I E) RAR.Y 
 OF THL 
 UN IVERSITY 
 or ILLINOIS 
 
 823 
 T989g

 
 /TVH, 
 
 1-
 
 GRISEL ROMNEY
 
 Grisel Romney 
 
 BY 
 
 M. E. FRASER-TYTLER 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES 
 Vol. I. 
 
 "So young and so untender?" 
 "So young, my lord, and true." 
 
 King Lear, Act I. 
 
 Hontion: 
 
 MARCUS WARD & CO., 67, 68, CHANDOS STREET 
 
 And royal ULSTER WORKS, BELFAST 
 1880
 
 Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2010 with funding from 
 
 University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/griselromneynove01fras
 
 72 3 
 
 % 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 o 
 
 ^ 
 
 ^ 
 
 ^ 
 
 ■I 
 
 I 
 
 CHAP. 
 
 I. — Summer-time, 
 II.— An Accidental Meeting, 
 III.— The Beginning of it, 
 IV.— In the Twilight, 
 v.— Tableaux Vivants, 
 VI.— Almost Told, .... 
 VII.— ''Where the Brook and River Meet,' 
 VIII.— The House in Prince's Gate, 
 IX.— Sir James in Difficulty, 
 X.— Easily Solved, 
 XL— The Price, .... 
 XII. — Finished, .... 
 
 XIII.— Begun in Bitterness, 
 XIV. — Orange Blossoms, 
 XV. — Eternal Friendship, 
 XVI. — The New Love and the Old, 
 
 XVI L— Free, 
 
 XVIIL— For the Best, .... 
 
 7 
 19 
 34 
 44 
 54 
 70 
 82 
 
 94 
 106 
 118 
 133 
 145 
 157 
 169 
 182 
 
 195 
 208 
 222 

 
 GRISEL ROMNEY. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 SUMMER-TIME. 
 
 VER the lawn, down into the beechwood, 
 the sun was streaming. The grass 
 looked brown and hot till it lay in the 
 cool under the beech trees, and there, forming 
 itself into mossy cushions round the old stumps, 
 temptingly invited the public to come from out of 
 the blazing sun into the shade. 
 
 So the Romneys interpreted it, as they came 
 sauntering over the path with rugs, books, and 
 work, prepared for a long afternoon out of doors. 
 
 " We must not go out of sight, Sybil. Let us 
 sit near the swing tree. Reggie is sure to find us 
 there ; he said he was coming this afternoon to say 
 good-bye." 
 
 " Poor La Grise could not go without Le Gris
 
 5 GRISEL ROMNEY. 
 
 coming to wish her good speed, could she ? Well, 
 it is only fair she should have her way to-day. Do 
 not you think so, Bryde ?" 
 
 "Yes," rejoined Bryde. "We are your humble 
 servants for to-day, La Grise, but it will be a very 
 different thing by this time next year. Then you 
 will be only the youngest of three grown-up sisters, 
 instead of the spoilt baby just going to school." 
 
 " Never mind about next year, Bryde. Perhaps 
 I shall get my own way as much then as now." 
 
 " Perhaps you will not — unless it be from Papa 
 or Reggie. Sybil and I will not be the least the 
 same. You will be only one of three," and Bryde 
 by no means looked as if she could be superseded 
 in the trio. 
 
 Bryde was the acknowledged beauty of the 
 family — tall and slight, nut-brown hair, glowing 
 complexion, soft brown eyes, that could sparkle 
 both in fun and anger when need be. She seated 
 herself now at the foot of the old beech tree, 
 determined to be comfortable. 
 
 A father, one son, and three daughters — such 
 elements composed the family of Romney, of 
 Romney Manor, in a hunting county in England. 
 Sybil, the eldest, aged four-and-twenty ; then came 
 the son, at present at Oxford ; then Bryde ; and 
 last of all, Grisel, commonly known as La Grise, 
 Grisette, or any other soubriquet — the pet of the
 
 SUMMER-TIME. 9 
 
 family — on the eve of going to school for a year, 
 before appearing on the world's stage as a 
 " come-out " young lady. 
 
 She looked very much the reverse at the present 
 moment. The school to which she was going 
 would need to be of a most developing type, to 
 turn the childlike being into a woman in one short 
 year's time. Perhaps it was because she was so 
 V (try petite, and so very full of fun and life, and so 
 utterly without any knowledge of the world, that 
 the said world would never have given her credit 
 for having very nearly attained her seventeen 
 summers. 
 
 Sybil was sketching in water-colours — making a 
 study of a neighbouring beech tree. Bryde was 
 lazily knitting a stocking for her brother Tom, 
 raising her sleepy eyes at intervals to watch Grisel, 
 who, lying on her face on the grass, was trying to 
 induce Snipe, the terrier, to sit still while she tickled 
 his ears and nose with spikes of grass and twigs. 
 
 Snipe could not see the fun, being much relieved 
 when his tormentor, tired of the amusement, turned 
 her attention to her sisters. 
 
 " Do you think you have forgotten nothing, 
 Sybil } Are you sure that you have not left out 
 some small trifles, that when I arrive at Miss 
 Tufton's I may not have to borrow various little 
 necessaries, such as slippers, or boot laces, or "
 
 10 GRISEL ROMNEY. 
 
 " Or knives or string, or a racquet and balls — 
 that's much more in your line, La Grise." The 
 speaker was a young man somewhere about 
 twenty, who, unobserved, had come upon them 
 suddenly. 
 
 " Oh, Reggie, you dear old thing, is that you ? 
 I said I was sure you would come. So now you 
 must make yourself useful, and give me a swing ; 
 you know it is my last for a long, long time." 
 
 "For a long, long time," repeated Reggie, 
 mockingly. "Will you please to remember that 
 when you return to your father's roof next year 
 you will be grown up ? It will be quite impossible 
 that you should then care for such childish pas- 
 times." 
 
 "We shall see when the time comes. Sybil, 
 will you give Reggie Papa's message ? " 
 
 Sybil looked up from her sketch. " Will you 
 come and dine with us to-night," she said, "as it is 
 Grlsel's last night at home ? Do you think your 
 mother would spare you ?" 
 
 "Thanks, Miss Romney, I fear we have friends 
 at dinner to-night ; but I shall try and ride over 
 to-morrow morning." 
 
 " How horrid of you to make an engagement for 
 my last evening ! You needn't trouble to come to- 
 morrow, as you could not keep to-night dis- 
 engaged," exclaimed Grisel, pugilistically.
 
 SUMMER-TIME. 1 1 
 
 " All right, Grisel. Perhaps as I would not keep 
 to-night disengaged, you would rather I did not 
 stay this afternoon. Good-bye, Miss Romney ; 
 good-bye, Bryde," and, without a glance at Grisel, 
 who was covertly watching his movements, he 
 walked off briskly. 
 
 "Well, Grisel, are you satisfied .^" Bryde asked, 
 composedly. 
 
 " Oh, perfectly, thanks. I am going for a walk. 
 I do not want anyone to go with me." 
 
 Reggie's whistle was still heard from the direc- 
 tion in which he had gone. He did not seem to 
 be making rapid progress in his homeward journey. 
 Grisel at once made up her mind. She would run 
 by a cross cut and intercept him, as if by accident, 
 before he could leave the park. Having gained 
 her station before anything was seen of him, she sat 
 down to recover her breath, and waited impatiently. 
 She planned the scene. How he would look so 
 glad to see her, and she would be just a little bit 
 dignified at first, and then she would forgive him, 
 and they would have a long afternoon together, 
 with lots to do and to say. 
 
 The same thing was enacted three or four times 
 a-week. Reggie, the only child of Sir Roger and 
 Lady Mainwaring, had always been Grisel's con- 
 stant companion. As children, the one was rarely 
 seen without the other, and after Reggie had
 
 12 GRISEL ROMNEY. 
 
 attained an Etonian age, the holidays were looked 
 to with as much delight as the half-weekly holiday 
 in the old days. At last the time came when 
 Reggie went up for his army examination, and 
 receiving, after the proper amount of delay, his 
 commission, the Romneys had seen but little of 
 him for two years. 
 
 He had been home for a month's leave now, and 
 the old intimacy was at once resumed. Grisel, 
 absolutely refusing to consider herself anything 
 approaching to a young lady, was allowed to be 
 constantly with him. Mr. Romney saw no harm 
 in it ; she was such a child. 
 
 To go back to Grisel awaiting Reggie's approach. 
 
 She was perched on the top of the stile com- 
 manding a good view of the surroundings, but her 
 tormentor was nowhere in sight. The whistling 
 sounded horribly stationary, and her patience was 
 getting exhausted. 
 
 Two dainty feet tapped impatiently on the top 
 step of the stile, and two tiny hands were pulling 
 a crimson rose to pieces, the leaves falling in 
 a shower, forming a pleasant piece of colour on the 
 otherwise snow-white figure. " Is he coming ? Is 
 he not ? Is he coming .'* Is he not } Only a few 
 more leaves to pull. Coming ? Not ! Coming ? 
 Yes ! here he comes at last !" 
 
 " Why did you hurry so, Grisette ? I gave you
 
 SUMMER-TIME. 1 3 
 
 plenty of time to take it quietly, and still meet me 
 here." 
 
 "You didn't expect to meet me here, did you ? I 
 thought you would be so surprised and " 
 
 "And what, little lady?" 
 
 "And pleased," with just the tiniest pout curling 
 the rosy lips. 
 
 " Did I say I wasn't pleased } Come, child, we 
 must not fight our last afternoon. Let us go down 
 to the river, and I will row you up as far as the 
 island, and then we shall come slowly back, in 
 time for me to ride home for dinner, which is not 
 till eight o'clock." 
 
 " What about afternoon tea > I should hate 
 missing that !" 
 
 " Well, perhaps that is a serious consideration ; 
 but still, don't you think you might forget about it 
 for one day .^" 
 
 " Oh, I couldn't possibly forget it ; but I might 
 try and not mind very much." 
 
 " All right, then ; let me lift you down." 
 
 " No, thanks," and she sprang past him on to the 
 grass. The two turned down one of the many 
 paths which led to the river. Laughing and 
 chattering gaily, they reached at last the boat. 
 Grisel at once jumped in and took her seat, while 
 Reggie went to the boat-house for the key to undo 
 the boat from her moorings. He returned shortly,
 
 14 GRISEL ROMNEY. 
 
 and then swiftly and pleasantly they glided up the 
 river. 
 
 All along the banks the wood crept down to the 
 water's edge ; at intervals streams came to add 
 their contribution, ferns and creepers forming an 
 exquisite undergrowth, the many winding foot- 
 paths looking singularly inviting for exploration. 
 Still they held on their way, Grisel's school 
 anticipations amply supplying conversation. When 
 the island was reached, every corner must be gone 
 over and said good-bye to before Grisel could 
 make up her mind to turn homewards. At last 
 they were drifting down the river. Grisel, sitting 
 idly in the boat, had resigned her oar ; Reggie, 
 just opposite to her, watching her quietly, wonder- 
 ing what sort of a woman she would make, 
 wondering over whom she would cast the spell of 
 her marvellous fascination, which even now as a 
 child had so much power over him. Would he 
 ever be able to teach her to forget their brother- 
 and-slster intimacy ? Grisel, all unconscious of 
 his gaze, was amusing herself with a pile of pebbles 
 she had in her lap, trying to hit the flat water-lily 
 leaves, so temptingly spread on the water at the 
 river's edge. 
 
 At last she broke silence. 
 
 " I wonder how long it will be before we have 
 another row on the river ^ Do you know, Le
 
 SUMMER-TIME. 1 5 
 
 Gris, I think I shall keep a calendar, and cut off 
 the weeks as they go past. Do you think it- 
 would make the time seem shorter ?" 
 
 " Do you dislike the thought of school so very 
 much, Grisel ?" 
 
 " Oh no ! I dare say I shall like that part of it ; 
 only I hate leaving Papa and dear old Sybil and 
 Bryde. And then there are other reasons. I shall 
 miss our nice afternoons together, and, you know, 
 perhaps we may not meet again for years if you go 
 out to India, and by the time you come back you 
 will have grown quite old, and not the least inclined 
 to devote your time to a child like me. You 
 would think it nonsensical to spend an afternoon 
 at the swing-tree !" 
 
 Reggie sat watching her ; an amused expression 
 came over his face as she spoke. 
 
 " Did it ever occur to you, La Grise, that if we 
 are not to meet * for years,' that you will be a 
 woman by that time, and that, perhaps, you may 
 not then care for our long afternoons together .? 
 You will have other pursuits and other friends." 
 
 " What an absurd boy you are, Le Gris. Now 
 listen to me. To begin with, I am not seventeen 
 yet, and girls don't become women for ages — oh ! 
 at any rate not until they are twenty-five or thirty. 
 Secondly, there is no fear of me getting to think 
 our afternoons stupid, because I have been accus-
 
 1 6 GRISEL ROMNEY. 
 
 tomed to them from a child ; I might as well think 
 it stupid to be with Sybil ; and, last of all, I don't 
 wish new pursuits and new friends. Are you 
 satisfied now ?" 
 
 " Not exactly, child ; hov/ever, never mind, it is 
 not your fault," he added, as he saw a shade 
 coming over the questioning face opposite to 
 him. " But it is really not so bad as you make 
 it out to be ; there is no chance of my going to 
 India for two years yet, and you are to be home — 
 when .?" 
 
 " In the end of next June. Oh ! dear, such a 
 long way off." 
 
 " Well, then, the time will soon pass, and I will 
 tell you what we shall do. I shall get my mother 
 to give a ball in honour of the coming out of Miss 
 Griselda Romney. It shall be the day after you 
 come home ; I shall get leave and be at it, and 
 that will be the next time we shall meet, my queen. 
 Do you think you will promise to give me the very 
 first dance .'' I shall wait at the door for you, and 
 you will dance with no one till you have danced 
 with me ?" 
 
 " Of course I will give it to you, and as many 
 more as you like ; you know I shall know no one, 
 and I will be very grateful to you for taking notice 
 of me." 
 
 " Do not speak like that, child. You will know
 
 SUMMER-TIME. 1/ 
 
 far too many people, and may be sorry you made 
 the promise." 
 
 " Certainly not by that time, Reggie — my very 
 first ball. Do you really mean it ? Do you think 
 your mother will not mind ? Oh ! it would be too 
 nice. I wonder what I shall wear. I wonder if 
 you will remember your promise to dance with me 
 the very first." 
 
 " I '11 try to do so," he said, laughing at her 
 earnestness. " We are very near home now ; shall 
 we turn back for a little .^" 
 
 " No, we cannot do that. Sybil will think I am 
 lost. How lovely it is ! How much I wish I were 
 not going away !" 
 
 Slowly Reggie piloted the boat to the edge of 
 the stream till it lay by the side of the small 
 stone pier. Grisel's hands were full of ferns, which 
 stopped her usual mode of disembarkation, and 
 required a more cautious procedure. Reggie 
 sprang on shore, but Grisel sat still, gazing 
 wistfully round, unwilling to take the good- 
 bye look. At last she rose with her ferny 
 burden. 
 
 " Let me take them from you, child," he said, 
 with a strange tenderness in his look and voice. 
 " Such tiny hands for so large a burden !" 
 
 In taking the ferns, he took one of the childish 
 hands in his, and raised it gently to his lips.
 
 1 8 GRISEL ROMNEY. 
 
 " How odd you are to-day, Le Gris ! You stupid 
 boy, you never did that before." 
 
 The colour had crept over Grisel's face, her soft 
 grey eyes looked with a strange, questioning 
 wonder in them ; but Reggie had turned suddenly 
 from her, and was re-mooring the boat. 
 
 " Never mind, my queen ; you will forgive me 
 for saying good-bye so." 
 
 " Yes, I forgive you," she said ; " but it was very 
 odd." 
 
 So they wandered up to the house, and were 
 met with laughing questionings as to their disap- 
 pearance ; then Reggie left, and the sisters spent 
 a busy evening finishing the last touches of Grisel's 
 outfit. 
 
 Next morning a party on the platform of the 
 wayside station waited for the train. Mr. Romney 
 was going with his daughter ; Bryde and Sybil 
 and Reggie Mainwaring were there to see the 
 departure. 
 
 They are in the carriage at last, good-bye has 
 been said, the train is moving off, and a laughing 
 face is put out of the window. 
 
 " You will not forget it is to be the very first 
 dance, Le Gris .-*"
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 AN ACCIDENTAL MEETING. 
 
 THE Scotch express was just starting ; the 
 platform at King's Cross presented the usual 
 scene of bustle and leave-taking. Porters stowing 
 ladies' arks into seemingly impossible holes, small 
 portmanteaus flung in to fill up the corners ; the 
 guard, civil and obliging, passing from carriage to 
 carriage, promising owners of the arks compart- 
 ments all to themselves, with the usual reminder 
 of " I go only as far as York." It is but a delicately 
 insinuated hint that this world expects a substantial 
 acknowledgment of its works of supererogation ; 
 but it is a shame to say such a thing of railway 
 porters and guards — they are the most obliging 
 race on the earth. 
 
 The day was brilliant, but cold. December was 
 not far advanced, and as yet no great fall of snow 
 had confirmed the prophecies of a severe winter. 
 
 Walking sharply up and down the platform to
 
 20 GRISEL ROMNEY. 
 
 gain a certain amount of circulation before starting 
 was an elderly gentleman, accompanied by his 
 daughter ; a cockaded footman and lady's maid 
 guarded the door of the carriage, where an extra 
 supply of hot-water tins were being deposited. 
 
 " My dear, we have got no papers yet. What is 
 George doing that he is not buying us papers } I 
 never saw a worse travelling servant. Here, boy, 
 I want to-day's Times. What else have you got t 
 Take your choice, Lenore. You had better get 
 the Graphic or Illustrated ; it 's better for you than 
 that yellow-backed trash." 
 
 " Thanks, papa ; I have made my choice." 
 
 " Eh ! what have you got — not that bigoted and 
 reviling Saturday f " 
 
 " Why not 1 It amuses me, and that is the chief 
 end to be gained in railway travelling." 
 
 General Sir James Fenton had once suffered 
 from the weekly Review, on which he had since 
 expended all his superfluous bitterness. " Take 
 seats, all going north. Tickets ready, please." 
 
 A few minutes' confusion, the ticket inspector 
 had passed the Fentons* carriage, and Lenore, with 
 her head out of the window, was watching the final 
 arrangements. Suddenly, from the far end of the 
 station, a slight increase of hurry, a man, enveloped 
 in Ulster, deerstalker, and huge fur collar well 
 drawn up, came rapidly down in the direction
 
 AN ACCIDENTAL MEETING. 21 
 
 of the express. " Take seats, all going north," 
 repeated the impatient guard. A moment's delay ; 
 the stranger, whoever he was, jumped into the 
 smoking compartment next the Fentons ; a port- 
 manteau and hatbox were thrown into the atten- 
 dant luggage van, but not before Lenore had 
 noticed the large " H." on both articles ; and they 
 were off, flying past the suburbs of the metropolis, 
 with the delicious sense of speed and getting away 
 from the trammels of civilisation. 
 
 Lenore sank back luxuriously into her corner by 
 the window, first removing her plumy beaver hat 
 for a more comfortable soft tweed one. Sir James 
 rubbed his spectacles, preparatory to a long and 
 thorough investigation of the news. 
 
 " I can't stand this sort of thing," he grumbled ; 
 " I can't abide wandering about visiting. It puts 
 one out of one's beaten track. Country houses in 
 December ! — the idea is preposterous. What am 
 I to do with myself all day ? I don't hunt, and 
 there will be nothing else to do. Men coming in 
 fit for nothing after dinner ! Where 's the use of 
 it all.?" 
 
 " I dare say it won't be so bad as you think. I 
 shouldn't fancy Mr. Wyld was much of a hunting 
 man. I have no doubt you will find he will be 
 delighted to have a game at your beloved ecarte." 
 
 " Ecarte ! — ecarte is not everything. You women
 
 22 GRISEL ROMNEY. 
 
 always jump at conclusions. It 's the whole life ; 
 it 's the air you breathe, the rooms you inhabit, the 
 food you eat. Even the men you meet are of a 
 different stamp. The whole life is on a wrong 
 principle. Where 's your pleasant Continental 
 freedom ?" 
 
 "It's not too late to return yet, Papa. I am 
 fond of the sunny South. You know it was your 
 own wish to try how you liked a home winter. 
 Suppose, after our visit to Hurst Manor, we go 
 back direct to Pau.?" 
 
 " My dear, you seem to think I am made of 
 money. It 's not like a single, independent man ; 
 remember I have paid already a fortune for 
 luggage, and your maid, and the man. Plans are 
 not so easily upset as you seem to think." 
 
 There was no oil to be thrown on the troubled 
 waters, so Lenore raised her paper with a semblance 
 of reading, and her father, with a continued grumble, 
 rattled and crumpled his Times into proper dimen- 
 sions. 
 
 He was really not so crusty generally, and was 
 very proud of his handsome daughter. He glanced 
 at her before settling to his reading, and almost 
 made some excuse for his temper ; but it was fully 
 borne in on him that it was unwise policy to renew 
 a discussion with any woman, which prevented him 
 acting on the impulse.
 
 AN ACCIDENTAL MEETING. 23 
 
 Lenore, in her corner opposite, was not a dis- 
 agreeable picture for any man to regard. 
 
 Leaning back, as she now did, certainly was not 
 conducive to showing the rounded lines of her 
 figure. Her hair was coiled simply round the 
 back of her head, which was exquisitely set upon 
 her shoulders. The delicately-cut nose, sharply- 
 pencilled eyebrows, and mouth and chin in which 
 were seen so much determination and power over 
 self, were hardly in keeping with the large, dark, 
 dreamy eyes that some day in the future might 
 not sleep so quietly as now. Her well-shaped 
 ungloved hands lay idly on her lap ; there was 
 about her that indescribable air of good breeding 
 always so attractive in woman. 
 
 She fell into a pleasant reverie as the train 
 rattled on, a retrospect of the last two years. It 
 seemed a much longer time ago ; only two years 
 since her father arrived at the fashionable Brussels 
 boarding-school, six months before he was ex- 
 pected, and had told the mistress of the establish- 
 ment that he was tired of his lonely life, and must 
 have his daughter with him. He would give her 
 a fortnight to make her preparations, she must be 
 suitably fitted with a wardrobe in keeping with 
 the only child of a man supposed to be of large 
 property, and a maid must be found of unexcep- 
 tionable belongings. So in fourteen days' time
 
 24 GRISEL ROMNEY. 
 
 Lenore found herself to have undergone a complete 
 transformation. From a carefully guarded school 
 life she suddenly became her own mistress. With 
 no woman near of kin to turn to, she learnt to 
 trust entirely in herself. She did not miss com- 
 panionship as another would have done ; she had 
 plenty of resources in herself to fill the vacant 
 hours, but the life they led did not leave her much 
 time to grow weary. On leaving Brussels, they 
 had spent the following six months in travel. 
 Sir James wished his daughter to hold her own 
 amongst the wanderers with whom they associated. 
 Then a winter followed at Pau, and as the spring 
 came on, and the tide of humanity turned north- 
 wards, the Fentons followed in the stream, and 
 found themselves wandering from one fashionable 
 watering-place to another. 
 
 The life suited Sir James ; he liked the freedom. 
 Homburg, Baden, each in turn. There was always 
 the Kursaal wath its reading and card rooms, and 
 if at times Lenore thought with longing of a 
 settled home, she put it from her ; it would not 
 please her father — her one object in life. 
 
 A second winter was passed at Pau ; they had 
 come to be considered Jiabitucs of the place. A 
 second summer at the German baths, and now, at 
 last, they were in Britain, the first time since 
 Lenore was thirteen, when, at her mother's death,
 
 AN ACCIDENTAL MEETING. 25 
 
 her father being absent on service, she was placed 
 at the Brussels school. 
 
 They had spent a month in town on their first 
 landing, but November is certainly not the month 
 to choose to visit for the first time the city of the 
 world, and Lenore, accustomed to years of foreign 
 skies, was disappointed ; in the gloomy streets, the 
 smoke-laden atmosphere, she could find no resem- 
 blance to the city of her dreams. She was thank- 
 ful when a pressing invitation from old friends of 
 her father led their steps northwards still. They 
 were to spend Christmas at Hurst ; then, probably, 
 some more visits in Yorkshire would follow ; and 
 there was a talk of the London season, and Lenore 
 being presented in the following spring. 
 
 But the next fortnight was all that was as yet 
 decided on, and on this visit she spent much specu- 
 lation. Mrs. Wyld had written, telling her that the 
 house was to be full ; there were to be theatricals, 
 a small dance, and varied merrymakings — a 
 charming picture for a girl who knew nothing of 
 the delights of country-house life. 
 
 Sir James's temper improved as the day wore on, 
 and as they neared their destination he employed 
 his time in pointing out the various landmarks of 
 the county he had known so well as a boy. 
 
 " There is no more charming county," he said. 
 " You will see something worth seeing if you will 
 c
 
 26 GRISEL ROMNEY. 
 
 keep your eyes open. Dear, dear, what an old man 
 it makes me, coming back again with a grown-up 
 daughter ! There, now, you see that rising ground 
 on the horizon ? Those are the woods of Hurst. 
 We are very near our journey's end now." 
 
 If speed of going signified it, they certainly 
 would soon come to the end. They were passing 
 through a winding part of the line with rolling 
 country all round. Suddenly, as they approached 
 the last of the wayside stations, the brake was put 
 hard on, checking considerably their speed, but it 
 was not in time. Only as they rounded a corner 
 did the engine-driver perceive that a single goods 
 waggon had become detached from several 
 standing in a siding, and was on the up line. 
 
 The Fentons were in the third carriage from the 
 engine, but had no idea that anything was amiss. 
 Lenore being interested in the passing objects. Sir 
 James in pointing them out, they were hardly con- 
 scious of the diminution of speed. 
 
 " You will see better from this window, Papa. 
 Now, look, what is that we are passing.?" 
 
 Sir James was on his feet, and Lenore had 
 scarcely finished speaking, when the smash came. 
 First the tremendous concussion, then the carriage 
 leapt from the rails, and was thrown violently over 
 on its side. 
 
 Lenore was conscious of nothing for a few
 
 AN ACCIDENTAL MEETING. 2/ 
 
 seconds ; she was stunned with the force of the 
 shock. Her father's voice recalled her to herself. 
 
 "Are you much hurt, father ?" she asked, raising 
 herself with difficulty to a sitting posture. 
 
 " My leg is broken, my dear ; I cannot help 
 you." 
 
 " Don't move," she exclaimed. " I will try and 
 call for assistance. Some one will be here 
 directly." 
 
 She managed, with some contrivance, at last to 
 raise herself to the window, and a scene of anxiety 
 and confusion met her gaze. 
 
 The two carriages in front of them had been 
 much broken, and the occupants of the latter 
 carriages in the train, who had not suffered from 
 the collision, were engaged in extricating the 
 sufferers. 
 
 "Can you help me.?" she called out. "My 
 father is very much hurt." 
 
 Her voice attracted the attention of two men 
 standing near. One of the two was their fellow- 
 passenger from King's Cross. He turned at the 
 sound of her voice, and hastened to their aid. 
 
 " Let me help you out first ; we can then more 
 easily render your father assistance. Give me 
 your hands, and I will promise to get you out 
 safely." 
 
 She raised her hands confidently, and placed
 
 28 GRISEL ROMNEY. 
 
 them in his, but drew back with a sharp exclama- 
 tion of pain as she felt the strain on her wrist. 
 " I think I must have hurt my arm," she said 
 feebly, turning very faint and white ; but with an 
 effort she recovered herself. 
 
 " Never mind ; I will try again." 
 
 " I am very sorry, but I fear it is the only way," 
 her deliverer answered ; another effort, a sharp 
 spasm of pain, and she was released. 
 
 The two servants, white and frightened, had just 
 extricated themselves ; neither seemed to be hurt, 
 and were hurrying to their master's and mistress's 
 assistance. 
 
 " But you have hurt yourself, mademoiselle ; and 
 where is Sir James ?" 
 
 " Not much hurt myself, Amelie, but I fear Sir 
 James is." Lenore was rendering what assistance 
 she could to the three men, and in a few minutes 
 Sir James was lying on the bank ; he had fainted 
 from pain, and Lenore, in despair, bent over him. 
 She dare not turn her eyes, lest she should 
 encounter some of the piteous sights with which 
 she was surrounded. 
 
 " Have you any idea how far we are from 
 Hurst .'^" she asked, turning to her new friend. " I 
 am such a stranger here, and so utterly helpless, I 
 do not know what I shall do." 
 
 " Do you mean you are going to Hurst ? If so,
 
 AN ACCIDENTAL MEETING. 29 
 
 will you let me render you such assistance as lies 
 in my power ? I know the Wylds well, and though 
 I am not going there — my destination is only a 
 mile beyond — would it not be best for me to hurry 
 there, and get them to send for you ? or," he con- 
 tinued, seeing Lenore s colourless face, " perhaps it 
 would be better for me to stay with you, and I can 
 give your servant instructions so that he could find 
 his way ? " 
 
 " I would be thankful if you would stay. I feel 
 so helpless. What should I do ?" 
 
 " I think if we were to remove your father to a 
 cottage that is not far distant, he would be more at 
 his ease." 
 
 The man-servant was despatched to The Hurst 
 with a message on a slip of paper. Lenore 
 watched the business-like hand as it traced the 
 short, clear account of what had happened, and 
 the bold signature imprinted itself on her mind, 
 " Jack Hunt." 
 
 " There," he said, brightly, " that will bring help. 
 Now, Sir James, you are feeling better, are you 
 not ? and we are going to move you to a cottage 
 near this. We must make some kind of a tem- 
 porary stretcher ; you will suffer less, moved so." 
 
 Workmen were busily engaged removing the 
 debris y as the down train was expected. Most of 
 those who had suffered from the accident were
 
 30 GRISEL ROMNEY. 
 
 being taken to the neighbouring farm-houses. 
 There seemed to be no fatal case. The engine- 
 driver and stoker were very badly hurt ; they, too, 
 had been removed. The Fenton party were the 
 last to leave the ground. 
 
 Sir James bore the moving better than could 
 have been expected ; and, after an hour of weary 
 waiting, The Hurst carriage arrived. Mrs. Wyld 
 had sent all necessary appliances to make the 
 drive more bearable. When seated in the comfort- 
 able carriage, her father in comparative freedom 
 from pain beside her, and Amelie regaining her 
 composure opposite her mistress, Lenore began to 
 feel a return of her old curiosity as to the people 
 into whose house she was so oddly now to enter. 
 Mr. Hunt absolutely refused to go in the carriage. 
 He preferred walking to the station, where he 
 expected to find his friends had sent for him. 
 
 " We shall meet again to-morrow or next day, 
 when I shall hope to renew my acquaintance under 
 more favourable auspices." 
 
 They were met at the door by Mrs. Wyld. Her 
 husband was from home for the day, and she, full 
 of anxiety, awaited their approach. Lenore was 
 charmed with the kind and genial manner, by the 
 warm welcome she received. The doctor had been 
 sent for, and had just arrived. Sir James was at 
 once removed to a bright room on the ground
 
 AN ACCIDENTAL MEETING. 3 1 
 
 floor, where he could receive constant visitors from 
 the adjoining library and other public rooms. In 
 another hour the painful operation of setting the 
 broken bone was over. Mercifully, it was but a 
 simple fracture, and Lenore, having had her wrist 
 bandaged, was lying down in the bright, fire- 
 lighted room, resting before dinner. 
 
 Presently there came a tap at the door, followed 
 by it being opened, and a gentle voice, " Are you 
 asleep, or may I come in.-*" It was Mrs. Wyld 
 come to inquire after her visitor's comfort. 
 
 " My husband has just come home, and has gone 
 to sit with your father. I thought I might come 
 and have a chat, and so begin our acquaintance in 
 this, to me, witching time of firelight." 
 
 " I am so glad you have come," said Lenore, 
 rising to do the honours of her room. 
 
 " Now, do not move, or I shall leave you. Lie 
 still where you are, and tell me about this 
 miserable accident." 
 
 Lenore graphically repeated what she knew and 
 what they had experienced, dwelling but for a 
 minute on the collision itself Her nerves had 
 received a shock. She could not yet feel calmly 
 about it. 
 
 " Then your fellow-passenger from London was 
 no other than Jack Hunt ? What a mercy he was 
 there ! What a strange introduction to each
 
 32 GRISEL ROMNEY. 
 
 other ! You will see a good deal of him while you 
 are here. He is one of the men I depend on most 
 entirely for my theatricals." 
 
 "Who and what is he?" asked Lenore. "I 
 could not make up my mind as to which of the four 
 professions he belonged. The church and medicine 
 were cut off, but after that I was puzzled." 
 
 " He cannot be said to belong to any of them. 
 He is a literary man, and is the editor of a leading 
 journal. He has travelled a great deal, is made a 
 great deal of in society — in fact, he is a universal 
 favourite." 
 
 " I don't usually care for universal favourites," 
 laughed Lenore; "but still there may be ex- 
 ceptions." 
 
 " As to who he is," continued Mrs. Wyld, 
 " that is a more difficult question. I never heard 
 him mention any of his relatives' names. I believe 
 his mother died when he was a child, and his 
 father, having quarrelled with all his friends just 
 as Jack was growing up, left this world for, we hope, 
 a better one ; but he had not improved his son's 
 path of success in life. Poor Jack had a hard fight 
 for some years with poverty and living down his 
 father's prejudices ; but he is getting on well now, 
 and I am sure you will like him. He is the life of 
 every party he is at, and is in continual demand ; 
 but he works hard, and it is only when he takes a
 
 AN ACCIDENTAL MEETING. 33 
 
 few days' holiday, as in the present case, that there 
 is any chance of catching him. I tried to secure 
 him for ourselves, and, on finding him engaged, 
 was only too thankful to hear he was to be a guest 
 with the Suttons. But you will be tired of Jack 
 Hunt. My husband calls him my own particular. 
 Let us turn from him to yourself. I want to hear 
 all about your movements for the last two years." 
 
