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 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS LIBRARY AT URBANA-CHAMPAIGN 
 
 AUG 5 
 
 JAN1 8 
 WOV 1 3 
 
 L161— O-1096
 
 EUGENIA 
 
 AN EPISODE. 
 
 BY 
 
 WILLIAM MONEY HARDINGE, 
 
 AUTHOR OF "CLIFFORD GRAY." 
 
 Glory to God— to God," he saith, 
 Knowledge by suffering entereth, 
 And Life is perfected— in Death ! " 
 
 E. B. Browning. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 SMITH, ELDER, & CO., 15 WATERLOO PLACE. 
 
 1883. 
 [A// rights reserved.^
 
 " x\nd lives and works, what are they all at last, except the roads to 
 faith and death ? " 
 
 — Walt Whitman.
 
 
 fO 
 
 Debicatioa 
 
 TO A ROOM IN HOUSE, HANTS. 
 
 ^ Sunday Morning, 
 
 Here, In this old dear room, I must needs 
 
 begin my book, for all sorts of reasons, easier 
 
 thought of than expressed, but hard to think 
 
 ^- out too. For here much of learning, if not 
 
 ' much of incident, has happened to me ; till I 
 
 5 think there is no place in all the world quite 
 
 ;. Jn so beautiful or quite so understanding or quite 
 
 ^;^ so tender. In this room I have been very 
 
 ^ near death, in this room I have known the 
 
 fullest moments of life: in this room I have felt 
 
 "^ closest to God and best loved my neighbours. 
 
 r Is not that much ? I think that it is all.
 
 IV DEDICATION. 
 
 It Is a beautiful room, hung" with faint- 
 coloured, flower-painted silk, set, In large 
 panels, upon dark blue velvet. Its tables are 
 fair with old church lace, its furniture inlaid. 
 It has a wardrobe lacquered with quaint Scrip- 
 ture scenes, each of which I could draw blind- 
 fold. So far, so good. 
 
 And It has a square window which lets me 
 in the September day — it Is always September 
 here — and It frames me glades and lawns, and 
 the crravel court ordered for tennis, and a few 
 large trees of elm and fir, finely grouped to 
 point the landscape. And, beyond these, the 
 near river — winding seawards — with the house- 
 boats moored in it and a little yacht : and then 
 the Hard, and, beyond again, Southampton 
 water, calm and cool like a silver shield, and 
 further, woods, and to leftward, the distant 
 Island. And it lets me hear the half-hushed 
 song of morning birds and the happy voices of 
 the children. So far, so better.
 
 DEDICATION. V 
 
 And the room Is full of memories — a 
 chamber of live dreams : they breathe in 
 from the gardens as the soft wind stirs the 
 curtain ; within-doors they start and waken as 
 the sunlight travels towards the table where 
 I write. O dividing years ! you vanish ; and 
 it is as If a vision passed me by ; — the form 
 of one like whom none walks the earth, for 
 tenderness or beauty, now ; like whom they 
 walk In Heaven. . . . Ah me ! So far, so 
 best. 
 
 September 25, 188 1.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Book i\)t iFirst. 
 
 LOVE, THE DREAM, 
 
 CHAP. PAGE 
 
 I. Descriptive volume i ^ 
 
 II. Material 37 
 
 III. Spiritual 69 
 
 IV. Devilish 106 
 
 V. Sensuous 143 
 
 VI. Mutual 189 
 
 Bcok tfje .SccontJ. 
 LOVE, THE CROSS. 
 
 I. Prospect 233 
 
 II. Human ... 283
 
 VIU CONTENTS. 
 
 53oak tfje Sccontr. — continued. 
 
 CHAP. PAGE 
 
 III. Mortal volume n 3 
 
 IV. Aspect *. 55 
 
 V. Retrospect 108 
 
 VI. Immortal 173 
 
 VIT. Womanly 240 
 
 VI II. Divine volume m 3 
 
 LOVE, THE CROWN. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 I. Faith 43 
 
 (Sir Edmund Trefusis— Winter.) 
 
 II. Hope 114 
 
 (Lieutenant A. J Jarvis— Spring.) 
 
 III. Charity 194 
 
 (Eugenia" Brand — Summer.)
 
