs. Sotheran did not go 
 indoors to read her letter, but seated herself 
 on one of the wicker chairs (a present from 
 Charley) which stood on the lawn and afforded 
 an excellent substitute for a garden-bench. 
 She arranged herself, in short, for ten minutes' 
 enjoyment. 
 
 Mary's first words, however — ' A very 
 serious disagreement has taken place between 
 Mrs. Beckett and myself — put to flight all 
 hopes of repose. It was curious to sse the 
 physical effect produced upon the poor lady as 
 she read on. At first her delicately pencilled 
 eyebrows rose on her forehead and her thin 
 lips emitted a deprecating munnur : ' Dear, 
 dear, what a pity ! ' Then her features began 
 to stiffen, as it were, into stone ; a look of in- 
 expressible pain and fear came into her eyes ; 
 and, presently, she dropped the letter on her 
 lap with a groan of dismay. ' Base-born ! ' 
 Then the secret was out at last — or at least 
 some of it, for that the whole should have to be
 
 224 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 told was even now a thing not to be thought 
 of. One word said to this poor girl would be 
 sufficient, it seemed — ' Yes,' or ' No ' ; and for 
 that moderation on Mary's part, ill as they had 
 played her, Mrs. Sotheran thanked her stars. 
 It would not at least be necessary to enter into 
 explanations. On the other hand, Mary had 
 concluded her communication with the words, 
 ' Be frank with me. However low my lot 
 may be in the world, let me at least stand on 
 firm ground.' 
 
 Alas ! there was nothing firm for her to 
 stand on ; all was quicksand. 
 
 As Mrs. Sotheran pondered over the letter, 
 with her eyes fixed on the landscape before her, 
 it faded from her view, and in its place there 
 grew this picture : A small low room sparely 
 furnished but scrupulously clean ; a bed on 
 which lay a young woman, worn with woe and 
 haggard with unceasing pain, but still of ex- 
 quisite beauty. It was the beauty, however, 
 which death covets ; the pallor of the tomb 
 was on her brow ; the hectic — Nature's flag of
 
 MRS. SOTHERAN. 225 
 
 distress — burnt ou her cheek, and the voice was 
 broken and feeble with which she pleaded, 
 ' You will take care of my child, dear friend, 
 till her father comes to claim her ? ' 
 
 ' I will,' Mrs. Sotheran had answered 
 eagerly ; something had almost prompted her 
 to add, • I will take care of her whether he 
 comes or not ; ' for in her heart she did not 
 believe that lie would ever come. Twenty- 
 four hours earlier the idea of such a respon- 
 sibility would have appalled her, and she would 
 have shrunk from it ; but a very little time 
 suffices to alter human intentions, whether for 
 good or ill. The receipt of a telegram ; a 
 hurried journey ; the finding of an old acquaint- 
 ance, poor, deserted, and at the point of death, 
 had changed the Mrs. Sotheran of yesterday 
 into another woman. Slie regarded her dyincr 
 companion with pitiful, yearning eyes; and 
 presently, as though her emotions of compassion 
 could be pent up no longer, she burst into a 
 great sob. ' I did at least hope that he would 
 have married you, my poor, dear girl.' 
 
 VOL, I Q
 
 226 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 The hectic flush broadened a Httle on either 
 cheek ; the large eyes, Ht with the fever within, 
 became bedewed with tears, and shone like the 
 sun-dew. She raised a skeleton finger for 
 silence. ' Very good, my dear,' continued Mrs. 
 Sotheran ; ' I will not say a word against him ; 
 it will not be ^vith me that he will have to deal, 
 but with Another. But 1 do hope that he has 
 made whatever provision lay in his power for 
 the babe.' 
 
 The speaker's eye had wandered to a little 
 desk of solid workmanship and bound with 
 steel, as though in that repository might be the 
 legal document at which she hinted 
 
 The dying woman's face had turned to the 
 same direction. 
 
 'Do you want the desk, my dear? ' The 
 shake of the still shapely head, from which the 
 clustering curls had been ruthlessly shorn, was 
 almost imperceptible ; but the other gathered 
 from it that it was not the desk that was 
 wanted. 
 
 'The child is asleep,' said Mrs. Sotheran,
 
 MRS. SOTHERAX. 227 
 
 pointing to a cradle that stood close beside 
 her. 
 
 Again there was a shake of the head, and 
 the eyes sought the same object as before. 
 
 The only object on the table except the desk 
 was a little Bible ; she accordingly brought that 
 to the bedside. 
 
 ' Kiss it, kiss it,' murmured the dymg 
 woman : ' swear to me that you will never seek 
 to learn the contents of that desk, without my 
 — without his — permission.' 
 
 Then ]\Irs. Sotheran did what was very 
 difficult for her — she took courage. It woidd 
 have been much more easy for her to give the 
 required promise ; but the reflection that such 
 a course might injuriously affect the child's in- 
 terest occurred to her ; it must be added, too, 
 that a righteous indignation was burning in her 
 heart against the man of whom they spoke. 
 
 ' Do you say this, my poor girl, out of fear ? 
 There is none you need fear now but God, 
 remember ; and I humbly hope His wrath has 
 ceased against you.' 
 
 Q 2
 
 228 THICKER THAX WATiiK. 
 
 ' I do not say it out of fear,' answered the 
 other in clearer tones, her anxiety to set this 
 matter right seeming to give her a momentary 
 strength ; ' I say it out of love ; not for his 
 sake,' for Mrs. Sotheran's face had involun- 
 tarily darkened, ' but for the child's.' 
 
 Then Mrs. Sotheran kissed the book and 
 gave the promise required of her. 
 
 It is needless to say she had kept it. Even 
 if, under such solemn circumstances, she had 
 passed her word only, it would not have been 
 broken ; but an oath had for Mrs. Sotheran a 
 signification which, to those accustomed to 
 courts of justice, would have been unintelli- 
 gible. She really did believe that whomsoever 
 should break it, God would no longer ' help.' 
 To her mind it had even something of the 
 supernatural in it ; it was the one supreme 
 occasion on which, since the age of miracles 
 was past, man and his Creator could still make 
 a compact together. If Mary Marvon's in- 
 quiries had required for their answer that 
 Mrs. Sotheran should open that desk, they
 
 MRS. SOTHERAX. 229 
 
 would without doubt have remained un- 
 satisfied* 
 
 Her heart, albeit as tender a one as ever 
 beat in woman's breast, would have been as 
 the nether millstone as regarded any such 
 appeal ; and this, although the man was dead 
 concerning whom the promise had been given 
 that the desk should not be opened till he 
 came to claim it, and had been dead for many 
 a year. 
 
 It was here that the narrowness of this 
 good woman's mind stood out hke a rid";e of 
 rock in a fertile field. She clung to the letter 
 and not to the spirit ; not, as is the case witli 
 most of us, from baseness of disposition, but 
 simply because the letter was dear to her and 
 the spirit was not. The whole incident, con- 
 trasting as it did in its dramatic force with the 
 even tenor of her life, had made a very deep 
 impression on her. To one person only she had 
 breathed it, though, even in that case, without 
 mention of lier oath ; and this enforced reti- 
 cence had swelled its proportions. But, as
 
 230 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 time rolled on and nothing had come of it, 
 apprehension had ceased ; the matter had lain 
 so long undisturbed in its pigeon-hole, under 
 the dust of years, that it was quite unnoticed — 
 till Mary's letter came, which taught poor 
 Mrs. Sotheran with iron rod that ' there is no 
 sucli thing as forgetting.' 
 
 The perturbation of her mind was such 
 that it was long before she could decide on any 
 com^e of action ; but, in the end, she rose, 
 and, putting on her bonnet, went out. 
 
 Her way led down a winding road between 
 high wooded banks, which after a mile or more 
 reached the plain as a river debouches on the 
 sea ; but half-way down she stopped before 
 some high gates, finely wrought in iron and 
 richly gilded. Without waiting for the lodge- 
 keeper to admit her, she opened a side door 
 and walked rapidly on ; her mind was too fully 
 occupied to take note of external objects ; 
 otherwise, albeit the scene was familiar to her, 
 it could hardly have failed to extort her admi- 
 ration. She was passing through an avenue of
 
 MRS. SOTHERAX. 231 
 
 oaks, on one side of whicli lay a well-wooded 
 park with herds of deer : on the other a land- 
 scape of exquisite beauty that sloped ' with 
 lessening fields and farms ' to the dim, far-off 
 ocean. 
 
 Immediately in front, but at the end of a 
 long descent (as became so stately a pile), 
 stood Letcombe Hall, ' the seat ' (as it was 
 called in the county history) of the Peyton 
 family, now, alas ! bidding fair to be extinct. 
 The grounds about it, of which a complete 
 bird's-eye view was now obtained, were laid out 
 in antique fashion with walled gardens, a huge 
 rosery, and — instead of a croquet or lawn- 
 tennis ground — a bowling-green as smooth as 
 a billiard-table ; all these had their various 
 tenants, male and female ; some seated with 
 books in their hands, some walking, some 
 playing, but all conveying a certain undefined 
 impression that they were no transitory guests. 
 As every one did what they pleased at Let- 
 combe Hall, it was called by some folks 
 ' Holiday House ' ; but there were people of a
 
 232 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 cynical turn who, in allusion to the hetero 
 geneous character of its inmates, termed it the 
 ' Menagerie.' 
 
 What struck one most, perhaps, as one 
 watched these persons all enjoying themselves 
 in the sunshine (if idleness is enjoyment) was 
 the absence of child-life. The laugh of a 
 child would have cleared the moral atmo- 
 sphere about this Castle of Indolence, which, 
 truth to say, hung somewhat heavily on it. 
 But, alas ! there were no children at Letcombe 
 Hall. As a young gentleman, to whom we 
 have already been introduced, was wont to say 
 of the place, ' It was magnificent, no doubt, 
 but too much like a first-class madhouse.' 
 
 The building itself was of immense pro- 
 portions, and, being quite white, shone like a 
 star for many a mile. Eound three fourths of 
 it ran a gigantic stone verandah on pillars of 
 stone, so that all the rooms below were cool on 
 the hottest of summer days, ar.d every room 
 above had a spacious balcony. 
 
 Before reaching the front door Mrs. Sotheran
 
 MRS. SOTHEEAX. 238 
 
 met more than ODe group of people and several 
 paiis, all of ^vhom seemed to recognise her. 
 She acknowledged their salutations, but hurried 
 on with frightened looks, without exchanging a 
 w^ord with them Always shy and retiring, she 
 was on the present occasion extremely appre- 
 hensive of meeting a certain person ; a fear, as 
 it happened — like most of this poor lady's fears 
 — entirely groundless. She had a habit, how- 
 ever, common enough with persons of her type, 
 of endeavouring to meet her terrors half way, 
 as if by so doing they could be mitigated ; and 
 this it was which caused her to inquire, hav- 
 ing rung the front door bell with a trembling 
 hand, whether the master of the house was 
 within. 
 
 ' No, ma'am,' returned the butler, with 
 severe civility. ' ^iLr. Peyton left for town this 
 morning.' 
 
 Mrs. Sothei-an uttered a sigh of intense 
 relief, which, indeed, shaped itself into the 
 words ' Thank heaven ! ' She looked so grave 
 and earnest that the man added, ' Some of Mr.
 