 So the two ladies talked on, cementing their 
 friendship. They were reminded of the passing of 
 time by Lenore's maid arriving to dress her lady 
 for dinner. Mrs. Wyld rose to go. 
 
 " I am so distressed at ail this trouble we have 
 brought on you," said Lenore. 
 
 " I am too thankful, dear, that it happened near. 
 We are such old friends. You surely need not 
 regret making this a passing home. We are 
 alone to-night, so do not trouble yourself with 
 dressing if you are tired." 
 
 So began Lenore's country-house life.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE BEGINNING OF IT. 
 
 3TXW0 heroines in a book are generally looked 
 ^ on as a mistake, and yet how can this story 
 otherwise be told ? Fascinating and dainty 
 Grisel must be left at her school, and the reader 
 must with patience trace yet a little of Lenore's 
 history. 
 
 A fortnight has passed since the day of the 
 accident. Sir James is going on well. Lenore 
 still wears her sling, but she has promise of speedy 
 release. 
 
 The party has been growing gradually in size. 
 The Hurst has at last packed in all it can hold. 
 It is Christmas-eve, and in the old oak-lined 
 library a merry party is assembled. The fire is 
 blazing brightly. Old suits of armour catch the 
 glow, and reflect it again in steely flashes. The 
 curtains are not yet drawn ; outside, one can still 
 distinguish that the earth is covered with a snowy
 
 THE BEGINNING OF IT. 35 
 
 pall. In the corner by the wide chimney is the 
 tea-table, at which Mrs. Wyld is presiding. All 
 around are grouped a chattering and laughing 
 assemblage. 
 
 The question on the tapis is the following week's 
 festivities. How will there be time for all the 
 learning and rehearsing of parts when so much else 
 is to be done 1 Mr. Wyld and one or two of the 
 elder men are in Sir James's room ; only the 
 youth of the party are collected in the old 
 library. 
 
 " You are really too good, dear Mrs. Wyld ; you 
 take so much trouble with it all," softly coos fat 
 little Mrs. Dacre. Her two daughters, in a gentle 
 undertone, also let their tones be heard. Fair- 
 haired girls, of good temper and good looks, 
 indispensable in a household of mixed multitude. 
 " Mrs. Wyld thinks of everyone," the first gently 
 murmurs. " She is far too good," the second 
 continues. A pasty-faced young barrister endorses 
 the sentiment. The rosy countenance of the 
 youngest Miss Dacre has secured his everlasting 
 admiration. 
 
 " Has anything definite been agreed upon at 
 all.-*" asks Miss Jerningham, in her quick, decisive 
 voice. " We seem to be much where we were when 
 we began." 
 
 "Augusta is always in such a hurry," broke in
 
 36 GRISEL ROMNEY. 
 
 Miss Jerningham's brother Philip ; and the young 
 barrister contrasted her unfavourably with the 
 docile and ox-eyed Miss Dacre. 
 
 " I am inclined to agree with you, Miss Jerning- 
 ham," said Mrs. Wyld. " If we are really to have 
 our theatricals on Monday, there will be no time to 
 lose. I wish my right-hand man would come. 
 We can arrange nothing till then." 
 
 "We might at any rate fix which parts we 
 are to have," again suggested Miss Jerningham. 
 Her powers of organisation were largely developed. 
 What more fitting field for their display ? " Mr. 
 Hunt cannot settle everything. Whom do you 
 propose to take the leading woman's part in the 
 play.?" 
 
 "That I do not know," answered her hostess. 
 " Either yourself or Miss Fenton. There are 
 various tableaux to be acted. Mr. Hunt has 
 selected them, as I wished them to be all from 
 Shakspere." 
 
 Lenore, who until now had not spoken, looked 
 up as her name was proposed. " I would much 
 rather not act," she exclaimed ; "that is, unless you 
 wish it very much." 
 
 No more was said ; the conversation flowed on, 
 and Lenore relapsed again into silence. She was 
 sitting on a low stool in the large chimney corner. 
 Her head rested against the sidepost of the mantel-
 
 THE BEGINNING OF IT. 37 
 
 piece, and the firelight flickered on her face, and 
 lighted up the dark brown velvet and the quaint 
 old lace at her throat and wrists. Though silent, 
 she was not an inattentive listener, her parted lips 
 and changing expression told of the interest she 
 took in the discussion. 
 
 The room and its occupants made a perfect 
 picture, as seen from the outside through the long 
 window-door which opened to the garden. Up the 
 path leading to the house, between the old close- 
 cut yew hedges, the figure of a man enveloped in 
 an Ulster was fast approaching. The gravel 
 sounded crisp under the tread of his sharp foot- 
 step ; a bright spark of light and a fragrant 
 whiff told of the cigar between his lips. 
 
 It was too good a one to throw away — he 
 stopped outside the window, and watched the 
 scene within. He had been once or twice at 
 Hurst since the day of the accident, but had both 
 times missed seeing Miss Fenton. 
 
 It was the first time he had seen her without 
 her hat ; the change was even for the better. 
 
 With the eye of an experienced manager, he 
 took in the conflicting elements which he was to 
 blend into a harmonious whole. 
 
 "Where shall I find a Titania.''" he thought to 
 himself " Not one there who would do. I dare say 
 Mrs. Dacre would consider either of her daughters
 
 38 GRISEL ROMNEY. 
 
 capable of sustaining the part ; but they must be 
 used up in the witches scene in ' Macbeth.' Miss 
 Jerningham will make a royal Lady Macbeth. 
 And no lack of men for minor parts. Now for the 
 last. Who shall be Juliet ? Miss Fenton is cut out 
 for it. But where is a Romeo ? Are any of the 
 men fit ? No. We must think of some other part 
 for her. I cannot have her spoilt by an unworthy 
 Romeo .?" 
 
 The cigar was finished ; he went forward to the 
 window and knocked. 
 
 " Ah ! here comes my trusty bulwark at last. 
 Captain Stanley, will you let Mr. Hunt in .?" 
 
 The man addressed by Mrs. Wyld crossed the 
 room and raised the sash of the window. 
 
 " We are all at sixes and sevens, Mr. Hunt. We 
 require your business head. Have a cup of tea 
 first.?" 
 
 " Thank you, yes. Are all my troupe col- 
 lected.?" he said. "Let me see. How d'ye do, 
 Mrs. Dacre?" A general handshaking, and the 
 chorus of voices increased. Jack Hunt crossed 
 over to where Lenore was sitting. She thought 
 she was unnoticed — she had withdrawn into the 
 shadow. 
 
 " I may consider myself introduced," he said. 
 " We seem quite tried friends." 
 
 Lenore flushed with pleasure at the recognition
 
 THE BEGINNING OF IT. 39 
 
 in the dusky room. What was it in this man that 
 so attracted her } 
 
 " Yes ; friends in misfortune are on a common 
 footing," pleasantly remarked Mrs, Wyld. 
 
 "It was more of a friend in need, wasn't it.^" 
 said Lenore, forgetting her usual reticence. 
 
 Jack Hunt gave an answering glance of 
 sympathy ; and Miss Jerningham broke in 
 impatiently — 
 
 " We must really come to some understanding 
 of our parts. Mr. Hunt cannot expect us to know 
 them without." ^ 
 
 " I stand corrected, Miss Jerningham. Let us 
 to business with what speed we may." 
 
 " Here are my ideas," said Mrs. Wyld. " I 
 jotted down in black and white a sketch of division 
 of work. I propose we first have this farce ; it is 
 not above amateur powers. There are three men's 
 and three women's parts. What do you say to 
 either Miss Fenton or Miss Jerningham taking the 
 
 part of ; then Captain Stanley and Mr. 
 
 Jerningham, and you Mr. Cust," turning to the 
 young barrister, " can take the three men. Mr. 
 Hunt knows better than I do for which you are 
 suited." 
 
 " I would very much rather look at the play, if 
 you can do without me," broke in Lenore. " I 
 never acted in my life."
 
 40 GRISEL ROMNEY. 
 
 " That makes it more easily settled," Mr. Hunt 
 said. " Between two stars it is difficult to choose. 
 Miss Jerningham's powers have been well tried." 
 
 Augusta Jerningham was in good humour again. 
 She and Jack had been old friends ; she could not 
 brook the slightest interference in her kingdom. 
 
 The discussion continued amicably. The actors 
 were impressed with the solemn injunction of 
 knowing their parts. Four scenes from Shak- 
 spere had been selected. Lenore was, after all, to 
 act Juliet. There had been such a clamour for the 
 hackneyed balcony scene that Mr. Hunt had per- 
 force to give in, and Captain Stanley was to be the 
 favoured Romeo. 
 
 " I would like to have finished off with a telling 
 tableau I once saw," said Mrs. Wyld. " We must 
 have two men and one girl. You, Mr. Hunt, must 
 be one of them ; you are acting in none. Then, 
 Mr. Jerningham, you can be the other. Lenore, 
 you are only appearing in one other act ; you will 
 make the third. I am not going to tell my tableau 
 till I present it to the public." 
 
 All was now settled, the conversation was 
 becoming general, lights were brought in, and the 
 party dispersed itself into groups ; some old 
 engravings were produced to gather ideas for the 
 different costumes, and a search had to be made 
 for a box containing dresses of the past century.
 
 THE BEGINNING OF IT. 41 
 
 Lenore had risen from her lowly seat and found 
 a quiet corner, where, unobserved, she could see 
 and not be seen. She felt shy and reserved 
 amongst the gathering, in which she was the only 
 stranger. 
 
 It was all so new to her, the looking on was as 
 yet pleasure enough. Presently, her corner was 
 discovered, and the other low window-seat was 
 occupied. 
 
 "Far from the madding crowd?" asked Jack 
 Hunt, interrogatively. 
 
 " Distance lends enchantment to the view," she 
 answered. " You know, outsiders see most of the 
 game." 
 
 "You look upon it all, then, as a play. The 
 acting has already begun for you !" 
 
 " I am interested," she answered. " This is a 
 side of life I have never seen before." 
 
 " Is it as a philosopher you watch poor struggling 
 humanity .^" he asked, smiling at her earnestness. 
 " Or perhaps as an actor ready for his part .?" 
 
 "Neither as acknowledged philosopher nor 
 actor ; only one of the interested mob !" 
 
 " You despise, then, to enter the lists with the 
 defence of armour.!^" he said. "You will not play 
 an acknowledged part.-*" 
 
 " My trial has not yet come ; I may have to don 
 my armour some day," she answered him, gravely,
 
 42 GRISEL ROMNEY. 
 
 looking away past him into the room from under the 
 drapery of curtains by which they were surrounded. 
 There was silence for a few minutes, then Lenore 
 looked round, laughing, and suddenly changed the 
 conversation. 
 
 "The armour we spoke of!" she exclaimed, as a 
 rattling suit of chain mail was disentombed. 
 "Who is that decoration for .'*" she asked, raising 
 her voice, and with one hand holding back the 
 curtain. 
 
 " It has been found expressly for Juliet," retorted 
 Captain Stanley. " I, as Romeo, have got a capti- 
 vating costume, which looks exceedingly like my 
 great-grandmother's gown." 
 
 " Really, Captain Stanley is so amusing!" Miss 
 Dacre exclaimed. "You do not mean what you 
 say .?" 
 
 " I never was more in earnest," he answered, 
 gravely. In the window-seat. Jack had turned to 
 Lenore. 
 
 " The fates have conspired against you," he said. 
 " Even Captain Stanley has declared that the 
 armour must be donned !" 
 
 She would not pick up the gauntlet he had 
 thrown down, but again asked some questions as 
 to what was passing in the room. 
 
 Somebody had suggested a skating party, and 
 plans were being laid for the day following Christ-
 
 THE BEGINNING OF IT. 43 
 
 mas. Old Mr. Dacre came in from Sir James's 
 room. 
 
 "No hopes for you young people," he said. 
 " The wind is rising. We shall all be out with the 
 hounds again by Wednesday." 
 
 His news did not seem to damp the general 
 spirits ; the last amusement was even better than 
 the first. The dressing gong sounded, there was a 
 move amongst the company, the ladies were going 
 to their rooms. Jack Hunt prepared to take his 
 departure ; the Suttons expected him to return for 
 dinner. 
 
 " The meet is at Sutton Hall, on Wednesday. 
 Good-bye till then," and he was gone.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 IN THE TWILIGHT. 
 
 DINNER passed pleasantly ; round the table 
 not a single break in the conversation — except, 
 perhaps, where Mrs. Dacre was all intent upon the 
 good things provided, and Mr. Cust — whom unkind 
 fate had placed next her — looked with envious 
 eyes at Mr. Jerningham monopolising Miss Susan 
 Dacre. He turned in despair to Lenore, but she 
 and Captain Stanley were deep in foreign expe- 
 riences ; so he had to follow Mrs. Dacre's example, 
 until Mrs. Wyld, seeing his forlorn condition, asked 
 some question that he alone could answer, and so 
 the conversation became general at her end of the 
 table. 
 
 In another hour and a-half they were all col- 
 lected in the billiard-room, and Captain Stanley 
 was initiating Lenore into the mysteries of pool. 
 Two hours more and they had dispersed, but the
 
 IN THE TWILIGHT. 45 
 
 evening's amusements had gone far to rub off the 
 last remnants of Lenore's strangeness. 
 
 Christmas Day dawned with none of its proper 
 whiteness — a leaden sky and fast-melting snow, 
 not tempting for foot passengers. 
 
 Breakfast was not till ten. Some of the ladies 
 were going to church, others would not brave the 
 weather. Captain Stanley and Mr. Jerningham 
 had not even made their 2ppearance. The smok- 
 ing-room party had sat up very late. 
 
 The omnibus came to the door before breakfast 
 was finished, and there was some hurry to be at 
 the church in time. 
 
 Service was beginning, and the organist was 
 lustily playing the final chords previous to the 
 development of the voluntary into the Christmas 
 Anthem. Lenore felt conscious that their party 
 attracted a good deal of attention, and was only 
 too glad to find herself at last seated in the front 
 row of the gallery. She did not raise her eyes 
 until the hymn was over, and became aware that 
 the Sutton Hall seat was opposite to them, and 
 Mr. Hunt was there. He was watching till she 
 saw him, and their eyes met. After that one 
 recognition, Lenore did not turn that way again. 
 
 It was raining when they came out of church, 
 and the Christmas greetings were crowded into a 
 small portico. The Sutton carriage was at the
 
 46 GRISEL ROMNEY. 
 
 door, and being filled, when the Wylds' party at 
 last emerged from the narrow aisle. Two dripping 
 umbrellas formed a canopy in the doorway. There 
 was a few minutes' delay, Mrs. Sutton had some 
 message to give Mrs. Wyld about the programme 
 for the following week. " You are all expected at 
 lunch to-morrow," she said. " I trust to your 
 bringing as large a party as you can, Mrs. 
 Wyld." 
 
 " Happy Christmas, Miss Fenton. What a 
 dreadful day it is ! I hope we may have a good 
 one to-morrow." Hunt's raiment looked im- 
 pervious to moisture. Not so Lenore, who had 
 stupidly forgotten her cloak. 
 
 " Yes ! I suppose you huntsmen are all rejoicing 
 at the rain. I am selfish enough to wish the frost 
 had continued." 
 
 " Do you not follow the hounds, Miss Fenton ? 
 It is such glorious sport!" 
 
 " No ; I never have done so. Mr. Wyld promised 
 me a mount for to-morrow if my wrist had been 
 better, but it is not recovered sufficiently yet." 
 
 *' You will, at any rate, drive to the meet ?" 
 
 " I do not think I could stand only looking on ; 
 it would be too tantalising." 
 
 " Take care. Miss Fenton ; you are contradicting 
 your statement of last night, that a place among 
 the interested mob was all-satisfying."
 
 IN THE TWILIGHT. 4/ 
 
 " It's only a woman's change of mind," she said, 
 laughing. '* You surely do not hold the female 
 sex responsible to-day for what it thought 
 yesterday.?" 
 
 " Mrs. Wyld is waiting, Miss Fenton ; here comes 
 Captain Stanley for you. Let me take you to the 
 carriage." 
 
 " Do not trouble. Captain Stanley's umbrella 
 is already wet. Good-bye." 
 
 " Then we do not meet to-morrow .-*" 
 
 " Oh ! I cannot promise ; to-morrow is not to- 
 day. I may have changed my mind by that 
 time." 
 
 But Lenore did not change her mind, and she 
 saw the party start at ten o'clock the following 
 morning, determined to devote some hours to her 
 father. Mrs. Dacre was also left behind ; all the 
 rest went off in high spirits. Miss Jerningham was 
 at her very best on horseback, and with Lenore 
 Fenton not of the party, she expected to have a 
 day of unclouded enjoyment. 
 
 But things did not turn out all that her fancy 
 painted. The fox did not behave as was expected, 
 and went off in a wrong direction, the consequence 
 being that the party got separated, and did not 
 meet again during the run. Miss Jerningham had 
 gone with the other ladies to the probable end of 
 the cover, and though it only threw them out for a
 
 48 GRISEL ROMNEY. 
 
 few minutes, yet three or four of the men had got 
 a start, amongst them Mr. Hunt. 
 
 In the meantime, Lenore was almost beginning 
 to regret the part she had chosen. It was not 
 lively sitting listening for some time to Mrs. 
 Dacre's remarks on the news of the day, from 
 which she gradually dropped into the all-engros- 
 sing topic of housekeeping botherations. Having 
 borne it patiently for an hour or so, she made the 
 excuse of going to her father, and spent the time 
 with him until luncheon hour ; but he was getting 
 irritable from the long confinement, and abused 
 fate for ever letting them be mixed up with the 
 untoward railway collision. 
 
 But the longest morning must have an end, and 
 the longest lunch be finished at last ; and Lenore, 
 in thick boots and well looped-up tweed costume, 
 determined to brave the muddy roads and explore 
 the country round. 
 
 The air was refreshing after her father's hot 
 room, and she quickened her pace, with the inten- 
 tion of taking a round Mrs. Wyld had spoken 
 of. 
 
 She had been walking for upwards of an hour, 
 when she became conscious that the afternoon was 
 closing in, and that she had not found the road she 
 had expected that would lead her home again. 
 Presently she heard the sound of horses' footsteps,
 
 IN THE TWILIGHT. 49 
 
 and turning, saw Miss Jerninghann, Miss Dacre, 
 and Captain Stanley. 
 
 " You are some way from home, Miss Fenton. 
 It is very adventurous of you going so far alone," 
 the former said, as they rode up. 
 
 " I have lost my way," Lenore answered. " Per- 
 haps you can tell me the shortest cut home. I 
 will make good speed, and not be long after you." 
 
 The road was pointed out, and the riders 
 went on. 
 
 "Have you had a good day.?" Lenore called 
 after them. 
 
 " Oh ! so charmingly delightful," exclaimed Miss 
 Dacre. 
 
 " Not very," said Augusta Jerningham in the 
 same breath. 
 
 Conflicting statements, thought Lenore ; and 
 she fell into a pleasant train of thought respecting 
 the past week's experiences. She had turned off 
 the high road, and was crossing a grass park, 
 picking her steps with caution, the path in many 
 places lying under water. It was getting dusk, 
 and the air was full of a hazy blue mist ; a crimson 
 light in the west told of where the sun once had 
 tried to be. A feeling of frost in the air and the 
 sharp exercise had brought a bright colour into 
 her face. 
 
 "If you always walk at that pace, Miss Fenton,
 
 50 GRISEL ROMNEY. 
 
 you will manage to cross a good deal of country 
 during your life." 
 
 Lenore started ; she had not heard the sound of 
 footsteps on the turf 
 
 " Oh ! it is you, Mr. Hunt. I neither heard nor 
 saw you. I like walking fast, and, besides, it is 
 late. I lost my way, but, fortunately, I met some 
 of the others returning from their day's sport, and 
 Miss Jerningham told me of this short way to The 
 Hurst. But I must go, as it is too dark to be out 
 alone." 
 
 She made a movement as if to say good-bye, but 
 he did not appear to notice it. 
 
 " It is too dark," he said. " I am sure Mrs. 
 Wyld would wish me to see you home." 
 
 " Oh ! please do not come out of your way." 
 But he had dismounted, and was leading his horse 
 beside her before she could stop him. The lights 
 from The Hurst shone brightly through the trees, 
 and Lenore hurried her steps. 
 
 " You need not walk so fast now, Miss Fenton ; 
 you know, you are no longer alone. Tell me, do 
 you often take solitary walks like this V* 
 
 " I could do nothing else to-day, when I was left 
 in solitary state with Mrs. Dacre ; besides, I like a 
 walk with no company but my own." 
 
 " I wonder," he said, glancing at the bright, calm 
 face looking so fully up at him, " if you will ever
 
 IN THE TWILIGHT. 5 1 
 
 know the feeling of dread of your own company. 
 There do come times in one's life when the one 
 wish, the one endeavour, is never to be alone ; 
 when the rush of business, the whirl of gaiety, the 
 society even of jarring companions, is preferable 
 far even to the silence in which one stands alone 
 with the knowledge that I am I." 
 
 There was a moment's pause before Lenore 
 spoke, and then she said with some diffidence — 
 
 " Surely all men, and some women also, must 
 pass through it who ever attain to any intellectual 
 greatness. I may be wrong, but it seems to me 
 that it is not till this second birth, if I may call it 
 so, has been passed through, that anyone can really 
 comprehend what he is, or be able to help effec- 
 tually his storm-tossed brethren." 
 
 " You understand it then," he answered ; " you 
 have felt what I mean ; and, having established 
 your footing, you love your solitary walks, you 
 know where and what you are .''" 
 
 " I did not mean to infer my own experiences ; 
 they are yet too crude to be of any value. I speak 
 of what I have noticed in others." 
 
 " If you watch so closely and so calmly, would 
 you from your standpoint of safety reach a hand 
 to some struggling brother .?" 
 
 " My help, I fear, would be but inefficient. I 
 would gladly throw the rope that would save him. 
 
 UNIVtRSITY Of ILLINOIS 
 LIBRARY.
 
 52 GRISEL ROMNEY. 
 
 It would lie with himself whether he would accept 
 it or no. I could not be the rope myself." 
 
 "And the rope, what do you say it is?" he asked, 
 eagerly. They were within the hedge of The 
 Hurst garden by this time. Down the pathway 
 the light streamed in a ruddy glow from the fire- 
 illumined library. The eagerness of his question 
 startled her. She stood still a moment, and waited 
 before she gave the answer. 
 
 " And the rope, what do you say it is V he again 
 repeated. " Can one find an escape from oneself 
 in the closest of all ties in human life V 
 
 " The saving povv^er, the rope I speak of, is it not 
 Faith, which can pierce the veil of the unseen, 
 which can unite one so with the other world that 
 one no longer is overpowered with one's individual 
 solitude } It seems to me that human companion- 
 ship, even of the closest kind, can be a help — 
 nothing more." 
 
 She stopped, suddenly aware of the earnestness 
 with which she was speaking. There was a shadow 
 fell across the path.' Some one had entered the 
 library. 
 
 " I must really say good-bye now," Lenore said 
 at last ; " we have dropped into a philosophical 
 discussion, in which I have aired some of my old- 
 world theories." 
 
 " Forgive me for detaining you so long," Jack
 
 IN THE TWILIGHT. 53 
 
 answered. " The old-world theories have a ring 
 of truth in them. Will you another day be my 
 teacher.?" 
 
 " You reverse the order of things," she said, and 
 held out her hand. 
 
 " Good-bye," he said. The door opened, and he 
 left her. 
 
 She was conscious of the parting pressure, even 
 after she had taken off her things, and formed one 
 of the merry group round the afternoon tea-table, 
 where she was laughingly cross-questioned as to 
 how she had lost and found her way ; but she 
 kept a discreet silence as to the companion of her 
 homeward walk.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 TABLEAUX VI V ANTS. 
 
 A CHANCE meeting, a new friendship, a few 
 days' companionship, perhaps a few conver- 
 sational tete-a-tctes, perhaps not even so much, and 
 it has been done, the channel of life has been for 
 ever changed. All this has been written hundreds 
 of times, and yet humanity has not yet learnt that 
 one's course in this world rests entirely on the 
 little things. Women, and men also, are always 
 watching for the great events which are to form 
 their destinies, and the trivial meeting is unnoticed ; 
 afterwards, looking back, it is the peg on which is 
 hung the man's future history. 
 
 And so it was with Jack Hunt and Lenore. He 
 had not lived for fifteen years in London, con- 
 tinually moving in the best society, without having 
 formed some idea of what a woman ought to be. 
 In the crowded salons of Belgravia, he had often
 
 TABLEAUX VIVANTS. 55 
 
 looked for the face which was to claim his life's 
 devotion. " Many a time he had loved for a 
 minute," and with the ardour which characterised 
 his whole nature, he had followed up the new 
 acquaintanceship, only to find that for him the 
 exquisitely beautiful fruit contained at heart 
 nothing but ashes. And now, at last, surely he 
 had discovered what he sought. The fruit was 
 not so fair, perhaps, to look upon as what had 
 tempted him in the past years ; it seemed to him 
 to hang far above his reach, more as if a star from 
 heaven had fallen and become entangled in the 
 topmost branches of the tree which he longed so 
 to climb. 
 
 And yet what had he to offer to tempt this 
 desirable star to shine for him ? To have begun 
 to make a name for oneself by no means implies 
 having begun to make a fortune ; and though a 
 horridly matter-of-fact view of the subject for any 
 lover to take. Jack knew quite well he need not 
 approach Sir James on the subject of his admira- 
 tion for his daughter, without being able to back up 
 the admiration so well expressed by a similarly 
 well-expressed system of ways and means — the 
 pounds, shillings, and pence of daily life. 
 
 He could not yet tell if he had awakened any 
 interest in Lenore, and after leaving her at The 
 Hurst on the afternoon before mentioned, he dis-
 
 56 GRISEL ROMNEY. 
 
 cussed seriously with himself if the more honourable 
 course to pursue would not be to throw up his 
 managership and flee from the charms of the syren. 
 Then a long string of objections immediately pre- 
 sented themselves against this mode of procedure. 
 It would be unfair to leave Mrs. Wyld in the lurch ; 
 it would spoil the pleasure of the Christmas party. 
 He was strong enough surely to live through the 
 next week without either letting himself or anyone 
 else take much harm. It would be pusillanimous 
 to run when no one was in danger but himself. 
 The last argument was decisive ; he would stay and 
 brave it out. 
 
 But it is difficult always to control the actions 
 and events into which one is thrown when one is 
 but a unit in a whole ; and for the week following 
 Christmas there were no end of meetings, at which 
 the newly-kindled flame gathered strength. It was 
 not his fault that the staff of actors were wholly 
 unequal to their parts, and that to get the acting 
 to a proper state of perfection there must be daily 
 rehearsals. 
 
 Nor was it his fault that Lenore did not act in 
 the play, but formed audience, or assisted as stage 
 manager, or made herself generally useful. 
 
 It was all very pleasant and delightful, and the 
 week was running fast away ; in another day all 
 danger would be over — they would part, in all
 
 TABLEAUX VIVANTS. 57 
 
 probability not to meet again. Surely not to sip 
 the honey of life would be ingratitude. 
 
 How plausible it all sounded. There is nothing 
 that man cannot talk himself into thinking. 
 
 And over Lenore the subtle spell was uncon- 
 sciously creeping — an intense enjoyment of her 
 daily, nay, hourly existence, a slight amount of im- 
 patience against her father's demands on her time, 
 always stamped down and rewarded by an extra 
 half-hour spent in his society, when the beguiling 
 voices crept across the passage from the library, 
 where the rehearsals took place, and peals of distant 
 laughter told of the fun within. 
 
 She did not make an analysis of her happiness. 
 She lived and learned to love unknown as yet to 
 herself. 
 
 The day of the acting dawned at last ; all 
 morning the final touches were to be given to the 
 different costumes. A full-dress rehearsal was 
 immediately to precede the play. A large gather- 
 ing of neighbours were to be assembled, and after 
 the acting was over, the festivities were to end 
 with a dance. Such was the programme prepared 
 by the Wylds for the amusement of their guests. 
 
 In the week spent together, a kind of friendship 
 had sprung up between Augusta Jerningham and 
 Lenore, sorely against the inclinations of the for- 
 mer ; but Lenore was utterly ignorant of any cause
 
 58 GRISEL ROMNEY. 
 
 why her society should be disagreeable to Augusta, 
 and Miss Jerningham on her side found her policy 
 best to be on good terms with the general 
 favourite. 
 
 After lunch on the day in question, Mrs. Wyld 
 proposed that they should go for a walk to refresh 
 themselves in the evening, and chance threw the 
 two girls together. Immediately following them 
 were Mrs. Wyld and Miss Dacre ; while still fur- 
 ther in the background, the rest of the party were 
 linked together in twos and threes. Conversation 
 flagged at times between Lenore and Miss 
 Jerningham, and snatches of what those behind 
 them were saying filled up the pauses. 
 
 Lenore heard her own name mentioned, and in- 
 voluntarily she overheard what was said ; but as the 
 talk became personal, Mrs. Wyld's voice dropped 
 to a lower one. Suddenly she was roused from 
 silence by Miss Jerningham's voice — 
 
 " You are really in dreamland. Miss Fenton. I 
 have asked the same question three times, and can 
 get no answer." 
 
 "I beg your pardon," Lenore answered, utterly 
 confused at her own obliviousness. 
 
 " For the fourth time, then, what is the tableau 
 that you and Philip and Mr. Hunt are to act 
 to-night.?" 
 
 " Has your brother not told you ? It is a most
 
 TABLEAUX VIVANTS. 59 
 
 sensational composition, and I rebelled against my 
 character, which is to be your brother's good angel. 
 He and Mr. Hunt are to be playing chess. Mr. 
 Hunt, as Mephistopheles, is supposed to be playing 
 for his victim's soul. I, in the background, with 
 wings and all in keeping, am watching the final 
 play of the game. I suppose it is a good piece of 
 effect, and your brother looks horrible, with his 
 disordered hair, an empty bottle and glass beside 
 him, and his nervous hands clutching at the pieces ; 
 while, with a diabolical sneer, Mephistopheles is 
 preparing for the checkmate move." 
 
 " It will suit Mr. Hunt very well ; he likes to put 
 on a show of cynicism even in ordinary life. He 
 thinks it goes down well with women," added Miss 
 Jerningham, with a laugh. 
 
 " Does he ? I had not observed it. He is 
 always so bright and pleasant, I should not have 
 given him credit for such devices." 
 
 " Wait till you know him a little better. He is 
 always so devoiie at first, but it soon passes off. 
 Mrs. Wyld, I am trying to instil some of my 
 opinions about Mr. Hunt into Miss Fenton." 
 
 " Don't believe Augusta, Miss Fenton. I quite 
 take your side in defence of the absent." 
 
 " But I was defending no one," laughed Lenore. 
 "I only said I had not yet discovered that Mr. 
 Hunt was a cynic."
 
 60 GRISEL ROMNEY. 
 
 " There are cynics and cynics," answered Mrs. 
 Wyld, " which my husband would say was my usual 
 clear way of putting things. You may go a very 
 long way before you find a man who has lived so 
 much with so small a vein of cynicism." 
 
 " Why, Mrs. Wyld, I had no idea that Mr. Hunt 
 had so staunch a supporter. May we add you to 
 the list of his devotees ? He must be rather proud 
 of his string of conquests. Miss Fenton, I think, 
 bids fair to become one also." 
 
 Lenore coloured uncomfortably, and did not 
 speak, but Mrs. Wyld answered, with some sharp- 
 ness, " Don't talk nonsense, Augusta. If the list is 
 really to be made, it must be done alphabetically, 
 and I suppose you know what that implies ; but 
 enough of such nonsensical talk. I think we ought 
 not to go much farther, or you ladies will be over- 
 tired to-night." 
 
 The conversation turned to general subjects, but 
 Lenore was silent. She was glad to find herself at 
 home again, and slipped away to her room for 
 half-an-hour's rest. 
 
 She drew an arm-chair towards the fire, deter- 
 mined to be lazy for a short time. She felt 
 irritable and out of humour. Augusta Jerning- 
 ham's words had struck sharply, and Lenore was 
 cross with herself for being so easily put out of 
 temper. She was indignant, too, at the imputation
 
 TABLEAUX VIVANTS. 6 1 
 
 of being only too ready to be one of Mr. Hunt's 
 admirers, and the glimmer of truth in it made her 
 indignation all the more poignant. 
 
 She would studiously avoid him all evening, and 
 show Miss Jerningham what utter nonsense her 
 words had been. 
 
 She went downstairs, determined to carry her 
 resolution into effect, and hearing Mr. Hunt's 
 voice amongst those in the library, she turned into 
 her father's room. The post had just come in, and 
 Sir James was opening a pile of letters when his 
 daughter entered. 
 
 "Pleasant to be remembered," said he, good 
 humouredly. "Not by you, my dear," seeing his 
 daughter's look of surprise. " It was only a letter 
 from an old friend that made me benignly philan- 
 thropical. There, you can look at it for yourself. 
 The man 's a good deal younger than I am, and in 
 the days gone by he had every right to owe me a 
 grudge, as I won what he also desired. I suppose 
 it is the memory of your mother, child, which 
 makes him so desirous of seeing you." 
 
 Lenore lifted the open note from the table, and 
 read the kind, formal expressions of sympathy 
 with her father's misfortune, and passed on to the 
 latter half, in which he warmly pressed an invita- 
 tion to Sir James to come and see his old friend, 
 and bring his daughter; he Avished to make
 
 62 GRISEL ROMNEY. 
 
 her acquaintance for the sake of "auld lang 
 syne." 
 