 IBook tbe Jfiret 
 
 LOVE, THE DREAM. 
 
 VOL. T.
 
 They have drawn too near the fire of life, like gnats, 
 And flare up bodily, wings and all, what then ? 
 Who's sorry for a gnat — or girl? " — 
 
 — "Aurora Leis[h.
 
 EUGENIA 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 DESCRIPTIVE. 
 
 The Tomllnsons had not been long estab- 
 lished at Ashbank, but the place Itself was 
 at least as good a patent of nobility as a 
 new coronet. A fine old house — Its centre 
 Elizabethan but flanked, In the style, really 
 more modern, which we call distinctively old 
 fashioned, with wings of large square rooms 
 built rather for comfort than for show — It 
 was set amid surroundings, than which there 
 are, perhaps, none choicer in the length and 
 breadth of England, on the broken coast 
 of Hampshire, just where a river widens to
 
 4 EUGENIA. 
 
 the sea. Old world timber, old world lawns, 
 opportunities for all sport, good shooting, 
 good fishing, good river and sea faring, a 
 varied neighbourhood, and comparative acces- 
 sibility combined to render the place an ideal 
 one for the agent's advertisement, and to 
 commend It to the wealthy merchant, first, 
 as an Investment, and then, when his views 
 expanded to the lifted horizon of his fortune, 
 as a summer home. Mrs. Tomllnson's horizon 
 lifted too : she was popular in a negative 
 sort of fashion, and — at first, of course, with 
 a negative sort of people — her house was 
 filled. 
 
 But it was Ashbank that secured Mrs. 
 Tomllnson's popularity, not Mrs. Tomllnson's 
 popularity that filled Ashbank. She was 
 rather the sufficient housekeeper than the 
 hostess of her guests, and they could visit 
 her beautiful home without being incon- 
 venienced by relatives or children, for Mrs.
 
 DESCRIPTIVE. 5 
 
 Tomlinson's relatives, though not, like Mr. 
 Tomlinson's, *' impossible^' were of the order 
 termed " not quite presentable^' and she was 
 childless. She and her husband were just 
 an old and very hospitable pair, who liked 
 to see young faces about them and to have 
 everything (specially the young faces) of the 
 best : a little given to display perhaps, a little 
 given to patronage, but. In the world's verdict, 
 kindness itself. 
 
 It was August, and they had but lately 
 returned to Ashbank. There had been a few 
 days sacrificed to such of the " unpresentable " 
 relatives as were good-natured enough to meet 
 the ''impossible;" but both were gone now, 
 after their week of luxurious change, and had 
 returned to their haunts, less grateful, Indeed, 
 than envious. For the moment the Tomlin- 
 sons were alone, husband and wife, and they 
 were not sorry. For there Is always a behind- 
 the-scenes ; and even with these most orderly
 
 b EUGENIA. 
 
 and commonplace of people, there were times 
 when they wanted to be quite free — to speak 
 to each other with something of the old 
 manner, to talk of the house and the guests, 
 as of a wonderful scene and pageant that was 
 hardly theirs, to air doubts about the Impres- 
 sions their new friends should receive. At 
 these times they retrenched their private ex- 
 penditure as if their income were a tenth of 
 what it had become, and were rather shy of 
 their too numerous servants. 
 
 So they sat together a good deal in Mrs. 
 Tomlinson's morning room — a sunny den up- 
 stairs, some forty feet long, — whither every 
 kind of stray relic had drifted, and of which 
 Mrs. Tomlinson had felt rather ashamed when 
 her first great lady had expressed a wish to 
 be shown her ''own little holy of holies." It 
 was very large, and very bright, and very 
 luxurious, but it was not for the public eye. 
 It had a great many old photographs upon
 