 284 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 Peyton's people are to follow by the next train. 
 Perlmps they can take a message.' 
 
 ' No, no, no ! ' returned Mrs. Sotheran, 
 eagerly. If she could have contrived that 
 they should tell him that she had not called, 
 that was the statement she would have con- 
 fided to them. ' I will see your mistress.' 
 
 ' Mrs. Peyton has gone with master to 
 London,' returned the butler. 
 
 ' Gone ! Mrs. Peyton gone ! ' This was 
 terrible and quite unexpected news. The 
 mistress of Letcombe Hall scarcely ever left 
 it, and when she did so it was for the Con- 
 tinent. London, for certain reasons of which 
 Mrs. Sotheran was fully cognisant, was dis- 
 tasteful to her. 
 
 ' Miss Gwynne is within,' continued the 
 man, taking compassion on the visitor's evident 
 distress. 'But, as you have doubtless heard, 
 Miss Gwynne is about to leave the Hall.' 
 
 ' I know, I know,' said Mrs. Sotheran. She 
 did know that the young lady alluded to, Mrs. 
 Peyton's companion, was no longer on the
 
 MRS. SOTHERAX. 1^5o 
 
 establishment, since she was going to be 
 married to the vicar of the parish, but slie was 
 not really thinking about Miss Gwynne at all. 
 
 ' And when is your mistress expected 
 back ? ' 
 
 'In about three weeks, I believe, ma'am.' 
 
 Mrs. Sotheran nodded and turned away ; 
 she had hardly strength enough even to nod. 
 while the information she had just received had 
 literally taken her breath away. Three weeks 
 of self-dependence — which was self-torture — 
 therefore awaited her ! Three weeks of un- 
 aided reflection ! For to write of Mar}''s letter 
 to the person it mainly concerned she felt was 
 impossible. To commit such a thing to paper 
 was, or might be, ' publication,* from which she 
 shrank as though it involved ten actions for 
 libel. If she had but had Mary's letter yester- 
 day, half the burthen woidd have by this time 
 been off her shoulders ; but, as it was, she must 
 needs bear it alone, and it seemed to crush her 
 to the earth. 
 
 On her return she had to run the gauntlet
 
 236 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 of the guests at the Hall, but this time she felt 
 no embarrassment : m the presence of a great 
 fear the minor emotions sink into insignificance. 
 To all outward appearance she was now as 
 little troubled with mauvaise honte as these 
 ladies and gentlemen themselves, whom the 
 departure of their host and hostess had affected 
 not in the least. 
 
 Mr. Beryl Peyton was often away from 
 home. Letcombe Hall was like the decapi- 
 tated lady in the German story — everything 
 went on just the same as though it had not 
 lost its head. As for Mrs. Peyton, though one 
 or two simple folks besides Mrs. Sotheran 
 had a genuine regard for her, she was con- 
 sidered by the company at the Hall, who were 
 all eminent and distinguished persons in their 
 ■^vay, as a nonentity.
 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 BLACK TUESDAY. 
 
 The Tuesday on which poor Mrs. Sotheran's 
 repose at Letcombe Dottrell wa? so rudely 
 broken in upon by Maiy Marvon's letter was 
 also a black Tuesday for some other acquaint- 
 ances of ours. Though Mr. Ealph Dornay 
 had fulfilled his nephew's mission so success- 
 fully in Park Lane (not forgetting that little 
 incidental stroke of business on his own ac- 
 count), all was not rose colour with him. He 
 was under a promise to return forthwith to the 
 Aglaia Club to inform his young relative how 
 he had sped upon his errand ; and this was not 
 an agreeable tiling to look forward to. He 
 had done what he had been required to do, it 
 was true ; but he had also slicrhtlv exceeded
 
 238 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 his instructions. As to his wooing of the 
 widow, that was his own affair, and one, more- 
 over, that was not hkely to transpire very 
 quickly ; but the consciousness that he had 
 intrusted her with Mary Marvon'^' ^etter made 
 him a httle uncomfortable, noi uecause of the 
 breach of trust involved in it, but of the pos- 
 sible consequences. Uncle Ealph took it for 
 granted that Mrs. Beckett would read the 
 letter, and that then there w^ould be a row with 
 Mary. Of course Mary would stick to Edgar ; 
 she knew too w^ell on which side her bread 
 was buttered to do otherwise ; and she would 
 certainly inform him that Mrs. Beckett had 
 been his uncle's postmistress. An explanation 
 of that circumstance would then be demanded 
 of him, and Ealph foresaw that there might be 
 a serious misunderstanding — he even termed it, 
 as he revolved the idea in his own mind, ' a 
 rough and tumble ' — with his young relative. 
 
 The ties of blood, as we know, were dear 
 to him ; if the phrase ' thicker than water ' 
 was to be erased from his vocabulary it would
 
 BLACK TUESDAY. 239 
 
 be a serious hiatus ; — but still that might even 
 happen, and welcome, if he could only make 
 sure of the widow. He had made a great step 
 towai'ds that goal, but he had not reached it. 
 And of the truth of the proverb that ' there 's 
 many a slip 'twixt the cup and the lip ' he 
 had had a very recent experience in Edgar's 
 own case. It behoved him for the present, 
 at least, like a villain in a melodrama, ' to 
 dissemble.' 
 
 Anything less like a villain than Mr. Ealph 
 Dornay looked, however, as he entered the 
 apartment at the Aglaia Club common to him- 
 self and nephew, it was difficult to imagine. 
 His jaunty step, his assuring smile, and the 
 cheerfulness of the tone in which he said, 
 ' Edgar, my boy, I congratulate you,' all spoke 
 of a mind at ease and of the consciousness of 
 benefits conferred upon a fellow-creature. 
 
 ' What a capital fellow you are ! ' cried 
 Edgar, taking his outstretched hand, and press- 
 ing it eagerly. ' You 've seen her, of course ? ' 
 
 ' I should rather think I had.'
 
 240 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 ' Well, what am I to do ? When am 1 to 
 come ? I cau't see her in Park Lane, of 
 com^se.' 
 
 ' Well, i should think not. What the 
 deuce should you want to see her for ? ' 
 
 ' Want to see her for ? What a question ! 
 Of course I want to see Mary.' 
 
 Then Uncle Ealph perceived his mistake. 
 
 ' Oh, the girl,' he said ; ' I thought you 
 meant the widow — it was the widow, you w^ill 
 be good enough to remember, to whom you 
 sent me ; I did not go to her on my own 
 account.' 
 
 ' Of course not ; I had forgotten,' said 
 Edgar, turning very red. ' So the widow 's all 
 right, is she ? ' 
 
 ' I hope she is ; I did my very best for you, 
 but let me tell you it was a very ticklish job. 
 That is, I mean, it looked so. However, as it 
 turns out, it was all a mistake.' 
 
 ' What was a mistake ? That she asked 
 me to marry her ? ' 
 
 In the excitement of the moment Ed^ar
 
 BLACK TUESDAY. 241 
 
 forgot that he had never disclosed this fact to 
 his uncle. 
 
 " If she did that, it most certainly was a 
 mistake, a very great mistake,' said Uncle 
 Ealph, gravely. ' I think, however, that must 
 have been a conclusion, Edgar, which — 
 
 ahem I ' Here he hesitated ; the sentence 
 
 was difficult to round, but, nerved perhaps by 
 some association of ideas, he presently added, 
 ' which you must have rather jumped at.' 
 
 ' Well, w€ll, the pomt is that you have got 
 me out of it,' said Edgar, impatiently. ' It 
 would certainly have been a terrible business 
 to have become entangled with a woman of 
 that kind. I confess I should not have liked 
 to have been ticketed " Fortune hunter " for 
 the rest of my days, which would most cer- 
 tainly have happened.' 
 
 ' Considering the great disparity in your 
 years, no doubt disagreeable things might have 
 been said,' admitted Uncle Ealph. 
 
 ' The disparity in years was nothing, my 
 good sir ; on the contrary, that would have 
 
 VOL. I. R
 
 242 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 been something to the credit side of my ac- 
 count : it was my want of m.oney that made it 
 so dreadful.' 
 
 'Want of money is always dreadful,' re- 
 plied Uncle Ealph ; ' people who have got lots 
 of it don't understand that. You should have 
 seen Mrs. Beckett tear that cheque of yours to 
 pieces ; it would have been just the same had 
 it been a 500Z. note. However, her little feel- 
 ing of irritation was soon over.' 
 
 'Indeed,' said Edgar, drily. He was glad 
 that he was free, but he would not have been 
 displeased had his enfranchisement cost the 
 widow a struggle. 
 
 ' Yes ; she said that such a misapj)rehen- 
 sion on your part was an impertinence, but 
 that young men would be young men.' 
 
 ' Which no doubt was her objection to 
 them,' said Edgar, cynically. 
 
 ' It was a very natural objection to them in 
 one in her position,' returned Uncle Ealph, 
 who thought he saw an opportunity of hinting 
 without offence at his own recent proceedings.
 
 BLACK TUESDAY. 243 
 
 ' If Mrs. Beckett ever marries again, it would 
 be, as she gave me to understand, some per- 
 son of mature years and good connections, 
 but with nothing particular about him which 
 should cause her to be talked about in any 
 way.' 
 
 ' Such a person as Mr. Ealph Dornay, for 
 example,' observed Edgar, scornfully. 
 
 ' She might do worse,' said Uncle Ealph, 
 with a slight flush ; ' indeed, but for me (as we 
 have seen) she would have done worse.' 
 
 Edgar Dornay knew something of women, 
 but a great deal more about men. 'So so : 
 you have been making a stepping-stone of your 
 prostrate friend to higher things, have you, 
 Mr. Ealph ? ' he said, with bitter significance. 
 ' However, my honour is not concerned in 
 that matter. Did you give my note to Miss 
 Marvon ? ' 
 
 ' I left it for her, sir.' Here there was a 
 knock at the door; it was generally Uncle 
 Ealph who said ' Come in,' as he performed all 
 other little offices that took trouble off his
 
 244 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 nephew's shoulders. But he now turned to 
 the window, and, playing on the pane with his 
 fingers, began to whistle a popular melody. 
 Edgar opened the door himself, and took a 
 note from the servant's hand. At the slight of 
 the superscription liis heart went pit-a-pat, just 
 as though, insti^jid of being a member of the 
 Aglaia Club, wliich, to say truth, was a some- 
 what ' used up ' and nil admiraii society, he 
 was a young man from the country receiving 
 his first epistle from his Dulcinea. He felt in- 
 clined to put his hand in his pocket and 
 (though contrary to the regulations of the 
 estabhshment) give the w^aiter who brought it 
 a sovereign. Fortunately he restrained him- 
 self, or he would certainly have regretted his 
 generosity. 
 
 ' Dear Sir,— Mrs. Beckett has just handed 
 me your letter, as well as your note of Satur- 
 day addressed to herself. I have no more to 
 say to you, save that I wish you w^ell. 
 ' Yours sincerely, 
 
 'Mary Marvon.'
 
 BLACK TUESDAY. 245 
 
 Edgar turned upon his uncle like a wild 
 cat. 
 
 ' You are a most infernal scoundrel, Mr. 
 Ealph Dornay.' 
 
 ' Sir — Edgar — you must have lost your 
 senses.' 
 