 " Who and what is he ?" asked Lenore, as she 
 came to the end and read the simple signature of 
 " Meredith." 
 
 " Fred Barton joined my old regiment when I 
 was senior lieutenant. He did not remain long in 
 the service. Unfortunately for him, we both fell in 
 love with your mother. He was some years her 
 junior, but the liking was no less lasting. He left 
 the army, and wandered about the world. His 
 uncle, then Lord Meredith, gave him a liberal 
 allowance ; Fred was his heir, and the old lord 
 died only three or four years ago. Fred must be 
 a man of fifty now — dear me, how time flies !" 
 
 "We must find him out whenever we go 
 up to town. I like his letter; it is out of the 
 common." 
 
 A knock at the door, and Captain Stanley 
 entered. 
 
 "You are required. Miss Fenton, about some- 
 thing or other. We are to dine at five o'clock, to 
 give plenty of time for dressing and rehearsal, and 
 things are not yet all settled; your valuable advice 
 is wanted." 
 
 "What it is to be a person of consequence, Cap- 
 tain Stanley !" said Lenore, following him out of 
 the room.
 
 TABLEAUX VIVANTS. 63 
 
 " I agree with you, Miss Fenton, especially when 
 it is so well deserved." 
 
 " No civil speeches, please ; I don't like them." 
 
 The words did not escape Jack Hunt, who was 
 standing near the door when they entered ; and 
 when Lenore passed him without notice, though 
 they had not previously met that day, apparently 
 engrossed in aimless repartee with Captain Stanley, 
 Mr. Hunt's temper was not improved. 
 
 " Here you are, Lenore. We require your valu- 
 able advice. There is a discussion as to which of 
 the tableaux is to be acted first." 
 
 " I should have thought you ought to settle that, 
 Mrs. Wyld ; but it cannot much signify." 
 
 " Now, Miss Fenton, listen to me," said Philip 
 Jerningham, crossing the room and planting him- 
 self before her. " You must hear the whole state 
 of the case. Augusta says " 
 
 " No, no, that 's not fair, Mr. Jerningham ; no 
 names mentioned, please," exclaimed the hostess. 
 
 " Well, then, to begin again. Some one says 
 that the tableau in which you and I are to take 
 such conspicuous parts ought to precede the Shak- 
 sperian ones, being of a much lower order of merit 
 — not very civil to you and me, but never mind 
 that. Secondly, some one else says that as a piece 
 of stage effect it would make a good wind-up. Now 
 what we want to know is this : Whether would
 
 64 GRISEL ROMNEY. 
 
 you prefer remaining for the rest of the evening in 
 the dress of Juliet, or as my good angel ?" 
 
 " Don't be ridiculous, Philip," exclaimed his 
 sister. 
 
 " Thank you ! If that is all, I am going to 
 change my dress before dancing," Lenore answered. 
 " I leave the decision to Mrs. Wyld." 
 
 " In that case," Mrs. Wyld said, " it shall rest as 
 it was first arranged. Do you know dinner is to 
 be in ten minutes ? So we had better make haste." 
 
 There was a general, hurried dispersion. Lenore 
 and Mrs. Wyld were the last ladies to leave the 
 room. 
 
 " Miss Fenton, there is another thing Mr. Hunt 
 is anxious to know," said Philip, mischievously 
 following Lenore to the door, which Jack was 
 holding open. " In this wonderful tableau, are 
 you going to regard me sorrowfully or Mr. Hunt 
 viciously, for it is of great moment to both of 
 us?" 
 
 " Oh, you most sorrowfully, certainly. Angels 
 have nothing to do with the powers of darkness." 
 
 " That 's one for you. Hunt," and Lenore gave 
 Philip a laughing nod as she left the room. 
 
 Dinner was over ; all the actors had retired to 
 don their various costumes, and already a motley 
 group was collecting behind the scenes. The 
 Hurst was peculiarly well adapted for theatricals,
 
 TABLEAUX VIVANTS. 65 
 
 as wide, sliding doors separated the drawing-rooms, 
 and in the smaller of the two a stage and footlights 
 had been put up. 
 
 Lenore was finishing her toilette ; neither of her 
 parts was till near the end, and she heard the 
 various bedroom doors close as the occupants, 
 armed cap-d-pie^ descended to the arena. 
 
 At last she could no longer delay, though much 
 more inclined to remain where she was. She felt 
 as if things were all crooked ; she did not under- 
 stand her mixed feelings. 
 
 She opened her door, and passed swiftly along 
 the old oak corridor, hastening down the dimly- 
 lighted stair. A door opened on the first landing, 
 and Lenore started back. Mephistopheles was 
 beside her. 
 
 " I beg your pardon. Miss Fenton ; I did not 
 mean to startle you." 
 
 " You look horrible," she exclaimed, continuing 
 her course past him downstairs. 
 
 " Won't you speak to me t What have I done 
 to offend you .-* Tell me." 
 
 " We are late," she said ; " they must be all 
 waiting for us." 
 
 " I forgot that you would have nothing to do 
 with an angel of darkness," he exclaimed, bitterly; 
 " but you are not yet robed in angel garb. Has 
 Juliet no sympathy V
 
 66 GRISEL ROMNEY. 
 
 " Do not talk nonsense, Mr. Hunt. I am both 
 an unwilling Juliet and angel." 
 
 " Then as your own true self you will not thus 
 utterly despise me. You will promise me the first 
 and last waltzes to-night, will you not }" 
 
 They had reached the drawing-room door, and 
 Lenore put forward her hand to open it, but stayed 
 a moment in the act ; she turned her face towards 
 him, and a bright smile played about her mouth 
 and eyes. 
 
 "If Mephistopheles will also be himself, I will 
 dance with him." 
 
 No time for more ; she instantly turned the 
 handle, and they were amongst the others. 
 
 Mrs. Wyld saw the light in Lenore's eyes as 
 she entered. She wondered what had brought it 
 there. 
 
 The bell was ringing for the curtain to rise. 
 The rehearsal had been a complete success, and 
 Augusta, with triumph and excitement written in 
 every feature, was just going before the audience. 
 
 The non-actors of the moment were watching 
 from behind the screen. There was a roar of 
 applause as the first scene closed. Mrs. Wyld left 
 the spectators for a moment to assure the actors 
 of the universal approval. 
 
 " It is all owing to you, Mr. Hunt. We could 
 never have achieved the success without you."
 
 TABLEAUX VIVANTS. 6/ 
 
 He answered the correct speech for the occasion : 
 
 " Not me, Mrs. Wyld ; the actors deserve the 
 thanks." 
 
 " The wheels may all be there," she said ; " it 
 requires the mainspring to set them going." 
 
 And now things went on rapidly. The play was 
 over. Augusta had been called before the curtain. 
 She had made the success of it. 
 
 " You did splendidly. Miss Jerningham," said 
 Mr. Hunt ; " let me congratulate you." 
 
 She was passing behind the scenes on her way 
 to the green-room to change her dress for the part 
 of Lady Macbeth. The other characters were 
 already most of them in costume. 
 
 "Where is Juliet.-^" asked Romeo, and the two 
 were soon arranged. The curtain rose, waited a 
 minute, and fell again. A clamorous demand 
 arose for a repetition, and once more the curtain 
 drew slowly up. Lenore felt a nervous disposition 
 to laugh, and was thankful when released from her 
 balcony. 
 
 Then followed the other three tableaux, and 
 before the last all the performers had joined the 
 audience. 
 
 When the curtain rose, there was a murmur of 
 applause. The subject might verge on clap-trap 
 effect, but it was a telling picture. As before 
 described, a chess table formed the centre of the
 
 6S GRISEL ROMNEY. 
 
 group. Mephistopheles and his victim were deep 
 in the game ; the complete misery and recklessness 
 of the man were splendidly portrayed. His hand 
 was on a piece, but there was hesitation in the 
 movement — a better influence was making itself 
 felt — his sable majesty bending forward, watching 
 the play with a sardonic grin. In wonderful relief 
 to the horror of the picture was the figure of the 
 angel in the background. 
 
 Something in the scene had really touched 
 Lenore, and a wonderfully pitying expression 
 rested on her face. Her hair fell to her waist in a 
 dark rippling mass, and the perfect purity of 
 her snow-white dress and wings completed the 
 whole. 
 
 The curtain rose and fell three times, and yet 
 the spectators were not satisfied. They must have 
 one more look. It rose for the last time, was just 
 falling, when some one among the audience gave a 
 scream. 
 
 Mephistopheles sprang from his seat and tore 
 down the drapery behind Lenore. It was some 
 flimsy material, and a footlight at the corner, 
 wafted by the successive rising and falling of the 
 curtain, made it take fire. 
 
 There was a few minutes' scuffle, it was out, and 
 they were all congratulating themselves it was no 
 worse. Mr. Hunt had burnt his hand, and Miss
 
 TABLEAUX VIVANTS. 69 
 
 Fenton had had a very narrow escape ; her wings 
 were singed, and the curtain was in ashes. 
 
 The forms were being cleared away, and the 
 company were moving to the old hall, where 
 dancing was to take place. 
 
 Lenore went up to her room to change her dress. 
 Her face was deadly pale, but she had not uttered 
 a sound, even when, on looking round, she had 
 seen the burning curtain behind her. 
 
 Philip Jerningham was crossing the hall as she 
 once more descended the staircase. 
 
 " You have to thank Mr. Hunt for your life, 
 Miss Fenton. I never saw a thing more pluckily 
 done."
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 ALMOST TOLD. 
 
 y T was late the following morning before any of 
 ^ the party assembled in the breakfast-room. 
 
 Dancing had continued until an early hour, and 
 not even the knowledge that they were to disperse 
 that day proved sufficient to collect the scattered 
 forces. Lenore had slept but little ; the unwonted 
 gaiety had chased the god away who is wooed 
 back with such difficulty when once put to flight. 
 
 She was in her father's room at the usual hour, 
 and she, with Mrs. Wyld, had finished breakfast 
 before any of the others appeared. Mrs. Wyld 
 went to her household duties, and Lenore found 
 a resting-place in the window seat of the library. 
 She 'was suffering from the reaction of the previous 
 evening, and the general break-up of the party did 
 not tend to raise her spirits. 
 
 It had all been very pleasant and delightful, but 
 it was over, and what had been the good of it all,
 
 ALMOST TOLD. 7 1 
 
 save making pleasant friends and arousing new 
 interests which, as far as she could see, had but a 
 poor chance of ever going any further? There 
 had been plans laid for meeting in town in May, 
 but May seemed a long way off, and town was a 
 wide word. She was in an overtired, overstrained 
 mood, ready to make mountains of molehills. 
 
 She' opened the glass door and let the air blow 
 on her heated temples. The day was too mild for 
 the time of year, and through the leafless branches 
 the distant country looked damp and hazy from 
 rising moisture ; a stillness lay on everything — 
 even the rooks cawed lazily. 
 
 Outward objects were acting on Lenore's frame 
 of mind with a lulling mesmeric influence — in fact, 
 she was very nearly asleep, when her eye was 
 attracted by a figure coming along the path to the 
 garden. There was no mistaking who it was, and 
 her pulses gave a quick throb of pleasure. She 
 had not said good-bye to Mr. Hunt the previous 
 evening ; Mrs. Sutton had carried him off before 
 the final dance, and Miss Jerningham had said he 
 had told her that he was going south by the first 
 train. 
 
 He was making his way to the front door, but 
 turned up the path, as he espied Lenore's figure at 
 the window. 
 
 " I thought you were leaving this morning," she
 
 "Jl GRISEL ROMNEY. 
 
 said, " and I was sorry not to have seen you again ; 
 because " 
 
 " You did not think I was going away without 
 saying good-bye ?" he broke in. 
 
 " Because," she continued, " I did not thank you 
 last night for what you did ; beHeve me, I am very 
 grateful." 
 
 Jack scarcely had courage to stop her thanks ; 
 she looked so charming, standing in the fresh 
 morning light, too shy to raise her eyes, and the 
 faintest flush stealing into her face. 
 
 "And you know," she went on, as the silence 
 continued, " but for you, I hardly dare to think 
 what might have happened." 
 
 Still the silence remained unbroken. 
 
 " Are my thanks too tardy, Mr. Hunt, that you 
 take no notice of them t I could not thank you 
 last night for such a service amongst all the dazzle 
 of light and whirl of music." 
 
 •' Do you think," he answered at last, very 
 gravely, " that I remained silent because I was un- 
 heeding } No — a thousand times, no ! — but because 
 I have grown to love the sound of your voice more 
 than any other sound that is in nature, and not 
 even when you were giving me such undeserved 
 thanks could I rouse myself from the spell." 
 
 It was Lenore now to be silent. What could she 
 answer to such an avowal t She stood and waited
 
 ALMOST TOLD. 73 
 
 for what must come next, and her eyes rested 
 dreamily on the slumbering landscape. She was 
 all unconscious of the gaze fastened on her. It 
 seemed as if she had lived the scene before in some 
 other life — it was but the echo of a dreamt-of chord 
 that came to her. 
 
 Complete silence rested on all their surround- 
 ings ; in the distance was heard the cackle of 
 geese at the neighbouring farm, and the call of 
 the ploughman to his team. It was too far off to 
 disturb them ; only when a ripple of laughter came 
 to them through oak-lined walls from the adjoining 
 breakfast-room did Jack rouse himself from his 
 reverie. 
 
 He turned to Lenore, and in tones rendered 
 hurried by the sound of approaching footsteps, he 
 exclaimed, " Do you think that this fortnight is to 
 pass from my life and leave it as it was before ? 
 Do you dream that the shadow of so much purity 
 and goodness has been permitted to fall upon my 
 path, and no trace of the snow be left which has 
 fallen from heaven ? Thank God, I may return to 
 the grimy atmosphere of my town life with a 
 firmer sense of the goodness and truth still left 
 in the world ; and for this I have to thank you, 
 Lenore." 
 
 " Oh, hush ! you must not call me that ; and they
 
 74 GRISEL ROMNEY. 
 
 There was the sound of the dining-room door 
 opening, and the hum of voices increased. 
 
 " Only one thing will you promise me — that 
 when you come to town in spring I may come 
 and see you, and then, perhaps," he said, " you 
 will let me tell you what I have no right to 
 say now ; not," he added as if more to himself 
 than her — " not until I see my way clearer before 
 me. 
 
 There was time for no more ; the door opened 
 and the Jerninghams entered, followed by Miss 
 Dacre, but Lenore had escaped by the glass door, 
 and had gained the shelter of her own room. For 
 a few minutes, at any rate, she would rather not 
 face the public. 
 
 " The ubiquitous !" exclaimed Philip. " I thought 
 you were going by the first train, Hunt.''" 
 
 " I usurped a woman's privilege, and changed my 
 mind." 
 
 " Dear me," said Augusta, scanning the room, 
 " Mrs. Wyld said Miss Fenton was here. I want 
 her to show me that piece of work." 
 
 " You have not seen her. Hunt .?" asked Philip. 
 
 " I have just entered the room. Has Miss 
 Fenton been seen this morning.?" 
 
 " Oh yes !" said Miss Dacre, good-naturedly. 
 " She was with her father at the usual hour." 
 
 " It 's very strange," said Augusta ; " I know she
 
 ALMOST TOLD. 75 
 
 was here five minutes ago, for Mrs. Wyld told 
 me so." 
 
 " Well, Miss Jerningham, it 's my loss, as 
 I am at this moment on my way to the 
 station, and must say good-bye to everyone here 
 assembled." 
 
 " If you had come in by the door, instead of this 
 way, you would have found us all in the breakfast- 
 room, Mr. Hunt" 
 
 " Except Miss Fenton, Augusta ; you forget 
 that," said her brother. 
 
 " Shall I let Mrs. Wyld know you are here ? 
 She will be sorry to miss you ;" and Miss Dacre 
 hurried off to find their hostess. 
 
 " The lost one has been found. Your disappear- 
 ance has been causing us all much anxiety. Miss 
 Fenton, as we had Mrs. Wyld's testimony that you 
 were in the library, yet no one would own to having 
 seen you." 
 
 Lenore had entered almost unobserved, when 
 Mr. Jerningham's remark turned the attention of 
 the company upon her. 
 
 " Good morning, Miss Fenton ; you are just in 
 time to say farewell. I am on my way to the 
 station." 
 
 Lenore had forgotten the necessity to appear as 
 if they had not already met, and she felt Miss 
 Jerningham's sharp eyes watching her.
 
 ^6 GRISEL ROMNEY. 
 
 " I did not think we were to have the pleasure 
 of seeing you this morning, Mr. Hunt." 
 
 " Miss Jerningham did not tell you, then, of the 
 pleasure in store for you V 
 
 "You did not leave me charged with a message, 
 Mr. Hunt," Augusta exclaimed. " The chances of 
 your appearance from what you said seemed to be 
 so very problematical, that I saved them the pain 
 of disappointment." 
 
 "Always the same. Miss Jerningham, always 
 thinking of others." 
 
 Jack bowed low as he laid the above compliment 
 at Augusta's feet. She did not receive it as he 
 expected, and answered sharply — 
 
 " There are two ways of thinking of others ; 
 which do you mean V 
 
 " Now for a passage of arms between my sister 
 and Hunt. There is something about you, Jack, 
 that seems to raise the pugilistic tendency in 
 Augusta. It is most refreshing to have a discord 
 at times ; the harmony of our party might other- 
 wise prove monotonous." 
 
 "I fear, Philip, I have no time to lay myself out for 
 general amusement this morning. My time is up." 
 
 Then cam.e "Good-bye" all round, and Mr. 
 Wyld accompanied his guest to the door. Foot- 
 steps were heard returning, and once more Mr. 
 Hunt appeared.
 
 ALMOST TOLD. ^^ 
 
 " Do you think I might disturb your father so 
 early, Miss Fenton ? I do not like to go without 
 seeing him." 
 
 " I will come and see," Lenore answered. 
 
 In the hall they were alone, and he had time for 
 one word more before they parted. 
 
 " You gave me no answer," he said. " You did 
 not give me leave to hunt you out when you come 
 to town." 
 
 " Didn't I — yes, of course, you may come. I 
 know my father will be delighted to see you." 
 
 He gave the slightest stamp of impatience. 
 
 " That is not what I wish to know. Will yoit be 
 glad to see me } I will not come near you unless ; 
 this cannot continue as an ordinary friendship. 
 It lies completely in your hands whether we are 
 ever to meet again or not. Better far to give me 
 a decided answer now, and so save misery in the 
 future." 
 
 " You are unreasonable, Mr. Hunt. I see no 
 reason why in the future we are to avoid each other. 
 I, for one, will be very glad to meet in spring." 
 
 " Thank you ; you need not say more. I must 
 go." 
 
 " You have not seen my father." 
 He pulled out his watch. " I have not a moment 
 to lose. Will you say all kind things from me, and 
 wishes for his complete recovery ?"
 
 78 GRISEL ROMNEY. 
 
 " Good-bye," he continued, taking both her hands 
 in his. " Good-bye, Lenore." 
 
 She raised her eyes one moment to his, and a 
 bright warm colour stole over her face. Then 
 softly she said the form of farewell so much more 
 to her than our cold good-bye — " A Dieu !" 
 
 " A Dieu !" he answered, and she was left alone 
 in the large, quiet hall, surrounded by a great 
 happiness that she had never felt before. 
 
 Moments of bliss are not of long duration, nor 
 of frequent occurrence either, and Lenore was 
 awakened from her earthly paradise by the sound 
 of her father's voice. His temper was not gaining 
 much of the heavenly element, and Lenore had to 
 make every allowance to herself for him, that her 
 filial sentiments should undergo no disarrange- 
 ment. It may have been that she was less in a 
 humour to bear with him, but he certainly seemed 
 to her more than ordinarily cantankerous that 
 morning. 
 
 " My dear, I thought you were never coming in. 
 Whom were you talking to in the hall } John went 
 away some time ago and forgot to give me my 
 newspaper, and here I am, an utterly cumbersome, 
 useless log — must wait for some Samaritan to give 
 me a thing lying two yards off." 
 
 " I am so sorry. Father. I hope you had not 
 been waiting long. Mr. Hunt came to say good-
 
 ALMOST TOLD. 79 
 
 bye, and he sent you all kind of messages and 
 hopes for your speedy recovery." 
 
 *' Why couldn't he come in and give me them 
 himself? He was near enough my room." 
 
 " I saw him in the hall, Father, and he was in a 
 great hurry." 
 
 " It looked very like it, when he could stand 
 chattering to you for so long. Really this house 
 is so abominably full of echoes that one never has 
 peace to read or anything." 
 
 Lenore busied herself in arranging her father's 
 papers, knowing that silence was by far the safest 
 course. But the storm was still muttering, and 
 presently broke out again, 
 
 " I suppose those people all leave to-day. It 's 
 just as well. In my young days, such a thing was 
 never heard of as a house filled with young men 
 and women, allowed to do just as they like without 
 anyone to say them nay." 
 
 " But, Papa, you forget Colonel and Mrs. Dacre; 
 they are surely chaperon enough." 
 
 " Old fools ! Would not have sense to see, 
 
 though you were all going straight to the 
 
 humph!" 
 
 " Besides, you know, after all, what have we 
 done save amuse ourselves most innocently ?" 
 
 " It 's all very well, very well ; but we were 
 taught in my young days that too much familiarity
 
 80 GRISEL ROMNEY. 
 
 breeds contempt. The present generation would 
 do well to study that." 
 
 " Would you like me to read you the leader in 
 the Times? I heard Mr. Hunt say that it was 
 well worth looking at to-day." 
 
 "There you go! — always Mr. Hunt this, and 
 Mr. Hunt that. Now understand, once for all, 
 that when you go with me to London I will have 
 none of these goings on. I will have no Mr. Hunt 
 or any young man coming to loaf about the house; 
 so you may make up your mind to do without 
 them. A pack of hungry fortune-hunters con- 
 tinually round my daughter ! I won't stand it !" 
 
 Lenore had kept perfectly calm till now, but 
 there was an angry flash in her eyes at the last 
 imputation. 
 
 " I had better tell you at once, Papa, that Mr. 
 Hunt asked me for our address in town, which 
 I gave him. He is coming to see us. I never 
 dreamt for a moment that you could possibly 
 object." 
 
 " Hunt be hanged !" Sir James finished with a 
 final growl, and took up his paper without another 
 word. 
 
 Lenore left the room without speaking. It was 
 a troublous ending to her bright morning, and she 
 felt there might be dangers in the unknown waters 
 in front of her.
 
 ALMOST TOLD. Si 
 
 " Dear me, how I wish we had never met !" But 
 no ! the thought just passed through her mind ; it 
 could find no resting-place. Above all the bother 
 and worry, she was conscious of a happiness, all 
 her own, which was yet too new and strange for 
 any rubs of daily life to soil.
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 "WHERE THE BROOK AND RIVER MEET." 
 
 THE months ran on, and Easter was come and 
 gone. London was awaking from its winter 
 sleep, and preparing itself for the coming campaign. 
 In the parks the trees were bursting into green ; 
 the air was full of the soft, life-giving feeling never 
 known at any other time of year. In a garden, 
 surrounded by four high walls, stood a large, 
 old-fashioned mansion, respectability indelibly 
 inscribed on everything appertaining to it. It 
 was the school selected by Mr. Romney's two 
 elderly and very maidenly sisters at which their 
 dear youngest niece was to receive the polish to 
 her education. The choice had been a subject 
 of grave consideration, for neither of the Miss 
 Romneys could at all approve the advanced 
 system of education which characterises the 
 present day — the liberal system of thought, shall 
 we call it ?
 
 "WHERE THE BROOK AND RIVER MEET." S^ 
 
 From their house in Cavendish Square, they 
 could at intervals descend upon the training estab- 
 lishment they had selected in Upper Norwood, and 
 see what progress their niece was making. 
 
 It was a very happy life Grisel Romney led with 
 the eight or nine other girls who had also been 
 entrusted to Miss Deborah Tufton's care — a life 
 of work and play and bright anticipation of the 
 future. Grisel's room was at the very top of the 
 house, and, sitting at the window learning her 
 lessons, she could watch the sun flash on the 
 palace roof, and hear an echo of the music, some- 
 times, as it floated to her on the sun-kissed air ; 
 and when the lessons were learnt, she would pro- 
 duce her oft-read packet of home letters, pages 
 from Sybil and Bryde, interspersed here and there 
 with a few lines from Tom at Oxford, more valued 
 because they came at all than for what they con- 
 tained, brevity .being their leading feature; and 
 then one other letter, with which she always ended 
 her inspection, the only one she had ever received 
 from Reggie Mainwaring, telling her all had been 
 settled, and his mother had consented to give a 
 ball, at which she, Griselda Romney, was first to 
 burst upon the world. The letter had been received 
 some time before, and it wanted but a few weeks 
 of the long-desired month of June. 
 
 Grisel was sitting one morning, as usual, at her
 
 84 GRISEL ROMNEY. 
 
 window, idly watching the man working in the 
 garden ; her pile of books lay beside her, a newly- 
 written exercise was drying in the sun — Grisel's 
 blotting-paper was never to be found. 
 
 Presently she heard wheels stop at their gate ; 
 this was an unusual piece of excitement at so early 
 an hour. 
 
 She went forward to the window to see what 
 daring intruder had ventured to break upon their 
 convent-like seclusion. The path from the gate 
 led through a shrubbery, and at last Grisel, breath- 
 lessly watching, descried a man's hat. It was only 
 seen for a moment, and then disappeared behind a 
 bush, and Grisel drew back with her curiosity 
 unsatisfied. 
 
 A few minutes passed, and a message came that 
 Miss Romney was wanted in the drawing-room. 
 Grisel dashed downstairs, and halted for a moment 
 behind the door that she might make her entrance 
 decorously. Miss Deborah was standing talking 
 to a tall young man, saying something about her- 
 self, Grisel heard. " Miss Romney would be much 
 missed when she went away " 
 
 "Tom!" exclaimed Grisel. "Oh! why didn't 
 you let me know you were coming.^" 
 
 The tears were in her eyes from the gladness of 
 her surprise, and she threw her arms round Tom's 
 neck as he stooped to kiss her.
 
 "WHERE THE BROOK AND RIVER MEET." 85 
 
 " That will do, Grisette. Miss Tufton will think 
 you a very demonstrative young lady." 
 
 Grisel drew back hastily ; she had forgotten the 
 presence of a third party. 
 
 " Grisel, my dear, your brother has come to ask 
 if you can be spared for a day. Your aunt 
 wishes you to be with her this evening, and has 
 undertaken to see you safely home again to- 
 morrow." 
 
 "May I go, Miss Tufton.? Please say 'yes,'" 
 impetuously exclaimed Grisel. 
 
 " Yes, you may go ; but you must make haste, 
 your aunt's carriage is waiting." 
 
 Grisel darted off. 
 
 "Take an opera cloak with you, Grisette, or 
 whatever is necessary. I believe we are going to 
 Her Majesty's house to-night." 
 
 Miss Tufton offered apologies for leaving Mr. 
 Romney alone, and followed her pupil to see that' 
 all was right. 
 
 Half-an-hour later, Tom and Grisel were on their 
 way back to town. 
 
 " You will find some one you do not expect at 
 Aunt Griselda's, Grisette. I persuaded them to let 
 me bring Bryde up with me from home. It was 
 all settled in a few hours' time, and she is to stay 
 at Cavendish Square till you return, six weeks 
 after this."
 
 86 GRISEL ROMNEY. 
 
 " And Sybil — is she there also ?" 
 
 " No ; Sybil had to remain to look after our 
 father. We only arrived yesterday, and I am due 
 at Oxford to-morrow." 
 
 " Oh !" said Grisel, with a deep sigh of content ; 
 " it is too delightful. Whatever made you think 
 of it.?" 
 
 '* When are you going to grow up, La Grise ? 
 Do you know you look as much like a child as 
 ever.?" 
 
 Tom made the above remark as they were 
 nearing their destination, and all the way Grisel 
 had laughed and talked in the old childish 
 manner. 
 
 " Aunt Griselda told me I would be so surprised 
 at the great improvement — so much quieter and 
 less boyish than you used to be." 
 
 " But I am not grown up yet, Tom. I needn't 
 be quiet for six weeks yet. Of course, I was like a 
 white mouse when both my aunts and Miss Deborah 
 inspected me ; but it was all put on, Tom, I can 
 assure you." 
 
 " And what would Miss Deborah say if she 
 thought it was all put on .?" 
 
 " Oh, Miss Deborah is a dear old prig ; but you 
 needn't tell our aunts that." 
 
 " You are incorrigible, Grisette." 
 
 " You wouldn't expect me to be different to my
 
 " WHERE THE BROOK AND RIVER MEET." 8/ 
 
 dear old boy. You wouldn't like it, Tom, would 
 you?" 
 
 Grisel laid her hand with an endearing gesture 
 on her brother's shoulder. Tom did not shake it 
 off. He was like the rest of her slaves. Though 
 he hated any demonstration of affection, he would 
 bear anything from Grisel. 
 
 What a day that was in Grisel's history ! She 
 was so glad to see Bryde, and it was such fun to 
 go about town with no one but Tom ; and even 
 her aunts seemed pleased that she should have one 
 day without any restriction upon her. 
 
 At last the evening came, and Grisel went to 
 attire herself for dinner. 
 
 " There is a friend of your brother's to be at 
 dinner, Bryde," Miss Romney said. 
 
 " Who is it, Tom .'*" asked Grisel. 
 
 " An Oxford chum — Philip Jerningham." 
 
 Grisel never could tell collectedly afterwards 
 how it all happened. She had a hazy idea of 
 feeling very shy on being introduced to Mr. 
 Jerningham, and proud of Bryde, who was com- 
 pletely at her ease. 
 
 The dinner passed in pleasant, lively chit-chat. 
 The two elderly Miss Romneys were very wide- 
 awake, and entered fully into the badinage that 
 passed. 
 
 Then the carriage came to the door, and after
 
 88 GRISEL ROMNEY. 
 
 that Grisel, for the first time in her life, entered an 
 opera house. She found herself sitting between 
 her aunt and Tom. Mr. Jerningham was next 
 Bryde ; he was giving her his undivided attention. 
 In her sparkling beauty, with her scarlet cloak 
 thrown round her, she was perfect in Philip's eyes. 
 His half-dictatorial, half-playful way of asserting 
 his own opinion had a charm for Bryde. 
 
 " Bryde and Philip seem to be excellent friends, 
 La Grise. What fun it is watching them!" Tom 
 whispered. 
 
 " Bryde is friends with everyone," answered 
 Grisel, " so long as they are not afraid of her." 
 
 " So you have found out Bryde's peculiarities. 
 Miss Grisel. When did you begin to open your 
 eyes to other people's doings .?" 
 
 *' I learnt it at Miss Tufton's. She always says 
 that she particularly dislikes young ladies being 
 unobservant of others' feelings." 
 
 " Did you read all Miss Tufton's rules back- 
 wards. La Grise } But we must be silent. You 
 are missing all the overture." 
 
 " I am listening with one ear," answered Grisel, 
 meekly, " which is more than either Bryde or Mr. 
 Jerningham is doing." 
 
 But the curtain was rising, and Grisel's attention 
 continued unbroken until the end of the first act. 
 She was wrapt up in the story of Leonora in
 
 " WHERE THE BROOK AND RIVER MEET." 89 
 
 Verdi's " Trovatore." The prima donna was sing- 
 ing gloriously, and the first act ended in a roar of 
 applause. 
 
 " Oh ! isn't it perfect, Tom ? I never imagined 
 it could be half as nice. How I wish Aunt Sybil 
 had been able to come ! Don't you think it 
 charming, Aunt Griselda .^ I never enjoyed any- 
 thing so much before." 
 
 Grisel, with laughing eyes and quickly varying 
 colour, turned from one to another to claim their 
 sympathy. 
 
 Mr. Jerningham was leaving his seat for a few 
 minutes ; he saw friends in the distance, and was 
 going to speak to them. He disappeared, but 
 presently they saw him join an elderly man and, 
 evidently, his daughter. Both welcomed him 
 cordially, but there was only time for a few minutes' 
 talk before Philip resumed his seat. 
 
 " That is Sir James Fenton," he said to Bryde, 
 " and his daughter. I spent a charming fortnight 
 with them last Christmas at a mutual friend's 
 house in Yorkshire. That military-looking man 
 next them is Lord Meredith, an old friend of Sir 
 James, with whom they have been staying for 
 some weeks. I believe he has put house, carriages, 
 everything at Miss Fenton's disposal while she 
 is in town. On dit, that she might be Lady 
 Meredith." 
 
 G
 
 90 GRISEL ROMNEY. 
 
 " He is far too old, and she looks too nice to do 
 such a thing," Grisel broke in. She had been 
 listening to what had passed. 
 
 " Not so very much difference after all, consider- 
 ing the title put into the balance, Miss Romney ; 
 only about five-and-twenty years." 
 
 Grisel's attention wandered from the second act, 
 which had just begun, to Miss Fenton, whose face 
 had an irresistible charm for her ; but presently 
 the Lenore in the boxes was forgotten, her double 
 on the stage was acting out her story. 
 
 The opera was no unknown power to Lenore, as 
 it was to Grisel. Often before had she seen the 
 heroine go through her dismal tragedy ; so now 
 she watched with more interest the human elements 
 of the house than the make-believe behind the foot- 
 lights. The party, of which Mr. Jerningham 
 formed one, had attracted her, and Grisel's utter 
 abandonment to the play, regardless of surround- 
 ings, struck her as something fresh. 
 
 She had not wished much to come that evening, 
 but their host had taken their places, and she did 
 not like to appear ungracious. Her father was 
 fidgeting beside her, and proposing to leave her 
 early. He had an engagement at his club, a very 
 frequent occurrence with Sir James. 
 