 DESCRIPTIVE. 7 
 
 its walls and old daguerreotypes upon its tables, 
 of middle-class looking ladies, in large crino- 
 lines and lace collars, and middle-class looking 
 gentlemen, in ample coats, with books or 
 letters in their hands — both sexes managing 
 to convey a general impression that they were 
 either dead or shelved beyond recall — and it 
 had volumes lying about, with rather tell-tale 
 inscriptions on their fly-leaves. There was 
 that handy book, for instance, which Mrs. 
 Tomlinson read out of every day, and looked 
 into as a resource in every need — the book 
 that, in her graphic speech, she said she 
 ''never could do without;" though, as Mrs. 
 Tomlinson had nothing in the world to do, 
 it was doubtful whether she would be the 
 worse for losing it. Into this book, of course, 
 the great lady had forthwith dived, sifting its 
 treasure, for it was a work of ''general infor- 
 mation," and Mrs. Tomlinson had never quite 
 got over the feeling that the great lady had
 
 8 EUGENIA. 
 
 caught sight of that vague autograph upon 
 its page, which set forth how it had been 
 given — " To E. J, Tomlinson — that is to be — 
 upon her 7narriage, from her dear friend {and 
 cousin)^ Clara Jubber^ in remembrance of so 
 many happy days together, on Clapham Common, 
 With every good wish, and hoping it may prove 
 nsefuir A sHght involuntary sneer on the 
 great lady's face — which was a kind face after 
 all, though the blue blood in it was too blue 
 not to show cold and acid now and then — had 
 induced Mrs. Tomlinson to lock up this literary 
 mentor for a while ; but it had found its way 
 down from her miscellaneous shelves again, 
 and was before her on her special table 
 now. 
 
 But upon this eventful August afternoon, 
 though Mrs. Tomlinson was sitting at her 
 table, which was in the window, she was not 
 engrossed in the pages of ** Inquire Within," 
 having latterly outgrown, perhaps, the advice
 
 DESCRIPTIVE. 9 
 
 of her domestic encyclopaedia. She was talk- 
 ing to her husband — with her back to him, but 
 that did not prevent her knowing that he was 
 really asleep. She could make him answer 
 her in alternated monosyllables ; these she 
 found sufficient, for the nonce, to carry on 
 the thread of her conversation, which was 
 always one-sided enough. And so she let 
 him answer automatically, and slumber on. 
 
 '* The Buxtons will be here first," she said, 
 "three of them?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " I should not be surprised if they brought 
 Anne with them." 
 
 '' No." 
 
 " The Shortlands' train arrives later — a cross 
 journey." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " There will be no difficulty about meeting 
 them, will there ? " 
 
 "No."
 
 lO EUGENIA. 
 
 ''The men can shift for themselves, Mr. 
 Vane and his friend at all events. There are 
 always plenty of flies at Farlingham." 
 
 ''Yes." 
 
 *' Or — we must send the victoria for Sir 
 Edmund, you know : the wagonette is no good 
 to him." — 
 
 " No." 
 
 — " Then," (with the air of one who has 
 triumphed in argument) ''it can meet them!' 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " If we want any more gentlemen " (Mrs. 
 Tomlinson always said " gentlemen "), " there 
 will be no difficulty in getting some of the 
 officers over from Portsmouth by-and-by." 
 
 "No." 
 
 " What girls have we ? " 
 
 Mrs. Tomlinson was tired of automatic 
 answers, that was all. She knew perfectly 
 well — and Mr. Tomlinson did not know — what 
 girls she had asked, and where they were to
 
 DESCRIPTIVE. 1 1 
 
 sleep, and where their maids were to be put ; 
 but the question had Its effect. It knocked 
 her recreant husband Into a moment's wakeful- 
 ness. He sat bolt upright and pulled a hand- 
 kerchief down from over his bald head, as If to 
 aid himself with light and air. " Dear me ! " 
 he said with some discomfort in his tone, 
 ** why there's May Buxton — May Buxton there 
 is," he repeated, and his tone became more 
 comfortable as he did so; May Buxton was 
 a favourite of Mr. Tomlinson's. He rumi- 
 nated. 
 
 '' Well ? " said his wife. 
 
 *' May Buxton, and perhaps her cousin 
 Anne. Didn't you " — (meekly), " didn't you 
 say the Buxtons might bring Anne?" 
 
 — "Anne Jefferies," said Mrs. Tomlinson, 
 more briskly, as if to hurry him : '' Well ? " 
 
 ** Oh, and that niece of Lady Shortlands.' " 
 
 *' Miss Brand," said Mrs. Tomlinson, and 
 she sniffed slightly.
 