 ' No, sir ; so far as you are concerned, at 
 least, I have found them. If there is one word 
 of truth in you, answer me this. To whom 
 did you give my letter to Mary ? ' 
 
 ' To herself, of coiu-se. That is to say,' he 
 stammered, ' I would have done so had I had 
 the opportunity. She Avas out, and so I left it 
 for her.' 
 
 In whose hands .^ You gave it to ^Irs. 
 Beckett. You may deny it or not, as you 
 please ; I say, you gave it to Mrs. Beckett,' 
 
 Edgar Dornay piqued himself on his aristo- 
 cratic immobility; but his manner just now 
 had anything but that ' repose which marks 
 the stamp of Vere de Vere.' Uncle Ealph, 
 however, was not afraid of him ; to do him 
 justice, he was no coward.
 
 246 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 ' I had no alternative,' he answered quietly ; 
 ' she insisted upon it ; you have no idea what 
 a state she was in.' 
 
 Edgar Dornay flung open the door, and, 
 pointing to the staircase, exclaimed in a voice 
 of thunder, ' Go ! ' 
 
 ' Pooh ! pooh ! my good fellow,' said the 
 other, bestowing his massive frame on an arm- 
 chair, from which it would have been difiicult 
 to remove him without mechanical appliances ; 
 ' if you talk of going, the notice to quit must 
 come from me. If you choose to step down 
 to the manager's room, you will find that 
 the registered occupant of these apartments is 
 myself, and that you are only a lodger.' 
 
 Edgar paused ; for one moment he thought 
 of precipitating himself upon Uncle Ealph, 
 and administering that mysterious punishment 
 called ' condign ' upon his portly person, but 
 more prudent counsels prevailed. 
 
 ' You treacherous blackguard ! ' he simply 
 said, and walked out of the room, slamming 
 the door behind him.
 
 BLACK TUESDAY. 247 
 
 Uncle Ealpli drew a long breath, and 
 wiped his forehead with his pocket-handker- 
 chief. 
 
 ' There, that 's over,' he muttered ; ' I 've 
 burnt my boats. I had no idea that Edgar 
 had such a temper. He has not behaved hke 
 a gentleman, much less like a Dornay. It is 
 plain that that girl has been comparing letters 
 and rejected him. The words applied to me 
 by my own nephew were '' treacherous black- 
 guard.'* How true it is," he added, as he Ht a 
 cigar, ' that women are at the bottom of every 
 mischief in this world.' 
 
 Nevertheless, though he took things with 
 such philosophy, neither that evening nor the 
 next day were such as could be marked with 
 white in the calendar of Uncle Ealph. We 
 can also imagine that the feelings of his 
 nephew Edgar, houseless and for the present 
 compelled to put up with such accommodation 
 as could be afforded by an hotel, were not 
 very enviable. 
 
 At Beckett House, too, matters were very
 
 248 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 melancholy. Mr. Eennie was away from 
 London on business, drawing up marriage 
 settlements for some country client, or assist- 
 ing, with the same imperturbable face, at his 
 interment, and would not be at home till the 
 next day, so that both Mary's letter to him, 
 and that of Mrs. Beckett, necessarily remained 
 imanswered. The two women sat alone and 
 apart, revolving many things in their sad 
 hearts. There were no visitors except Mr. 
 Ealph Dornay, who came to luncheon v/ith 
 the widow as agreed upon. 
 
 She sat with him in the dining-room for 
 some time after the meal was over, as she had 
 sat with Edgar three days ago ; but with very 
 different feelings. She had quite resolved to 
 marry Uncle Ealph, and told him so without 
 the least embarrassment or reserve ; but he 
 was not so foolish as to indulge in raptures. 
 Like the young lady in humble life, chronicled 
 by Mr. Locker, who thought in her humihty 
 that matrimony was ' too good for the likes of 
 herj he was really somewhat overwhelmed by
 
 BLACK TUESDAY- 249 
 
 his own good fortune, and this feehng gave 
 him the very manner wliich was, perhaps, 
 under the circumstances, the most agreeable 
 to the widow. Sir Walter Ealeigh, after that 
 successful sacrifice of his cloak to the mud, 
 might have so behaved himself to Queen 
 Elizabeth. The widow told liim frankly that 
 it was her intention to remain her own mistress 
 and have the spending of her own money ; 
 and that in case of her demise he would by 
 no means find himself a millionaire. A less 
 intelUgent lover woidd have protested that, if 
 death took her from him, wealth or poverty 
 would be equally indifierent to him ; but Uncle 
 Ealph only said that whatever arrangements 
 she might choose to make would be acceptable 
 to him, and would, in any case, be far beyond 
 his deserts or expectations. 
 
 ' There is only one thing,' he said gravely, 
 ' which I have to regret in this horn* of happi- 
 ness ; I am afraid it will cost me my nephew's 
 afiection.' 
 
 The widow looked at him with angry eyes,
 
 250 THICKER THAN AVATER. 
 
 as though she would have said, ' What if it 
 does ? ' 
 
 ' You see he has not only lost you, madam, 
 but through his very foohsh and injudicious 
 conduct he has also lost Miss Marvon.' 
 
 'She has rejected him, has she?' flashed 
 out the widow. It was for her the happiest 
 moment of the interview. 
 
 ' Yes, she has rejected him ; and he lays 
 his misfortunes at my door, because I gave you 
 his letter to Miss Marvon.' 
 
 This was Uncle Ealph's best stroke. Mrs. 
 Beckett knew the value set by him upon 
 ' family connections,' and appreciated what he 
 had done accordingly. He had actually laid 
 her under an obligation. 
 
 ' You will not have to regret, Mr. Dornay,' 
 she said, w4th a magnificent significance, ' the 
 having risked a quarrel with your nephew for 
 my sake.' 
 
 ' I shall certainly never regret it,' he re- 
 plied, with an inclination of his head and a 
 drop in his voice ; ' " blood is thicker than
 
 BLACK TUESDAY. 251 
 
 water,"" but there are claiius whicli are even 
 less to be denied than those of kindred.' 
 
 This speech, on which Uncle Ealph plumed 
 himself very much, was unhappily lost upon 
 the widow, who liad by this time — so swift 
 and slantwise are the thoughts of women — lost 
 sicrht of him and his self-sacrifice altogether. 
 
 ' She communicated with him, I suppose, 
 by letter ? ' observed Mrs. Beckett, abruptly. 
 
 ' She ? who ? oh, Miss Marvon. Yes. She 
 gave it him pretty stiff, I fancy.' 
 
 Uncle Ealph had been so utterly thrown off 
 his guard by the widow's change of front that 
 he forgot to keep up his heroic vein ; while, 
 moreover, the remembrance of his nephew's 
 behaviour disinchned him to mince matters. 
 
 ' Mary lias plenty of spirit,' observed Mrs. 
 Beckett, approvingly. She would have been 
 better pleased if Edgar had jilted Mary ; but 
 even as it was, there was much to be thankful 
 for. However it had come about, Mary was 
 not going to have him. From that moment 
 remorse for her treatment of the young girl
 
 252 THICKER THAN AVATEK. 
 
 awoke in lier breast. She would have settled 
 a thousand a year on her at once, with a great 
 deal of pleasure. 
 
 Unhappily, however, one cannot liquidate 
 everything by cheque. 
 
 As Mrs. Beckett and Mr. Dornay passed 
 through the hall on their way upstairs, w^ho 
 should be standing there, hat in hand, but Mr. 
 Charles Sotheran. The meeting was most 
 embarrassing for the widow, but she smiled 
 and held out her hand to him in the old 
 way. 
 
 ' Why, Charley, what brings you here ? ' 
 
 ' Oh, nothing,' he stammered ; ' that is, as 
 I was crossing the Park, I just looked in. 
 They told me you were not at home. It 's of 
 no consequence.' 
 
 ' There must have been some mistake in 
 your case, though it is true I did deny myself 
 to ordinary visitors,' said the widow, quietly. 
 ' What is it, Simmons ? ' 
 
 My lady's lady's-maid having just descended 
 from the upper regions, was standing in the
 
 BLACK TUESDAY. 253 
 
 doorway that led from the servants' rooms 
 with a hesitating look. 
 
 * Only a message fi'om Miss Marvon for Mr. 
 Sotheran, my lady : her kind regards, but she 
 feels too indisposed to see him.' 
 
 'Yes, I know poor Miss Marvon has a 
 lieadachc,' said the widow, addressing Charley 
 with an assuring smile ; ' perhaps another day.' 
 
 ^ Just so ; I '11 call again,' said Charley, 
 retiring with much precipitation. 
 
 It was not to be expected that the young 
 man should have his wits so much at command 
 as a lady of fifty and of fashion ; but he was 
 an intelligent fellow, and could give a shrewd 
 guess at what had happened. 
 
 ' By Jingo ! there has been a row,' was his 
 muttered exclamation as soon as he found him- 
 self on the outside of the front door. ' She 
 called Mar}" " Miss Marvon." But what can 
 be the meaning of that mediaeval Adonis beinf^ 
 alone with Mrs. Beckett when she is denied to 
 visitors? She surely never can ' 
 
 He did not complete the sentence, because
 
 254 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 some picture presented itself to his mind 
 (which was of a humorous cast) that caused 
 him to burst into a roar of laug;hter. 
 
 Mrs. Beckett heard it, for it came through 
 the open window into her drawing-room ; but, 
 luckily for Charley, or even perhaps for Uncle 
 Ealph, she did not guess its cause.
 
 255 
 
 CHAPTEE XV. 
 
 FRIENDS I\ XEED. 
 
 Ox Wednesday morning Mary got her letter 
 from Letcombe Dottrell. She had not much 
 hope that it would do otherwise than confirm 
 her fears as to her parentage ; still she had a 
 hope. To the philosopher it is, or should be, 
 a matter of no consequence by what means 
 he comes into the world ; it is one of those 
 questions which does not concern him persor- 
 ally at all, but is pecuhar to the preceding 
 generation ; but then w^e are not all philosophic. 
 Xo man, indeed, who is not an absolute fool, 
 thinks any less of a fellow-creature because of 
 his birth, since it is a matter beyond his own 
 control. But unhappily there are so many fools 
 amongst us that they form a sort of spurious
 
 256 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 public opinion such as prevails in schools which 
 are said to have a ' bad tone.' It is impossible, 
 indeed, for persons who have the bar sinister 
 on their shields not to be aware of the prejudice 
 that exists against them among this class of 
 persons ; and, if they are of a sensitive disposi- 
 tion, it rankles in them, as though a man sliould 
 blush for shame because he hears it whispered, 
 ' that fellow has red hair.' Mary Marvon, for 
 example, felt that it w^ould be a great aggrava- 
 tion of her unhappy lot in the world to find 
 herself illegitimate. 
 