 Lord Meredith said he would take good care of 
 Miss Fenton, but Lenore had not the slightest wish
 
 "WHERE THE BROOK AND RIVER MEET. 9 1 
 
 to have a tete-a-tete drive home. Her father looked 
 on their host as a contemporary, and it was useful 
 at times to have some one to whom he could 
 entrust his daughter. Lord Meredith favoured the 
 idea in the meanwhile. It was not time yet for Sir 
 James to think otherwise. 
 
 But the opera finished at last, and the house was 
 emptying itself slowly. In the passage, the 
 Fentons and Romneys met for a moment. 
 
 "Will you come to tea to-morrow afternoon, 
 Mr. Jern Ingham .''" asked Lenore. "We are stay- 
 ing with Lord Meredith. I shall be at home by 
 five o'clock." 
 
 " Thank you. I shall be delighted." 
 
 " Come away, Lenore ; no time for talking ; I 
 am late for my appointment already." 
 
 Sir James spoke irritably. Lord Meredith 
 looked annoyed, and, turning to Lenore, begged to 
 be allowed to help her. She was hurriedly putting 
 on some extra wrap. The difference between his 
 manner and Sir James's was marked ; his courtesy 
 was in pleasant contrast. Lenore let him help her, 
 and thanked him with one of her sweetest smiles. 
 Then they hurried on, and were lost in the crowd. 
 Philip Jerningham offered Bryde his arm — Tom 
 was taking care of his aunt and Grisel in advance. 
 Presently, some one spoke to Philip. Bryde heard 
 the question, asked impatiently with a ring of
 
 92 GRISEL ROMNEY. 
 
 demand in the voice, as if it had a right to 
 know. 
 
 " When did the Fentons come to town, and who 
 is that with Miss Fenton ?" 
 
 "Why, Hunt, is that you ? I did not see you 
 before ?" 
 
 " I came in late ; but you have not answered my 
 question." 
 
 " Oh ! The Fentons are staying with Lord 
 Meredith at his house in Prince's Gate. You 
 should go and see them." 
 
 " I don't know Lord Meredith." 
 
 " He will be delighted to see you. He is an old 
 friend of Miss Fenton's father. I am going to tea 
 there to-morrow, about five o'clock. Come with 
 me." 
 
 " I '11 see about it." 
 
 "Poor Jack!" Philip said to himself as they 
 parted. " I am not sure that Lord Meredith will 
 be quite as glad to see you as I made out ; but I 
 couldn't let you go home with such a dolorous and 
 woe-begone expression." 
 
 Next day Tom went back to Oxford, and Philip 
 with him, and Miss Romney drove Grisel home to 
 Miss Tufton's. Grisel's first taste of gaiety had 
 been very attractive, and the six weeks seemed a 
 long while to her before she would spread her 
 wings for good ; but there was no help for it. A
 
 " WHERE THE BROOK AND RIVER MEET." 93 
 
 few days spent in a judicious mixture of useful 
 knowledge and other improving exercises recon- 
 ciled her again to work ; but her dreams in her 
 idle hours had taken more definite forms since the 
 night at the opera ; they were peopled now with 
 living men and women, not with the shadowy 
 heroes of a school-girl's fancy.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE HOUSE IN PRINCE'S GATE. 
 
 LORD MEREDITH'S house in Prince's Gate 
 was one in which you instinctively felt the 
 want of the home touches which a woman's pre- 
 sence must always give. He was a man of taste. 
 In his numberless wanderings, he had picked up 
 many a thing of beauty ; there was nothing jarring 
 to the most sensitively artistic eye ; subdued 
 colouring in everything, harmony everywhere ; in 
 each corner some old china or antique bronze found 
 shelter, while many a perfectly-chiselled souvenir 
 from the land of sculpture showed that beauty 
 of form even more than of colour had been studied 
 in the perfect collection — for collection it was. 
 Herein lay the feeling of dissatisfaction in the 
 rooms. It was the temple set aside and adorned 
 for the worship of beauty, but living beauty was 
 wanting ; it was the beauty of the past, utterly 
 dead.
 
 THE HOUSE IN PRINCE'S GATE. 95 
 
 So Lord Meredith, having completed his work, 
 looked round on all he had done, and retired more 
 than ever into his study. He rarely entered them 
 now. " It is beautiful," he said, " but it does not 
 please me as much as I expected." 
 
 When the Fentons first went to stay with him, 
 he had made the oft-repeated remark, and had 
 then taken them to his own den. " I shall be 
 delighted to see you here, Miss Fenton, as much 
 as you like." 
 
 So it was ; for the first few weeks Lenore spent 
 much of her time in the study, or her own boudoir. 
 It seemed quite natural that she should do so, and 
 listen to her father and his friend go over reminis- 
 cences of past years ; but that was only at first, 
 she was growing to prefer the drawing-rooms, life- 
 less though they were. Lord Meredith would have 
 followed her there, but he could not utterly ignore 
 Sir James, who much preferred comfort and ease. 
 
 " Lenore would sit here if she were dull, my dear 
 fellow. Do not put yourself out of your way for 
 her ; she is used to being alone." 
 
 Sir James had found many old friends in town, 
 and was perfectly contented. A quiet whist party 
 met nearly daily in Lord Meredith's study. There 
 was quite a laugh against Sir James, who in the 
 old days had been well known for his high play. 
 That was before Lenore's mother's time. The
 
 g6 GRISEL ROMNEY. 
 
 spirit had returned to the empty, swept, and 
 garnished house, and found it very comfortable. 
 
 As Sir James's acquaintance grew he gave less 
 and less time to Lenore, so was much relieved 
 when Lord Meredith proposed that an elderly 
 cousin should come and pay them a visit of inde- 
 finite duration. It would give his daughter more 
 freedom to come and go as she felt inclined. 
 
 Miss Griffiths was a subdued little spinster with 
 a story. No one knew very well what the story 
 was, but that did not much signify ; the story was 
 there, or at least Miss Griffiths believed so. She 
 hugged her precious secret more closely to her, 
 rejoicing in the belief that the slight mystery was 
 interesting ; and it made her a far more agreeable 
 companion, as she sympathised deeply with all 
 love affairs. In fact, poor Lenore began, after the 
 first few days, to weary of the continued topic. 
 That Lenore had some attachment that would tell 
 sooner or later on her damask cheek was quite a 
 settled fact in Miss Griffiths' mind. How other- 
 wise could Lenore's complete silence on the 
 subject of all individual men be accounted for } 
 
 A gentle flutter was at last felt by the anxious 
 woman when Lenore mentioned that she must be 
 home early one afternoon ; it was the day following 
 the opera, and Lenore expected Philip Jerningham 
 to tea.
 
 THE HOUSE IN PRINCES GATE. 9/ 
 
 She would not have missed seeing him for 
 anything. It was a pleasant reminder of her 
 Christmas fortnight. 
 
 Lenore was in the drawing-room, Miss Griffiths 
 was still putting a few finishing touches to her 
 toilet, the door opened, and Philip was announced. 
 
 " I have brought an uninvited guest, Miss 
 P'enton ; but I hope none the less welcome." 
 
 Two men entered the room. Lenore rose to 
 receive them. She could hardly suppress the start 
 of pleasure as she greeted Jack Hunt. 
 
 " None the less welcome," she said. " I thought 
 Mr. Hunt had forgotten us, as he had not been to 
 see us before." 
 
 " I did not even know you were in town, Miss 
 Fenton ; so you must forgive my apparent 
 negligence. My time has been very much occu- 
 pied lately." 
 
 " Mr. Hunt has turned over a completely new 
 leaf," Philip said. " There is not such another 
 hard-worked man about. When I first knew him 
 he was of some use, able to give some of his time 
 to the exigencies of society. Now there is but one 
 excuse, * too much to do.' " 
 
 " Isn't it better than having too little to do, Mr. 
 Jerningham. At least so it appears to me." 
 
 " Now if you are going to back Hunt up, there 
 is no use of me saying anything more. You disap-
 
 98 GRISEL ROMNEY. 
 
 point me. I have been counting the hours till you 
 came to town, Miss Fenton, for I was certain you 
 would effect a reform. No wonder I fail, when 
 another and stronger influence is at work." 
 
 " How you run on, Philip. A bystander would 
 think you had but one more hour's speech allotted 
 to you, and that you were making the most of 
 it." 
 
 " Only one hour's speech in such society, and 
 behold, even already it is interrupted." 
 
 The door opened, and Miss Grifiiths entered. 
 Jack Hunt looked annoyed. Here was a lynx- 
 eyed duenna come to play spy. Philip, on the 
 contrary, in a fit of good nature, remembering four 
 were company, three were none, determined to 
 make himself captivating to the new arrival. Miss 
 Griffiths was sorely perplexed. To find two where 
 she only expected one quite upturned her ideas. 
 Which was the right one .-* What ought she to 
 do ? But the young people settled for her, though 
 contrary to all her ideas. Philip, so bright and 
 self-confident, ought to have claimed the attention 
 of Lenore, but he didn't. Miss Griffiths found 
 herself seated on the sofa beside Mr. Jerningham, 
 whilst he engaged her in an amusing stream of 
 talk. She could only look with despair at Lenore, 
 whom she felt had fallen a victim to Mr. Hunt. 
 
 There was a slight embarrassment between Jack
 
 THE HOUSE IN PRINCE S GATE. 99 
 
 and Lenore for a moment ; their last meeting was 
 clear in the minds of both. Lenore, woman-like, 
 was the first to recover. 
 
 " You have not asked after my father, Mr. Hunt. 
 He has made a marvellous recovery." 
 
 " I was just going to do so," he answered ; " and 
 your wrist, is it quite strong again .-*" 
 
 " Oh ! my wrist was nothing. How did you ever 
 remember it .''" 
 
 " I was not likely to forget it," he said. " It was 
 the beginning of our friendship." 
 
 " I wonder," she continued, " if that accident had 
 never occurred, should we have become such 
 friends ? " 
 
 " Surely, yes. We must have met sooner or 
 later, and then, whenever we did so, the end must 
 have been the same." 
 
 " I am not the least so sure," she answered. 
 Seeing her power, she could not resist the tempta- 
 tion of the moment. "At least I will not answer 
 for myself We should have met as strangers, with 
 no mutual standing ground." 
 
 " We did meet as strangers, knowing nothing of 
 each other. What mutual standing ground had 
 we .'*" His tone was vexed ; her remark had jarred 
 on him. 
 
 " Oh ! accidents and help and gratitude, and all 
 that kind of thing," she answered, carelessly. " It
 
 lOO GRISEL ROMNEY. 
 
 must develop into friendship or acquaintance, or 
 something of the sort." 
 
 " I suppose what you say is true," he answered, 
 bitterly. " You are always right, and gratitude to 
 many is a load under which they labour all their 
 lives. It is in some natures not to be able to 
 receive the smallest service without it being care- 
 fully weighed, and, grain for grain, paid back in 
 full. The service I rendered was of the most 
 trifling ; the repayment will not take you long. 
 I trust you will not suffer from the weight of the 
 burden!" 
 
 " I beg your pardon ; I was wrong in what I 
 said. I trust," she continued, dropping her voice, 
 " mine is not such a nature as you describe. It is 
 the lowest grade of humanity which will not be in 
 debt for kindness received — so utterly despicable." 
 
 " Miss Fenton, you misunderstand me ; I was a 
 brute to speak as I did. I did not for a moment 
 dream you would take my bearishness home to 
 yourself. What must you think of such a temper ? 
 You will be sorry I ever found out you were in 
 town." 
 
 " Please do not say any more. I know it was 
 my own fault. I will not try the atrocious temper 
 again," she added more lightly. " Come, shall I 
 give you tea — woman's panacea for all ills ?'* 
 
 "A very good panacea it is, Miss Fenton,"
 
 THE HOUSE IN prince's GATE. lOI 
 
 Philip said, having heard the last sentence, and 
 having had some difficulty in not hearing what 
 went before. Miss Griffiths' slight deafness had 
 been an admirable excuse for talking in a louder 
 key than society usually warranted. 
 
 Miss Griffiths turned at once to Mr. Hunt. 
 Here was the opportunity she wanted ; she effec- 
 tually kept him in conversation until the quartette 
 was joined by Lord Meredith and Sir James. 
 Philip did not object ; having talked to the old 
 lady for half-an-hour without cessation, he con- 
 sidered his good nature deserved some recompense. 
 
 Lord Meredith welcomed the young men with 
 his usual courtly manner. He was delighted to 
 see them as Miss Fenton's guests. He trusted 
 the day was not distant when Lenore, as Lady 
 Meredith, would be receiving a select party of 
 friends at tea. He watched her with a quiet 
 persistency which was not lost upon Jack, and 
 anticipated her every wish. Lenore was vaguely 
 conscious of a wish that he would not be so very 
 attentive — it might be misconstrued by her old 
 friends ; that anything more was intended, she 
 would not for a moment allow to herself. 
 
 Sir James drank his tea quickly, paid very little 
 attention to either Philip or Mr. Hunt, save asking 
 a few commonplaces of Philip about Oxford, and 
 supposed in a general way that Mr. Hunt was
 
 102 GRISEL ROMNEY. 
 
 very busy, and unable for much society. Then he 
 retired to the study. He was out of humour, and 
 did not care to be much in Lenore's company. 
 His daughter had been watching anxiously a 
 chanQ-e comincf over her father. It was no new 
 thing; for more than a month his temper had been 
 singularly easy to disturb. She could not under- 
 stand it all. 
 
 Her face, usually so calm, clouded over for a 
 few minutes after her father's departure. Both 
 Lord Meredith and Jack exerted all their energies 
 to chase away the shadows. They succeeded, 
 however, or rather she drove her uneasiness from 
 the field. Lord Meredith certainly shone in his 
 own house ; he charmed his guests, and Lenore 
 too began to appreciate what manner of man he 
 was. 
 
 But time was passing, and Philip had still some 
 things to do before going down to Oxford ; so, 
 unwillingly, they rose to go. 
 
 "What chance is there of our meeting again V' 
 asked Jack of Lenore. Lord Meredith was showing 
 Philip some interesting marvel at the other end of 
 the room. 
 
 " None, as far as I can see. T am not my own 
 mistress." 
 
 " Have you done the galleries yet, or the water- 
 colour exhibition .^ Might not I go with you there
 
 THE HOUSE IN PRINCE'S GATE. IO3 
 
 some day ? I must see you soon again. I have 
 so much to tell you of my own life and plans, so 
 much that may affect you nearly, if you will but 
 listen to me, Lenore ; and how can I speak in this 
 man's house, who, if he knew what I would say, 
 would never let me darken his door again. I 
 cannot be false to him as his guest." 
 
 "You mistake Lord Meredith's feelings, Mr. 
 Hunt ; he loved my mother once. I am inter- 
 esting to him as the child of her whom he loved." 
 
 " If that is all, he will more readily forgive me. 
 I trust you are right. A woman's instincts usually 
 tell her true in such a case ; yet " 
 
 A doubt flashed across Lenore as to whether 
 she were dealing truly with herself, whether she 
 were not stifling her real impressions ; but she 
 would not listen to the truth clamouring within 
 her, the truth asserting itself with such unwelcome 
 persistence, that what she was now doing was 
 entering the gate of a rough path to happiness 
 — a gate at which her father stood holding a drawn 
 sword. 
 
 Why was it that only now, when her happiness 
 seemed so close, did she for the first time realise 
 to what the last few weeks had been tending ^ 
 Her father's manner even was accounted for, his 
 long absences, his continually throwing her into 
 the company of Lord Meredith ; it had all been
 
 104 GRISEL ROMNEY. 
 
 done with a meaning. Surely her father, her idol, 
 was not willing to sell her for a coronet. Surely, 
 behind, there must be some graver, stronger reason. 
 
 An awful feeling of impending fate seized her. 
 She stood silent where she had risen from her seat 
 to say good-bye. 
 
 Across the large room came a murmur of voices ; 
 for a few moments Lord Meredith was revelling 
 in his antiquities. Philip never had been more 
 interested ; he was absorbed in the collection. 
 
 Lenore still was silent; Jack stood watching her; 
 she did not know it. Her gaze went past him as 
 they stood by the window. She saw and saw not 
 the string of carriages slowly passing from the 
 Park gates — Vanity Fair going home to refresh 
 itself Her eyes had a restless, hunted look in 
 them ; her whole soul was rising in rebellion, 
 struggling against the net into which she had so 
 unsuspectingly been led, the meshes of which 
 seemed to be so closely round her. 
 
 Suddenly her resolve was taken. In a calmer 
 moment she would not have acted so. Even now, 
 her maidenly feeling made her hesitate a moment; 
 but it was only for a moment. She must see Jack 
 Hunt again, come what might of the meeting. 
 
 " I have not been to the water-colour exhibition," 
 she said. " I am going there to-morrow morning. 
 Perhaps we may have the pleasure of meeting "
 
 THE HOUSE IN PRINCE'S GATE. I05 
 
 " More appointments, Miss Fenton," said Lord 
 Meredith, crossing the room. " I hope not for 
 to-morrow. You remember you have promised to 
 ride with me at twelve o'clock, and it is a pleasure 
 I would not willingly forego." 
 
 " I have not forgotten," she answered. " Mr. 
 Hunt was talking of the water-colour exhibition, 
 to which I have not yet been, but I must try and 
 make it out some day." 
 
 " I did not know you were so anxious to go, 
 Miss Fenton ; surely by this time you know, if you 
 had expressed the wish, we might have accom- 
 plished it." 
 
 "You are only too good, Lord Meredith, in 
 humouring my whims and fancies. It is a dread- 
 ful thing," she continued, laughing, '* to get a 
 character for exacting so much." 
 
 Jack held out his hand to say good-bye. Lord 
 Meredith accompanied him to the door. When 
 he returned, Lenore was at the piano, crooning to 
 herself some favourite air. Miss Griffiths, well 
 pleased with the afternoon's work, was sitting 
 listening approvingly. 
 
 " Worthy woman," thought my lord, " I wish 
 you had been anywhere but where you are just 
 now."
 
 s 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 SIR JAMES IN DIFFICULTY. 
 
 IR JAMES was in Lord Meredith's study; 
 his lordship was in his business room. So the 
 two men usually passed their mornings. Sir James 
 had made an appointment with a lawyer for eleven 
 o'clock. It was nearly that hour now, and he was 
 awaiting uneasily the approaching interview. 
 
 A pile of letters lay before him, brought by the 
 morning post — uncomfortable-looking epistles; 
 they might account for the wearied, harassed 
 expression on the baronet's face. 
 
 He was interrupted by Lenore coming into the 
 room, prepared for going out. 
 
 " My dear, where are you going at this hour of 
 the morning ? I thought you intended to ride to- 
 day?" 
 
 " Not until twelve o'clock. Papa. I shall be 
 home in plenty of time. Miss Griffiths and I are
 
 SIR JAMES IN DIFFICULTY. 10/ 
 
 going to the water-colour exhibition, the morning 
 hours are so much the quietest." 
 
 " Very well ; take care you are not late. Lord 
 Meredith is so extremely kind. I would not have 
 you appear to treat it all as a matter of course." 
 
 "When are we going to leave Prince's Gate.'*" 
 Leonore ventured to ask. " We are surely paying 
 a very long visit to a comparative stranger .?" 
 
 " My dear, what nonsense. He is one of my 
 oldest friends, or rather I have known him since 
 he was a boy, as he is, of course, much younger 
 than I am." 
 
 ** Don't make yourself out such an octogenarian, 
 Papa ; but still, don't you think we have had nearly 
 enough of this ? I don't get half the good of you 
 I used to do." 
 
 Her voice was very coaxing, but it only irritated 
 Sir James. 
 
 " It is impossible, Lenore, to give way always to 
 one's private likes and dislikes. I would not hurt 
 Meredith's feelings for anything ; and he is most 
 anxious we should stay here as long as we find it 
 convenient. I propose going down to Brighton 
 the week after next." 
 
 " Still a fortnight of it," thought Lenore, as she 
 closed the door, and went in search of Miss 
 Griffiths, who shrewdly suspected there was more 
 in the visit to the water-colours than met the eye.
 
 I08 GRISEL ROMNEY. 
 
 After his daughter left, Sir James relapsed into 
 his gloomy meditations, but they were not of long 
 duration. A card was brought in with the name 
 of Mr. Harvey on it. 
 
 " Show Mr. Harvey upstairs." Here was the 
 man who was to solve the difficulties. 
 
 The man who entered was not an uncommon 
 specimen of a class who have spent their lives in 
 the study of human nature, more especially the 
 business side of it. He took the measure of Sir 
 James at a glance — that he was a gentleman there 
 was no doubt. How far life had fitted him for a 
 business man had yet to be proved. 
 
 " I have sent for you, Mr. Harvey," Sir James 
 began, after the usual formula of seating them- 
 selves, and a few meaningless remarks had been 
 gone through, " to ask your advice. I met with a 
 severe accident some time ago which has pre- 
 vented my going about as I should like. I must 
 plead it as my excuse for troubling you to come 
 here instead of calling on you at your place of 
 business." 
 
 " Pray do not mention it. We, as a class, are 
 but made to wait on our distressed brethren ; it is 
 to our advantage." Mr. Harvey gently inclined 
 his head as he made the above remark. He was 
 graciously pleased to put Sir James completely at 
 his ease.
 
 SIR JAMES IN DIFFICULTY. IO9 
 
 But the latter fidgeted with a paper-cutter lying 
 on the table, laid his hand once or twice on a copy 
 of the Times near him, and at last gained resolu- 
 tion enough to proceed. 
 
 " It is the old story, Mr. Harvey ; I want money. 
 I do not mean to say I am a pauper, or that ruin 
 stares me in the face. Nothing so bad as that ; 
 and had it not been for that confounded invest- 
 ment, it would be all right." 
 
 " Forgive me for the interruption. Sir James. I 
 am an absolute stranger to you, save as friend of 
 my client, Lord Meredith. It would be as well if 
 you would go back to the beginning at once. Lay 
 as much of your circumstances as you can before 
 me, that I may the better be able to judge of your 
 position. First, what of your patrimony ? Are 
 you an eldest son 1 Am I wrong in supposing 
 your father was Mr. Fenton, the Q.C., who 
 bought a pretty place down in Oxfordshire some- 
 where .'* " 
 
 " You are right in what you state. My father 
 was the Q.C. He made a deal of money, and 
 bought Reesdale Manor, a fine property some 
 hours' journey from town. But you wish me to be 
 clear in my statements. I begin, then, at the time 
 when I left Eton. I was the eldest son. My 
 mother — peace to her ashes ! — was a weak woman, 
 and had instilled into me, from her exalted opinion
 
 no GRISEL ROMNEY. 
 
 of my capabilities, a very large idea of my own 
 importance. My father, engrossed in business, did 
 not see the mischief going on. He was as hard in 
 character as my mother was soft, though always a 
 perfectly just man in his dealings towards me. My 
 other brother was his favourite. I was destined 
 for the army ; my brother followed my father to 
 the Bar. From Eton I went to Christ Church. 1 
 had been brought up with big expectations ; 
 Oxford was not the place to reduce them. On all 
 hands I heard my father was coining thousands. 
 I was much made of, I would be a wealthy man 
 some day. I bestowed my favours right and left, 
 ran up bills to a very large amount, and before 
 going into the army they must be cleared off. My 
 mother acted mediator. My father was justly 
 furious ; he had given me a large allowance, I had 
 trebled it in my yearly expenditure. We had 
 some stormy scenes. It ended in my father paying 
 my bills, getting me my commission, and turning 
 me loose with threats to stop my allowance 
 altogether if it were again overstepped. I then 
 found myself the youngest man in a fast regiment. 
 I was popular," continued Sir James, with a little 
 bit of the old love of popularity rising in his 
 tone — " very popular and easily led. I again ran 
 into debt. My father heard of it, wrote me an 
 angry letter, absolutely refused to pay up another
 
 SIR JAMES IN DIFFICULTY. Ill 
 
 penny, and threatened to disinherit me. I believed 
 it was only a threat ; I traded on my expectations. 
 I was very hard pressed ; it seemed my only way 
 of escape. I did it then under strong pressure ; it 
 has been my curse ever since." 
 
 Sir James stopped a moment ; he was evidently 
 a good deal upset with the narrative. 
 
 " A very common occurrence, I fear, Sir James," 
 Mr. Harvey remarked. " The folly — or shall we 
 call it the sanguineness ? — of youth." 
 
 " The folly of youth is a mild name for it, Mr. 
 Harvey — absolute villainy. It was ungentleman- 
 like ; but the folly came to an end sooner than 
 might have been expected. One fine morning I 
 awoke to find a telegram stating that my father 
 had a paralytic shock. The case was not hopeless, 
 that was all that could be said. A letter from my 
 mother followed by next post, begging me at once 
 to go to her ; from something my father had said, 
 she feared things were ■ not all right for me. I 
 started at once, but arrived too late ; my brother 
 had closed my father's eyes. A second stroke had 
 succeeded the first ; the end had been awfully 
 sudden. The week preceding the funeral was one 
 of discomfort to us all. My mother and I awaited 
 the reading of the will with much anxiety. The 
 day came ; it was as we feared. I had been abso- 
 lutely passed over in my father's will save a very
 
 112 GRISEL ROMNEY. 
 
 small yearly allowance. Reesdale was left to my 
 brother and his heirs unconditionally. There 's not 
 much to tell after that. I was a good deal 
 knocked down at first, but as long as my mother 
 lived I did not feel it so much ; she stayed with 
 my brother at Reesdale, and expended most of her 
 spare money on me, her favourite son. I fell in 
 love soon after that, and married — the mother of 
 my only child. It may have been foolish, impro- 
 vident, but to her I owe any good that is in me. 
 I laboured all my life under the debt I had con- 
 tracted, but my creditors were merciful. They 
 considered I had been hardly used, so did not press 
 me for payment. The rest the world knows pretty 
 well. Through my wife's influence over me I 
 became ambitious in my profession. I had a run 
 of good luck, saw some active service, rose steadily 
 in the army, got several staff appointments ; in 
 fact, were it not for that miserable debt, I should 
 have been well off now." 
 
 " But," interrupted Mr. Harvey, " I don't exactly 
 see how the case has become complicated, at least 
 more than it ever was." 
 
 " Ah ! there lies the whole thing. I have always 
 been my own man of business, Mr. Harvey. I 
 have always said, and perhaps foolishly, that if a 
 man cannot look after his own interests, no one 
 will do it for him. I know what you will say —
 
 SIR JAMES IN DIFFICULTY. IT 3 
 
 that a man cannot be master of all trades, and if I 
 had stuck to my soldiering and let you do the 
 money matters, it might have been different. 
 Well, the long and the short of it is that, on leaving 
 the army, I invested my spare capital — not much, 
 after all — in an American investment which I see 
 by the papers has so far collapsed. To add to 
 this," Sir James continued, hotly, " my brother, 
 after leading a bachelor's life for fifty years, 
 married some eighteen months ago, and a son and 
 heir has been born to him ; otherwise I was my 
 brother's natural successor. We have always 
 been good friends. If not to me, Reesdale would 
 probably have gone to my daughter." 
 
 " Then if nothing can be done with this invested 
 money, I suppose your only income is the allow- 
 ance settled on you in your father's will. What 
 may it be ?" 
 
 " One thousand pounds a-year for my lifetime, 
 and a provision made, in the case of my leaving 
 children, of one hundred a-year to be paid from 
 the Reesdale estates on my death to daughters 
 until their marriage, or, failing that, for life, and a 
 thousand pounds down to any sons there might 
 be." 
 
 "And you have but one daughter .?" 
 
 " But one daughter, brought up, though not 
 luxuriously, still with all her comforts. I have
 
 114 GRISEL ROMNEY. 
 
 been a fool !" exclaimed the Baronet, rising from 
 his chair and restlessly "pacing the quarter-deck" 
 up and down the study — "an arrant fool! And 
 here!" he exclaimed, tossing one of the business 
 papers to Mr. Harvey. " The worst has not yet 
 been told. You see the substance of it. The man 
 who writes is my principal creditor. He, too, it 
 seems, has invested to a considerable extent in 
 that American swindle." 
 
 " If I understand aright," said Mr. Harvey, 
 putting on his spectacles and scanning carefully 
 the document in front of him, "your creditor takes 
 a more hopeful view of things than you do. He 
 considers it merely the effect of panic, this sudden 
 fall in your American shares. He demands higher 
 interest in the meanwhile, and the payment in full 
 of the debt as soon as things have righted them- 
 selves." 
 
 " But the interest, where is it to come from } 
 Good God, how that cursed debt ties me hand and 
 foot!" 
 
 Sir James paused in his impatient stride across 
 the room ; the perspiration stood on his forehead. 
 He took out his handkerchief and wearily wiped 
 it off. 
 
 Mr. Harvey slowly folded the unpleasant docu- 
 ment, laid it carefully on the table, took off his 
 spectacles ; he had made as much out of it as he
 
 SIR JAMES IN DIFFICULTY. II 5 
 
 could. So the two men remained for some 
 moments. 
 
 " The money — where 's the money to come 
 from ?" exclaimed Sir James, impatiently. 
 
 " Have you not some friend who would do you 
 a neighbourly turn, and get you free of the old 
 debt ? It might be but a renewal of debt in 
 another quarter, still you might get what you want 
 at a rate of interest considerably lower than the 
 one now demanded. Some man with spare cash 
 might do it, and be contented with a return such 
 as the Three-per-Cents would yield." 
 
 " But, confound it all, where 's this generous 
 go-between to be found .'*" 
 
 Mr. Harvey dropped his voice. 
 
 " Would not Lord Meredith do it for a friend — 
 he has some loose capital at present ?" 
 
 "Not for worlds would I ask him. Impossible, 
 perfectly impossible," Sir James added, the last in 
 a slightly doubtful tone. Mr. Harvey at once 
 noticed the hesitation. 
 
 " Oh ! I did not know it was impossible. From 
 something his lordship let drop in casual conversa- 
 tion the other day, it struck me he might do it for 
 a friend, such as you are, Sir James." 
 
 Nothing would induce me to receive such a 
 favour, absolutely nothing !" 
 
 "Nothing.?" interrogated Mr. Harvey.
 
 Il6 GRISEL ROMNEY. 
 
 There was a step In the passage outside ; a hand 
 laid on the door ; it opened ; Lord Meredith was 
 standing without. 
 
 " I beg your pardon !" he exclaimed. " I under- 
 stood Mr. Harvey was gone. I am In no hurry ; 
 my business can wait. When you are disengaged, 
 let me know, Sir James. I want a few minutes' 
 talk with you." 
 
 "Where's Lenore .?" asked her father. "I 
 thought you were to ride at twelve o'clock." 
 
 " I met Miss Fen ton on her way out, and we 
 arranged to ride to-morrow Instead." 
 
 Lord Meredith was about to absent himself. 
 " Mr. Harvey, come to my room before you go. I 
 wish five minutes' conversation on that piece of 
 business we discussed the other day." 
 
 The door closed. Sir James and Mr. Harvey 
 were again alone. 
 
 " If you will let me arrange it, Sir James, I think 
 it could be managed without much fuss." 
 
 "Not for worlds ; utterly Impossible. You must 
 think of some other way of escape for me, Mr. 
 Harvey. I have detained you too long already. 
 Turn It over quietly in your own mind, and call 
 back again the day after to-morrow about the 
 same hour. Something may have struck us by 
 that time — surely something will turn up. 
 
 " The old sangulneness. Sir James. However,
 
 SIR JAMES IN DIFFICULTY. 11/ 
 
 to-day we can do no more. We meet then on 
 Friday, at eleven o'clock." 
 
 "At eleven o'clock," said Sir James, holding out 
 his hand. " You know the way to Lord Meredith's 
 business room." 
 
 "Well; good morning." 
 
 Sir James collapsed into a comfortable chair and 
 drew a deep sigh, as if a disagreeable duty were 
 more than half over. Mr. Harvey was soon with 
 Lord Meredith, but his visit did not last long. 
 
 The door again opened. 
 
 " Then you will see that the money is ready for 
 me to take up at a day's notice ? I depend on you." 
 
 Such were the words Lord Meredith was saying 
 as they came out into the passage. 
 
 " You may count on all being done as you wish. 
 Good morning." The two shook hands pleasantly 
 as they parted. 
 
 A one-horse brougham drove up as Mr. Harvey 
 emerged on the steps. Miss Griffiths and Lenore 
 alighted, and passed into the house. 
 
 " She will make a splendid countess," thought 
 the man of business. " I was sure things were 
 setting in that direction. Sir James may consider 
 a fortunate star has risen on his horizon. There 
 will be no more bother about the debt, and these 
 American stocks will all come right, only give 
 them time."
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 EASILY SOLVED. 
 
 MFTER Mr. Harvey left, Sir James continued 
 ^ ^ where he was; the momentary clearing of 
 expression when the door closed behind the 
 lawyer had passed away, and a settled gloom 
 came over him. He saw from the window Lenore 
 return from her expedition ; he waited for a few 
 moments expecting she would come to the study, 
 but when, shortly after, the door opened, it was 
 Lord Meredith who entered. 
 
 " Have you seen Lenore ?" asked her father ; " I 
 expected she would have come here at once." 
 
 " I met her, and she gave an excuse of having 
 some important things to do before lunch, and has 
 retired to her own rooms." 
 
 " I suppose a woman's idea of importance, to sew 
 a button on her glove, or some trumpery thing of 
 that sort. Lenore 's a good girl, but she 's like the
 
 EASILY SOLVED. II9 
 
 rest of them in their ideas of the relative value of 
 things." 
 
 " Hush ! no treason against Miss Fenton, Sir 
 James. I came to speak of her ; you will be 
 surprised at what I am going to say." 
 
 ** She and you have not quarrelled on the sub- 
 ject of this ride ? Some girlish freak made her 
 go out at such an hour. I trust sincerely her 
 thoughtlessness has not inconvenienced you." 
 