 1 2 EUGENIA. 
 
 " Yes, what's her Christian name ? some big 
 name, rather a mouthful." 
 
 ** Eugenia. She's very particular not to have 
 It sounded In the French manner," Mrs. Tom- 
 llnson added, as if it were a deprivation to 
 her not to sound the *'g" softer — ''Eugenia," 
 and then she changed the sniff into a little 
 snort. 
 
 Mrs. Tomlinson very often snorted : it was 
 a habit, and sometimes it meant nothing. But 
 in this case it had a certain significance, and 
 moreover, Mrs. Tomlinson had to take a paper 
 knife out of her mouth on purpose to give 
 vent to it, which made it mean much more. 
 What it meant was first, ''Why in the world 
 was she christened Eugenia ? " and then, " Why 
 in the world should her wish be consulted in 
 its pronunciation ? " Had the name been 
 Emma, Mrs. Tomlinson might indeed have 
 snorted, but it would have been with a dif- 
 ferent Intention. Her own name was Emma —
 
 DESCRIPTIVE. 13 
 
 Emma Jane — and she disliked it sufficiently to 
 sign nothing but her initials and to permit the 
 ''unpresentable'' to call her Emmellne. She 
 would have snorted in that case at the associa- 
 tions of the name and the hardihood — not to 
 say boldness — of owning to it in its plain en- 
 tirety. Had the name been Eugenie, Mrs. 
 Tomlinson might still have snorted, but her 
 snort in that case would have conveyed a 
 slight contempt for such a foreign appellation, 
 and a regretful glance into modern history 
 with a dash of sympathy for the woes of the 
 ex-Empress of the French. Whence may be 
 reasoned that Mrs. Tomlinson was a politician 
 — she was more than that, she was a partisan, 
 especially in foreign affairs, of which she liked 
 " a bird's-eye view " — and that her snorts were 
 sometimes very comprehensive. But this iden- 
 tical one meant thus much exactly — 
 *' Eugenia ! Why Eugenia } Pooh ! " 
 "I wonder who called her that?" said Mr.
 
 14 EUGENIA. 
 
 Tomllnson, when he had exhausted the fruits 
 of a meditative pause. 
 
 " Who called her what ? " asked his wife. 
 She knew what he meant, but she disliked 
 his sharing her own resentment ; moreover, 
 she had long ago made up her mind to bring 
 her husband, '' as far as in her lay," to a habit 
 of accurate speech. 
 
 — ''Who called her Eugenia?" Mr. Tom- 
 llnson was wide awake by now. 
 
 " You mio:ht as well ask me wdio called 
 her Brand. All you know about it Is that 
 she Is Lady Shortlands' niece, and her name 
 was Carruthers." 
 
 '' I suppose she was born Brand, my dear ? '' 
 
 ^' Born blind V said Mrs. Tomllnson, who 
 was hard of hearing wqth her husband when 
 she chose, and smarted, at the moment, from 
 his lapse Into a yawn. " What nonsense you 
 do talk, Mr. Tomllnson! she's not a puppy." 
 Having, however, mastered the pedigree of
 
 DESCRIPTIVE. 1 5 
 
 her imminent guest, as carefully as if she 
 had been a puppy, Mrs. Tomlinson could 
 not resist repeating it. '' The girl's mother 
 is Lady Shortlands' sister — own sister to Lady 
 Shortlands." — Mrs. Tomlinson could never 
 help accentuating a title. — '' And the Car- 
 ruthers, I suppose, are good enough ? " 
 
 '* Of course they are," replied her husband, 
 with a careless pomposity, which was all good 
 humour ; " but who was Brand ? " 
 
 '* There again you show your ignorance, 
 Mr. Tomlinson ; Brand was bluer than blue. 
 He was the younger son of that old miser, 
 Brand of Tidsworth, through whose land a 
 certain railway runs which has something to 
 do with your being the man you are." — Mrs. 
 Tomlinson always spoke of her husband's re- 
 sources as if she were responsible for them. — 
 ** I believe there is no family in England so 
 proud of what they have to give — which in 
 the younger sons' cases is next to nothing
 
 1 6 EUGENIA. 
 