 'My dear Mary,' w^rote Mrs. vSotheran, ' your 
 letter has distressed me beyond expression. If 
 I am to answ^er your most painful question by 
 the simple " yes " or " no," which you request 
 of me, I must needs say " yes " ; for alas, it is 
 true that you are illegitimate. I cannot, how- 
 ever, confine myself to that bald .statement of 
 fact, and, on the other hand, I scarcely know 
 how much, or how little, I ought to say. The 
 circumstances of your birth are known only to 
 myself and one other living person ; they are
 
 FRIENDS IN NEED. 10 i 
 
 a secret which I am under a solemn promise 
 never to disclose ; but this much I may tell 
 you, or rather, since you insist upon learning 
 " your true position in the world," I needs 
 must : your parents were of widely different 
 social rank, but have long gone to that world 
 where there are no such distinctions ; they have 
 passed, remember, beyond our judgment ; it 
 is no longer necessary to be just w^hen you 
 think of them, but only to be kind and pitiful. 
 Your mother, though she sinned through love, 
 is now an angel. As sure as there is a Heaven, 
 Mary, she is there. Your father — w^ell, I will 
 only say of him that your mother forgave him 
 the wrong he did her, and loved him to the last. 
 It w^as from the apprehension, my dear girl, 
 that you might press me upon this unhappy 
 subject, that I have not done for you all I 
 might have done ; that, in particular, I have 
 seemed to fall short (for one thing) in the 
 exercise of hospitality towards you. And yet 
 (though I cannot explain this matter) I w^as 
 not prompted in this by selfish motives only. 
 VOL. I. s
 
 258 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 As regards your future prospects, I may say 
 that they are somewhat better than you have 
 been led to expect. I thought it best — I have 
 done everything for what I thought was for the 
 best, beheve me — to make httle of your expec- 
 tations ; but as a matter of fact you will be 
 always out of the reach of ^vant. A member 
 of your father's family has hitherto supplied the 
 means for your maintenance — not grudgingly, 
 but as a cheerful giver — and will continue to 
 supply it.' 
 
 ' Never,' exclaimed Mary, striking the letter 
 vehemently with a passionate hand. ' Never, 
 so help me Heaven, will I take one farthing 
 from that source ! ' Her face was suffused with 
 a burning blush. Her very heart seemed hot 
 with shame. 
 
 ' For your present necessity,' continued Mrs. 
 Sotheran, ' in case you may be in want of 
 money, I inclose five five-pound notes of which 
 I have a store in trust for you. Charley will 
 see you to-morrow concerning a temporary 
 home ; there are some good people from this
 
 FRIENDS IX NEED. 259 
 
 parish who let lodgings in London, with whose 
 address he will furnish you. It is terrible 
 that you should be driven from your present 
 quarters so suddenly, so unreasonably, so un- 
 justly ; but I can see that you must leave them 
 without delay. ]\Irs. Beckett has not written 
 to me; a sure sign (if I needed it) of her being 
 in the wrong in this matter ; what she told you 
 she had no right to say, in any sense. She did 
 not know it to be true, since, as I have said, 
 only one person beside myself is in possession 
 of the secret of your birth. Mary, believe 
 that my heart is with you, though I have no 
 words to say so. And if there is no counsel in 
 this letter such as you have a right to look for, 
 do not suppose that it will not come ; but I 
 must have time to think and plan what is best 
 to be done. 
 
 ' Ever yours, 
 
 'Jane Sotheran.' 
 
 The effect of Mrs. Sotheran's letter upon 
 Mary Marvon, although its contents had been 
 
 8 2
 
 260 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 anticipated and therefore discounted, was 
 peculiar. It softened her heart towards her 
 unknown mother ; awoke in her all sorts of 
 tender feehngs towards the poor and unpro- 
 tected of her own sex, such as even her charity- 
 had not previously included ; but it hardened 
 her against her father. Mr. Beryl Peyton would 
 have highly approved of her sentiments in this 
 respect. The tie of blood — so far from its 
 having any cementing quality with her — had an 
 attraction of repulsion. She dwelt upon it in 
 spite of herself, but she never wished to hear it 
 spoken of by others. If Mrs. Sotheran could 
 have looked into her heart she would have had 
 no fear of an embarrassing question from her 
 young friend's lips ; on the subject of her birth 
 they were henceforth sealed. It was a satisfac- 
 tion to her to reflect that Mrs. Beckett had no 
 real knowledge of the matter; and she was less 
 angry with her for her pretence of possessing 
 it than she would have been had she actually 
 done so. 
 
 Again, though Mrs. Sotheran's communica-
 
 FRIENDS IX NEED. 261 
 
 tion pained her in some respects, it acted as a 
 tonic, strengthening her to endui^e the hardness 
 of others. She had learnt within that last half- 
 hour to suiTer and be strong. The world had 
 no longer any joys to offer, but she had hence- 
 forth one passionate desire — to make herself 
 independent of it. It was terrible to her to 
 reflect that she had hitherto been supported 
 by her father's relatives ; it seemed to her like 
 living on the wages of her mother's shame. 
 From whose hand she had received them she 
 had no curiosity to inquire. Mrs. Sotherans 
 assurance that they had been ungrudgingly 
 given awoke no sentiment of gratitude. If the 
 donor imagined that he had made reparation to 
 her for another's wrong he was mistaken. The 
 desire of her soul was to work tiU she had earned 
 the whole sum to the last farthing, and then to 
 fling it back to him. She would have liked to 
 have put those five five-pound notes into an 
 envelope and return them by the next post, but 
 she felt that her possession of them would the 
 sooner enable her to repay the whole debt.
 
 262 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 She had already a plan in her mind for gaining 
 a maintenance, but money was necessary for 
 her to start with. Mrs. Beckett's cheque would 
 indeed suffice for that ; but these twenty-five 
 pounds, being the exact sum she needed for a 
 certain purpose, would give her an immense 
 advantage in her race for wealth. 
 
 Mrs. Sotheran's allusion to counsel to come 
 was as clear as daylight to her. It was evident 
 that that person was not at hand from whom it 
 was natural that she should seek advice, and 
 without whom, in material matters, she could 
 not stir. That person would never be troubled 
 for help or counsel any more. As for Mrs. 
 Sotheran, Mary felt nothing but love and grati- 
 tude for her ; albeit she had not seen the tears 
 which that poor lady had shed over her own 
 communication, and knew nothing of the pains 
 and labour she had spent upon it, with a result 
 far from satisfactory to herself ; for her reflec- 
 tion, when all w^as said, had been similar to 
 that indulged in by the gentleman in liquor, 
 ' too much, yet not enough.'
 
 FRIENDS IX NEED. 263 
 
 From her window, which commanded a 
 view of Park Lane, Mary presently saw Mr. 
 Eennie arrive in a hansom. He did not 
 come upstairs for many minutes, during which 
 she w^aited for him with a calmness whicli 
 amazed herself. It arose perhaps from the fact 
 that she had come to the end of her emotions. 
 She had gone through so much ^^ithin the last 
 twenty-four hours that only the dregs of feeling 
 were left within her. There was nothing more 
 of moment — or what seemed to her of moment 
 — to be discussed. She could trust Mr. Eennie's 
 discretion, if not his delicacy, not to pry into 
 matters that would give her pain. She had 
 heard him converse with Mrs. Beckett, u}X)n 
 matters connected with her two marriages, 
 with the most admirable adroitness, which he 
 owed partly to experience in his profession, 
 partly to his own good taste, and partly to the 
 fact that he had long disencumbered himself of 
 curiosity ; and she took it for granted that his 
 present delay was caused by her hostess, who 
 had waylaid him upon his way to her.
 
 264 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 (Here she was wrong. The lawyer had 
 business with the widow, as we know, upon her 
 own account, though it was true there was no 
 great hurry about that. She was not so eager 
 now concerning those matrimonial arrange- 
 ments respecting Uncle Ealph as she had been 
 when they concerned his nephew\) 
 
 Of course, Mrs. Beckett Avould tell the story 
 of their quarrel in her own way ; but Mary 
 had confidence in the lawyer's astuteness to see 
 through what was false in it ; and if he did not 
 do so, what did it matter ? What did anything 
 matter ? Still, when she heard Simmons's step 
 upon the stairs, followed by a heavier tread, 
 the bruised heart of the poor girl beat more 
 quickly. Though she had been beaten on the 
 wheel so long she had not had her coup de 
 grace ; she was still sensitive to pain. The 
 door opened : ' Please, ma'am, Mr. Sotheran to 
 see you.' It was Charley. 
 
 The young man was very pale, and wore a 
 look of distress and pain that was very foreign 
 to his countenance.
 
 FEIEXDS IX XEED. 265 
 
 ' Good heavens, i^Lary ! What is this ? ' he 
 inquired in tender yet excited tones. 
 
 ' What is \vhat ? ' said Mary. Her words 
 were cold and hushed as falling snow. She 
 had become frigid in a moment. It was the 
 miracle of Pygmalion reversed. The sight of 
 him, strange to say, had at once brought Edgar 
 and her dead love to her remembrance. To 
 speak of him in this young man's presence was 
 impossible. 
 
 'Why, your going away.^ your quarrel with 
 Airs. Beckett ? ' continued Charley. ' Is it not 
 true, then — what my mother writes me ? ' 
 
 ' That there has been a quarrel ? No. That 
 I am going to leave Beckett House ? Yes. We 
 have agreed to part, that is all. It is a subject 
 I cannot discuss.' 
 
 ' Of course not ; why should you do so ? 
 As though I did not know on whose side the 
 fault hes.' 
 
 ' There was no fault, Charley.' 
 
 She could not ignore his partisanship, or 
 rather the affection that prompted it ; but it
 
 266 TfllCKEE THAN WATER. 
 
 pained her. Perhaps he thought, now Edgar 
 was uprooted from her heart, that he might 
 replace him there. If so, it \vas a mistake 
 indeed ; nothing would ever grow where that 
 love had grown. Still Charley meant kindly. 
 
 ' There was no fault,' she answered ; ' or 
 rather, I should say, there were faults on both 
 sides. Mrs. Beckett said things which she 
 should not have said, which perhaps she already 
 repents of saying, and I forgot in my anger 
 that she had previously shown great kindness 
 to me.' 
 
 ' It did not cost her much, and she could 
 well afford it,' said Charley, bitterly ; ' more- 
 over, she was repaid ten times over, as I mean to 
 tell her. For once in her life she shall hear the 
 truth.' 
 
 ' Charley, Charley, remember what you owe 
 her.' 
 
 ' I do,' he answered grimly. ' I am going 
 to give her a present in return for it — a piece 
 of my mind as a parting gift.' 
 
 'You speak hke a boy, and a spoilt boy,'
 
 FRIENDS IX XEED. 267 
 
 said Mary, severely. ' 1 will not urge that in 
 doing as you propose you will deprive yourself 
 of a powerful friend, for such an argument 
 would only make you more obstinate. You 
 imagine that you are about to make a self- 
 sacrifice, instead of which you are merely about 
 to indulge your inclination and flatter your own 
 independence by a display of indignation. I 
 am willing to believe,' she added more mildly, 
 touched by his pained look, ' that you are also 
 actuated by a regard for myself ; if that be so, 
 you will show it best by taking no action in 
 this matter, which concerns lErs. Beckett and 
 myself only.' 
 
 ' I will never do anything you do not wish, 
 Mary,' answered the young man, humbly. 
 
 The diplomacy of this rejoinder, though 
 the probate clerk did not know it, would have 
 done credit to the Foreign Office ; for in 
 showing his obedience to Mary's behest he had 
 delicately indicated his own devotion. 
 