 Lord Meredith was leaning against the mantel- 
 piece. He had not heard the last remark. He 
 was gazing at a miniature of Lady Fenton, taken 
 just before her marriage, with a strange, haunting 
 resemblance to Lenore in the beautifully-cut 
 features and the high-bred pose of the head. 
 
 Sir James, receiving no answer to his remark, 
 looked to see what was engrossing his friend's 
 attention. He did not break in on his reverie. 
 He, too, fell into a moment's dream of long ago. 
 The picture of his wife raised many memories. 
 His old chum, Fred Barton, stood before him, the 
 man whose one useless love had spoilt his life, and 
 yet there was no trace of the spoiler's hand. At 
 fifty. Lord Meredith looked a younger man than 
 many another at forty. Over six feet in height, a 
 slight spare figure, not a trace of grey in either his 
 hair or his heavy moustache, erect as an arrow, 
 with peculiarly careful attention to his severely
 
 120 GRISEL ROMNEY. 
 
 quiet dress, he gave one the idea of a man with 
 whom the world had dealt kindly. His hands, so 
 deeply marked and veined, playing restlessly with 
 the bronzes on the mantelpiece, were the only thing 
 indicative of any intense strength of feeling. 
 
 The silence was becoming oppressive, and Lord 
 Meredith turned from the miniature and faced his 
 old rival. 
 
 Sir James broke the silence. 
 
 " You see the likeness to her mother ? It is 
 very striking ; but she is not so handsome, and has 
 not got the same wonderful charm of manner." 
 
 " Has not she ? I have not felt the want of it, 
 Sir James. I suppose the truth will out, sooner or 
 later ; there is no fool like an old fool, they say. 
 I love Lenore as I never thought to love again. 
 I am here now to ask her from you, to obtain your 
 consent to win her, if I can. My age is against 
 me. Give me but your sanction to do what I 
 can. 
 
 Sir James was silent ; he had half expected this 
 avowal, and yet when it came it took him by 
 surprise ; he hardly knew what to answer. 
 
 " You are surprised at the gross absurdity of the 
 idea. You think that I must have lost my reason 
 to propose marriage with such a child ; that in the 
 years long passed I loved the mother of this very 
 child that I now would have as wife, and that I
 
 EASILY SOLVED. 121 
 
 have forgotten the seasons that have come and 
 gone since then." 
 
 " No, no, Fred ; it is not that. You were 
 younger than my wife, and it has always grieved 
 me that you did not marry." 
 
 " What is it, then } Is my age such an insuper- 
 able objection ?" 
 
 " There is nothing against yourself, my dear 
 fellow, but " 
 
 " What would you say ? Is it," he exclaimed, a 
 light breaking in on him, " that Miss Fenton's 
 affections are already engaged, or is it only that 
 you fear I could not make her happy as a man 
 more her own age would do ?" 
 
 Sir James ignored the latter half of the question. 
 
 " No ; utterly impossible. Lenore has never 
 seen any man that she cares for more than her 
 father — she is perfectly heart-whole." 
 
 " I fancied yesterday, but I may have been 
 mistaken, that she liked that young Mr. Hunt who 
 was here at tea. He is such a fine fellow, I could 
 easily believe in her doing so." 
 
 " Hunt ! The idea is preposterous. She hardly 
 knows — saw him once for a fortnight ; and besides, 
 he has nothing, he cannot afford to marry. 
 Put that idea out of your head. Lenore is heart- 
 whole." 
 
 Lord Meredith gave a sigh of satisfaction. He 
 I
 
 122 GRISEL ROMNEY. 
 
 turned once more to the miniature, and happiness 
 shone in every part of his face. It was of Lenore 
 he was thinking, not of the original of the 
 miniature. 
 
 Neither spoke. Sir James was summoning 
 courage to tell that his daughter was a doweriess 
 maiden, and he himself uncomfortably pressed for 
 money; but he could not do it, it gave him the 
 feeling of a money transaction into which his 
 daughter was " thrown in," her personal worth being 
 set against the sum borrowed. He wished that 
 Lord Meredith had deferred his disclosure until a 
 later date. He had cherished a lingering hope 
 that, despite his protestations, Mr. Harvey might 
 say something which, without drawing him in, 
 would put the case before his friend. 
 
 Presently Lord Meredith broke the silence. He 
 stood facing the mantelpiece, with his back towards 
 Sir James. 
 
 " There is one thing I wish to say to you, to 
 account to you for what may appear my extreme 
 eagerness in pressing my suit. I gave you no 
 warning of what was in my mind. I had not 
 intended speaking for some days, until I had 
 assured myself that I was in no way disagreeable 
 to your daughter, or that I was only second in the 
 field. On the latter point you have set my mind 
 at rest. My request was hurried from something
 
 EASILY SOLVED. 1 23 
 
 Mr. Harvey said a few moments ago. You will 
 understand the feeling that made me speak at 
 once. I could not bear you should be under any 
 obligation to me when I asked your permission to 
 win your daughter." 
 
 " But let me understand what you would say. 
 
 Are you aware " 
 
 " I am aware of everything ; or, at least, as much 
 as I care to know. After all, it is not much. An 
 old friend is pressed for money. I have some 
 uninvested capital at the present moment. You 
 receive it as a loan, pay a moderate interest on it, 
 such as I v/ould realise by any of your good old- 
 fashioned securities. I am satisfied with your word 
 that it will be paid up some day. I need no more 
 security." 
 
 " My dear fellow, it is really too much goodness. 
 It is impossible to let you fetter yourself so for my 
 sake." 
 
 " It is not all for your sake. Surely there need 
 be no obligation on your part when I am taking 
 from you what you most value." 
 
 " She 's a very good girl, and will make a good 
 wife, Fred, if she follows in her mother's footsteps. 
 By-the-bye, have you said anything of this to 
 herself?" 
 
 " No, nothing ; but having obtained your sanc- 
 tion, I will not longer keep my hopes to myself"
 
 124 GRISEL ROMNEY. 
 
 A sudden feeling that the answer might not be 
 propitious made Sir James speak. 
 
 " You say you have not spoken yet. Then wait. 
 We go down to Brighton next week. Come with 
 us there, and then, when Lenore is out of the bustle 
 of this town life, you will have more opportunity to 
 let her see your real feelings. Do not startle her, 
 Fred ; she is very young yet. If she were taken 
 by surprise, she might give an answer that she 
 would afterwards repent." 
 
 " It shall be as you say. I shall not trespass 
 more on your time to-day. Sir James. Wish me 
 good speed before I go," and Lord Meredith held 
 out his hand. 
 
 " With all my heart, old fellow ; only I wish 
 things had been different. It's all my accursed 
 folly." 
 
 The two men wrung each other's hands, the one 
 in assured happiness, the other with a skeleton 
 forcing its way out of the cupboard — that things 
 would not go so smoothly. More than once 
 previously had Sir James found himself face to 
 face with his daughter's will, and had been 
 routed. 
 
 He sat some time alone, thinking it all over, and 
 wishing the next fortnight were past, and that 
 Lenore had given her word. It was impossible 
 she could refuse such an alliance. Quite im-
 
 EASILY SOLVED. 12$ 
 
 possible, he argued against himself. Why, the 
 coronet must be a temptation to such a girl ! 
 
 And Lenore herself, what did she say ? After 
 parting from Jack Hunt the previous afternoon she 
 went to her own room, and there, with no other 
 voice to raise misguiding tones, the truth rose 
 clearly before her. She was far too true a woman 
 to shrink from acknowledging that she loved this 
 man — loved him as only women of her calibre can 
 love, with a depth and intensity which would glory 
 in nothing so much as in the utter sacrifice of self, 
 so long as it would in any way bring happiness to 
 the object loved. 
 
 She would not hesitate to incur temporary 
 coldness and displeasure, so long as she felt it 
 was only caprice or prejudice ; but if the voice of 
 duty once asserted itself, even though it were 
 death to her love, it must make itself heard. In a 
 nature such as hers the lower must succumb to the 
 higher. 
 
 The dinner-bell roused her from a delicious 
 dream, a fond lingering over every look and tone 
 of that afternoon's meeting, a thrill through her as 
 once again she felt the electric touch of their hands 
 meeting, and that subtle something had passed 
 from one to the other telling how much they loved. 
 She rose from her seat, slowly at first ; she must 
 complete her dream ; then suddenly her footsteps
 
 126 GRISEL ROMNEY. 
 
 hurried. The meeting of the following morning 
 came to her mind, and with it the rush of possible 
 consequences. A shudder passed over her ; she 
 turned suddenly, as if conscious of some other 
 ill-boding presence. Was it the staircase window 
 that was open, and through which the evening air 
 was straying, that made her tremble and turn cold, 
 or was it the voice of fate ? 
 
 There was no apparent sign of any disturbing 
 influence as their host offered her his arm to 
 conduct her to the dinner-table. Never had she 
 been more perfectly charming. The morrow stood 
 before her holding up a warning finger — this might 
 be her last night of peace. 
 
 Lenore awoke next morning with the misgivings 
 of the evening before dispersed. Daylight gave a 
 more healthy tone to her mind; she was no heroine 
 of ideal history, only a woman subject to all the 
 unaccountable and nonsensical ups and downs of a 
 woman's existence. 
 
 So when the sun shone brilliantly in at her 
 window, it was sufficient to make the well of 
 healthy life bubble over. Miss Griffiths, in the 
 adjoining apartment, heard her singing as she 
 moved about her room. A pleased smile flitted 
 across her face even in the agonies of arranging 
 her scanty tresses — once such a pretty brown, she 
 often thought, and now so difficult to make the
 
 EASILY SOLVED. 12/ 
 
 dark hairs do their double share of duty in covering 
 the grey ones — the light ones, she called them to 
 herself. Poor old lady ! It was only Lenore's 
 song which made her foolish about the colour of 
 her hair ; and Lenore sang on unconsciously, " I 
 
 love my love, I love my love because I know " 
 
 but she did not finish the line, but opened the 
 door with a smile on her face, and ran down to 
 delight Lord Meredith's eyes with her summer 
 morning freshness. 
 
 Breakfast was over. Sir James retired for the 
 before-recorded interview with Mr. Harvey, and 
 Lenore and Miss Griffiths went to write letters 
 before going out. Lord Meredith interrupted the 
 former in the middle of her correspondence. 
 
 ''Would you prefer to ride to-morrow instead 
 of to-day. Miss Fenton ? It is all the same to me, 
 and would give you more time to see the water- 
 colours r* 
 
 " How good you are. Lord Meredith ! You are 
 always thinking of others. If it is just the same 
 to you," she continued with some slight hesitation, 
 " I would rather ride to-morrow ; but are you sure 
 it is quite the same }'* 
 
 " Do not hurry home," he said, as he saw her 
 safely off with his cousin, " and will you look at a 
 picture that struck m.e the last time I was there. 
 You will easily find it. Tell me, when you return,
 
 128 GRISEL ROMNEY. 
 
 if you see a likeness that I see in it. It is called 
 'Yes or No?'" 
 
 " I shall look for it ; but I am so stupid about 
 such things, that there is but little chance of my 
 being able to discover any resemblance to anyone 
 in it" 
 
 But Lenore was mistaken. The rooms were 
 tolerably crowded when they arrived even at that 
 early hour, and Lenore had some little difficulty 
 in finding the picture ; but she wished to see it at 
 once, in case she went home having forgotten all 
 about it. At last she stood before it. 
 
 "My dear!" exclaimed Miss Griffiths, "don't 
 you see the likeness ? It is your image, only 
 older looking ; and I hope never to see you so 
 sad." 
 
 " I suppose it has a look of me," Lenore answered. 
 " I wonder what it all means." 
 
 The corner of a quaint old room with a lattice 
 window, through which the evening sun was 
 streaming and falling on the figure of a girl 
 sitting at a curiously-carved table writing a letter. 
 The dress of the girl and the colouring of all the 
 surroundings were kept in a subdued undertone, 
 only a stream of light from the just setting sun 
 fell on her face and hair, and lighted up a picture 
 beside her on the wall. The letter was half written, 
 the unanswered one open beside it ; but the girl's
 
 EASILY SOLVED. 1 29 
 
 thoughts had flown from the letter to the picture 
 in the sunlight ; her face turned towards it with 
 such a depth of passionate feeling written on it, 
 such a pleading for forgiveness in the eyes ! The 
 subject of the picture beside her could hardly be 
 more than guessed at. A figure of a man was all 
 that could be said for certain, the light was too 
 strong to distinguish more. 
 
 Lenore was fascinated with it ; she hardly heard 
 the ripple of Miss Griffiths' talk discussing the 
 probabilities of the subject, but a voice roused her 
 at last. 
 
 " Dear me, Mr. Hunt ! You here at this hour of 
 the morning ! I thought you were a man of so 
 much business." 
 
 " I am only here for a short time, Miss Griffiths," 
 he said, shaking hands with the two ladies. 
 " Water-colours are very tempting, are not they .?" 
 
 " Are you an artist ? Perhaps you can tell us 
 about this picture } Lord Meredith asked Miss 
 Fenton to let him know what she thought about 
 it. Oh, there is my old friend Mrs. Hargreaves 
 and her daughters. I must go and speak to them. 
 Will you excuse me for a few minutes, Lenore.?" 
 Miss Griffiths waited for no answer; she was gone, 
 and Jack and Lenore were left facing the picture. 
 
 " I wished to show you this myself," he said. 
 " What do you think of it .'' What is your idea of
 
 130 GRISEL ROMNEY. 
 
 the story ? Is she writing to the original of the 
 picture beside her ?" 
 
 " Oh no ; the sunshine would only have made 
 her write faster. The light has taken her thoughts 
 with it, and surely she is asking forgiveness for 
 something she has done." 
 
 " You are right. I know the artist. The idea 
 he wished to suggest was of a girl loving one man 
 and accepting another. I am not sure if he has 
 been successful. It is an intensely difficult subject. 
 Do you see the likeness to yourself .'*" he continued. 
 " I noticed it at once." 
 
 " So did Miss Griffiths. I did not know I was 
 like that." Lenore turned away as if she would 
 move from the place. Jack followed her. 
 
 " It is very like you," he replied ; " only you 
 would not do as she is doing. You would not love 
 one and marry another .?" 
 
 " Do not ask me. I cannot tell. The girl's face 
 has told me so much, that I feel sure she was right 
 in what she was doing." 
 
 " It couldn't be right," he exclaimed. " Do not 
 say so, do not think so for a moment." 
 
 " Duty might demand the sacrifice of self," she 
 answered. Her voice trembled, and Jack could 
 hardly hear what she said. 
 
 " Why do you say this, Lenore .^ What has put 
 such thoughts into your head } Do you not know
 
 EASILY SOLVED. I3I 
 
 that I love you — that my only hope in this world is 
 your love ? Tell me quickly that you will give me 
 yours in return. I will keep it very safely," he 
 added, with wonderful tenderness, " in life, in death, 
 and in eternity." 
 
 As once before he had let her voice speak 
 unheeding of an answer, so now she let him tell 
 his story as though she did not hear. 
 
 " Cannot you trust it to my keeping ? I know 
 I am asking a great deal — know that I am utterly 
 unworthy of such a woman's love ; and yet, Lenore, 
 I tell you the truth when I say I have never loved 
 before, and it is not often you will receive the first 
 and entire love of a man's life given as unreservedly 
 as I offer you mine. Will you accept it, or let it 
 go?" 
 
 He put the question decidedly. There was less 
 of pleading than of demand, more of master than 
 of suppliant, in the form of his speech. Lenore 
 raised her eyes to his ; her face was expressive of 
 intense happiness and rest ; her eyes glistened from 
 more than their usual moisture. 
 
 " If it is in my power to accept it, I will," she 
 said simply, " for I love you." 
 
 Miss Griffiths was utterly forgotten. The half- 
 hour together was very short, when Lenore, 
 remembering to look at her watch, saw how time 
 was fleeting.
 
 132 GRISEL ROMNEY. 
 
 " I must go," she said, " but let me have one 
 more look at my picture." 
 
 Silently she stood before it ; the expression on 
 her face growing very sad and wistful as she 
 imprinted it on her mind. 
 
 " Promise me," she said at last, turning to him 
 and holding out her hand ; " promise me this, that 
 whatever I do you will always trust me. Remem- 
 ber that I have told you that I love you." 
 
 After that, they joined Miss Griffiths, and Jack 
 saw them to their brougham, which was waiting 
 for them. 
 
 " I shall be with your father to-morrow morning, 
 early." 
 
 " I ride with Lord Meredith at twelve. Shall I 
 see you before then } " 
 
 "Yes, certainly. Good-bye, Miss Griffiths. I 
 have told Miss Fenton all about the picture ; you 
 must ask her for a minute description."
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 THE PRICE. 
 
 AS has been before related, Lenore and Miss 
 ' Griffiths arrived at Prince's Gate just as Mr. 
 Harvey left. Lord Meredith met them in the 
 lobby, and it was then that Lenore offered the 
 excuse that she had letters to write, and retired 
 to her own room. She sank into a chair, too 
 utterly weary with happiness to do anything. 
 
 She sat in a dream until she was summoned to 
 lunch, and then the truth broke in on her that 
 before dinner she had promised to say something 
 to her father of Jack's visit the following day. He 
 had begged hard that she would let him take the 
 burden on his own shoulders, for both knew only 
 too well how much opposition might be expected 
 from her father. But she was determined on that 
 one point. She felt she owed it to him, for until 
 now they had been much to each other. Lenore 
 had never really known Sir James ; he was ideal-
 
 134 GRISEL ROMNEY. 
 
 ised in her mind, and very little of the ideal existed 
 in the original. 
 
 She still continued to hold the doctrines instilled 
 by her dead mother, lessons repeated so often that 
 they had become articles of her faith — of the father 
 in India, whose image the mother ever painted in 
 more glowing colouring — leaving the world only 
 when her twelve-year-old daughter had grown to 
 hold her unknown parent as half-god, half-man. 
 The creed of her childhood still clung to her ; it 
 was in this faith she could bear no other to tell 
 him of the happiness which had come to her. 
 
 She knew Lord Meredith had an appointment 
 for the afternoon ; she would then find her father 
 alone. She awaited the interview with a beating 
 heart, and almost regretted the resolution she had 
 made of herself breaking the news to him. 
 
 She found him, as she expected, alone. He 
 turned and greeted her with more than ordinary 
 warmth of manner. 
 
 " I wished particularly to see you, Lenore. I 
 have been arranging with Meredith about our visit 
 to Brighton. He was so unwilling to part com.- 
 pany, that I have asked him to join us there as 
 soon as convenient for him." 
 
 " I should think he would find it very dull. 
 What is there for a man to do ^ However, Father, 
 if you like it, I am very glad."
 
 THE PRICE. 135 
 
 " Are not you glad for your own sake also ? I 
 thought it would be a change for you, instead of 
 always having no other company than that of your 
 father." 
 
 " I will try and be glad to please you ; but, per- 
 sonally, it makes little difference whether he goes 
 or stays. You know he is your friend, not mine." 
 
 " Lenore, are you blind .-* Don't you see that he 
 wishes it to be of consequence to you whether he 
 comes with us or not ^ He never thinks of me ; 
 it is entirely " 
 
 " Stop, Father ! I know now what you would 
 say. But if I am right, what you wish is utterly 
 impossible. I came here just now to speak to 
 you, to tell you of something. You must hear me 
 before you finish your sentence." 
 
 If Sir James had only known it, he could not 
 have used a better spur to Lenore's faltering spirit 
 than the mention of Lord Meredith, especially in 
 connection with herself. Sir James sat in his easy 
 chair, his spectacles resting on his forehead. 
 Lenore stood beside him ; she had the advantage 
 of position. Her father was taken by surprise at 
 her sudden outbreak ; he felt by no means easy in 
 his mind as to what was to follow. Lenore hesi- 
 tated a moment to steady her voice. When she 
 did speak, there was no hesitancy in what she said. 
 
 " I was at the water-colour exhibition this morn-
 
 136 GRISEL ROMNEY. 
 
 ing. I met Mr. Hunt there. He is coming to see 
 you to-morrow." 
 
 " What do you mean, Lenore } You cannot for 
 a moment suppose that I should understand that 
 Mr. Hunt's visit has any connection with my 
 daughter." 
 
 "Yes; his visit is in connection with me. He 
 asked me this morning to be his wife. I told him 
 that with your consent I would be so." 
 
 "My consent you shall never have. If you 
 marry him, it is without it." 
 
 Sir James was startled into momentary passion. 
 He recovered himself almost immediately, took the 
 spectacles from their dangerous position, and waited 
 for Lenore to speak. 
 
 "I suppose you know quite well that I would 
 not marry without my father's consent, but I shall 
 leave no stone unturned to obtain it. You cannot 
 possibly withhold it," she continued, more pas- 
 sionately. "You can say nothing against him. 
 You know as well as I do that you could not trust 
 your daughter to safer keeping." 
 
 " I know as well as you do that Jack Hunt has 
 not a penny to bless himself with, much less to 
 keep a wife." 
 
 " He would never have asked me to marry him 
 unless he could afford to do so ; and, besides, I 
 have money."
 
 THE PRICE. 137 
 
 "From where did you gain your information ?" 
 said Sir James, with provoking coolness. 
 
 " I am your only child. I know what you have 
 yearly allowed me. I do not suppose you would 
 shorten my allowance when I would require it 
 more than ever." 
 
 " You seem to take it all very much for granted. 
 Perhaps you will be astonished when I tell you 
 that I cannot allow you anything, and that it is 
 absolutely essential that you marry money !" 
 
 " That I will never do. I would not sell myself. 
 However," she continued, more quietly, " mercifully 
 there is no question of that just now. If you at 
 present withhold your consent, I can wait till you 
 change your mind." 
 
 "You seem very certain of your constancy. But 
 you forget that Mr. Hunt does not yet know the 
 prize he has drawn is dowerless. He may not be 
 so willing to wait as you suppose." 
 
 Lenore's eyes flashed, and hot tears came into 
 them. She turned angrily away, and was about to 
 speak. She controlled herself, however, and only 
 said, "He shall answer that question for himself 
 when you see him to-morrow." 
 
 " Lenore, this is absurd. You must hear reason. 
 You need not speak of constancy and waiting and 
 all that. My answer is given once for all. You 
 must make up your mind ; it will be far less pain-
 
 138 GRISEL ROMNEY. 
 
 ful for you to do so at once. Resistance is abso- 
 lutely useless." 
 
 "But why.?" 
 
 " Because, as I told you before, you must marry 
 money. Only yesterday. Lord Meredith asked me 
 for your hand. I heard him favourably. You see 
 it is impossible to refuse such an alliance." 
 
 " It is not impossible. I will not marry Lord 
 Meredith. I will not be sold for a coronet. 
 Nothing will ever induce me to change. I love 
 Jack Hunt. I declare I will marry no other." 
 
 "Not so fast, Lenore. You will be sorry you 
 have said this some day. There are circumstances 
 which require you should marry Lord Meredith," 
 
 " Circumstances is an ambiguous term," she 
 answered. " What circumstances can ever affect 
 me in such a case ? You must be more definite in 
 your expressions if you wish me to hear reason." 
 
 " Will you not take my reasons on trust .'' It is 
 far better you should do so ; any explanations 
 would only make it more painful for everyone." 
 
 " And you expect me to be satisfied with this 
 half knowledge," she answered, slowly bringing out 
 word by word. " You expect me to quietly give 
 up the man I love, and marry the man I don't care 
 whether I ever see again. You expect me to do 
 this without a reason. Remember, I am a woman, 
 and in love."
 
 THE PRICE. 139 
 
 * Remember, you are little more than a child, 
 and will soon grow out of it" 
 
 Lenore did not answer. She had not herself 
 under control ; she was trembling all over from 
 suppressed feeling. He father saw it, and pushed 
 a chair towards her. 
 
 " You had better sit down," he said. " When 
 you can listen, I will speak." 
 
 Lenore took the proffered chair ; her knees 
 would no longer support her. " I am waiting," she 
 said. 
 
 " Do you mean to say that you still hold to this 
 ridiculous fancy, or are you willing to give up your 
 will to mine ?" 
 
 " Unless you can prove the fancy is ridiculous, I 
 will never change. If you can give me what I 
 consider a sufficient reason I will not marry with- 
 out your consent, but I will also not marry anyone 
 else." 
 
 " Lenore, if I were to tell you that in days long 
 gone by circumstances had arisen by which I 
 became deeply involved in debt, that payment of 
 the debt is now demanded, and that the money 
 must be found somewhere or your father's name 
 will become blackened, what would you say?" 
 
 " But this cannot be ! What do you mean ? To 
 whom is this debt due, and how was it contracted ? 
 If honourably, what disgrace, then, to speak of it ?
 
 140 GRISEL ROMNEY. 
 
 And you could never have contracted dishonour- 
 able debt?" 
 
 " Lenore, do not ask. What Is the use of it all ? 
 Do not you see how you pain me by dragging up 
 the past?" 
 
 " But I must know all, must understand all." 
 She rested her elbows on the table, and buried her 
 face in her hands. She could not look on at the 
 overthrow of her idol. 
 
 " The rest is short. The debt was contracted — 
 no matter how. It is now due. A friend has 
 offered to advance the money." 
 "And that friend?" 
 " Is Lord Meredith." 
 
 Lenore's breath came quick and short. Her 
 face was terribly changed in expression as, after 
 the lapse of a few minutes' silence, she looked up. 
 
 " I understand it now. I am to be sold for the 
 payment of my father's dishonourable debts. I, 
 your only child!" Her voice sounded hard and 
 metallic. There was no life left to burst forth. 
 
 " Have mercy, Lenore. Do not you see you are 
 killing me !" 
 
 I suppose women are not so easily killed. They 
 are made of something which will stand more pain 
 than men." 
 
 " Have you no pity for your father, Lenore ?" 
 " Is the pity, then, to be all on my side ? And
 
 THE PRICE. 141 
 
 Lord Meredith," she went on, a ring of scorn 
 coming into her hitherto lifeless tones, " how much 
 does he know of this transaction ? I suppose he 
 also is quite willing to be a party to this bargain. 
 He wishes a wife. He is not over young now. 
 He thinks I would do well in that capacity, and is 
 willing to offer a few thousands. If I am to be 
 knocked down to the highest bidder, justice doubt- 
 less will give me to him." 
 
 " You misunderstand. Meredith knows nothing 
 of this. He asked me for leave to win you before 
 anything of this took place. It was only after- 
 wards, hearing of my position from Mr. Harvey, 
 that he offered to stand my friend." 
 
 " In what capacity — as your accepted son-in- 
 law?" 
 
 " As my friend — hoping also the last might be 
 true." 
 
 " Then you wish him to believe that I accept 
 him willingly ? I am to act a lie throughout ?" 
 
 " He loves you, Lenore. There are few more 
 worthy of your love." 
 
 " Providence has kindly interposed," she said, 
 bitterly. " It is a mercy to be grateful for, con- 
 sidering I had no voice in the matter. It would 
 have made but little difference who the purchaser 
 was, if the money were duly forthcoming." 
 
 " You forget your lady-like feeling, Lenore."
 
 142 GRISEL ROMNEY. 
 
 " Do I ? It is not unlikely. The school I am 
 now in is not one to increase its growth." She 
 rose to her feet. " I suppose I need stay no longer 
 to-day. You will not expect me to appear at 
 dinner this evening." 
 
 She swept past her father's chair. 
 
 " I shall see Mr. Hunt myself to-morrow morn- 
 ing, and let him know that you, not I, have 
 dismissed him." 
 
 " It is impossible for you to see him. You would 
 tell all. You would bring dishonour on me. And 
 why is a folly of my youth to rise up against me 
 now, when I have already paid so dearly for it,-*" 
 
 " Do you mean I am never to see him again .'*" 
 
 "Not till you are Lady Meredith. I will tell 
 him to-morrow all that is necessary. I forbid you 
 seeing him." 
 
 " I must see him once again. Oh, father, let 
 me ; I cannot part with him so !" 
 
 " Judge for yourself, Lenore. You can give me 
 an answer to-morrow. I am willing you shall tell 
 him all my disgrace, if it will bring any satisfaction 
 either to yourself or him." 
 
 So they parted — Lenore to her own room. 
 There is no use to follow her there ; no eye ought 
 to witness the struggle from which she rose 
 victorious. 
 
 Her woman's love and her filial duty — one
 
 THE PRICE. 143 
 
 against another. Such fights are passed through 
 by all who have ever really lived — when the will 
 must bend to the all-powerful will above. 
 
 Lord Meredith was full of anxious concern 
 about the indisposition to which Sir James attri- 
 buted Lenore's non-appearance at dinner. He 
 recurred again and again to it during the evening. 
 But it was not until they separated for the night 
 that he gained any light on the subject. 
 
 " You see, I consider I have a right to inquire 
 about her," he said, " since our talk of this 
 morning." 
 
 " To tell the truth, Meredith, our talk of this 
 morning has somewhat to do with it. We got 
 upon the subject of marriage this afternoon, and I 
 sounded her upon how your suit would be 
 received." 
 
 "And is this the cause .^ I am disagreeable to 
 her?" 
 
 " No, no. She was startled, surprised. She does 
 not wish for marriage yet. She is very young, you 
 know, and has always been so much her own 
 mistress. Of course she gets a little restive at the 
 thought of regular harness." 
 
 " The harness would be very light," he answered, 
 gently ; " but I am grieved, distressed, that she 
 should have taken it so. What shall I do } Must 
 I at once give up my dream ^"
 
 144 GRISEL ROMNEY. 
 
 " No, no ; only wait. It will all come right ; but 
 let her get used to the idea. Do not let your 
 feelings be too apparent. I will take her away as 
 soon as we can. We go to Mrs. Vivien Hill's 
 dance the end of next week. We must stay for 
 that, and will go down next day to Brighton." 
 
 " If you are sure this is what she would like 
 best, let it be so ; of course you know better than 
 I do. But, Sir James, it is her happiness, not 
 mine, I seek." 
 
 "And you will find it if you only have patience. 
 She is so young she does not yet know what she 
 wishes." 
 
 " I hope she will be all right to-morrow. I shall 
 feel terribly to blame if she is not." 
 
 " Never fear. A good night's rest always goes 
 far to put a woman to rights and soothe her little 
 tempers."
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 FINISHED. 
 
 TEN days had passed since Lenore's interview 
 with her father — days each longer and more 
 wearisome than the last. She kept up her spirits 
 bravely before the world, but alone her eyes looked 
 dull and heavy, and her step lost its spring and 
 elasticity. 
 
 Her father saw nothing of this, however, and he 
 put aside the uneasiness that had grown up within 
 him. She had taken the whole business much 
 better than he expected. After their stormy 
 parting he anticipated rebellion, or, if not that, at 
 least that he would have to put up with much 
 irritability of temper and to give way to number- 
 less caprices. 
 
 But no ; such would have been no relief to 
 Lenore ; she was far too deeply hurt to show it. 
 Putting aside all her love for Jack Hunt, all that 
 she had to endure in giving up her life's happiness,
 
 146 GRISEL ROMNEY. 
 
 her pride brought her acute suffering, though at 
 the same time it stood her in good stead. To hide 
 everything from outsiders was her one endeavour ; 
 to shield her father from blame was something to 
 live for. 
 
 Her feelings towards him had undergone a com- 
 plete change ; all her blind love for him, and belief 
 in him, had left her for ever, and at first had been 
 replaced by hardly - fought - against scorn. She 
 despised a nature that could let another suffer for 
 it ; she turned with loathing from the caresses he 
 showered upon her ; compensation offered, of such 
 a kind, only made her feel it the more. 
 
 Such feelings had sway but at first. Gradually 
 the woman's love of self-sacrifice made itself felt. 
 To suffer for something weaker, poorer, less able to 
 bear it, this was what she had to do. Her first 
 duty was towards her father ; all else must be given 
 up for this. Pity took the place of stronger feeling; 
 dislike turned to compassion : as woman condones 
 ever the offences of those she loves, if the nature is 
 smaller than her own. 
 
 She saw nothing of her lover in those first days 
 of acute suffering — refusing all engagements pre- 
 viously contracted. She shunned every house in 
 which there was a likelihood of their meeting. 
 Her father used all his persuasions, but of no avail. 
 It was not till the close of the following week that
 
 FINISHED. 147 
 
 she at last consented to be present at a dance 
 given by Mrs. Vivien Hill some few miles out of 
 town. She knew Jack Hunt did not know them ; 
 she thought she was safe. 
 
 It was the day before their intended departure 
 from town ; the miserable life she was leading was 
 nearly at an end. 
 
 Lenore stood waiting for the carriage, attired in 
 her opera cloak. Lord Meredith was to accom- 
 pany them. He had not yet made his appearance. 
 She was alone. Presently, Sir James entered the 
 room. 
 
 He approached Lenore, and made some flatter- 
 ing remarks as to her toilette. She paid but little 
 heed to what he said, and remarked that their host 
 was late. 
 
 " He was speaking to me, which detained him, 
 Lenore. Out of consideration for your feelings, 
 I have withheld him from expressing his wishes to 
 you. He knows nothing of the reason. I cannot 
 longer make false excuses. You will make up 
 your mind to hear him kindly, and I shall now 
 give him permission to speak." 
 
 " Very well," she answered, quietly, " waiting can 
 make no difference. I am ready to give my 
 answer." 
 
 ** I am thankful you take so reasonable a view of 
 it, my dear."
 
 148 GRISEL ROMNEY. 
 
 Lord Meredith made his appearance, and they 
 started for the drive of some miles. 
 
 As Lenore entered the ball-room, leaning on 
 Lord Meredith's arm, there were many who whis- 
 pered the gossip of their engagement as tm fait 
 accompli. She passed amongst the crowd. Which 
 of them could have told that the smiles which 
 lingered round her lips were occasioned by bitter 
 satire of the hollow part she was acting } 
 
 Suddenly her gaze was arrested, a pair of eyes 
 were bent on her across the sea of heads. The 
 owner of the eyes was making his way steadily 
 across the room. She trembled, and Lord Mere- 
 dith turned to see the cause of her agitation. 
 