 by the way — or so chary of giving it. The 
 eldest son married a Duke's daughter, as you 
 know — or rather, as you don't know — the 
 second son was to have married a Duke's 
 daughter too, and a Marquis' widow into 
 the bargain, Lady Uckleburgh ; instead of 
 that, he chose to marry Dorothea Carruthers 
 — an invaHd and a saint. And she and her 
 father-in-law between them pulled him in 
 two ; I daresay this girl had a hand in it ; 
 he died of sheer worry, and girls are 
 worritlnor" 
 
 Here Mrs. Tomlinson stopped short in her 
 recital, conscious of a lapse into her older 
 phraseology, but her husband, who did not 
 notice the lapse, was amused, and encouraged 
 her gossip which was probably direct enough 
 from Lady Shortlands, who never spared her 
 own family. 
 
 '* Well, since his son's death old Brand has 
 never seen his dau2:hter-in-law, thouq^h his
 
 DESCRIPTIVE. 1 7 
 
 only grudge against her is that she is not 
 Lady Uckleburgh, nor set eyes upon Eugenia. 
 The heir is ahve and has sons ; why should 
 he receive these women at Tidsworth ? He 
 would only have to pension them if he did, 
 and as it is, he need do nothing for them 
 whatever. They are as poor as rats, and if 
 it were not for Lady Shortlands, the girl 
 could never have gone out. She has made 
 up her mind, now that she is well rid of her 
 own daughters, that Eugenia must marry 
 well. * It is the wish of my heart, dear Mrs. 
 Tomlinson,' she said, ' that this girl should 
 punish her grandfather ; nothing will punish 
 him but a bond fide snub.' That's the real 
 reason why she means to take her about, 
 — and she is going to try it on with us," 
 Mrs. Tomlinson concluded, with a touch of 
 acerbity. 
 
 ''Aha! So it's for this that you have asked 
 Sir Edmund to meet them." 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 1 8 EUGENIA. 
 
 " Well ; why not ? He must marry, and 
 Miss Brand is old enough to take care of 
 him, she's accustomed to an invalid mother." 
 
 " But a husband is no^ an invalid 
 mother" 
 
 "It's quite as provoking anyway; do let 
 me speak. She will make him a very good 
 wife : she is not young, you know, Mr. Tom- 
 linson — not a chicken." 
 
 " How old is she ?" 
 
 " Lady Shortlands says eight-and-twenty ; 
 put her down at thirty, and you won't be far 
 out. Her mother was a mere child when she 
 married Charlie Brand, and she looks every 
 day of fifty now." 
 
 Mrs. Tomlinson had never seen Mrs. Brand 
 in her life. She had, indeed, caught Lady 
 Shortlands' jargon. Her husband always 
 listened to her with amazement, when she 
 discoursed so glibly about '* Charlie Brand " 
 and his compeers. Perhaps the first time
 
 DESCRIPTIVE. 
 
 19 
 
 she had ever seen their names was in the 
 obituary of her daily paper. 
 
 "Is the girl good-looking?" he asked. He 
 was a pensive and a kindly old man, and he 
 felt interested in this poor waif, with her life 
 so cut out for her. Mrs. Tomlinson resented 
 the question ; there was only one answer that 
 she could give, but she modified it. 
 
 " Yes, very ; but I tell you she is scarcely 
 a girl. Don't you recollect her, though, at 
 Chelmsford House, at the ball, a white creature, 
 like a very good blanc-mange ? You took her 
 for Mdlle. Malakoffski, the Polish beauty." 
 
 " Was that woman Eugenia Brand } " 
 
 " Yes ; and why not, Mr. Tomlinson, pray } " 
 
 " She is coming here ? " 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 " She will make everything about her 
 look mean and small. Don't you recollect at 
 Chelmsford House — fine as it is, and fine 
 as the company were — the only things that
 
 20 EUGENIA. 
 
 seemed worthy to be In the same room with her 
 were the music and the waxHghts and the flowers ; 
 she put all her partners into shadow." 
 
 '* She's not a giantess, as one would think 
 from the ridiculous way in which you talk, 
 and even if she were, I think Ashbank would 
 hold her." Mrs. Tomllnson said this with the 
 air of one who would snort again, if provoked. 
 