 ' In the letter from my mother,' he went 
 on, ' she spoke of Mrs. Wilder, who used to be
 
 268 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 at Letcombe Dottrell, and who has apartments 
 to let near Eussell Square. It is not so fashion- 
 able as Park Lane, but very convenient.' Here 
 the young man blushed from the consciousness 
 that he lodged within a few streets of the house 
 in question. ' I have been to look at the place 
 this morning : it will be a great change from 
 this, I need not say.' And he looked round the 
 walls of the bright little room with a half-sigh. 
 
 ' I can get on without leather picked out 
 in gold, and a dado,' said Mary, smiHng. ' But 
 I am afraid even Mrs. Wilder's establishment 
 will be beyond my means, Charley.' 
 
 'Oh no ; here are her terms.' He pro- 
 duced a card ; 'It's as cheap as — I mean quite 
 cheap and clean,' he said, with an earnestness 
 born of his narrow escape from the vulgar 
 metaphor. 'They're country people, you 
 know.' 
 
 'A thousand thanks; I'll think about it, 
 and let you know, Charley.' 
 
 ' Do, Mary ; remember, it 's very convenient. 
 Can I do anything more for you — anyihmg ? *
 
 FRIENDS IN NEED. 269 
 
 ' No, Charley, not at present. I must wish 
 you good-bye now. Mr. Eennie is coming to 
 see me on business.' 
 
 That gentleman indeed was at the door 
 as they shook hands at parting. He shot one 
 glance at the two young people — wliich erred 
 on the side of comprehensiveness, since it 
 took in somewhat more than had taken place 
 — and settled down to business as the door 
 closed. 
 
 ' So you are going to " flit," Miss Mary ? ' 
 
 The abruptness of his inquiry was more than 
 atoned for by the kindness of the lawyer's tone. 
 It made her understand at once that whatever 
 the widow had said to him it had not preju- 
 diced him against herself; while, on the other 
 hand, it freed her from all embarrassment ; 
 it was clear that no questions were to be asked. 
 
 ' Yes, Mr. Eennie ; if you will be so good 
 as to recommend some respectable lodgings, I 
 shall be deeply obliged ; T felt that I had no 
 right to trouble you on such a matter, but I had 
 no other friend to w^hom I could apply.'
 
 270 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 ' I should not have thought that from what 
 I saw just now,' observed the lawyer, with a 
 twinkle at the corners of his mouth. 
 
 ' Oh, as to Charley,' said Mary, with the 
 least tinge of a blush, ' he is scarcely old enough 
 to be an adviser. I never even thought of him. 
 He called upon his own account — that is,, in 
 consequence of a letter from his mother.' 
 
 ' To be sure : Mrs. Sotheran is of course aware 
 of your intention to change your quarters.' 
 
 ' Yes ; she has suggested that I should 
 make use of some acquaintance of hers who 
 lets lodgings ; but her terms are too expensive ; 
 very far indeed beyond my means.' 
 
 * I should have thouQ;ht Mrs. Sotheran would 
 have been as good a judge of that matter as 
 yourself; being a housekeeper, perhaps even 
 a better judge.' 
 
 ' Every one knows his own afiairs best,' 
 said Mary, stiffly. 
 
 ' That is a principle which no lawyer can 
 admit for a moment, my dear young lady. 
 However, let us grant it to save time. I know 
 one or two lodging-houses that are not dens of
 
 FRIEXDS IX NEED 271 
 
 thieves. It is a question of price. What do 
 you wish to pay a week ? ' 
 
 Mary named so small a sum that the lawyer 
 almost opened his eyes. ' I shall not require a 
 jsitting-room,' she explained hastily. ' You must 
 know that I have a very slender purse.' 
 
 'Young people do not always understand 
 their own position,' said the law^yer, gently ; • it is 
 true that they generally exaggerate their re- 
 venues ; but sometimes they are unnecessarily 
 cautious.' 
 
 ' I imderstand my own position perfectly 
 well, Mr. Eennie.' 
 
 There was an involuntary bitterness in her 
 tone which did not escape the other's ears. 
 
 ' But you have friends — relatives, perhaps. 
 I hope that you will reconsider the matter — for 
 these things are serious — in case any tiff has 
 occurred. Pray do not think me impertinent ; 
 I speak as a friend.' 
 
 ' Xo doubt ; I thank you for it ; but I 
 assure you that you are mistaken. There is m> 
 one on whom I have the shglitest claim. I am 
 quite alone in the world. The kindness you
 
 272 THICKER THAX WATER. 
 
 have always shown me emboldened me to ask 
 your advice. I heard you mention on one 
 occasion the case of some young lady who 
 earned her living by copying pleadings by a 
 certain method so as to be as clear as print.' 
 
 ' To be sure ; by the type-writer ; an in- 
 genious machine, but very dear.' 
 
 ' I have the money to buy one ; and from 
 what you said, I think I could quickly learn to 
 use it.' 
 
 'It is a poor way of getting a living, Miss 
 Marvon.' 
 
 ' It is not so remunerative as being a prima 
 donna, no doubt, but then I have no voice,' said 
 Mary, smiling. ' If you would put me in the way 
 of purchasing such a machine and of securing a 
 respectable lodging, you would greatly oblige 
 me, Mr. Eennie.' 
 
 ' Your first request is easy enough ; as to 
 the second, I do know of such a place,' said the 
 lawyer, thoughtfully ; it is a boarding house for 
 ladies only. That is so far suitable, and no one 
 is expected to take a private sitting-room. The
 
 FRIENDS IX NEED. 273 
 
 proprietor, one Tidman, and his wife are honest, 
 kindly folk ; but the fare, I dare say, is not 
 very luxurious, nor the apartments overwell 
 furnished.' And Mr. Eennie looked round the 
 room with a sense of contrast in his eve, as 
 Charley had done when recommending ]Mrs. 
 Wilder's establishment. 
 
 ' Beggars must not be choosers,' said Mary, 
 ' or I should say, rather,' she added (wdth what 
 the professors of the art of self-defence call 
 ' quick recovery '), ' that persons who have to 
 make their own way in the world, and who 
 find fault with plain lining and simple accom- 
 modation, do not deserve to make it.' 
 
 The la^^er smiled. He had always hked 
 his glass of port and two high pillows. 
 
 ' And are you in a great hurry to migrate, 
 my dear young lady ? ' 
 
 ' Yes ; I should like to do so to-day if 
 possible.' 
 
 ' Very good. If a bower is vacant in the 
 Tidman paradise you shall hear from me in a 
 couple of hours. You will not forget, however, 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 274 THICKER THAX WATER. 
 
 when you are translated into it ' — here he held 
 out his hand in farewell — ' that you have still 
 friends on earth.' 
 
 ' I shall never forget you, Llr. Eennie, nor 
 your kindness to an orphan girl.' 
 
 ' Tut, tut, don't talk like that ; it 's true I 've 
 done nothing for you. but the very suggestion 
 is injurious to my profession. The widow and 
 the orphan are its natural prey.' 
 
 As he spoke the last words, he turned his 
 back to her ; an act — for she was weeping — 
 that showed more true politeness than ten 
 thousand bows and simpers. 
 
 ' What a kind man he is ! ' thought poor 
 Mary, left to lierself, ' and how dehcate it was 
 of him to forbear to press me with interroga- 
 tions ! A woman would never have been satis- 
 fied till I had told her all, or quarrelled with 
 me for not telhng her.' 
 
 'It's a sad case,' muttered the lawyer as he 
 drove away ; ' I saw from the first glance at her 
 face that compromise was out of the question. 
 Mrs. Beckett would have been glad enough
 
 FRIENDS IN NEED. 275 
 
 had it been otherwise ; she will soon wish she had 
 her "companion" back again, poor silly woman, 
 instead of the other ; but the girl is made of 
 sterner stuff. " I am quite alone in the world," 
 she said. " There is no one on whom I have 
 the slightest claim." That's a strong thing to 
 say and to feel^ as I could see she did. I 
 have never known any one who has not had a 
 claim, real or imaginary, on somebody. The 
 poor girl must be illegitimate.' 
 
 T 2
 
 276 THICKER THAX WATER. 
 
 CHAPTEE XVI. 
 
 THE PHILANTHROPIST. 
 
 Ix London, which is equal to half a dozen great 
 towns clubbed together, there are half a dozen 
 great towns, each so different from the rest that 
 it might well be in another hemisphere. In 
 some quarters, notably in the vicinity of the 
 Victoria Station, where blocks of buildings, each 
 emulating an hotel de ville, are numerous, the 
 astonished visitor exclaims, ' How foreign ! ' 
 but in the district I have in my mind he 
 would make use of no such ejaculation. There 
 is nothing hke it either on the Continent or any- 
 where else : it is unique. Nor is that circum- 
 stance to be regretted. The streets are narrow ; 
 the shops mean and dirty ; and the neighbour- 
 hood is low. And the people. 'Ah! the
 
 THE PHILANTHROPIST. 277 
 
 people.' It cannot indeed be said of them, in 
 the words of the poet, that — 
 
 They are neither man nor woman, 
 They are neither brute nor human : 
 They are ghouls — 
 
 but they are certainly very peculiar. ' The 
 British shibboleth ' of which Byron wrote is in all 
 their mouths, but by no means spoken with the 
 British accent. It is only the female portion 
 of the inhabitants that is native ; the male is 
 polyglot. Every nation under heaven, provided 
 only it ha5 a seaboard, has here its represen- 
 tatives. That they are of the earth earthy, in 
 the spiritual sense, is only too true ; but mate- 
 rially they are of the sea marine ; and every- 
 thing in the district smells — and smells very 
 badly — of their calling. Flags flutter from 
 every house-top as well as from the masts that 
 tower everywhere above the chimney-tops ; 
 nautical instrument makers, outfitters, ship pur- 
 veyors, abound. These represent the export 
 trade of the place ; but the imports are much 
 more remarkable. Shell shops, heathen idol
 
 278 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 emporiums, wild beast menageries, are as 
 numerous as the establishments for the sale 
 of toffee and penny fiction elsewhere. Fic- 
 tion is here at a discount ; no one reads it, 
 though for the raw material of it there is a 
 glut in the market. Who can behold yonder 
 swart, ear-ringed Spaniard, that ringleted 
 Itahan, that shivering Lascar (bound for the 
 opium shop), without the suggestion of a story, 
 not, perhaps, altogether suitable for family 
 reading. Negroes, Norsemen, Frenchmen, all 
 as far apart in character as in clime, but with 
 one thing common to all, a rolling gait — for 
 each has his sea-legs on. Very good fellows 
 some of them, no doubt; but others, as one 
 cannot help imagining, pirates or sea-robbers, 
 murderers of apprentices, plunderers of pas- 
 sengers, scuttlers of ships. This, however, may 
 be a morbid fancy. To the aesthetic mind it is 
 difficult to think evil of men who wear rings in 
 their ears, and are devoted to the fair sex. Of 
 the latter fact there can be no question, or that 
 the tender feeling is reciprocated. There is no
 
 THE PHILANTHROPIST. 270 
 
 coyness among the ladies in this latitude, nor 
 is the 'absence of the sun' essential to the 
 interchange of endearment ; and there are 
 some very pretty quarrels in consequence, 
 arising from the same cause which provoked 
 the Trojan War. 
 