 Jack Hunt paid no attention to the noble lord ; 
 he hardly realised on whose arm she was leaning. 
 
 "You will dance the first waltz with me .-*" he 
 said, very quietly. 
 
 " I cannot — forgive me." 
 
 Her answer was almost inaudible, and as he bent 
 to catch the words, his eyes sought hers, reading in 
 them the story of her love. 
 
 He turned from her without an answer. She 
 thought he had left the ball. Some one of her 
 usual partners claimed her hand ; dance after dance 
 she passed from one to another. Lord Meredith 
 begged very hard for one. " Not to-night," she 
 said. " I have so many to dance with, you must
 
 FINISHED. 149 
 
 forgive me." He did not renew his request, he 
 knew his day was coming ; he went and joined her 
 father in the card-room. 
 
 So the weary hours dragged heavily on, and 
 Lenore's acting was almost past. The once densely- 
 crowded rooms were beginning to look empty, 
 dancing was at last possible, and to the enchanting 
 strains of Strauss's waltzes some dozen or two of 
 couples were floating round, forgetting everything 
 but the delight of the moment, the thrilling music, 
 the dreamy, gliding motion, the last dregs of the 
 cup of pleasure. 
 
 The weary chaperones were, most of them, at 
 supper, trying to pass the last half-hour of duty. 
 Surely these poor, long-suffering mothers are 
 worthy of more sympathy and appreciation 
 than the verdict so often given of "scheming, 
 manoeuvring women." 
 
 They had not long to wait now ; daylight was 
 forcing its way through the shutters ; the outside 
 world was waking to a new day. 
 
 Softly rose and fell the strains of enticing, 
 bewitching music, the air was laden with the 
 scent of flowers, the hundreds of waxlights were 
 burning low, but still the dancing continued. 
 Lenore, worn out at last, had found a quiet corner 
 behind some gauzy drapery. She anxiously awaited 
 the moment of her release, when Sir James should
 
 150 GRISEL ROMNEY. 
 
 come and claim her. In the meanwhile, she was 
 under the protection of Mrs. Vivien Hill, who, 
 engrossed with her duties as hostess, had not 
 observed Lenore's escape from observation. 
 
 Lenore, in a dream, watched the couples as they 
 passed her. She could see and not be seen. She 
 was wondering why Jack Hunt had taken his 
 dismissal so quietly, wondering why he had come 
 there at all, if not to meet her ; her tired brain 
 tried to untie the knot, but her mind was too 
 weary to do more than fumble with the strings. 
 She was conscious of some one entering the room, 
 and then her screen was drawn aside, and her lover 
 stood beside her. 
 
 " I have been looking for you everywhere. 
 Come." 
 
 She rose at once and put her hand within his 
 arm, and he led her away, out of the room, bright 
 with flickering tapers, into the cool corridor, and so 
 on through the conservatory to the terrace of the 
 garden, and there he stopped. 
 
 So few miles out of town, and yet how perfectly 
 lovely and country-like it was ! At that early hour 
 of the morning no sound of the harsh, hard-working 
 world broke on the stillness of nature ; too far 
 from the house even to hear the sound of revelry 
 within. 
 
 There was a seat some few yards away. Jack
 
 FINISHED. 151 
 
 led Lenore towards it. She was thankful to sit 
 down. A strange, faint feeling was creeping over 
 her ; it was all so unreal. He did not seat himself 
 beside her, but stood gazing down on her, intense 
 love and admiration expressed in his face. No 
 wonder ; she looked very beautiful in the soft 
 morning light. Her white dress fell in soft folds 
 round her ; her neck and arms were jewelless save 
 for the string of pearls which encircled her throat ; 
 her rich brown hair was coiled simply round her 
 head ; her hands toyed nervously with the fan 
 lying on her knee. Surely if there is power in 
 magnetism she would have raised her eyes to his. 
 But no ; only an almost imperceptible tinge of 
 crimson stole over the marble-like whiteness of her 
 face. 
 
 " Have you nothing to say to me, Lenore ? I 
 brought you here hoping you would tell me some- 
 thing which would explain your conduct of to- 
 night. Why in a few short hours have you so 
 utterly changed .'' why did you refuse to dance with 
 me } why, after all that has passed, have you 
 acted so }" 
 
 Still she did not speak, but the crimson deepened 
 on her cheek. Once more he impetuously broke 
 out — 
 
 " Do you think I am made of marble, Lenore ? 
 Do you think I am without feeling } Do you
 
 152 GRISEL ROMNEY. 
 
 think I can stand calmly here and measure my 
 tones to society's words and phrases, when she who 
 only one week ago promised to be my wife sits as 
 though she heard not, refuses one word of explana- 
 tion even to the man who was fool enough to 
 believe that she loved him ? I did not think you 
 would have done this, Lenore — you, whom I 
 thought above all other women — have turned out 
 to be heartless, a flirt, ready to sell yourself for a 
 coronet!" His voice rang with scorn, and he 
 turned from her. 
 
 " How dare you speak so to me ?" she exclaimed, 
 rising from her seat. " How dare you attribute 
 motives such as these to me, Mr. Hunt ? Do you 
 think if it had been as you say I would have come 
 with you here.-* If I were the promised wife of 
 another, if I were absolutely heartless, I would 
 have shunned all opportunity of explanation." 
 
 "And what explanation can you give, Lenore.-* 
 I could bear with so much from you." 
 
 " You will have to bear much," she answered 
 wearily, sinking into the seat from which she had 
 risen in the first burst of her anger. " You have a 
 right to think ill of me, for I cannot explain. Oh ! 
 will you not trust me ? will you not believe that 
 my love for you is now as it ever was ? and yet our 
 marriage can never be, for I must live and strive 
 to forget this love that at present is part of my
 
 FINISHED. 153 
 
 very life. I cannot keep it longer, for it would be 
 sin." 
 
 Her voice had sunk almost to a whisper. In the 
 silence a blackbird poured out a gush of melody — 
 the world of nature glowing with thanksgiving and 
 happiness ; only two human hearts, torn with love, 
 at discord with it all. 
 
 " You mean you are about to marry Lord 
 Meredith, and that you, in your integrity and icy 
 calmness, will then uproot all your now avowed 
 love, because such things are not according to your 
 religion. I care not for these things ; the religion 
 that would separate us will never number me 
 amongst its votaries. I am not the stuff they 
 made martyrs of Why must this be ? I swear 
 that unless it is your own wish, nothing shall ever 
 come between us. God forgive you if you are 
 playing with me, Lenore ; but you are driving me 
 mad." 
 
 "And do you think it costs me nothing.? Do 
 you imagine that the suffering is all one-sided ?" 
 
 " If you also suffer, why must this be ? I have a 
 right to an explanation. Is it your own wish or 
 your father's that all should be over between 
 us ? If your own, I will say no more ; if your 
 father's " 
 
 " It is I myself that wish it, Jack. It is I who 
 say and know that it can never be ; but oh ! pro-
 
 154 GRISEL ROMNEY. 
 
 mise me that you will not let this wreck your life, 
 that you will remember that there is something 
 higher, better, truer to live for than human love." 
 
 " You told me once," he answered her, " that you 
 could not be the rope that would save a man. 
 Fool that I was not to believe you !" 
 
 " But believe me now!" she exclaimed. " I told 
 you that though I had no saving power there was 
 One who had. You must live your life nobly, live 
 down this pain, and when you have succeeded in 
 this, look around for the nearest duty and do it. 
 But why do I tell you all this, save that I love you 
 so — why, when my own heart is breaking ?" 
 
 She buried her face in her hands and gave way 
 to a passion of grief Jack, who at her first words 
 had turned from her, now, as her sobs struck on his 
 ear, once more came close to her. Her slender 
 form was shaken with the torrent of her sorrow, 
 and into his face, so stern and unforgiving a 
 moment since, swept a smile of deepest love. Yes ; 
 though he believed that she was behaving cruelly 
 to him, he could not resist the impulse, and, taking 
 her in his arms, he pressed passionate kisses on her 
 lips. For a few moments she gave herself up to 
 his love ; but there w^as a sound of approaching 
 footsteps in the shrubbery, and, throwing her arms 
 round him, she gave him one long, unasked for, first 
 and last kiss, and fled.
 
 FINISHED. 155 
 
 Terror lent her wings, through the conservatory, 
 the corridor, and into the cloak-room. There she 
 paused, considering what to do next. A servant 
 appeared in the doorway. " Will you find Sir 
 James Fenton for me .?" she said. " Tell him his 
 daughter is waiting for him here." 
 
 Sir James was in the card-room, but rose at once 
 at his daughter's summons, and met her in the 
 hall. As she advanced to meet him, he was struck 
 by her extreme beauty, the glowing colour of her 
 lip and cheek, the almost dangerous sparkle of her 
 eyes. 
 
 " My daughter keeps me in wonderful order," he 
 said to Lord Meredith, who accompanied him. 
 
 " Miss Fenton's slaves cannot complain of their 
 task-master," he answered, as bowing low he offered 
 Lenore his arm to conduct her to her carriage. 
 She drew back haughtily, but at a glance from her 
 father, more of entreaty than command, she placed 
 her hand on his arm. 
 
 " I hope you have enjoyed to-night the last 
 dance of the season, and that you will leave town 
 to-morrow with pleasant remembrances of it all }" 
 
 Lord Meredith turned to Lenore for an answer. 
 She must say something. 
 
 " Mrs. Vivien Hill deserves warm thanks for all 
 the trouble she has taken. It has been a brilliant 
 ball."
 
 156 GRISEL ROMNEY. 
 
 " You have really enjoyed it ? I am glad." 
 
 She gave no answer, but looked up, to meet the 
 gaze of Jack Hunt riveted on her. He was stand- 
 ing in the doorway waiting for her to pass. His 
 expression was not pleasant. He had overheard 
 Lord Meredith's last words. 
 
 Her eyes pleaded for forgiveness as she held out 
 her hand. 
 
 " Good-bye," she whispered. 
 
 " Good-bye, Miss Fenton. Allow me to con- 
 gratulate you on the pleasant ending to your stay 
 in town." 
 
 She almost called out from pain as her hand 
 was for one moment held in his ; it was only her 
 diamond ring had cut her finger. 
 
 In another moment she was in the carriage, 
 hardly conscious of anything. 
 
 Lord Meredith had returned to the house for 
 something he had forgotten. 
 
 In a dream she heard her father's voice, "It's 
 all right, my darling Lenore ; you have saved me. 
 Lord Meredith is coming down to Brighton next 
 week."
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 BEGUN IN BITTERNESS. 
 
 JACK returned to his rooms, but not to rest. A 
 pile of books, ready for review, lay on his table ; 
 they must be reported on within the next few 
 days. He sat himself down at once to write. 
 Slashing criticisms they were which came from his 
 pen in those first hours after his parting with 
 Lenore ; but the work suited him better than any 
 other would have done ; it occupied his mind, and 
 prevented him from dwelling so much on his own 
 loss of happiness. Of Lenore he did not think at 
 all at first, save as of a woman in whom he had 
 been woefully mistaken, who had gone to fulfil her 
 destiny by marrying birth and wealth. Of course, 
 she would be happy ; she had got all the world 
 could give. So days passed on, and his feelings did 
 not change. 
 
 The strength of her influence over him for good
 
 158 GRISEL ROMNEY. 
 
 acted only more strongly in the opposite direction ; 
 his faith in her had been such, that now, when he 
 thought she had failed, he was inclined to throw 
 all her lessons to the winds. The world was a 
 sham ; what seemed good and fair was even more 
 dangerous than that which was outwardly un- 
 sightly. He had believed in her, and had been 
 deceived. He certainly would not commit the 
 same fault twice. 
 
 And yet with an unaccountable and ever- 
 increasing desire his steps carried him once more 
 to the Picture Gallery. How vividly his meeting 
 with Lenore was in his mind as he stood before 
 her duplicate in the picture of " Yes or No }" 
 
 " I did not know I was like that," she had said ; 
 and he answered her, " You are very like it, only 
 you would not have acted so;" and contrary 
 to all his expectations she had done it. How 
 intensely the girl's face in the water-colour re- 
 minded him of Lenore, as when, that night, she had 
 wished him good-bye at the Vivien Hills'! The 
 same pleading for forgiveness in the eyes, the same 
 wistful sadness of expression. He returned to his 
 lodgings none the better for his hours spent in 
 useless retrospect. His landlady met him at the 
 door. A gentleman had been calling while he 
 was away, and finding that he was not at home, 
 had gone up to his rooms and written a note.
 
 BEGUN IN BITTERNESS. 1 59 
 
 Jack recognised Phil Jerningham's writing as he 
 raised the missive from the table. 
 
 "Dear Hunt, 
 
 " Sorry to find you out ; called to 
 know if you will go down with me next week to 
 
 B shire. There is a dance at Sir Roger and 
 
 Lady Mainwaring's. All the houses round are 
 making up parties, and I am going to stay with 
 the Romneys, at Romney Manor. The son is at 
 Oxford with me ; they wanted another man, and I 
 asked for an invitation for you. You had better 
 get rid of your writing for a couple of days. 
 Household not at all formidable — father, three 
 girls, and Tom, the son. I '11 meet you in town, 
 and we can go down together. You had better 
 say * Yes.' — Yours, 
 
 " Phil Jerningham." 
 
 " ' Household not at all formidable,' so Philip 
 thinks. Well, I '11 see about it when the time 
 comes." 
 
 Jack tossed the note into the unanswered letter- 
 basket, and sat down to work. His room felt 
 stifling; the sunshine which forced its way round 
 the edges of the window-blind served only to 
 illumine a dust-laden atmosphere. He rose im- 
 patiently from his seat and threw up the window.
 
 l60 GRISEL ROMNEY. 
 
 The dust was displaced, and the air blew in hot 
 and unrefreshing. A vision of trees and grass, 
 even for a couple of days, was refreshing to his 
 weary spirit. 
 
 " I think I '11 go," he said, and then he wrote to 
 Philip Jerningham accepting the invitation. 
 
 So it was Jack Hunt first came to know Grisel 
 Romney. 
 
 She had only arrived from school the preceding 
 day, and was still in all the whirl and pleasure of 
 home-coming — the delight of being with them 
 all again, the picking up the broken threads of last 
 year's existence, feeling still a child in the keen 
 enjoyment of her old amusements, and ever and 
 again remembering she was grown up now, and 
 that this very evening she was going to her first 
 ball. AH day long her flow of spirits had con- 
 tinued, first chattering to Sybil in her studio, and 
 then invading her father's sanctum, and carrying 
 him off to the stables and kennels ; and at last, 
 returning about five o'clock to the house, she 
 caught sight of a well-known figure standing at 
 the glass door which led from the girls' sitting- 
 room into the garden. 
 
 It was in this room that, every afternoon, the 
 tea-table was set, and Mr. Romney came in regu- 
 larly for his cup of tea, and brought with him 
 whoever might be within reach. Sometimes Sir
 
 BEGUN IN BITTERNESS. l6l 
 
 Roger Mainwaring, when the two had been farm- 
 inspecting together ; sometimes the Rector, who 
 enjoyed nothing better than a half-hour's chat with 
 Mr. Romney's pretty daughters among the flower- 
 beds. 
 
 But neither the Rector nor Sir Roger was there 
 to-day, and Grisel was alone with her father when 
 they entered the garden. 
 
 "There is Tom," she exclaimed, as she caught 
 sight of the before-mentioned figure. 
 
 Tom turned at the sound of her voice, and in a 
 moment she was beside him. 
 
 " Well, my old boy, I am glad to see you. Tom, 
 there is something odd about you," she added, 
 gazing at him contemplatively. " I see now what 
 it is ! Allow me to congratulate you." 
 
 " On what. La Grise .''" 
 
 " Why, your moustache, of course." 
 
 "Do you approve of the acquisition?" he 
 answered, laughing. " You must come and be 
 introduced to Mr. Hunt, and to an old friend of 
 mine also — Philip Jerningham." 
 
 Bryde was pouring out tea as Tom and Grisel 
 entered. The roses on her cheeks vied in colour 
 with the roses in her waistbelt, as she laughingly 
 fought a battle on the merits of sugar and no sugar 
 with Philip, and they were engrossed with each 
 other. Only Jack, standing in the background,
 
 l62 GRISEL ROMNEY. 
 
 overheard the brother and sister's meeting, and 
 watched with a passing curiosity for the figure 
 from which had proceeded those low, mirthful 
 tones. 
 
 The introductions were over ; Mr. Romney had 
 cordially welcomed the two men to the Manor, and 
 they had seated themselves round the tea-table. 
 That Bryde was very handsome and Grisel insig- 
 nificant beside her was Jack's first opinion, arrived 
 at with a feeling of amusement that he should care 
 to form an opinion at all ; that there was an inde- 
 scribable something about Grisel which made him 
 watch her — that he had been mistaken, and she 
 really was nice-looking — was his conviction after 
 his first hour's acquaintance. 
 
 Yet she had not addressed three words to him — 
 in fact her conversational powers seemed to have 
 vanished with her entry into the house. Bryde 
 kept the ball going ; she had enough to do 
 between Mr. Jerningham and her brother, both 
 intent upon drawing out her lively sallies. Sybil 
 had disappeared ; some flowers had to be gathered, 
 and, engaged all day at her easel, she had forgotten 
 them. Grisel made a show of following her, and 
 there was a general move in the direction of the 
 garden. 
 
 Jack felt he must rouse himself A desire to be 
 unsociable was creeping over him, a feeling of want
 
 BEGUN IN BITTERNESS. 163 
 
 of harmony with everything — it was stale, flat, and 
 unprofitable. 
 
 He turned to Grisel, who, with her arm linked 
 through Tom's, was next to him. 
 
 " Is this to be your first ball this evening, Miss 
 Romney .?" 
 
 " Yes ; I have never been anywhere before, 
 except once to the opera." 
 
 " Then you are going to taste a completely new 
 experience. You must tell me to-morrow your 
 impressions." 
 
 " Oh, I can tell you now. I know I shall enjoy 
 it all, because, you know, I am so fond of dancing !" 
 
 " Then it is to the dancing that you are looking 
 forward. You are sure in that case to enjoy your- 
 self" 
 
 " But isn't dancing the principal thing ? If I 
 dance everything, I cannot help enjoying it." 
 Grisel paused a moment. A puzzled expression 
 came into her face. "What do you go for.?" she 
 asked. 
 
 " Simply for the dancing. What other reason 
 can there be .'*" 
 
 She looked straight into his eyes as he spoke, 
 trying to read in them some contradiction to his 
 words. 
 
 " I do not think you mean what you say. You 
 seemed surprised when I said the same word a
 
 164 GRISEL ROMNEY. 
 
 minute ago. Perhaps you go to see your friends. 
 Is that it r 
 
 " I have no friends, Miss Romney." 
 
 " Neither have I. I shall know no one there this 
 evening. Oh yes, I forgot ; I have one great 
 friend, but one isn't very many." 
 
 " I cannot even aspire to one. You should con- 
 sider yourself fortunate to be able to reckon on 
 one true friend." 
 
 " I am sorry for you, Mr. Hunt, for then I fear 
 you will not enjoy yourself, as you do not care for 
 dancing." 
 
 " I shall watch you," he said, " and perhaps, 
 when this very true friend has had all the dances 
 he wishes, you will let me have one, and we shall 
 see if we can waltz together." 
 
 " My great friend is only Reggie Mainwaring," 
 she said. " He is my make-believe brother, and if 
 you would like it, I should like very much to dance 
 with you." 
 
 Tom, until now, had been absorbed in tossing 
 his cane for his dog to go after, and had taken no 
 part in the conversation ; at Reggie's name he 
 stopped his amusement for a moment. 
 
 " Have you seen Le Gris to-day. La Grise ?" 
 
 " Not yet. We are to meet to-night and dance 
 the very first dance together. Do you know, Mr. 
 Hunt, I have been engaged for the first dance for
 
 BEGUN IN BITTERNESS. 165 
 
 a whole year now ! Do you think you could have 
 remembered, had you been me ?" 
 
 " At your age, yes ! When you grow older, you 
 will find constancy an exploded idea. It does not 
 coincide with our nineteenth-century notions. A 
 week is generally too long for such a thing to last." 
 
 " I hope I shall never grow old," exclaimed 
 Grisel, warmly. 
 
 " I hope you never will ; but I fear a year after 
 this you will echo my sentiments." 
 
 " But a promise ! I never could break a pro- 
 mise. Could you, Tom .?" 
 
 " Cela depends. I wouldn't answer for myself" 
 
 " I would," she said. " I would never break my 
 word willingly." 
 
 " I have heard such things before," Jack said ; 
 " and yet, Miss Romney, a week is a long test for 
 our humanity to stand." 
 
 " Are you a cynic, Mr. Hunt } If so, and we are 
 to be friends, you must forget about it for the next 
 two days. Remember, I am holding Eve's apple 
 only in my hand. Do not make me taste it yet. 
 I do not wish to find out the ashes. I will not do 
 it, in fact ; so you need not try to open my eyes." 
 
 " The knowledge must come sooner or later ; it 
 is not such a sharp awakening if you get over it 
 early. It 's like teething, the sooner you are done 
 with it the better."
 
 l66 GRISEL ROMNEY. 
 
 " Much you know about teething," said Grisel, 
 laughing. 
 
 " Oh, don't I, when I have suffered agonies with 
 my wisdom teeth !" 
 
 " You do not mean to tell me seriously, Mr. 
 Hunt, that you really have got your wisdom 
 teeth ? I should not have thought it." 
 
 Tom gave a low whistle of amusement. 
 
 Jack regarded the girl between them with an 
 increase of curiosity. 
 
 " Don't cut your wisdom teeth too soon. Miss 
 Romney ; you are happier without them." 
 
 Four hours later the party were assembling in the 
 drawing-room. Jack was ready early, and expected 
 to be the first on the scene ; but Grisel was already 
 there, fluttering about in a fever of excitement. 
 
 " I do wish they would be quick ; I am so afraid 
 we shall be late." 
 
 " The omnibus is not here yet, so you need not 
 make yourself unhappy. Miss Romney. Are these 
 real or artificial ?" he asked, touching the white 
 heath and fern which nestled amongst the clouds 
 of airy tulle." 
 
 " Real," she answered, " they were sent to me an 
 hour ago, with this. Isn't it lovely ? " 
 
 She held up the perfectly pure Covent Garden 
 bouquet, almost heavy from the smell of Cape 
 jasmine and rare exotics.
 
 BEGUN IN BITTERNESS. 167 
 
 " It is beautiful. What happiness to have a 
 great friend, Miss Romney !" 
 
 " It was very good of Reggie sending it to me ; 
 but why do you speak so oddly about him, as if 
 you hardly believed he were my friend V 
 
 " Because I think friendship a snare and a delu- 
 sion. Your nearest and dearest are often foes in 
 disguise." 
 
 " Some one must have used you very ill once 
 upon a time. I am very sorry for you, Mr. Hunt." 
 
 " Oh dear, no. Miss Grisel ! In a few years you 
 will know it is the creed of half the world, and it is 
 an evil easily rectified — have plenty of friends ; so 
 when the time-being beloved one fails, select the 
 next best to supply his place. These fair-weather 
 friends are easily got ; the thing becomes nearly 
 impossible when clouds are about." 
 
 " If I were to judge you by your description of 
 yourself, I should dislike you very much, and still 
 somehow I don't." 
 
 "Don't you.?" he said, smiling at her candid 
 opinion. " I hope you will keep your favourable 
 impressions.'* 
 
 " And prove there is such a thing as friendship," 
 she answered. " I am ready to fulfil my half; but, 
 remember, if you are going to take me up as a 
 friend, I will not stand being put aside in ten days 
 or a fortnight."
 
 l68 GRISEL ROMNEY. 
 
 " All right ; then I submit to your conditions, 
 and I, on my part, promise not to be the first to 
 tire of the bargain. My experience tells me that 
 you will give in first." 
 
 " Now, Mr. Hunt, I will not allow one of my 
 friends to speak so. I will have no sarcastic 
 remarks made, at any rate this evening." 
 
 "What are you two about.?" asked Tom, 
 sauntering into the room at the moment. 
 
 " Swearing an eternal friendship, Tom," said 
 Grisel. " Look what I have got for my boy. Let 
 me put it in for you ?" 
 
 Grisel stood on tiptoe and pinned it in the 
 button-hole for Tom. 
 
 " Thanks, Grisette. A sister is even better than 
 a friend. Hunt. I have fared better than you." 
 
 " Mr. Hunt shall have one also, if he cares for it. 
 I did not think he would." 
 
 " What made you think that, Miss Romney ? 
 It would give me pleasure to wear one if you will 
 put it in for me." 
 
 " I thought you were not in humour for flowers," 
 she answered ; " but I am glad you like them."
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 ORANGE BLOSSOMS. 
 
 LADY MAINWARING stood at the door 
 ^ receiving her guests. Not at all a beautiful 
 woman, and yet her son watched her proudly ; he 
 thought she held her own amongst the matrons 
 present. He had told her to wear her black velvet 
 and diamonds, and she did it, because he always 
 got his own way, she said. 
 
 A perfect type of a high-bred woman, she never 
 showed to more advantage than in her own home 
 putting everyone at their ease. " Lady Mainwaring 
 is a charming hostess," was an often-repeated 
 verdict. 
 
 "Has she come yet, Mother?" Reggie asked. 
 He had been obliged to abandon his watch-post at 
 the door, and feared, in the interval, he had missed 
 the Romneys. 
 
 " Not yet, Reggie ; but they cannot be long now. 
 I asked Sybil to come early." 
 
 M
 
 I/O GRISEL ROMXEY. 
 
 Meanwhile, Grisel was beginning to look very 
 shy as she passed through the brightly-lighted 
 passages on her way to the ball-room. Suddenly, 
 her hand was clasped in a very warm pressure. 
 
 " Here you are at last. The first dance is ours, 
 you know. The music is just beginning, and you 
 must come to open the ball." 
 
 He led her up to his mother with an air of 
 possession. " Here she is, Mother." 
 
 " How do you do, Grisel ? I am very glad to see 
 you again. Where are the rest of your party ?" 
 
 " Reggie met us in the passage, and hurried me 
 away from them. Have I done wrong in leaving 
 them.?" 
 
 " No, dear child ; you are quite safe with Reggie. 
 Now go and enjoy yourself; you know this is all 
 in your honour." 
 
 Round and round flew Grisel ; dancing came to 
 her almost by inspiration. She uttered an excla- 
 mation of intense enjoyment as they stopped. 
 
 " Let us go into the conservatory. La Grise ; we 
 can rest there for a few minutes. You must not 
 tire yourself at first ; and besides, I have not seen 
 you yet." 
 
 " I am not a bit tired, Le Gris ; but, if you like, 
 we may sit down for a minute or two. Only, do 
 not go to the conservatory, as I do so like watching 
 everyone."
 
 ORANGE BLOSSOMS. 17I 
 
 They found a seat in one of the windows, and 
 Grisel pushed aside the muslin curtains that fell 
 between her and the dancers. 
 
 " Reggie, I did not think it could be half as nice 
 as this. If every ball is like it, how much I shall 
 enjoy them !" 
 
 " Are you pleased, La Grise .'* What dances will 
 you give me to-night ?" he said, raising the ball 
 card from her knee. Several w^ere already promised 
 to the home party, and Reggie took possession of 
 the remaining round ones. Grisel's satin slippers 
 tapped restlessly on the floor. 
 
 " We are wasting our time, Le Gris," she said. 
 
 He smiled at her impatience, but did not stop 
 again until the waltz was over. It was pretty 
 generally known that the dance was in honour of 
 Mr. Romney's youngest daughter ; so when, at last, 
 the music ceased, Grisel found herself surrounded 
 by many claimants for dances. 
 
 "Are you enjoying yourself, Grisel.^" asked 
 Sybil, passing at the moment. 
 
 " Very much. I am engaged for every dance^ 
 Where is Bryde ? — have you seen her ?" 
 
 " She is with Mr. Jerningham somewhere. Do 
 you wish to find her .?" 
 
 " Oh no ; only curiosity !" 
 
 The hours ran on. Grisel had never ceased 
 dancing, and the evening was nearly over. Mr.
 
 1/2 GRISEL ROMNEY. 
 
 Romney was getting restless, and spoke of going 
 home, but the Mainwarings would not hear of it. 
 Jack Hunt came up to claim a dance with Grisel, 
 and she escaped, laughing, from her father's expos- 
 tulations. 
 
 "Has it come up to your expectations?" he 
 asked. 
 
 "Far surpassed them. I have had a perfect 
 evening." 
 
 " I wonder how many years it will take before 
 you become blase. Do you think if we meet ten 
 years after this you will have grown weary ?" 
 
 "Ten years is such a long time off, I cannot tell. 
 I shall be twenty-seven by that time, nearly too 
 old to care for any fun ; and besides, you know, in 
 
 ten years I may be " 
 
 "Married!" 
 
 " I was going to say dead." 
 
 "My word is best," he answered. "Though, if 
 truth be spoken, I am not sure if yours is not the 
 happier ending." 
 
 " I shall not come to you, Mr. Hunt, for con- 
 gratulations when I am engaged. Only, that is in 
 all probability at such a remote period that even 
 our eternal friendship may have worn out." 
 
 " Why do you put your happiness at such a 
 distance.? You are still in the first wonder!" 
 "What do you mean V she asked.
 
 ORANGE BLOSSOMS. 173 
 
 " Do not you know a young lady's three wonders ? 
 From fifteen to twenty she wonders who she '11 
 marry ; from twenty to twenty-five, who will marry 
 her ; and from twenty-five to thirty, will she ever 
 be married at all." 
 
 Grisel broke into a laugh. 
 
 " You are very rude," she said. " Never mind, I 
 shall forgive you, provided you do not let any 
 more of this delicious waltz slip away." 
 
 " I beg your pardon ; I forgot you came entirely 
 for the dancing, Miss Romney." 
 
 " I have found out that dancing is not the only 
 nice part of a ball," she said ; " but I like a judicious 
 mixture." 
 
 " You look as if you had had enough of it for 
 one evening," Jack said, as shortly afterwards he 
 led her to a seat. 
 
 " Yes, I am very tired now. It is nice to rest." 
 
 " I see your father in the distance with your 
 sisters ; I fear he is coming for you," Jack remarked. 
 
 " I vmst wait for one more dance ; I promised 
 to do so. Please, make Papa stay, Mr. Hunt." 
 
 Mr. Hunt went with the request, and in a 
 moment Reggie was at her side. 
 
 " Come, Grisette," he said, " this last is mine, you 
 know." 
 
 " I am so tired, Le Oris. Will you take me to 
 the conservatory now V*
 
 174 GRISEL ROMNEY. 
 
 Reggie looked at her anxiously. 
 
 " You have been doing too much. Come and 
 have some champagne, and then I will find a com- 
 fortable place where you may rest." 
 
 She laid her hand obediently on his arm — she 
 was too tired to remonstrate — and soon she found 
 herself in the corner of a sofa amongst the 
 flowers. 
 
 " Do you remember the last afternoon we were 
 together, La Grise ?" Reggie asked. 
 
 " Yes, of course I do ! When you rowed me up 
 the river. How lovely it was ! How I enjoyed 
 it!" 
 
 " If I come to-morrow to the manor, will you 
 come out on the river again, and renew old days .''" 
 
 He asked the question eagerly, and Grisel turned 
 upon him a pair of laughing eyes. 
 
 " I do not think I will," she said. 
 
 "Why.?" 
 
 " You wish it too much." 
 
 "And suppose I do confess that I wish it very 
 much, is that a good reason for your saying no .''" 
 
 " Extremely. What people wish they ought 
 not to get. I am growing wise, Le Oris, with 
 advancing years." 
 
 " You must promise you will come ; you are not 
 going to refuse my only request to-night, La 
 Grise.?"
 
 ORANGE BLOSSOMS. 1/5 
 
 " For shame ! Is that generous ? And some- 
 how I think you have been making requests all 
 this evening which you have had gratified ; so I 
 will not promise. What is that delicious scent.''" 
 she added, starting up from her seat and going in 
 search of the plant whose fragrance had attracted 
 her. Reggie followed her. 
 
 " It must be somewhere near. How sweet the 
 air is all around !" 
 
 "You are under it, La Grise," he said, smiling. 
 
 She looked up at the plant growing beside her ; 
 the blossoms were above her reach. 
 
 " What is it, Le Gris ? Do gather me a spray." 
 
 He mounted on the chair beside her, and broke 
 two of the creamy bunches of blossoms. 
 
 " Let me put it in your hair," he said, nestling 
 one of the sprays lightly amongst her coils. He 
 stood back a moment admiring his work. " Now 
 your dress is perfected, my queen." 
 
 " What have you done, Le Gris } How can you 
 be so foolish ! What is it ? Give me the other 
 spray." 
 
 She held up her hands to try and snatch it from 
 him, but he held it far out of her reach. 
 
 " I cannot give you this ; I am going to keep it. 
 Perhaps I will let you have it some day. Your 
 piece is in your hair." 
 
 "Oh, Reggie, you should not have done it!" she
 
 176 GRISEL ROMXEY. 
 
 exclaimed, as, disentangling the flower from her 
 hair, she discovered what it was. " Orange blossom 
 is only meant for a bride. I have no right to 
 wear it." 
 
 " Never mind, La Grise. I could not help it ; it 
 was all your dress wanted. Let it stay there for 
 to-night." 
 
 "How silly you are, Le Gris!" but she did not 
 stop him, as once more he arranged the blossoms 
 in her hair. 
 
 " We must go back to Papa," she said. " It is 
 time for us to go home." 
 