 *' She will look well in the conservatories, 
 at any rate." Mr. Tomlinson was very proud 
 of his conservatories, and with good reason. 
 
 Mrs. Tomlinson did snort again ; her hus- 
 band was not only ridiculous, but far too 
 sentimental. '' I daresay you think you'll 
 look well in the conservatories with her," she 
 remarked with an uncalled-for sarcasm. *' No, 
 no, Mr. Tomlinson ; not at your time of life. 
 You will leave Miss Brand and the conser- 
 vatories for Sir Edmund if you please T The 
 note of the last three words would have better 
 become them had they been '* if you dai^e,''
 
 DESCRIPTIVE. 2 1 
 
 Mr. Tomllnson was rather nettled, though 
 the tone was not unusual. 
 
 '' And are you really going to lend your- 
 self to this ? " he said. " Why the poor dear 
 chap is half a cripple, and that girl looks fit 
 to be the head of any house in England." 
 
 '* Half a grandmother ; fit to be the head 
 of a dummy ! He has sixty thousand a 
 year." 
 
 Mr. Tomlinson knew this statement to be 
 true, and, as his wife was evidently more than 
 a little ruffled, he dropped the subject. 
 
 But as he put the handkerchief back over his 
 bald head, and sat on in the still warmth of 
 the drowsy summer afternoon, listening to the 
 scrape of Mrs. Tomlinson's pen, engaged on 
 its superfluous memoranda, and the occasional 
 swish of her paper knife, he thought of 
 Eugenia Brand. He had only seen her 
 once ; he was not a quick-sighted man, and 
 he was certainly no sensualist, but Eugenia
 
 2 2 EUGENIA. 
 
 Brand had impressed him as a most beautiful 
 and a most distinguished woman. He felt 
 that he scarcely liked her coming to Ashbank. 
 It was not for himself that he disliked it but 
 for her. He felt that she must resent it 
 somehow, although he knew that her invita- 
 tion had been literally asked for by her aunt. 
 Mr. Tomllnson was uncomfortable about it, 
 till, with a confidence bred of habit, he looked 
 at his wife's back. He always trusted any 
 social care to those broad shoulders, they 
 would carry It through somehow. That plain 
 head, so flat at the top, where the smooth 
 hair lay thin, that ugly arrangement of lace 
 about it — signs that she had no veneration, no 
 fear of Inequality — what was beauty to her ? 
 '' Eugenia Brand ? a fiddlestick ! " If one 
 can think a *' fiddlestick," that was just what 
 Mrs. Tomllnson was thinking. 
 
 It was not quite a propitious attitude of 
 mind for a hostess, but there was nothing
 
 DESCRIPTIVE. 23 
 
 to be feared from that. Given the fact that 
 Mrs. Tomlinson once invited Eugenia, her 
 guest would have the best that she could 
 give her, so long as she chose to stay. Her 
 character was a more complex one than it 
 was apt to look at the first glance. Her hus- 
 band would have said that she was wonderful. 
 Lady Shortlands would have said — and did 
 say — that she was vulgar ; but her husband 
 did not know that she had the weakness of 
 jealousy, and Lady Shortlands did not crecllt 
 her with being clear-sighted. She was an 
 exacting confidant and an implacable foe. But 
 these qualities lay beneath the surface. Her 
 salient characteristic of late years was that 
 she was the lady of Ashbank. And to this 
 characteristic, at least during her Ashbank 
 sojourn, she was never false. While you 
 were with her at Ashbank — what Spenser 
 called an ** entered guest" — you were quite 
 safe — you were more than safe, you were in
 
 24 EUGENIA. 
 
 clover. But you had to get there first, and 
 afterwards you had to go away ; and before 
 you were come and after you were gone, there 
 was no quarter given you. This was Mrs. 
 Tomlinson's reading of exclusiveness. It 
 meant not only shutting her doors as long 
 as she could against you, but shutting them 
 after you with a bang. She conceived that 
 she owed this duty to Ashbank, but it never 
 occurred to her that she owed any duty to 
 her husband. If she was the slave of the 
 mansion, she was at least its easy master's 
 master. 
 