 Among the heterogeneous throng that crowds 
 the narrow pavements this sultry afternoon, a 
 tall white-bearded man is conspicuous, partly be- 
 cause he has no sign of the sea about him, but 
 chiefly because he is well dressed. It would 
 have looked better had I written 'because of 
 his aristocratic air,' which, indeed, he possessed 
 in a remarkable degree ; but I have observed 
 that no aristocratic air can overcome the effect 
 of a bad hat, and it is well to give honour 
 where honour is due. In Pall Mall this man 
 would have attracted little attention ; his long 
 white moustaches hanging like stalactites from 
 his lip ; his far-sweeping beard, white and fine 
 as spun glass, would have been set down to 
 mere eccentricity, while his apparel would have 
 differed little from that of others. But in the
 
 280 THICKER THAX WATER. 
 
 place where he now found himself the ordinary 
 garb of a man of fashion was a stranger sight 
 than the robe of the Lascar, or the pigtail 
 of the Chinaman. The ear-ringed, ringleted 
 sailors ; the bonnetless, slightly draped nymphs 
 of the neighbourhood ' standing at the corners 
 of the streets,' just as they did in Jewry in 
 King Solomon's time ; the vendors of cauls and 
 charms lounging at their shop doors in wait for 
 the Superstitious, all turned to look at him as 
 he strode by. 
 
 If they had known who and what manner 
 of man he was, they would have stared harder, 
 and not a few of them would have endeavoured 
 to make his acquaintance ; for he was in pos- 
 session of wealth which in their eyes would 
 have seemed boundless, and had a hand that 
 was ever open to the cry of the poor. On the 
 other hand, there was nothing strange to him 
 in those he met. The thieving Greek and the 
 sullen Mulatto, the bland Chinaman and the 
 grinning Negro, were all familiar to him ; he 
 had seen them, or their fathers, in their native
 
 THE PHILANTHROPIST. 281 
 
 homes, and he had seen them here. He was 
 one of those rare citizens of the world who 
 know their own metropohs as well as though 
 they had been cockney-bred. 
 
 Some remarks, not altogether favourable, 
 are made on him from time to time in a tone 
 such as can hardly fail to reach his ear ; but 
 for all the notice he takes of them they might 
 have been addressed to Memnon. Only once 
 or twice, when some hulking sailor stops the 
 way, does he appear to be aware of any impo- 
 liteness ; then he walks straight on as though 
 no such obstruction existed, his massive 
 frame impinges on the chiu-l's shoulder as it 
 seems by accident, but in reahty with scientific 
 expertness, and the intruder is left gyrating. 
 His shaggy eyebrows give to the still clear blue 
 eyes beneath them a stem and almost fierce 
 expression, which is intensified on these occa- 
 sions as he walks on ; on the other hand, when 
 a child is in the way, his features soften ; if the 
 toddler looks at him, a smile relaxes his mouth, 
 and he stoops to pat some flaxen head, or drop
 
 282 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 a coin, which is not copper, into some dirty- 
 little hand, which fills the recipient with the 
 wine of astonishment. 
 
 So he goes on his way, the observed of all 
 observers, but apparently quite unconscious 
 of the excitement he creates, till presently he 
 reaches a shop over which is painted ' Burzon's 
 Museum ' ; which is his goal. 
 
 To judge from the contents of the place, 
 *Burzon, Astrologer,' would have been the 
 more appropriate title. From the low, dark 
 ceihng is suspended a stuffed alligator ; on 
 the floor lies an Egyptian mummy ; and at 
 the very entrance stand two globes, not such 
 as the lady of newly inherited wealth and 
 restricted education complained of as not 
 being ' a pair,' for they are both celestial ones. 
 The walls are hung with various nautical in- 
 struments, which in a landsman's eye might 
 well be used for casting horoscopes ; while 
 the proprietor himself, in a high peaked fur 
 cap and a dressing gown of doubtful colour, 
 but which might be fitly termed ' the hue of
 
 THE PHTL.\NTHROPIST. 283 
 
 ages,' looked like the younger brother of ' sage 
 Sidrophel.' 
 
 The respect, however, with which he re- 
 ceived his visitor was such as it is not customary 
 for any reader of the planets to pay to mortal 
 man. He doffed his cap and bent his head 
 as to no ordinary customer, and murmiu'ed in 
 the Hebrew tongue some reverent words of 
 welcome. 
 
 ' Have you no one ^ith you, sir?' he in- 
 quired presently, with a glance towards the 
 door. 
 
 ' No ; Japhet has got a day's holiday with 
 a friend who speaks his language.' 
 
 ' It is rather riskful, is it not, sir ? Our 
 folks about here are a wild lot,' observed the 
 other, deprecatingly. 
 
 ' I have been used to wilder, and, for thar. 
 matter, to worse,' observed the other, smiling ; 
 ' and though I have lived so unreasonably long, 
 I can still hold my own with most men.' 
 
 ' Still, if they only knew ' 
 
 ' What I had in my pocket ? ' interrupted
 
 284 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 the new comer. ' But then, you see, they don't 
 know. It would, as you are doubtless think- 
 ing, be much safer to transact these little affairs 
 through a banker's hands ; but I don't choose 
 that my banker should know of them, nor any 
 one else save Eeuben Burzon.' 
 
 A grateful smile lit up the dusky features 
 of his companion. 
 
 ' May the God of Abraham so serve me 
 and mine and worse,' he answered solemnly, 
 ' if ever I betray your honour's secrets, though 
 He knows they are not things to be ashamed 
 of.' 
 
 ' Man, however, as I have good cause to 
 understand,' returned the other drily, ' takes a 
 different view of the matter. How is Yerda ? ' 
 
 ' Well, or nearly well ; here is her last 
 letter from Berck. Her nerve, she says, which 
 she had feared had gone for ever, is coming 
 back to her again. She has promised, accord- 
 ing to your honour's request, never to perform 
 again without the net.' 
 
 ' And her father ? '
 
 THE PHILANTHROPIST. 2S5 
 
 ' H IS ceased from all pursuit of her, and is 
 drinking himself to death. 
 
 ' That 's well,' returned the visitor, produc- 
 ing two little rolls of coin, neatly packed in 
 brown paper ; ' tell her not to stir from the sea- 
 side till she is herself again. And how are the 
 little Paris people ? ' 
 
 ' Growing no bigger, and more popular 
 than ever. Antoine is taking fifty pounds a 
 week for them, which is put to their account 
 at your honoiu-'s bankers every Saturday. I 
 think Hebert is choked off. His attempt to 
 farm them on the ground of being their uncle 
 utterly failed, and the Court's decision as to the 
 arrears has ruined him.' 
 
 ' But he is not in Paris ? It is impossible 
 that he can harm the children ? ' inquired the 
 old man quickly. 
 
 ' Quite impossible. He was given the 
 alternative, as your honour suggested, of a 
 prison or expatriation, and he is now in Sweden 
 at his old trade.' 
 
 'The ways of Heaven are marvellous,'
 
 286 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 muttered the old man, knitting his shaggy eye- 
 brows so that they formed one hairy line across 
 his forehead. 
 
 ' And as merciful as they are marvellous,' 
 returned the other. 
 
 ' You think so ? ' observed the visitor, 
 drily. 
 
 ' I speak as I find, and in recollection of 
 how your honour found me^' was the earnest 
 reply. ' I am forty years of age, so that it is two- 
 and-thirty years ago ; but I can never forget 
 it.' A shudder passed over the speaker's 
 frame. 
 
 ' I remember. Poor boy, poor boy ! It 
 was in Paris, was it not — at Montmartre ? ' 
 
 'Yes, sir. Never did a child suffer from 
 the greed of man as I did. I never look at my 
 beasts there w^ithout thinking of it. They 
 called me the cat king. I can see myself now 
 in that dreadful cage with the wild cats, pre- 
 tending to be their tamer. How they flew 
 over me as I cracked my httle whip, and 
 gashed my shoulder ! There w^as nothing but
 
 THE PHILANTHROPIST. 237 
 
 ray flesh-coloured jacket to protect me from 
 their cruel claws. Yet what was the pain com- 
 pared with the terror of it? To this hour, 
 when I dream of it in my sleep, I seem to wake 
 in heaven. 
 
 ' And you are still grateful, Eeuben ? ' 
 ' Ah, yes, I am still grateful,' returned the 
 other, taking the old man's hand, and carrying 
 it reverently to his lips. ' I remember the 
 angel that looked through my bars one day, 
 and beckoned me out, and purchased me from 
 my tyrant.' 
 
 ' He was your elder brother, was he not ? ' 
 ' He was my brother. But I have not yet 
 learnt to say " God forgive him ! " ' 
 
 ' Poor Eeuben, poor Eeuben ! Come, let 
 us forget him and turn to better thing.s. Show 
 me your wild beasts.'
 
 288 THICKER THAX WATER. 
 
 CHAPTEE XVIL 
 
 AN INTERRUPTED BARGAIN. 
 
 The relation between these two men, arising in 
 the first instance from the rescue of the one by 
 the other from a childhood of misery, was very 
 curious. On the one side were affection and 
 reverence and a fidelity that never failed ; on 
 the other, a matter-of-fact acceptance of those 
 off*erings of the soul. The Benefactor was not 
 the benefactor of one but of hundreds ; and 
 there were some, though it is true not many, 
 who had repaid him with the like loving ser- 
 vice ; whose gratitude was not a sense of favours 
 to come, who did not look on his kindnesses 
 as mere stepping-stones to fortune, and 
 who, though they had been raised up from 
 the humblest of positions, were content. In
 
 AX INTERRUPTED B.\RGAIN. 289 
 
 Reuben's eyes his visitor was an angel whom 
 he entertained by no means unawares ; w^hereas 
 in those of his visitor Eeuben was merely a 
 worthy fellow in whom lie confided and took 
 some personal interest. It was not, however, 
 altogether to please Eeuben that he had asked 
 to see the wild animals who formed the chief 
 portion of his stock-in-trade, and were the 
 pride and joy of his existence. They had an 
 attraction for Beryl Peyton — who had another 
 side to his nature than that which it most com- 
 monly presented to the public — on their own 
 account. 
 
 Physical force, agility, strength — nay, 
 ferocity itself, perhaps, though he warred 
 against it — had pecuhar charms for him. It 
 had been said of him by one who knew him 
 well, that though he was a philanthropist he 
 had narrowly escaped being a prize-fighter. 
 The alliteration had been too tempting for the 
 epigram-maker, for as a matter of fact money 
 would under no circumstances have been at- 
 tractive to liis friend ; but he was by nature 
 
 VOL I. u
 
 290 THICKER THAy WATER. 
 
 greedy of combat, as well as of dauntless cour- 
 age. In earlier times he would have been a 
 free-lance who would yet have disdained to 
 be a mercenary. It would, moreover, have 
 been necessary that the cause for which he 
 fought should be just. On the other hand, 
 his character was far removed from the Quix- 
 otic. His passions were strong, yet were as 
 water unto wine in comparison with his preju- 
 dices, which were violent, unreasonable, and 
 lasting. A cynical smile lit up his face when, 
 upon his conductor's unlocking a crazy door 
 that led straight out of the museum into the 
 menagerie, he was greeted by a chorus of snarls 
 and yells. He felt it to be a protest of the 
 brute creation against the human, suggested by 
 instinct, but utterly unfounded in reason, since 
 his companion was their feeder and their 
 friend. 
 