 " Wait a little longer ; they will come for 
 you when they wish to go. I wish to hear 
 all about yourself What have you been doing 
 lately r 
 
 "At school, nothing but improving my mind; 
 since I came home, nothing interesting, except 
 that Mr. Hunt and I are going to be friends." 
 
 " What happiness for him, La Grise ! And how 
 long is the friendship to last ? To eternity, I 
 suppose ?" 
 
 " Oh, yes ! I made him understand I was not to 
 be dropped whenever he was tired of me, and he 
 aays I shall probably tire first. But really, Le 
 Gris, we must go now." 
 
 " You have not yet given me a promise that you 
 will come on the river to-morrow."
 
 ORANGE BLOSSOMS. 1 7/ 
 
 '' How can I ? My time Is not my own. Remem- 
 ber, we have visitors staying with us. I must 
 consult their wishes." 
 
 "And make them your own, I suppose. It is 
 quite natural, La Grise, that your new friends 
 should take up your time." 
 
 " Reggie, listen to me, and do not be so foolish. 
 You speak as if you thought my new friends were 
 going to push the old ones aside ; but you are 
 absolutely mistaken ; nothing can ever make me 
 different to you. Remember, we have been like 
 brother and sister for years. I will come with you 
 on the river to-morrow ; but you must not speak 
 like that again, for you hurt me." 
 
 " Do I, child } I did not mean to do so. Come 
 away, little sister, then. Your father is making 
 signs for you." 
 
 " Good night, Reggie," said Grisel, as he put her 
 safely in the carriage. " I have had such a happy 
 evening. Thank you for it." 
 
 They were all very tired and sleepy, and 
 the drive home was a silent one. They had 
 not far to go, and the two miles were quickly 
 passed. 
 
 Grisel was the last to leave the carriage, and 
 Jack stood at the door to help her to alight. 
 
 " You have enjo}^ed yourself very much, have 
 you not y
 
 178 GRISEL ROMNEY. 
 
 " Yes, intensely," she answered, and passed him 
 into the house. She turned before leaving the 
 entrance hall ; his voice attracted her. 
 
 " Here are some of your flowers, Miss Romncy," 
 he said. 
 
 " Thank you so much. It must have dropped 
 out of my hair. Reggie put it in this evening. 
 He cannot have fastened it very firmly." 
 
 " It is orange blossom," he said, as he gave it 
 into her hand and met her laughing eyes. 
 
 " Is it ? Thank you for telling me." Her eyes 
 met his quite frankly. " Good night — or rather 
 good morning," she said, and ran upstairs. 
 
 Jack turned from the doorway and lit his cigar. 
 The morning was delicious ; the sun had risen and 
 flooded everything in light. He strolled along the 
 pathway. He was alone — the rest of the party 
 had gone to their rooms. 
 
 A scene of the past rose to his mind ; not so 
 very far distant either. A garden terrace. A girl 
 dressed in white, with neck and arms snowy as 
 Grisel's. The time early morning, the sun just 
 risen, the birds awaking. She, too, had passed 
 from him, leaving him alone outside. Grisel he 
 would meet fresh and bright at breakfast next 
 morning. What of that other.? His brow con- 
 tracted for a moment ; he kicked a pebble sharply 
 from his path.
 
 ORANGE blosso:ms. 1/9 
 
 " I am a fool ! Why cannot I forget her ?" he 
 exclaimed. 
 
 " Because you never will," answered a voice from 
 somewhere. He started. Was it only his own 
 conviction making itself thus loudly heard ? 
 
 " I am determined to forget. I will take her 
 own way of doing so. Surely there is more than 
 one woman in the world, though coronets may not 
 be plentiful as blackberries." 
 
 " You will make no other woman love you, you 
 have given yourself so completely away. You will 
 find it impossible." His thoughts argued on, 
 utterly regardless of their disturbing influences. 
 " Wait with patience ; things may yet come right. 
 ' Marry in haste, repent at leisure,' says an old 
 axiom." 
 
 " I will not wait," he muttered. " If I find out 
 sooner or later that I have made a mistake, so will 
 she. I may not make another woman love me — 
 so much the better. Another woman might 
 deceive me. A child is different — she would not 
 demand the same kind of devotion. Some wise 
 man or woman once wrote, ' What chains so 
 unworthy to hold you as those of a vain regret.' 
 I endorse the sentiment, and will begin in earnest 
 to-morrow. They are sweet, laughing eyes," he 
 mused, " and might shine very brightly for some 
 one. I have a rival in the shape of the great friend
 
 l80 GRISEL ROMNEY. 
 
 who, with wonderful boldness, decks his lady with 
 orange blossom. But she cares for no one yet — 
 quite unbroken soil, something not often found." 
 Jack laughed unpleasantly. " I did not think I 
 would be reduced to poaching, but it is the only 
 cure I can think of, and forget her I will." 
 
 " Promise me that you will always trust me 
 whatever I do. Remember I have told you that I 
 love you." The words echoed through and through 
 him. Lenore's tones of entreaty rang in his ears. 
 
 It was easy enough to say forget, but he could 
 not. 
 
 Of what use was it in Lenore to have told him 
 that she loved him ; her often-repeated assurances 
 only made the course she had taken more utterly 
 inexplicable. He went over it again — how, the 
 morning after his meeting with her in the water- 
 colour exhibition, he had presented himself at 
 Prince's Gate, not without qualms as to his recep- 
 tion by Sir James, but sure of Lenore herself; and 
 how, on asking for an interview, the man-servant, 
 commanding and gracious, had given him a note — 
 " Sir James was particularly engaged with Lord 
 Meredith, and had explained all to Mr. Hunt in the 
 note." Jack turned from the door, and hurriedly 
 broke open the letter. There, in terms of extreme 
 civility. Sir James informed Mr. Hunt that he had 
 regretted being unable to favour him with an
 
 ORANGE BLOSSOMS. l8l 
 
 interview. Circumstances had arisen which made 
 it utterly impossible that the subject on which 
 Mr. Hunt had spoken to his daughter the previous 
 day could ever go any farther. His daughter 
 knew and approved of the steps he was taking. 
 Mr. Hunt would see at once that it would be 
 extremely painful for Miss Fenton that they should 
 again meet. 
 
 So this was the stone he received on asking for 
 bread. He made up his mind that he and Lenore 
 should meet again, and they had done so. The 
 result is already known. Sir James had never told 
 his daughter that Jack Hunt's dismissal had been 
 conveyed to him in the way it was. 
 
 Jack's cigar was finished. He went into the 
 house. A housemaid met him in the lobby 
 unbarring the shutters, and letting in daylight. 
 He must have smoked more than one cigar, he 
 thought. The clock struck six, and they had 
 reached home soon after four.
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 ETERNAL FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 YT was the afternoon of the following day. A 
 A general disinclination to exertion was making 
 itself felt. 
 
 The men were lounging about in chairs with the 
 newspapers. Nobody exactly knew what the three 
 girls were doing. 
 
 It was a brilliant summer. July had just come 
 in, bringing with it heat not often experienced in 
 Britain. Everything was gasping in the sunshine ; 
 not a breath of air abroad. 
 
 Reggie Main waring was just starting for the 
 manor; he was to find Grisel at the old meeting- 
 place. Grisel was there already. She was sitting 
 in the swing, lazily rocking herself to and fro by 
 the aid of one small foot which just touched the 
 ground. Her holland dress and shady hat made 
 her look even more of a child than usual. Her 
 thoughts were far away ; she was going over again
 
 ETERNAL FRIENDSHIP. 1 83 
 
 last night's experiences. Certainly she had enjoyed 
 herself, far, far more than she could have believed 
 possible. 
 
 Jack had come down in the morning determined 
 to amuse himself with Grisel, yet somehow he had 
 done nothing yet. It was too hot, or he was too 
 lazy, he could not tell which. 
 
 He put down his newspaper at last, and dragged 
 himself out of his easy chair. 
 
 " What is everybody going to do .?" he asked. 
 
 " Fish," Tom answered ; " but not for another 
 hour or two yet. Will you come with me .''" 
 
 " No, I don't think so. What does your mind 
 give you to, Phil r' 
 
 " Exertion of no kind," yawned Phil. " I should 
 think that a stroll and a cigar will about exhaust 
 my powers. Where are your sisters, Tom .^" 
 
 " Somewhere about. I dare say you will easily 
 find them. Mainwaring usually turns up in the 
 afternoon. I suppose he will be with them now." 
 
 " This will never do," Jack thought. " If I don't 
 look sharp, I shall not have the ghost of a 
 chance." 
 
 He sauntered into the garden and looked round. 
 In the distance he saw the flutter of a lady's dress 
 among the beech trees. He turned his steps in 
 the direction. It was Grisel in the swing, and she 
 was alone.
 
 1 84 GRISEL ROMNEY. 
 
 She did not hear his footstep on the turf, and 
 turned with a start when she heard his voice. 
 
 " You have found a very shady retreat, Miss 
 Romney. May I enjoy the cool also, and invade 
 your solitude?" 
 
 " Certainly, if you like ; but you will have it all 
 to yourself soon. I am waiting for some one who 
 will be here immediately." 
 
 " What a romantic trysting-place for any faithful 
 swain ! Who is the Corydon .?" 
 
 " Think of calling Reggie a Corydon ! And 
 certainly I am no Thyrsis." 
 
 *' You are waiting for Reggie, then. Very wrong 
 of Reggie being unpunctual. Punish him by not 
 waiting. Do come and show me some of your 
 beauties." 
 
 " I wish I could," said Grisel, " but I promised." 
 
 " Very well ; it would be bad policy in me to try 
 and make you break your promise, for you would 
 do the same to me another day. I will sit here 
 and keep you company till the faithless Reggie 
 appears." 
 
 '*0h, do! I shall like that!" Jack found a 
 comfortable tree stump ; he had made up his mind 
 to begin his acquaintance at once. 
 
 " Do you remember your promise of last 
 night.?" 
 
 " That we were to be friends .?" she asked.
 
 ETERNAL FRIENDSHIP. l8S 
 
 " Yes. Do you still feel inclined to keep to it, 
 Miss Romney ? Has daylight made no difference, 
 or will you really take me in hand .''" 
 
 " Why should daylight make a difference ? I am 
 just as anxious now as I was last night. I want a 
 real friend so much." 
 
 " You forget the faithless one." 
 
 " Reggie is different. We aren't like that. I say 
 anything that comes uppermost to him." 
 
 " I wish you would say anything that comes 
 uppermost to me. Do you know, Miss Romney, I 
 wish you would treat me like Reggie ? Scold me 
 as you do him, that is what I want you to do." 
 
 " You would not like it," she said. " He doesn't 
 at all. In fact, if anyone else said the same things 
 to him, he would not stand it." 
 
 " Well, you have proved I am right. If he keeps 
 his temper, so can I — in fact, far better ; for a man 
 is much more likely to keep his temper with a girl 
 he has seen very little, and really likes, than with 
 a girl whom he has treated as a sister all his 
 life." 
 
 " Now you are growing sensible, Mr. Hunt. I 
 thought I was never going to make you under- 
 stand about Reggie and me, for he is so exactly 
 like my brother that it makes things quite 
 different." 
 
 There was silence for a few minutes, broken at 
 
 N
 
 1 86 GRISEL ROMNEY. 
 
 last by Grisel. " I wonder why it was you took 
 me up, Mr. Hunt, and not either Sybil or Bryde, 
 because I am afraid when you get to know me a 
 little better you will be sorry," 
 
 " I think that I am best judge of that ; but 
 why?" 
 
 " Because you will find there is very little to 
 know. Of course I may improve after I have gone 
 out a little, but in the meanwhile I am a perfect 
 ignoramus." 
 
 "And are Sybil and Bryde deep in this world's 
 lore ? They might give you hints. It is hardly 
 fair, is it, that they should keep all their know- 
 ledge to themselves .?" 
 
 " They do their best. But Aunt Griselda says 
 that I will gain sense as I grow older ; that such 
 things must always be taught by experience." 
 
 " Aunt Griselda is a wise woman. And so you 
 are going to keep your eyes open, and learn the 
 lessons of experience. They are not always 
 pleasant." 
 
 " I am very anxious to know all I ought to 
 know, because everyone says I am such a child. 
 Of course I am very sorry that I must give up all 
 the fun. But I suppose I shall soon get into the 
 way of being a woman, though it is odd at first. 
 Do you think if I try very hard, and pick up all 
 the scraps of information I can, and really am
 
 ETERNAL FRIENDSHIP. 1 8/ 
 
 quiet and self-possessed, that in a year after this I 
 will pass tolerably well for grown up — not only 
 come out, but grown up enough for people to care 
 to speak to me ? What do you think about it, Mr. 
 Hunt, looking at it seriously, for I am so anxious 
 about it.?" 
 
 " Seriously, then, I think even now some people 
 might care to speak to you." 
 
 " To chatter, yes ; but to converse, no. Aunt 
 Griselda says that it is a great thing for a woman 
 to be able to converse agreeably." 
 
 " Your Aunt Griselda is your oracle. Are you 
 named after her V 
 
 " Oh no ! she and I are both called after the 
 same person — Griselda de Grey. It 's a long story, 
 and a very sad one." Grisel stopped short. " I 
 wonder when the others are coming.?" 
 
 " Are you getting tired. Miss Romney .? Won't 
 you tell me about Griselda de Grey, and how you 
 bear her name.?" 
 
 " Have you been in what we call the four aunts 
 gallery yet .?" 
 
 " No ; but if you like I will go at once, and 
 having seen it, come back and hear its history." 
 
 " Oh, it doesn't signify. I will show it to you 
 when we go in. There is an oak gallery at one 
 end of the hall, and the panels are divided into 
 four spaces so as to form frames for four large
 
 1 88 GRISEL ROMNEY. 
 
 pictures. They are filled with life-sized portraits 
 of Dorothy, Sybil, Bridget, and Grisel, the 
 daughters of my great-great-grandfather. I do 
 not know what became of Sybil and Bryde, but 
 Dorothy died, and that is why none of us are 
 called Dorothy. Then Griselda, or Grisel, as she 
 was called, had a strange story. She had her 
 fortune told her once by a spaewife, and it was 
 that she would never be married unless it were to 
 change her name to that of Grey, and that for all 
 generations of the Romneys everyone named 
 Grisel must do the same. Poor Grisel was in love 
 with some one else, but when Lord de Grey asked 
 her father for her hand he said 'yes,' and so she 
 married Lord de Grey and was very unhappy. I 
 think it would have been better if she had 
 remained unmarried, for the spaewife gave her 
 that alternative ; so you see Aunt Griselda has 
 never married, because no one of the name of Grey 
 ever turned up." 
 
 " But you don't believe in a spaewife's fable, do 
 you ?" 
 
 " Not exactly ; still it would be odd if it hap- 
 pened to me." 
 
 " I don't think it will happen again ; the third 
 generation usually breaks the spell. And you 
 know no one of the name of Grey }" 
 
 " Not yet," she answered, laughing ; " but I have
 
 ETERNAL FRIENDSHIP. 189 
 
 not had much time. The nearest approach to it is 
 Reggie. I always call him Le Gris." 
 
 "And Reggie is quite agreeable, I have no 
 doubt. You are going to be released from your 
 tite-d-tete at last ; I am afraid I hear voices." 
 
 " I am almost sorry. I have enjoyed our talk. 
 It was very good of you to come and cheer my 
 solitude. Reggie's mother must have detained 
 him. His father suffers from gout, and late hours 
 do not agree with him ; so after last night very 
 likely he is ill, and Reggie must do all the business 
 and letter-writing." 
 
 " What an exemplary son ! Yes, I was right ; 
 we are to be disturbed." 
 
 Through the wood came Bryde, followed by Mr. 
 Jerningham and Tom. 
 
 " So you are here, Grisel. I have been looking 
 for you. Here are letters." 
 
 Bryde tossed the post-bag on the turf, and began 
 dispensing its contents. 
 
 " What it is to be a man of business, Mr. Hunt. 
 They are all for you. No, there is a newspaper 
 for you, Mr. Jerningham, and a letter for Miss 
 Griselda. It 's from Aunt Sybil. What does she 
 say .?" 
 
 Jack was buried in his various communications. 
 Grisel's was a closely written sheet ; she did not at 
 once answer her sister's question.
 
 I90 GRISEL ROMNEY. 
 
 " I am left quite out in the cold," Bryde said, 
 "for even Tom has received some kind of a 
 missive." 
 
 "You shall have mine. Miss Romney," said 
 Philip, as, unfolding his paper, he handed it to 
 Bryde. 
 
 "Thank you. Now I will read you some 
 extracts. I do so like to be usefully employed." 
 
 It was one of the well-known vehicles of informa- 
 tion of which there are so many in the present 
 day, dealing largely in the on dits of the upper ten 
 thousand. 
 
 " ' We hear that a well-known prelate of our 
 church,' " read Bryde, " ' has at last taken the fatal 
 step. There must be rejoicing in Rome over 
 another sinner that hath repented.' " 
 
 " That 's not very interesting," said Tom. " Try 
 again, Bryde." 
 
 " ' It 's commonly reported in racing circles that 
 the winner of the Oaks 
 
 "Yes, that is better. Go ahead, Bryde!" Tom 
 interrupted. 
 
 " I don't approve of horse-racing ; so, if you 
 wish for the information, you must read it for your- 
 self afterwards." 
 
 " No other gossip, Miss Romney, that will not 
 shock your principles 1 Give it to me, and I will 
 look."
 
 ETERNAL FRIENDSHIP. IQI 
 
 " No, no, Mr. Jerningham ; patience a moment. 
 I may find something universally interesting. 
 Yes, here is a conundrum for you all to solve ; 
 some of you may be able to throw light on 
 it. 
 
 "*A noble earl of our acquaintance, who has 
 travelled much, and is more especially known to 
 our readers through his far-famed collection of arts, 
 has at last determined to take unto himself a wife. 
 His future father-in-law has catered well for his 
 daughter. Money is scarce in these days, we 
 know ; it will be a relief to his feelings that his 
 son-in-law has plenty. A mail phaeton may be 
 seen any day, with its pair of splendid roans, 
 drawing up at a pleasant villa in Brighton, and 
 the noble earl is seen, soon after, either taking 
 his future countess or papa-in-law for a seaside 
 airing.' " 
 
 Philip instinctively glanced at Jack Hunt. He 
 might never have heard what was read, or perhaps 
 his ideas did not jump to the conclusion Philip's 
 had done. 
 
 " I will solve it for you soon," Grisel said. 
 "Aunt Sybil wishes two of us to go down to 
 Brighton next week to stay with them, and I shall 
 look out for the roans and let you know the 
 result." 
 
 "An idea has struck me," Bryde remarked.
 
 192 GRISEL ROMNEY. 
 
 " Do you remember the beautiful Miss Fenton we 
 saw at the opera, Grisette ? Mr. Jerningham told 
 us then that she might marry the man beside her 
 if she chose ; and he was an earl, I think." 
 
 " I hope it is not true, I took such a fancy to 
 her ; she is the most beautiful woman I ever 
 saw." 
 
 "When you are as old as I am, Grisette, my 
 dear," said Tom, " you will have learnt one of this 
 world's sad lessons, that appearances are often 
 deceitful." 
 
 " Mr. Jerningham, what do you think } You 
 know Miss Fenton ; she is a friend of yours. Is 
 not she too nice to marry a man old enough for 
 her grandfather ?" 
 
 " Yes, I know her, Miss Romney ; and if she 
 does marry Lord Meredith, I feel certain that it 
 will be for some good reason." 
 
 Jack looked up from the letter he was reading ; 
 they thought he was not listening to what passed. 
 
 " Miss Fenton is going to marry Lord Meredith. 
 I have it on the best authority. She told me so 
 herself ten days ago." 
 
 Phil gave a low whistle of astonishment. 
 
 " There, Grisette, you see I am right," exclaimed 
 Bryde, triumphantly ; but Grisel had turned to 
 Jack, and quick tears had come into her eyes. 
 
 " Oh ! Mr. Hunt, why did you tell me ? I did
 
 ETERNAL FRIENDSHIP. I93 
 
 admire her so, and she did not look as if she cared 
 for Lord Meredith." 
 
 "You are a warm partisan, Miss Romney ; a 
 friend such as you are is worth having." 
 
 He was seated very near her, and no one heard 
 the remark. Through the wood came the sound 
 of whistling, followed soon after by Reggie and 
 his two dogs. 
 
 "How comfortable you all look!" he said. 
 " What are you talking about .?" 
 
 He was going to seat himself among them, but 
 Grisel interposed. 
 
 " Le Gris, if you are to row me up to the island, 
 we must go. It is late already." 
 
 " Doesn't it bore you, La Grise ? Don't come 
 unless you wish it." 
 
 " Of course I wish it. I have been waiting for 
 you here for an hour." 
 
 " I will verify Miss Romney 's statement," Jack 
 said, " and very dull she would have been if I had 
 not been here to wile away the time." 
 
 " Come away, then. La Grise." The two passed 
 out of the group. 
 
 " May I go on the river with you to-morrow, 
 Miss Romney, as you would not show me its 
 beauties to-day.^" Jack made the above remark 
 to Grisel just as she was leaving. 
 
 " Yes, willingly. I will not forget."
 
 194 
 
 GRISEL ROMNEY. 
 
 " Are you sure, La Grise, that you do not mind 
 coming ?" Reggie asked, as soon as they were out 
 of earshot. 
 
 " I have been looking forward to it ever since 
 last night ; it is like old days. It is so jolly being 
 at home again. I am happier than I can tell you." 
 
 " Because, child, I quite understand that you 
 must have many more demands on your time now. 
 You must always say 'no' if you do not wish to 
 come." 
 
 " I promise," she said ; " but 'yes' is what I want 
 to say this afternoon."
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 THE NEW LOVE AND THE OLD. 
 
 " QYBIL, do you know how long Mr. Hunt is 
 
 ^-> going to remain here ?" 
 
 Mr. Romney and his daughter were alone to- 
 gether in his study. Ten days had passed since 
 the dance; Jack had only come for two. Mr. 
 Romney made the two men very welcome, and 
 time passed almost unconsciously. 
 
 " I cannot tell at all. Has it struck you that he 
 has a reason in staying.?" 
 
 " That was what I wanted to know about, Sybil. 
 I thought perhaps I was fanciful, and yet " 
 
 " She is very young, father, and it would be 
 dreadfully hard to part with her so soon." 
 
 " All the same, Syb, we must think of her 
 happiness ; you know I cannot last for ever. I 
 am getting on now, and would like to see you all 
 happily settled before I go. It is a lone thing for 
 a woman, Sybil, to be in the world without some
 
 196 GRISEL ROMNEY. 
 
 good fellow to look after her ; and though I wish it 
 had been the other end of the string that he had 
 begun at, still your mother was no older than 
 Grisel is now when I married her." 
 
 Sybil left the room in search of her sisters. 
 There had been some talk of a riding party to 
 visit some distant ruins, but nothing was definitely 
 settled. 
 
 She found them together discussing plans, but 
 unable to settle anything till she heard from their 
 father. 
 
 " Mr. Hunt wishes so much to go to the old 
 Abbey. I promised him we should do it if we 
 could. You think we may go ? Do say yes, Sybil, 
 to please me." 
 
 " Will it please you very much, Grisette, if I do 
 say yes .? Will it be a great disappointment to 
 Mr. Hunt to give up the plan .?" 
 
 Sybil could not help glancing at Grisel, and saw 
 the tell-tale colour come up into her face. 
 
 " We should all be disappointed, Sybil. Should 
 not we, Bryde.'*" 
 
 " I shall answer for two of the party, Mr. 
 Jerningham and myself, as we have laid a plan of 
 coming home across the fields. He wants to see 
 Ladybird take that water-leap. I told him what a 
 capital huntress she would make." 
 
 " Now, Sybil, you see we must go. Remember,
 
 THE NEW LOVE AND THE OLD. 197 
 
 our days are numbered. I heard Mr. Hunt saying 
 something about a letter he received yesterday 
 which takes him back to town immediately, so we 
 had better make hay while the sun shines." 
 
 "Is Reggie to be one of the party.?" asked 
 Sybil. 
 
 " Not to-day," answered Grisel, " he said he 
 might have an engagement. Did you hear his 
 regiment was under orders for India ? He only 
 got warning ten days ago, but he forgot to tell me 
 till yesterday. Lady Mainwaring is in despair, for, 
 now Sir Roger is so often ill, Reggie does every- 
 thing for her. He has not heard yet when they 
 sail ; but he says that his leave will probably be 
 cut short, and he may have to join at a day's 
 notice, and perhaps not be able to be here again." 
 
 " Poor Lady Mainwaring ! How she will miss 
 him !" Bryde said. 
 
 " More than anyone," answered Grisel. Tom's 
 voice was heard outside. " I will let them know 
 about this afternoon," she continued, and went 
 into the garden. Bryde and Sybil looked at each 
 other. 
 
 " Does it not seem strange that a day should 
 pass without Le Oris being here !" said the former. 
 
 " Poor Le Oris/' said Sybil. " He knows things 
 are changed. I am glad his regiment is ordered 
 to India."
 
 198 GRISEL ROMNEY. 
 
 So Jack's intentions were pretty well guessed at 
 by all the family but Grisel herself, and it never 
 entered her head. She was intensely happy, 
 because everything around conduced to make her 
 so. Mr. Hunt's constant attentions were not 
 unnoticed by her; on the contrary, they added 
 greatly to her enjoyment. It was such a perfectly 
 new sensation to find her will law to some one so 
 much wiser, cleverer, older than herself; and Jack 
 had made good use of his time in his ten days' 
 acquaintanceship. 
 
 Lenore's marriage with Lord Meredith had been 
 formally announced several times among fashion- 
 able alliances ; it was to take place early in autumn. 
 " She seems to take a delight in the fact that 
 everyone should know what a desirable thing she 
 has done for herself" was Jack's unreasoning con- 
 clusion. How much he had built his hopes on 
 something happening to put things right he did 
 not even guess until the announcement came to his 
 ears, and then the amount of hope which it for- 
 ever crushed added greatly to his soreness in being 
 such a fool as to care. 
 
 Grisel's irresistible loveableness was perfect 
 balsam to his wounded feelings. 
 
 He thought her very charming that afternoon 
 when, mounted on her " thoroughbred," she rode 
 through the woods at his side. It was no humbug.
 
 THE NEW LOVE AND THE OLD. 1 99 
 
 He had worked himself thoroughly into the con- 
 viction for the time being. 
 
 The ruins had been visited, and they were 
 returning slowly homewards. They had formed 
 into groups of three at first ; Jack, Grisel, and 
 Tom leading the way down the grassy bridle path, 
 the other three following at some little distance ; 
 but Tom soon dropped behind — he was finding his 
 position of third party not to his mind. 
 
 Grisel and Jack talked on ; she was asking what 
 he did in London — trying to pick up scraps of 
 information, she laughingly remarked. 
 
 " It is all for the same great purpose of becoming 
 a really well-informed woman. I think I am a 
 promising pupil, Mr. Hunt. I have made copious 
 notes of your words of wisdom ; perhaps by the 
 next time we meet, I may be able to impart infor- 
 mation to you." 
 
 "You may do that already," he answered. "Where 
 does this path lead to ? Shall we explore .?" 
 
 " Nowhere particular, only the dropping well ; 
 and if we go, the others will pass on without 
 knowing." 
 
 " Never mind the others ; I dare say we might 
 overtake them, and the path looks tempting." 
 
 It was very narrow, only room for one at a time. 
 They rode on in silence, Grisel leading. The well 
 was not far from the road, they were soon beside
 
 200 GRISEL ROMNEY. 
 
 it ; a great grey rock, over which the water dripped 
 incessantly into a deep, green pool, turning every- 
 thing to fossil around. 
 
 "Now, Mr. Hunt, wish your wish quickly," 
 Grisel exclaimed, "and do not tell me what it is, 
 or you will not get it." 
 
 " I have wished," he said ; " have you .'' " 
 
 " No ; for I have no wish unfulfilled. Let us go." 
 
 They turned their horses down the path again, 
 and joined the bridle path once more. 
 
 " Firefly has picked a stone, Mr. Hunt ; he is 
 going quite lame." But there was no stone, the 
 horse had evidently strained himself in their bit of 
 rough riding. 
 
 They rode on slowly for a couple of miles ; 
 presently Grisel halted. 
 
 "We are only a mile from home now. I am 
 going to lead Firefly, riding makes me miserable." 
 
 "Let us change saddles," Jack said, "and I will 
 lead your horse beside you." 
 
 " Yours will not carry a lady, and I do not mind 
 walking." 
 
 " We shall walk together then," he said, and so 
 they did. Through the trellis-work of boughs the 
 sun streamed with long evening shadows. It 
 lighted up Grisel's golden hair, and relieved the 
 otherwise sombre colouring of the dainty figure in 
 her faultless habit.
 
 THE NEW LOVE AND THE OLD. 201 
 
 She walked along lightly, switching the heads 
 of the flowers in the grass with her riding-whip. 
 
 "You are very silent to-day, Mr. Hunt," she said 
 at last. 
 
 " I was thinking," he answered. 
 
 "Thinking of getting back to your work .?" 
 
 " No ; of leaving my pleasure behind me. I 
 wonder if you have any idea how sorry I am 
 to go." 
 
 "I should be broken-hearted leaving the country," 
 she answered, " for a dingy town atmosphere." 
 
 " Town even is bearable if one has all one values 
 there ; but when I go, I shall leave what I most 
 value behind." 
 
 " Not your diamond studs, surely ; if so, leave 
 them to me." 
 
 The gravity of his voice had startled her into 
 flippancy. He looked at her and smiled, and then 
 he stopped his horse. Grisel, involuntarily, also 
 came to a standstill. 
 
 "Not my diamond studs. Miss Romney; they 
 are not my most valuable possession. You shall 
 have them if you like. What I most value is not 
 mine yet. Cannot you guess what I mean ?" 
 
 " How could I possibly ! Tell me ; and if it is 
 anything we can give you, you shall have it." 
 
 *' Grisel, have you no idea ? It is yourself I 
 want. Will you give t/iat to me }"
 
 202 GRISEL ROMXEY. 
 
 "What do you mean, Mr. Hunt ?" 
 
 " That 1 want you to be my wife, Grisette." 
 
 "But I should be such a child-wife, Mr. Hunt; 
 and besides, I do not think I am in love with you." 
 
 " But that will come ; and you don't dislike me, 
 Grisel." 
 
 " Oh no, I like you very much indeed ; better 
 almost than anybody ; but you would not wish me 
 to marry you yet ? I couldn't do it ; no, certainly 
 not yet. And besides, I think I had really better 
 say no at once." 
 
 " But I will not take no. Look here, Grisette," 
 he continued, taking her hands in his, "you said 
 you would be my friend ; and if I tell you I wish 
 you to be something much more than friend, and 
 that I shall be very miserable if you say no, will 
 not you say yes ? You need not marry me yet ; 
 and if you are sure you don't dislike me, but, on 
 the contrary, like me a little, I am content." 
 
 " Would you be miserable ? I should be sorry 
 for you then. Well, if Papa and Sybil think I 
 ought, I will say yes ! " 
 
 "Thank you, Grisette. Kow, just say after me, 
 ' Jack, I will be your wife,' and that is all." 
 
 She hesitated a moment ; but he held both of 
 her hands very firm in his, and the determination 
 of his manner awed her. Then she said the words 
 he had dictated —
 
 THE NEW LOVE AND THE OLD. 203 
 
 "Jack, I will be your wife !" and he stooped down 
 and kissed her lightly on the lips. 
 
 About an hour afterwards, a gentle knock came 
 at Sybil's door, and Grisel entered, still attired in 
 her riding habit. " Are you busy, Sybil dear ; or 
 may I talk to you a little .^" 
 
 " Not at all busy, La Grise. What is it you are 
 going to tell me ? May I guess ?" 
 
 Sybil was sitting in a low chair reading, and 
 Grisel sat down on a stool beside her. 
 
 " Don't guess," she exclaimed, turning away her 
 face from Sybil's questioning gaze. " Do you 
 think I have done right .^" 
 
 " If I may not guess, how am I to tell, Grisette ? 
 Some one who is going away to-morrow has asked 
 you a question, and you have said yes !" 
 
 " Not exactly ; I told him that I must ask you 
 and Papa first. Do you think I ought to say yes ? 
 He says — I mean Mr. Hunt — that he will be very 
 miserable if I say no ; and so I almost promised ; 
 in fact, I think I did quite promise ; but I could 
 unsay it if you think I am too young, or that he 
 would be disappointed in me afterwards ; only he 
 said he would be very unhappy, so I could hardly 
 help it." 
 
 " Would you be very unhappy ? That is what 
 you must think, Grisette dear." 
 
 " I like him very much, and if I had drawn lots,
 
 204 GRISEL ROMNEY. 
 
 I think I should have been sorry if it had come 
 no!" 
 
 " I think you were right, then, darling ; but what 
 a baby you are to run away from us all." 
 
 " I am not going to run away — for ages. I told 
 Mr. Hunt so. I would much rather never see him 
 again than that." 
 
 " Very well, Grisette ; but you must run away 
 now, it is close to dinner-time." 
 
 Grisel held up her mouth for a kiss before rising to 
 her feet. " Sybil dear, will you tell Papa V she said. 
 
 " So, Miss Griselda, you have had a nice after- 
 noon's work," said her father when she came into 
 the room at dinner-time. " God bless you, child ! 
 May you be as happy as your mother and I were !" 
 
 That was all that passed between father and 
 daughter. 
 