 The place was a mere stable fitted for the 
 temporary accommodation of the animals 
 brought to Eeuben from every quarter of the 
 world for sale. Here were lions in egg-boxes
 
 AX INTERRUPTED BARGAIX. 291 
 
 (or dens that looked little stronger) and tigers 
 in rabbit-hutches. As for the less dangerous, 
 but still exceedingly formidable, animals, such 
 as pumas and hyenas, their cages hned the 
 walls, between which there was but just room 
 for a man to pass without touching then), or 
 being touched, just as though they were fowls 
 in Leadenhall Market. It was difficult for a 
 nervous person to admire what presented itself 
 to his gaze, from the consciousness of what 
 might be pawing, scratching, or even biting 
 liim from behind. Eeuben himself, however, 
 was no more moved by these attentions on the 
 part of his four-footed and feathered friends 
 than if they had been stuifed. 
 
 ' There, sn% are my old acquaintances,' he 
 said, stopping and pointing to a cage which 
 from its slightness seemed to be made for 
 canaries, but which was tenanted by half a 
 dozen wild cats ; ' I give you my word that I 
 never see them even now without a shudder 
 of terror.' As they were showing their sharp 
 teeth and swearing like troopers, with every 
 v2
 
 292 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 hair in their bodies, especially their tails, in- 
 stinct with hate and fury, his apprehensions 
 would have seemed to most people by no 
 means groundless ; but it was evident that he 
 was only affected by reminiscence or associa- 
 tion. ' Think, sir, think,' he went on, ' what a 
 poor child must feel on first finding himself in 
 such company.' 
 
 ' Ay ; and think of the company that could 
 be gratified by seeing him there,' observed the 
 visitor, drily. 
 
 ' True, sir, true ; and of the brothei* that 
 could put him to such a trade — his own flesh 
 and blood.' 
 
 * Ay, ay.' These monosyllables weie 
 uttered in a grating, almost menacing, tone. 
 It was plain that it was not only the museum - 
 keeper that was subject to the influence of 
 reminiscence. 
 
 ' What I say is, sir,' continued Eeuben, 
 raising his voice abDve the din of screech and 
 hiss and roar, ' that these wild cats themselves 
 are gentle creatui'cs compared with such a 
 scoundrel.'
 
 AX INTERRUPTED BARGAIN. 293 
 
 ' Mere purring domestic tabbies,' was the 
 quiet reply. 'I don't wish to hurry your 
 movements, Eeuben, but something is spitting 
 at my back.' 
 
 ' It is only the emu, sir,' answered Eeuben, 
 carelessly. He will spit, whatever happens. 
 Where he gets it all from I can't think. He 
 beats any sailor I ever knew at that ; and yet 
 he 's no tobacco -chewer, either. That 's a fine 
 creature, ain't it, sir ? ' 
 
 He pointed to a magnificent Bengal tiger in 
 a w^ooden cage above their heads, in which he 
 was stretching himself (he could just do it, and 
 only just) at full length, with his huge mouth 
 distended in a prolonged yawn. 
 
 ' He looks big enough and strong enough, 
 but he 's not in first-rate condition, is he ? If 
 he was in India I should almost have said, from 
 the look of his skin, that he had taken to man- 
 eating.' 
 
 Eeuben looked at his patron admiringly. 
 'Upon my life, sir, you seem to know almost 
 everything. The fact is,' he added, dropping
 
 294 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 his voice to a whisper, ' the poor beast did com- 
 mit himself in that way on shipboard. It was 
 only a Lascar, so there was not much fuss made 
 about it ; but it shows what he 's made of. 
 However, he 's bespoke by a travelhng caravan, 
 where he will be well looked after.' 
 
 ' Not the one my poor giant has joined, I 
 do hope,' returned the other, smihng. 
 
 ' No, sir, no ; he 's nothing to be afeared on 
 in the way of animals but a spotted woman. 
 She '11 have him in the holy bonds of matrimony, 
 if he don't look sharp, before the year 's out. — 
 What is it, my lad ? ' 
 
 A sharp -looking little Jew boy had come in 
 from the museum to speak with his master. 
 ' Please, sir, the Don has come. He says he 
 will have no more shilly-shallying, but will you 
 take the Lady or will you not ? ' 
 
 ' Very good ; tell him I will be with 
 him directly. I am afraid 1 must leave you 
 for half a minute, sir,' said Eeuben, apolo- 
 getically. 
 
 ' Don't mention it,' said the visitor, carelessly.
 
 AN INTERRUPTED BARGAIN. 295 
 
 ' But who is the Don, and, above all, who is the 
 Lady?' 
 
 ' Well, the Lady 's nothing, sir,' returned 
 Reuben, with a half-smile ; ' but as to the other, 
 he 's a very ticklish customer. They call him 
 the " Don " because of his looks and v/ays ; but 
 handsome is as handsome does, is my motto. 
 In my opinion, this tiger here is more to be 
 trusted. He 's a Mexican, over here for no good, 
 I reckon, though he has brought me a rare 
 piece of merchandise, that may, perhaps, turn 
 out trumps. The finest fellow to look at as 
 ever I clapped my eyes on, but ' 
 
 ' I '11 see him,' interrupted the other, 
 abruptly. 
 
 'I think it would be better not, your 
 honour,' hesitated Reuben. ' If he only 
 guessed — — ' 
 
 ' Tchut ! You needn't introduce me. A 
 friend from the country who wants a lion ; at 
 all events, who wants to see one. Come.' 
 
 Reuben shrugged his shoulders. He knew
 
 296 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 by experience that it was vain to argue with 
 his patron, and led the way back to the 
 museum. A tall fellow was standing with his 
 back to them teasing some lizards in a glass 
 tank. He turned round with a frown that 
 gave way at once to an insinuating smile upon 
 perceiving that Eeuben was not alone. He 
 had not yet arrived at middle age, and even in 
 his formal English dress, with a coarse wide- 
 awake which made a poor substitute in point 
 of picturesqueness for his native sombrero, was 
 a splendidly handsome fellow. His fine eyes 
 sparkled like diamonds, his teeth shone like 
 pearls, his very beard had the gloss and shim- 
 mer of silk, his smile seemed to light up his 
 fine features hke a ball-room just prepared for 
 its guests. A caviller might have objected 
 that there was too much of brilliancy ; other- 
 wise he looked the heau ideal of manly beauty. 
 His voice was low and melodious, and the 
 broken English in which he spoke gave it a 
 touch of tenderness. 
 
 ' I did not know you had a friend with you.
 
 AX INTERRUPTED BARGAIN. 297 
 
 Mr. Burzon,' he said, raising bis hat for one 
 instant in graceful courtesy. 
 
 Eeuben's patron did the Hke ; the two men 
 regarded one another with great intentness. 
 
 ' I think we have met before,' said the 
 Englishman, iu no very conciliatory tone ; he 
 had the air of one who is endeavouring to call 
 something which is unpleasant to his own 
 remembrance. 
 
 ' It is possible ; everything is possible, but 
 it is not hkely,' was the airy rejoinder; ' I have 
 been but a few days in England.' Then he 
 turned to Eeuben, as one who dismisses an un- 
 interesting subject, and in a dry, quick way 
 observed, 'Well, about the Princess? Is it 
 '' yes," or " no " ? I have other offers, and 
 cannot afford to wait.' 
 
 ' This is the lady this gentleman has come 
 about,' said Eeuben, throwing back the lid of a 
 chest behind him. ' She is three thousand 
 years old, he tells me.' 
 
 ' And as fresh as a daisy,' added the 
 Mexican, sardonically.
 
 298 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 The individual in question whose face was 
 thus disclosed was very far from an attractive 
 object. It was a mummy, though not swathed 
 in bandages to the same extent as usual ; it 
 showed something of human form ; while the 
 features, which were exposed, had even some 
 tint of life. The hair, which was coal-black, 
 remained on the skull; the lower jaw had 
 dropped, showing the teeth and tongue. It 
 was a weird and ghastly sight. 
 
 ' You would hardly guess what that is, sir,' 
 said Eeuben, still addressing his patron. 
 
 ' I have no need to guess. It is an Inca 
 woman.' 
 
 ' Do you hear that ? ' said the Mexican, 
 triumphantly. ' The gentleman recognises the 
 lady. It is, you see, as I told you. Yes, she 
 is a princess of the Incas, and dirt cheap at 
 fifty pounds.' 
 
 ' Is she yours to sell ? ' inquired the 
 Englishman, quietly. ' This inscription on the 
 lid is a little suspicious.'
 
 AN INTERRUPTED BARGAIN. 290 
 
 ' He told me that tliat was the Inca lan- 
 guage/ said Eeuben, simply. 
 
 ' Nevertheless, it is what is now spoken in 
 Peru. How do you account ' — here the old 
 man turned to the Mexican with a stern look — 
 ' for the words " Belonging to Government/' 
 which I see inscribed here ? ' 
 
 ' I account to nobody/ retiu-ned the other, 
 his face aglov/ with passion and his hand 
 fingering his hip, as if for some weapon that 
 was not in its accustomed place ; ' the mummy 
 is mine ; I suffer no human being to interfere 
 with my affairs.' 
 
 ' Just so. You insist upon the rights of 
 property. You were not always, however, 
 such a conservative, if I remember right. Let 
 us hope your ideas upon the sacredness of 
 human life have undergone some change. You 
 show your teeth ; that is a mistake, my good 
 sir, since it reminds those who have memories 
 that you know only too well how to use them.' 
 
 It is difficult to imagine how a handsome 
 face can become hideous, but at these words of
 
 300 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 the Englishman the Mexican's features became 
 not only terrible but loathsome. Every evil 
 passion that disfigures human nature seemed 
 to crowd itself into one concentrated look of 
 hate and rage as he replied, ' You are safe to- 
 day, my friend, but you will not be safe to- 
 morrow ; you may be safe to-morrow, but you 
 will not be safe the next day: in my country 
 vengeance is a dish that we eat cold.' 
 
 He turned upon his heel and left the house, 
 though not as an ordinary man under the 
 influence of passion would have left it. He 
 walked softly, almost daintily, to the door, then 
 turned round to smile — such a smile as Nero 
 might have worn when the idea first struck him 
 to set Eome alight — and swept his hat off, in 
 grim au revoii\ with the air of a natural Chester- 
 field. 
 
 ' I. think you will get your Inca princess 
 for nothing, Eeuben,' observed the old man, 
 with a dry chuckle. 
 
 ' I hope not, sir, for to get it so might be 
 to pay a great price for it,' was the grave
 
 AN INTERRUPTED BARGAIN. 301 
 
 rejoinder. ' That you have made that man 
 your enemy is certain ; though why he should 
 have flown into such a passion, just because 
 you hinted at his being a thief, passes my 
 comprehension.' 
 
 ' It was not that, Eeuben ; nobody minds 
 one's knowing what everybody knows ; but I 
 have some private information respecting that 
 gentleman. I met him once in his native land, 
 where he was in hiding among the hills. He 
 had got into trouble, hke Mr. George Barnwell, 
 for murdering his uncle ; not that that is 
 thought anything of in Mexico, but there were 
 certain circumstances connected \vith his escape 
 which rendered him unpopular. In that happy 
 country no one is put to death for crime, but 
 is deported to an island off the mainland, and 
 which is the home of yellow fever. The 
 guards are changed every three weeks, which 
 is an expensive item ; on the other hand, no 
 convict is ahve after tliree months at farthest. 
 Escape is considered impossible, as these men 
 are manacled in pairs, and the mile of sea that
 
 302 THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 lies between them and liberty is infested with 
 sharks. Our friend the Don, however, is not 
 one to be daunted by obstacles. He persuaded 
 his fellow- captive to take to the water with 
 him, and together they swam across in safety. 
 His first act on getting to land was to kill his 
 companion in misfortune, because he was an 
 impediment to his own escape. But even then 
 he had not got rid of him. The chain that 
 united the dead with the living he found it 
 impossible to break, and therefore he took to 
 his teeth.' 
 
 ' You don't mean to say,' exclaimed Eeuben, 
 incredulously, ' that he bit through the chain ? ' 
 
 ' No ; he remembered the fable of the file 
 and the serpent, and did not even try it ; but 
 he bit through his dead friend's wrist and by 
 that means obtained his liberty. His fellow- 
 countrymen are not purists in such matters, but 
 though they did not go the length of giving 
 him up to justice, they never forgave him 
 that expedient. They nicknamed him the 
 " man eater," and that is why, I fancy, my
 
 AN INTERRUPTED BARGAIN 303 
 
 allusion to his splendid teeth put liim out of 
 temper.' 
 
 ' It is no joking matter, sir,' said Eeuben, 
 earnestly ; ' you have made a most dangerous 
 and mortal enemy.' 
 
 ' I have made many such,' returned the 
 other, contemptuously, ' and overlived them all. 
 Tchut! He is not ^vorth a glance over the 
 shoulder. Let us look at your Japanese jars.' 
 
 Eeuben 's museum Avas in some respects like 
 human nature ; side by side with some revolting 
 things there were in it some very beautiful 
 objects the worth of which was only understood 
 by a very few persons. 
 
 ' The best I have are on commission,' said 
 Eeuben ; ' and here, as it happens, comes the 
 very man that owns them.' 
 
 While he was speaking there entered a 
 young sailor in a red shirt. 
 
 ' Well,' he said, addressing Eeuben and 
 bestowing an easy nod on the stranger, ' you 've 
 been an all-fired time, you have, in selling those 
 jars.' They were very handsome jars, with a
 
 304 THICKER THAX WATER. 
 
 great deal of external work on them — cranes 
 and water-fowl among reeds — and standing 
 fully four feet high. 
 
 ' This gentleman is looking at them,' said 
 Eeuben, significantly, and with a look that 
 would have imposed silence on any English 
 vendor nnder similar circumstances.- But the 
 new-comer was of that nation of whom it must 
 surely have been written by prevision, ' the 
 tongue can no man tame.' 
 
 ' Let him look,' continued the American ; 
 ' they are things as can stand being looked at, 
 them jars. A hundred and fifty pounds the 
 pair is dirt cheap. It 's only because I am 
 afraid of those water-birds flying clean away — 
 for they're just as like as life — and leaving the 
 jars plain that I don't stand out for double tlie 
 money.' Tlie possible purchaser here wdiispered 
 something to Eeuben, wlio, losing his habitual 
 caution for the first time, rephed, ' Yes, Mr. 
 Peyton.' 
 
 ' Peyton, Peyton? ' exclaimed the American,
 
 AX INTERRUPTED BARGAIN'. 305 
 
 quickly, ' I know that name. Xow might you 
 by any chance be Beryl Peyton ? ' 
 
 ' Beryl Peyton is my name, sir,' said the old 
 gentleman, drawing himself up with stiffness. 
 
 ' You don't say ? Wal, now, that 's strange. 
 Why, I knew your son Harry when he was in 
 New York quite well.' 
 
 ' Did you ? Then you knew one of the 
 greatest blackguards that ever drew breath ' — 
 with which unexpected reply Mr. Beryl Peyton 
 spat on the ground and walked out of the 
 house, slamming the door behind him. 
 
 Never did speech intended to be conciliatory 
 receive such unsympathetic rejoinder. 
 
 ' Wal, I am darned,' said the Yankee. 
 ' What on airth does it all mean ? ' 
 
 ' It means,' said Eeuben, with a very blank 
 face, ' that we have made two enormous fools 
 of ourselves ; I for letting out that gentleman's 
 name, and you for having lost the best chance 
 you will ever have of selling those jars.' 
 
 EXD OF THE FIR.ST VOLUME. 
 VOL. I. X
 
 LOJTDOX : TniSTBD BT 
 
 BPOTTISWOODE AND CO., NEW-STRHBT BQUAHB 
 
 AND PARLIAMENT STREET
 
 THE 
 
 MODERN NOVELIST'S LIBRARY. 
 
 Each work, crown 8vo. price 2s. boards, or 2s. 6d. cloth. 
 
 BY THE EARL OF BEACONSFIELD. 
 LOTHAIR. 
 ENDOIION. 
 CONINGSBY. 
 SYBIL. 
 TANCRED. 
 YENETIA. 
 
 HENRIETTA TEMPLE. 
 CONTARINI FLEMING. 
 ALROY. 
 
 THE YOUNG DUKE. 
 VIYIAN GREY. 
 
 BYBRETHARTE. 
 IN THE CARQL^NEZ 
 WOODS. 
 
 BY MRS. OLIPHANT. 
 IN TRUST. 
 
 BY ANTHONY TROLLOPE. 
 THE WARDEN. 
 BARCHESTER TOWERS. 
 
 BY MAJOR WHYTE-MELVILLE. 
 DIGBY GRAND. 
 GENERAL BOUNCE. 
 THE GLADIATORS. 
 GOOD FOR NOTHING. 
 HOLMBY HOUSE. 
 THE INTERPRETER. 
 KATE COVENTRY. 
 THE QUEEN'S MARIES. 
 
 BY VARIOUS WRITERS. 
 MADEMOISELLE MORI. 
 THE ATELIER DU LYS. 
 UNAWARES. 
 
 ELSA AND HER VUL- 
 TURE. 
 
 ATHERSTONE PRIORY. 
 
 THE SIX SISTERS OF 
 THE VALLEYS. 
 
 THE BURGOMASTER'S 
 FAMILY. 
 
 THE NOVELS and TALES of the EARL of BEACONS- 
 FIELD, K.G. Modem Novelist's Library Edition, com- 
 plete in 11 vols., price 33s. cloth extra, gilt edges. 
 
 London, LONGMANS & CO.
 
 POPULAR NOVELS AT ALL TBE LIBRARIES. 
 
 AUT C^S4R AUT NIHIL. Bj the Coanfess M. von 
 BoTHMEB, Author of ' Grermaii Home Life' &c. 3 vols, crowa 8vo, 
 price 21s. 
 
 ' The purpose of this novel is a very earnest 
 one indeed, and very grave incidents and cha- 
 racters are dwelt upon. The period of Russian 
 history chosen is the reign of the assassinated 
 Alexander II., whose personal character and 
 career are dwelt upon with remarkable free- 
 dom. A great deal of information, of a kind 
 new to most novel readers, is afforded respect- 
 ing social and political life in Russia ; and to 
 these elements of the sfory are added renre- 
 sentations of the intrigues and ramifications 
 of that Nihilism which has excited so much 
 attention, fear, and disgust in later years. 
 
 The writer appears to have had exceptional 
 opportunities of tracing the working of this 
 organisation, so far as such an attempt can be 
 made by an outsider. Her characters are well 
 drawn and her descriptions are graphic ; her 
 general information is corroborated by all 
 that ha*! from time to time leaked out in the 
 judicial proceedings of various countries ; and 
 the impression likely to be left upon the mind 
 of a reader of these pages is that the writer 
 has throughout been dealing with facts rather 
 than fiction.' The Queen. 
 
 IN THE OLDEN TIME. 
 
 &e. 1 vol. crown 8vo. 6s. 
 
 'Few writers in search of a subject would 
 have recourse to this remote but eventful 
 period in the social annals of Germany, and 
 fewer still possess the necessary qualifications 
 for constructing a novel which like \In the 
 Olden Time will interest the majority of its 
 readers from the first page to the last. The 
 picture is a sad and gloomy one, but the story 
 IS far from depressing. History and fiction 
 are blended with a skilful hand and with the 
 most acceptable results. In the Olden Time 
 will probably be regarded as one of the most 
 agreeable novels of the season. The lives of 
 HiLDEMUlfD Dahn and the wayward and 
 gentle Dornroschen, the only child of the 
 
 By the Author of ' Mile. Mori '■ 
 
 lord of Schloss T^urgstein, and the events 
 which revolve around them, are what interest 
 the reader most, and furnish the brighter and 
 most graceful elements of the graphic and 
 vivid narrative. The novel abounds in pas- 
 sages of trenchant pover, and in stirring de- 
 scriptions of picturesque incidents and scenes. 
 The action never halts ; the rise and progress 
 of the peasant rebellion are sketched in im- 
 pressive and suggestive outline. The interest 
 of the story is strong and well sustained. It 
 is carefully writ en ; the plot is ably con- 
 ceived, skilfully developed, and brought to a 
 felicitous consummation.' 
 
 Nottingham Guardian. 
 
 BECAUSE OF THE ANGELS. 
 
 crown 8vo. 12.". 
 
 By M. Hope. 2 vols. 
 
 'The contrast between Hester's high na- 
 ture, with its drawback of spiritual pride, and 
 the simple nature of her girlish sister Gladys, 
 is strongly drawn, with that absence of effort 
 which marks natural strength. The whole 
 story is attractive from its ease and simpli- 
 ci y. Some dark episodes, like the suicide 
 of Eliab, the disappointed poet, and the 
 struggles of Alice, the sempstress, are con- 
 trasttd with farcical ones, like the unsuccess- 
 
 ful effort of n fashionable lady to walk the 
 waves in the style of a genuine apostle. CAR- 
 NEGIE'S second wife, the completely worldly 
 Marion, supplies an excellent foil to the ear- 
 nestness of her stepdaughter. Daniel Esco- 
 bar, the princelv Jew whom Eric meets in 
 the East, and his daughter Rachel are origi- 
 nal characters. The style of the book is fluent 
 and natural, with many touches of description 
 which are taking.' Athen^UM. 
 
 ARDEN. By A. Mary E. Robinson. 
 
 price 12s. 
 
 2 vols, crown 8vo. 
 
 'Miss Robinson must certainly be congratu- 
 lated on having Siored a success at the very 
 beginning of her career. Arden is an ex- 
 tremely clever story, and, though it is one 
 merely of every-day life, yet the incidents are 
 so clothed as to appear fresh and new, and 
 the scent of the hay throughout is invigorat- 
 ing and refreshing. The heroine, who gives 
 her name to the book, is a wild impulsive 
 creature whom one cannot help liking, in 
 spite of various weaknesses in her character. 
 
 Brougl t up in Rome, on the death of her 
 father Arden returns to his native village 
 in Warwickshire, thete to make acquaintance 
 with the truest and freshest country people 
 we have ever met on paper. The s'ory is 
 simply that of Arden's life and marriage, 
 but it is never wearisome because of the sharp- 
 ness of the writing, and we have to thank 
 Miss Robinson for a vry good novel indeed.' 
 Whitehall Review. 
 
 London, LONGMANS & CO. 
 
 <r.