 Sybil was alone that evening, or, at least, nearly 
 so ; her father was in the room, but he had dropped 
 fast asleep. The rest of the party were in the 
 garden. Jack had claimed Grisel, and the other 
 three were sitting on the terrace, and their laughter 
 reached Sybil, where she sat in the broad window- 
 seat with her head resting against the shutter. 
 She was sad that night. Grisel's happiness had 
 stirred old memories — had taken her back to the 
 time when she was Grisel's age, and a bright future 
 was hers ; but the future never came, for death
 
 THE NEW LOVE AND THE OLD. 205 
 
 stepped in, and Sybil took to her easel, and was 
 not at all unhappy. Her sisters knew nothing of 
 it, they had been in the schoolroom then ; it was 
 far easier for her to live her life with her secret safe 
 than if the household had known it. There was a 
 sound of a footstep on the gravel ; it was getting 
 too dusk to distinguish faces, but the voice was 
 Reggie Mainwaring's. 
 
 " Sybil, are you alone ? May I come in ^ I 
 have come to say good-bye." 
 
 " You are not really going for good ? It is very 
 sudden. How we shall miss 3/ou !" 
 
 " Will you, Sybil ? Thank you so much for 
 saying it. I only got my orders this morning, and 
 have been so busy all day that I could not come 
 earlier ; but it was impossible to leave without 
 wishing you all good-bye. I start to-morrow 
 morning." 
 
 " Reggie, I must tell you something." 
 " You needn't, Sybil. I saw them in the garden." 
 " Dear old Le Gris, may I say how sorry I am .''" 
 " Is she happy, Sybil } Is he worthy of her ? If 
 so, the rest is of no consequence." 
 
 " What I know of him I like," she answered ; 
 " but I can hardly understand it yet ; it has been 
 all so sudden." 
 
 There was silence for a few minutes. Reggie 
 roused himself at last.
 
 206 GRISEL ROMNEY. 
 
 " I must say good-bye to them all, Sybil. I 
 hardly expect to be back before I sail." 
 
 They were soon gathered round, all except 
 Grisel and Jack. Mr. Romney woke with a start, 
 and wrung Reggie's hand warmly. Everyone 
 asked questions at the same time, and got no 
 answers. The noise was better far than a quiet 
 good-bye. Sybil's was the last hand-shake. 
 
 " I am going to the garden," Reggie said. " I 
 must see her before I go." 
 
 So he left the merry family party, and went to 
 face the ghost of his happiness. 
 
 He had no difficulty in finding them — they were 
 slowly wending their way home. Grisel was laugh- 
 ing and chattering. They, somehow, did not look 
 like lovers who had just arrived at a knowledge of 
 their own minds. Jack saw Reggie first ; Grisel 
 was engrossed with her argument. 
 
 " Here is your dear Le Gris, Grisette. What 
 has brought him at this hour ?" 
 
 Grisel started. " Oh, Reggie," she said, springing 
 forward; "you have never come to say good-bye.?" 
 
 "Yes, La Grise. I start to-morrow morning. 
 My departure is sudden, is it not .?" 
 
 Something in Reggie's face and the tone of his 
 voice made Jack Hunt turn away. He was sorry 
 for him, now that it was too late. He left them, 
 and went into the house.
 
 THE NEW LOVE AND THE OLD. 20/ 
 
 " How shall I ever get on without you, Le Gris ? 
 What a shame it is to give you such short notice." 
 
 " Will you miss me, La Grise ? I thought I was 
 to congratulate you. Your time will be fully 
 employed." 
 
 " You mean that I am engaged to Mr. Hunt ^ 
 But I shall miss you just as much. I shall hardly 
 know myself without you." The tears were in 
 her eyes, and her voice trembled, but she recovered 
 herself. " How long shall you be away, Reggie } 
 I shall keep my notch-stick, as in the old days." 
 
 " Three or four years, probably. You will be an 
 old married woman when I come back." 
 
 " Don't. I have not quite given my promise yet, 
 and, at any rate, it will not be for years. Will you 
 write to me, Reggie, and I will write to you ? You 
 will like to hear about us now and then." 
 
 " Yes, child, your letters will be very welcome. 
 But I must go now ; I promised my mother to be 
 home again soon." 
 
 " Good-bye, dear Le Gris. Remember to write 
 to me." 
 
 " God bless you, my queen ! May you be very 
 happy!" 
 
 Grisel slipped away to her own room and cried 
 like a child. Her dear old playmate was gone. 
 What would she do ?
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 FREE. 
 
 A CHARMING villa in a fashionable part of 
 ^ ^ Brighton, with stables and coach-house 
 attached. Such was the two elderly Miss Rom- 
 neys' summer quarters. 
 
 It was evening. The sisters had just finished 
 their six o'clock dinner, and Miss Sybil felt much 
 inclined to have a nap before tea. She was a 
 delicate-looking old lady of seventy-five, and had 
 long ago made over the reins of government com- 
 pletely to Miss Griselda, twenty years her junior. 
 The latter was well preserved for her age, and 
 prided herself much on the fact. She was not at 
 all juvenile ; on the contrary, she usually dressed 
 herself in a much more elderly fashion than her 
 years warranted. She often told her nieces that 
 she had found it to her advantage. It makes one 
 look younger, not older, she said. As before said, 
 Miss Romney wanted to sleep, but unfortunately
 
 FREE. 209 
 
 Miss Griselda wanted to talk, and as she usually 
 got her own way, Miss Romney opened her elderly 
 eyes and prepared to listen. 
 
 " I am not sure that Thomas has done right in 
 letting such a child as Grisel engage herself to Mr. 
 Hunt." 
 
 " I suppose he knows best, my dear. She is 
 very young, certainly, but it is a fault which will 
 improve." 
 
 " Of course ; common sense tells one that. But 
 if she had been my child I should have said, ' Wait 
 a little, Grisel, till you know your own mind 
 better, and are quite certain that Mr. Hunt is the 
 right man.' She knows nothing of him. Ten 
 days' acquaintance ! I think the haste with which 
 it has been arranged is shocking." 
 
 " From all one hears, he must be a very desirable 
 young man — so quiet and steady. It is a great 
 thing in these days, when the usual accounts are 
 so very different." 
 
 " Well, we shall be able to judge for ourselves 
 soon, I suppose," Miss Griselda said. " Grisel will 
 be here to-morrow, and Mr. Hunt will have to 
 come down in a few days and be introduced 
 to us." 
 
 " Dear me ! it never struck me in that light. A 
 young man in the house ! How very disagreeable ! 
 How shall we manage, Griselda, with no one but
 
 210 GRISEL ROMNEY. 
 
 the maids to do anything ? I fear he would find it 
 very uncomfortable." 
 
 " Nonsense, Sybil ; it will be perfectly easy. 
 Leave all arrangements to me. And it is certainly 
 the thing which ought to be done." 
 
 Miss Griselda paused. Her sister thought she was 
 done. She folded her small, soft hands with the 
 lace frills which fell over them, and closed her eyes. 
 
 " You needn't go to sleep yet, for there is 
 another subject I wish to discuss with you, my 
 dear Sybil. Not that there need be any discus- 
 sion. Still it is as well you should hear what I 
 was thinking of doing." 
 
 " You always do right Just act on your own 
 responsibility. I shall be quite satisfied." 
 
 " How do you know that, when you have not 
 heard what I wish to do ? I am going to call on 
 that old Sir James Fenton, who has taken the villa 
 next ours. They are strangers here. He has one 
 nice-looking daughter. I think, being old re- 
 sidenters, we ought to do it. It would be kind ; 
 and, besides, she will be a companion for the girls 
 when they come." 
 
 " I thought you told me yesterday that ]\Iiss 
 Fenton was going to be married. Will she care 
 for new acquaintances, when she has probably 
 much to attend to ?" 
 
 " My dear Sybil, I consider we ought certainly
 
 FREE. 211 
 
 to call. It will make it much pleasanter for her to 
 know some ladies in Brighton. I shall go to- 
 morrow." 
 
 " Very well, my dear, you know best." 
 
 Miss Romney was at liberty to sleep now ; her 
 regular breathing soon told that she had taken 
 advantage of her opportunities. 
 
 So next afternoon the call was made. The mail 
 phaeton and roans had taken Sir James for a 
 drive, and Lenorc was alone at home. 
 
 " Such an extremely good-looking girl I found," 
 Miss Griselda said, in recounting her experiences 
 to her sister. " Very much above the average, I 
 should say — so quiet and self-possessed. I con- 
 gratulated her on her marriage, and asked her if 
 she had known Lord Meredith for long. She took 
 the congratulations very quietly, and said he was 
 an old friend of her father's. Really, I am so glad 
 I called. Such a particularly good companion for 
 Grisel." 
 
 Lenore did not connect the name of Romney 
 with the family that Mr. Jerningham had pointed 
 out to her at the opera. That they could be any 
 possible interest to her never entered her head. 
 She was glad the old lady had called ; she felt 
 very dull and lonely. To become acquainted with 
 anyone and to mix in their society, would always 
 be an escape from her own thoughts.
 
 212 GRISEL ROMNEY. 
 
 She had been engaged to Lord Meredith for 
 more than a fortnight. She had gone through the 
 whole thing with but a dim consciousness of what 
 she was doing. That it was the only path open to 
 her had so impressed itself on her mind, that all 
 interest in her future was dead. When Lord 
 Meredith pressed for a speedy union she was 
 willing, anything better than this fatal inaction. 
 As Lady Meredith, she would have her round of 
 duties to fulfil. 
 
 So the marriage was fixed for the first week in 
 August, and they were going abroad immediately 
 afterwards. Sir James was going up to London 
 after parting with his daughter. He had secured 
 rooms near his club, and looked forward to his 
 bachelor existence with no small amount of 
 pleasure. 
 
 Besides this, his more pressing money matters 
 being off his mind, he relapsed into his easy-going 
 selfishness. He considered he had done well, both 
 for himself and Lenore. He did not trouble to 
 look below the surface of his daughter's happiness, 
 and assured himself comfortably that all was 
 right. 
 
 Lord Meredith, too, was content. Lenore re- 
 spected him ; was intensely sorry for him ; knew 
 that she could only give him gilding for fine gold ; 
 and he, having until the time of his engagement
 
 FREE. 2 1 3 
 
 lived a loveless life, was thankful for the baser 
 metal — it looked as well. As yet he knew no 
 difference. Sir James had dwelt so much on the 
 fact that he must not expect too much at first, that 
 the slightest consideration on Lenore's part, wrung 
 from her out of pity for the man, was hailed by 
 him with delight. He had taken rooms in a 
 neighbouring hotel, that he might be near to the 
 Fentons. 
 
 So Lenore went through her daily acting, and 
 tried to rouse herself from the apathy which was 
 steadily taking possession of her. 
 
 She and her father were sitting at dinner to- 
 gether the evening after Miss Griselda's visit. She 
 was doing her best to make conversation, but it 
 flagged at times. Her father was overtired with 
 his drive. 
 
 " Should I return Miss Romney's visit at once. 
 Papa ? I think I had better go to-morrow, after 
 her kindness in coming." 
 
 Sir James looked up sharply. 
 
 " No, not to-morrow," he said ; " you will be 
 required at home. Lord Meredith has appointed 
 Mr. Harvey to meet him here to draw up the 
 settlements, and you had better not be out of the 
 way, in case you are wanted," 
 
 Lenore made no answer, but played with her 
 knife and fork. It was a habit she had acquired
 
 214 GRISEL ROMNEY. 
 
 of late; her appetite was gone. Sir James's, with 
 the weight off his mind, had steadily increased. 
 
 " You seem to take no interest in the settlements ; 
 they might be for anyone else but yourself. 
 Meredith has been most liberal ; he has " 
 
 " Shall I ring and have the things cleared away, 
 Papa?" Lenore had risen from the table in the 
 middle of her father's remark. " You are ready, 
 are you not }" 
 
 ''No, I am not ready. I'cannot tell you all the 
 arrangements with a man-servant pottering about 
 the room. You seem to be in a desperate hurry." 
 
 " I did not mean to hurry you, Papa ; but you 
 surely must know that any arrangements, as you 
 call them, must be extremely painful for me to 
 hear. Cannot you understand this, and so leave 
 me in ignorance about it all ? So long as you are 
 comfortably provided for, the rest matters little to 
 me." 
 
 "You are very ridiculous, Lenore. You have 
 such high-flown sentiments about money matters ; 
 but, believe me, you will find that humanity cannot 
 exist on air, and a large establishment is not fed 
 for nothing." 
 
 Sir James was working himself up into one of 
 his tempers. Lenore rose from the table, and 
 went to the window. The sea lay blue and 
 smiling before her ; its calmness fretted her.
 
 FREE. 2 I 5 
 
 Everything around seemed indifferent to her 
 misery. Would nothing come and break the 
 weary monotony of the hours, and rouse her from 
 her lethargy ? 
 
 Mechanically she noted what was going on 
 outside — a carriage stop at the Romneys' villa — 
 two girls and a maid jump out — luggage unpiled 
 and taken after them into the house. " Dear me, 
 what a noise they make ; they must have let a box 
 fall ! " Then a groan. She was roused at last ; 
 the monotony was broken. Her father lay on the 
 floor before her, as she thought, dead. 
 
 In a moment she was beside him, trying to raise 
 him from the ground, but her strength was not 
 sufficient. Sir James, at all times a heavily-made 
 man, was doubly so now in his state of unconscious- 
 ness. After the first moment of uncertainty, 
 Lenore saw he was not dead. He breathed ; he 
 might still live. 
 
 The servants came in answer to her pull at the 
 bell — no want of willing hands to do what could 
 be done. Sir James was removed to his room. 
 The physicians arrived. Lenore waited in stony 
 calmness for the result. 
 
 " Is there any hope .?" she asked, as the doctor 
 entered the room, having just left Sir James. 
 " Tell me exactly the state of the case." 
 
 " My dear young lady, while there is life there is
 
 2l6 GRISEL ROMNEY. 
 
 hope, we know. You must keep yourself calm. 
 You will need all your strength. Your father has 
 had a very severe paralytic shock ; his recovery, 
 even at the best, must be a long and tedious one." 
 
 " My grandfather died of paralysis. The second 
 shock followed the first within twenty-four hours." 
 
 " It is sometimes the case, but by no means 
 invariably. We must trust that your father has 
 strength of constitution to rally. I will send a 
 nurse at once. But what friends have you ? You 
 must not be alone. Forgive me for asking, but do 
 I speak to the young lady to whom Lord Meredith 
 is engaged ? If so, ought not he to be informed of 
 what has occurred ?" 
 
 " Oh no — not to-night. Let me have one night 
 alone with my father. I can see no one — not even 
 Lord Meredith." 
 
 " Very well, very well ; you are quite right. 
 Only you must take care of yourself, or I shall 
 have to interfere. I shall give all directions to the 
 nurse, but I will come again myself this evening 
 when I have completed my rounds." 
 
 Lenore took up her station at her father's bed, 
 and the hours of the night wore on. The nurse 
 came, and fell at once naturally into her place. 
 Then Dr. G. paid his second visit. There was no 
 change in the patient's condition. He was hardly 
 conscious ; they did not think he knew anyone.
 
 FREE. 2 1 7 
 
 After that, some one gave Lenore a cup of tea, and 
 stood by while she drank it. A little later, she 
 consented to lie down on a sofa in her father's 
 room, but no sleep came to her weary, burning 
 eyes. Her head was in a whirl. She tried to 
 arrange her ideas, to go over to herself the events 
 of the evening. By degrees her thoughts arranged 
 themselves into a circle, and with weary monotony 
 went round and round ; and then she slept. 
 
 She must have been asleep for more than an 
 hour. She awoke with a start. The nurse had, in 
 administering nourishment to her patient, made 
 some slight sound sufficient to rouse such light 
 sleep. She rose at once to her feet and went 
 towards the bed. The grey of early dawn was 
 forcing its way through the shutters, and fell in a 
 streak of ghostly white across the sheets and figure 
 of her father. 
 
 The nurse went forward and partly opened the 
 shutter. Sir James turned his head. He was 
 conscious, and a smile came over his features as 
 he recognised Lenore. He tried to raise one poor 
 paralysed hand as it lay helpless, but could not. 
 Lenore bent and kissed it tenderly, and the bright 
 smile again flitted across his face. His mouth 
 tried to frame some word, but the power of speech 
 was gone. Lenore bent her ear to listen. She 
 thought she heard her own name whispered ; but
 
 2l8 GRISEL ROMNEY. 
 
 consciousness departed again. He moved uneasily, 
 and Lenore drew back to let the nurse take her 
 place. It was well ; a moment after, a second stroke 
 had succeeded the first, and Sir James was dead. 
 
 Lenore sank on her knees beside the bed. 
 "Why was not I taken and he left.''" she ex- 
 claimed in the bitterness of her spirit. " Oh 1 to 
 be lying at rest also, and all this weary daily life 
 done with !" 
 
 After that, she was silent. She remained with 
 her face buried in her hands for some little while. 
 When she rose from her knees she was perfectly 
 calm. 
 
 She gave all orders herself, and telegraphed for 
 her uncle, her only near relative ; besides sending 
 word to Lord Meredith of what had occurred. 
 Then she went to her own room, and the servants 
 heard the key turn in the lock. 
 
 The news reached Lord Meredith just as he was 
 sitting down to breakfast ; he left it untasted and 
 hurried off to Lenore. " We must be married 
 immediately after the funeral," he thought. " I 
 am her natural protector now." When he arrived 
 at the house, Lenore's maid met him. Her mistress 
 was sorry she could not see him. She would be 
 very much obliged if Lord Meredith would make 
 all necessary arrangements for the funeral, and 
 write to Mr. Harvey, the only lawyer her father
 
 FREE. 219 
 
 had ever employed. Lord Meredith turned away 
 disappointed. He had hoped to see her, to be the 
 only one with her in her sorrow ; but he told 
 himself it was natural, and was thankful he was 
 there to take all trouble off her shoulders. 
 
 The news reached another breakfast table. Miss 
 Griselda and her two nieces were just sitting down, 
 when the maid came in and told the piece of 
 Brighton gossip. 
 
 Sir James Fenton, who lived in the next villa, 
 was dead. It had been very sudden, and everyone 
 was talking about it. 
 
 " My dears, what an awful warning, and it might 
 have been any of us ! And his poor daughter, too, 
 with no one to do anything for her. Lord 
 Meredith will make all the funeral arrangements, 
 but who is to help her with her mourning? I 
 really think I shall offer to make myself useful." 
 
 " Perhaps it would be kind," said Bryde. " Only, 
 if I were Miss Fenton, I would rather you didn't." 
 
 Grisel said nothing. She could not trust herself 
 to speak ; her eyes were full of tears, so she did 
 not raise them. " It might just as easily have 
 been Papa," she thought. " How I wish I knew 
 Miss Fenton, and could go to her ! I almost hope 
 Mr. Hunt won't come till to-morrow. I don't 
 feel inclined to be happy when only next door 
 she is so sad."
 
 220 GRISEL ROMNEY. 
 
 Miss Griselda fulfilled her intention of offering 
 her services, but a message came back that Miss 
 Fenton was much obliged for the kindness, but her 
 maid was doing everything for her. 
 
 The news was of interest in one more direction, 
 but it only reached its destination the following 
 day. 
 
 Jack Hunt was just preparing to go down to 
 Brighton, to be introduced to his two future aunts- 
 in-law. He was busy, and it was inconvenient. 
 However, something must be sacrificed for his 
 lady, and it would not be unpleasant to look again 
 into her laughing eyes, though at times he wished 
 the eyes would speak of something else besides 
 mischief and love of life. He had seen them 
 thoughtful also. They were for ever changing ; it 
 was one of her greatest charms. But Jack knew 
 he had no more power to bring the love-light into 
 them than any one of her many friends. 
 
 He had his preparations for departure completed, 
 and took up the Times for the few spare moments 
 before starting. The questions of the day en- 
 grossed his attention. Stirring events were filling 
 the newspaper columns. Just on laying down the 
 paper, he glanced at the obituary :— ^ 
 
 " At Brighton, very suddenly. Sir James Fenton, 
 Bart, K.C.B."
 
 FREE. 221 
 
 He dropped the paper from his hand. A 
 thousand ideas crowded to his brain. To go to 
 Lenore at once was his first impulse. That Lord 
 Meredith was there already, and he would only be 
 in the way, came close upon the thought — followed 
 by the remembrance that he was no more his own 
 master ; there was Grisel. Too late now to undo 
 all the past fortnight. He was in honour bound to 
 another woman. He had been a fool, he had 
 wrecked his own happiness, and it was too late. 
 The past could not be undone. 
 
 What presented itself to him only as a vague 
 idea at first was fast settling into conviction — that 
 had he now been free to go to her, Lenore would 
 have come to him at once ; it was only her father 
 that, until this moment, had come between them. 
 He had been absolutely blind not to see all this 
 before. The confusion of ideas was getting op- 
 pressive. If only 
 
 But there is always an if. If he did not start at 
 once, he would miss the express for Brighton, and 
 Grisel would be disappointed. Besides, he hardly 
 owned to himself there was another besides Grisel 
 at Brighton.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 FOR THE BEST. 
 
 Y?CIVE days had passed. It was the morning 
 ^ after the funeral, and Lenore was alone. She 
 was looking thin and worn, and pressed her hand 
 wearily to her head, as if it pained her. 
 
 She sat at the table writing. Her uncle, who 
 had arrived the day after her father's death, was 
 still with her. He had appointed Mr. Harvey to 
 meet him that morning. He wished to settle 
 everything before returning home, and Lenore 
 was waiting for the business interview. Sir 
 James's desk stood open on the table ; its con- 
 tents were scattered about ; piles of old letters, a 
 daguerreotype of Lady Fenton, indiarubber bands, 
 broken ends of sealing wax, wafers, and several 
 pen-wipers lying in motley confusion around. 
 
 Mr. John Fenton was out ; he had gone in 
 answer to a summons from Lord Meredith. Before 
 the interview was over, he had been made fully
 
 FOR THE BEST. 223 
 
 aware of his Lordship's wishes. The marriage 
 must be without any delay. The Reesdale estates 
 would not long be burdened. 
 
 So Mr. John Fenton returned to Lenore, de- 
 lighted with the man she was about to marry. 
 
 "You must be married from our house, Lenore," 
 he said, after some conversation. " Your aunt will 
 be charmed to make your acquaintance. When- 
 ever you can make up your mind to leave this 
 place, you must come direct to us, and stay with 
 us till you have got all you need. A countess 
 must go well provided to her future home," he 
 added, with a laugh. He was rather afraid of 
 Lenore's continued reserve. 
 
 Mr. Harvey was announced. The interview was 
 a painful one. Sir James's affairs were in a most 
 involved state ; quite setting aside the debt to 
 Lord Meredith, there were liabilities of a minor 
 character, which, when added together, made a 
 tolerably formidable whole. 
 
 When everything was cleared off, there would be 
 nothing left for Lenore. " Mercifully, she will not 
 need it," was her uncle's comment. 
 
 "There is £100 a-year to be paid from Reesdale, 
 as I understand," Mr. Harvey asked, "as long as 
 Miss Fenton remains unmarried.?" 
 
 "You are right, Mr. Harvey. That will keep 
 you in pin-money, my dear ; but you must consider
 
 224 GRISEL ROMNEY. 
 
 your home with your aunt and myself for the next 
 few weeks." 
 
 " Do I understand right," asked Lenore, " that I 
 really am entitled to ^loo a-year, to be paid until 
 my marriage?" 
 
 " Quite right. It is a provision of a limited 
 nature, made in your grandfather's will. I always 
 thought that your father was hardly used, but such 
 the old gentleman arranged, and his sudden death 
 made alteration of the will an impossibility." 
 
 " I am not absolutely dependent then .?" she said, 
 with a sigh of relief 
 
 "Not absolutely; yet I doubt whether ;^ioo 
 will go far in a trousseau, such as you young ladies 
 of the present day think proper." 
 
 Mr. Harvey gave a low bow of assent ; he was 
 inclined to take Mr. Fenton's pleasantry in 
 earnest. Ladies' ideas were certainly getting 
 beyond all bounds. Lenore paid no heed to her 
 uncle's attempt at humour. 
 
 " It was not of how far it would go in furnishing 
 me with a suitable trousseau that I was thinking- — 
 my marriage with Lord Meredith must be post- 
 poned in the meanwhile — but of how far it would 
 go towards keeping me independent. My plans 
 are as yet completely unformed ; when I have 
 given them some thought, I will consult with 
 you."
 
 FOR THE BEST. 225 
 
 " My dear niece, any plans that you propose 
 making are, of course, subject to Lord Meredith's 
 wishes. He will be a better advocate of his own 
 cause than I possibly can be. I will leave him to 
 talk over your future with you. Mr. Harvey, we 
 may go now. I do not think we need trouble Miss 
 Fenton with all the minor details and settle- 
 ments." 
 
 The two men left the room. Lenore returned 
 the miscellaneous collection to her father's desk ; 
 it must all be destroyed sooner or later, but she 
 had not time that day. She longed to breathe the 
 air, and to get away by herself. She hurriedly 
 prepared for walking, and left the house. She 
 walked fast, and soon left fashionable Brighton 
 behind her ; houses were becoming more scat- 
 tered — there was not so much chance of recogni- 
 tion. She threw back her heavy crepe veil with a 
 sigh of relief. She felt stifled. 
 
 She had much to think over and arrange within 
 the next few hours. Lord Meredith was coming 
 in the evening. She knew that the purport of his 
 visit was to try and induce her to settle an early 
 date for their marriage. 
 
 Her mind was in a chaos. Would it not be 
 better to tell Lord Meredith the truth at once > 
 Would it not be dealing more fairly and honestly 
 with him t It would be a present pain, instead of
 
 226 GRISEL ROMNEY. 
 
 future disappointment ; yet she shrank from in- 
 flicting the wound which must come from herself. 
 The last week had shown much of the higher side 
 of Lord Meredith's character ; his quiet, unobtru- 
 sive watchfulness, his constant thought for her, 
 that she might in every way be spared pain and 
 trouble ; his absolute unselfishess — a virtue so 
 rarely seen in man. 
 
 Her arguments to herself might or might not 
 be valid, they all came from one passionate 
 longing to be free. 
 
 Till her talk with her uncle she had believed 
 herself entirely dependent. Now she knew she 
 was not. ^100 a year would keep her from starva- 
 tion ; how short a way it would go she had no 
 idea ; she was absolutely ignorant of pounds, 
 shillings, and pence. 
 
 And if free, what then ? 
 
 Would the old days come back ? or would her 
 lover turn from her, judging of her love by her 
 outward actions ? He must by this time have 
 heard of her father's death. Was he thinking of 
 her — longing to be with her ? 
 
 She had certainly no right to expect it, when, 
 without explanation, she had parted from him, and 
 immediately afterwards he must have heard of her 
 
 formal engagement. And yet She relapsed 
 
 into a train of thought, leading from past events
 
 FOR THE BEST. 22/ 
 
 into a possible bright future. She had not deter- 
 mined on what she would do ; she dismissed it 
 from her mind, and her step grew more buoyant 
 as she walked — a spark of hope had been 
 lighted — the slightest breath would fan it into 
 flame or extinguish it. 
 
 The sunshine and the beauty of the summer 
 afternoon had tempted others besides Lenore from 
 the house. Along the hedge-lined path a man and 
 girl were coming ; she had her arm linked in his, 
 and was talking gaily. It was such a glorious day, 
 Grisel was enjoying her walk ; she did not notice 
 Jack's abstracted manner. 
 
 He was thinking of Lenore, dreading and yet 
 longing to see her. He had been at Brighton for 
 nearly a week, and all that time they had never 
 met, although he had watched closely the ad- 
 joining villa. To what good purpose would it 
 tend if they did meet he could not tell ; he was 
 ready to do almost anything ; the constant 
 watching and disappointment of the previous days 
 had increased the longing to meet her, to speak to 
 her once again, tenfold. 
 
 And so the meeting so ardently longed for on 
 both sides took place. 
 
 It was but a country cart-track they were 
 following, not room almost for more than two at 
 once. Suddenly, on rounding a corner, they met
 
 228 GRISEL ROMNEY. 
 
 a figure dressed in deep mourning. Lenore was 
 walking with her eyes bent on the ground, and did 
 not notice them until she was close to them. 
 Then she raised her head, and for a moment 
 thought she had lost her reason. Could it possibly 
 be Jack Hunt, or was it some horrible delusion } 
 Her face must have expressed the misery of the 
 moment. 
 
 " Lenore !" broke from Jack's lips before he was 
 aware that he spoke. 
 
 The sound of his voice proving it was in truth 
 her lover, recalled Lenore to herself She gave 
 one glance of intense scorn and surprise, bowed 
 haughtily, and passed on. Grisel looked from 
 the one to the other — she could not understand 
 it. 
 
 " You never told me before that you knew Miss 
 Fenton so well, Mr. Hunt. You must have been 
 very great friends before you would call her by 
 her name." 
 
 " Did I call her by her name, Grisette .? We 
 were once great friends ; it must have slipped out 
 accidentally, as you see for yourself we are friends 
 no longer. Miss Fenton would have withered me 
 with her glance if she could." 
 
 Grisel was satisfied ; she supposed Jack had had 
 many friendships before he met her, and this was 
 one of them. They walked on in silence for some
 
 FOR THE BEST. 229 
 
 little time ; Jack's ideas did not tend to conversa- 
 tion. 
 
 " I wonder where Reggie is now, Mr. Hunt .? 
 They were to sail two days ago." 
 
 " Do you remember what I told you yesterday, 
 Grisette, that I would never answer any of your 
 questions until you learnt to call me something 
 else than Mr. Hunt .?" 
 
 " I always forget. I am so sorry ; but it feels so 
 odd to call you Jack. But I '11 try very hard ; so. 
 Jack, please answer me now." 
 
 "What was it you asked about, Grisette ?" 
 
 " About Le Gris. Nothing of much consequence, 
 only I wish you to speak, and not to be so very 
 silent. How am I ever to glean words of wisdom 
 from lips that say nothing }" 
 
 He was betrayed into a smile ; she was such a 
 child. ''What shall I talk about, Grisette .?" 
 
 " Whatever you think I know least about. I am 
 willing to try and improve myself in any direction." 
 
 Small talk occupied the end of their walk. It 
 was useless to brood over the inevitable, Jack felt ; 
 besides, he was not going to be such a fool as to 
 care for Lenore, when it was a patent fact that all 
 her interest in him was dead. 
 
 Meanwhile, Lenore went home, wounded love 
 and pride striving for mastery. It had been a 
 grievously cruel awakening, but she told herself
 
 230 GRISEL ROMNEY. 
 
 she was thankful that she had faced the worsf, 
 She bathed her burning face, and stood at the 
 window, that the breeze might fan her throbbing 
 temples ; then she went downstairs to her solitary 
 dinner. 
 
 It was about eight o'clock when Lord Meredith 
 was announced. She had not seen him at all that 
 day. She rose to greet him, and her manner was 
 a shade more cordial than usual. 
 
 "I am to tell you from your uncle," he said, 
 *' that he will be here later in the evening. We 
 have been busy with Mr. Harvey until the last 
 moment, hence my delay in being here. Your 
 uncle had to put up his things, as he leaves by the 
 early train." 
 
 " How can I ever thank you for all the trouble 
 you have taken with my dear father's affairs > 
 Believe me, I am grateful." 
 
 " I was going to say that thanks should not be 
 mentioned between us, Lenore. But you can 
 thank me, child. By this time you must know 
 what my most anxious wish is. I do not want to 
 hurry you ; but surely it would be far better if you 
 could consent to our speedy marriage." 
 
 " It seems so terribly soon, after all that has 
 happened. Don't you think it would be better to 
 wait just for a little .?" 
 
 " I sympathise most sincerely with your hesita-
 
 FOR THE BEST. 231 
 
 tion ; still, until you are my wife, I cannot care for 
 your interests, in fact have not the right to do so, 
 in the same way." 
 
 She was very hard pressed on all points. What 
 could she do ? She was homeless, friendless, love- 
 less — how entirely so, she had only learnt that 
 afternoon. Here was a home, love, position, every- 
 thing lying at her feet. Would she refuse them all 
 because she could not give back equal weight ? 
 Was not this a quixotic mistake ? and if it must in 
 the end come to this, would waiting make any 
 difference .'* 
 
 Lord Meredith waited patiently for his answer. 
 He noted the pallor of her cheeks — the blue veins 
 showing so plainly in delicate tracery on her 
 temples ; he longed to strew her path with every 
 happiness and comfort. She was so young to have 
 to be left alone. 
 
 "Cannot you consent.^" he asked at length, 
 doubtfully. " If so, I must wait." 
 
 Lenore was sitting at a low table, her face 
 buried in her hands. Lord Meredith was standing 
 in the oriel window, watching her anxiously. She 
 raised her head at length, and rose from her seat ; 
 she went up to where he was standing. 
 
 " I think you are right, Fred. I am willing that 
 our marriage should be when you think best." 
 
 " God bless you, Lenore ! May you never repent
 
 232 GRISEL ROMNEY. 
 
 this decision!" He took her in his arms and 
 kissed her fondly ; it was the first time she had 
 called him by his name. How seldom he had ever 
 kissed her struck her now with compunction. She 
 had certainly never allowed him to treat her as her 
 future husband. 
 
 Mr. Fenton came in soon after, and was much 
 relieved that his niece had been brought to hear 
 reason. He sat up till late. When he took his 
 departure, it was with the understanding that the 
 marriage should take place with as little delay as 
 possible. Lenore was to follow her uncle home 
 the following week. 
 
 It was a proud day for Mr. Fenton when, as 
 nearest male relative, he gave her away for " better 
 and worse," and all the other pros and co^is of the 
 wedding service. 
 
 A very quiet marriage with no one present, and 
 the Merediths went abroad immediately afterwards. 
 No fuss, no ceremony for watching reporters. 
 
 It was the simple announcement that met the 
 eye of Jack Hunt, as one morning he read the 
 daily paper, about a month after Sir James 
 Fenton's death. 
 
 Marcus Ward & Co., Printers, Royal Ulster Works, Belfast.
 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINO«-URBANA 
 
 3 0112 056516922