 The afternoon wore on, real August after- 
 noon with its deep hush in it, and Mrs. Tom- 
 linson from her window might have seen the 
 basking glades and lawns, and caught the 
 tinkle of sweet distant sheepbells. The scene 
 that lay before her was none the less calm and 
 silent because it was full of light and faintly 
 suggested music. But her senses were quite
 
 DESCRIPTIVE. 25 
 
 closed, she was intent on household cares. 
 '' Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday," she mur- 
 mured now and then, counting upon her 
 fingers, and then " stables, picnic, ball." Her 
 husband's sleep deepened, under this lullaby 
 spell. The handkerchief drooped forward 
 over his eyes, he slumbered on as an elderly 
 man does slumber, when he is replete with 
 luncheon and aware that his tranquil siesta is 
 guarded by a wakeful wife. 
 
 Mrs. Tomlinson rose at last, and proceeded 
 to make her tour through the rooms pro- 
 vided for her guests, which were all on the 
 same floor with her own apartments, but 
 separated off by baize doors and a big 
 flowered portiere^ which had been one of the 
 glories of Ashbank for a century but which 
 she had occasionally thought of replacing by 
 a pair of plush curtains. 
 
 These were the principal rooms along the 
 corridor. To the right there was the blue
 
 26 EUGENIA. 
 
 room for the Buxtons, with its adjacent dress- 
 ing-room, commanding land views only, and 
 next were two laro^e chambers — destined for 
 their daughter May and her cousin Miss Anne 
 Jefferies — beautiful sunny apartments com- 
 municating with each other by double doors, 
 alike set out with arm-chairs and fresh chintz- 
 covered sofas, alike adorned with bright old 
 fashioned screens and well furnished writing- 
 tables, alike with big window - seats in the 
 bay-windows, and chintz-hung beds ; but in 
 the further room some servants were placing 
 a piano, as Mrs. Tomlinson passed through 
 it on her way. 
 
 Beyond, but separated by intervening 
 bath-rooms, was the sidte to be occupied by 
 Sir Edmund Trefusis and his valet, which 
 included a pleasant sitting - room, for Sir 
 Edmund was an invalid ; and beyond again, 
 close to the great staircase, a turning to the 
 rieht led into a wing: of rooms which Mrs.
 
 DESCRIPTIVE. 27 
 
 Tomllnson did not require for the party she 
 was expecting. Opposite to the Buxtons' 
 quarters were the finer set destined for Lord 
 and Lady Shortlands, with windows facing 
 seawards, just now one blaze of Hght In their 
 south-western aspect; bed-room, dressing-room, 
 and boudoir. These were known as the Vene- 
 tian rooms, by reason of the rare old hangings 
 on their walls, sacked by the Tomlinsons them- 
 selves In some vandal raid upon the moulder- 
 ing palaces of Italy. Opposite Sir Edmund's 
 rooms, the great staircase wound down, stint- 
 ing the southern side of the main part of the 
 mansion, by Its vast oriel window, filled with 
 stained glass blazonry. This window divided 
 the staircase, which was a double one, and on 
 the small landing to leftward, close to Lady 
 Shortlands' boudoir but separated from It by 
 the turn of the wall and with Its own little door 
 opening directly on to the steps of the great 
 staircase, was the room set apart for Eugenia
 
 28 EUGENIA. 
 
 Brand. Mrs. Tomlinson made her visit to 
 this chamber last of all, for the rooms to be 
 inhabited by Mr. Henry Vane and the other 
 men — a set of bachelors' apartments facing 
 it, but on the further side of the great stair- 
 case in the western winof — did not merit her 
 personal attention. She was quite satisfied 
 with her survey of the Venetian rooms, the 
 blue rooms, the chintz rooms, and even of 
 Sir Edmund's daintily fitted Persian suite, 
 which he had occupied before. There were 
 sufficient flowers in all, and the writing-tables 
 were amply stocked; but with Miss Brand's 
 room Mrs. Tomlinson was not quite satisfied. 
 There was, we know, a certain contradiction 
 in her character. Because she was not pre- 
 disposed to like Eugenia, she would be the 
 more careful not to slight her ; but she had 
 no intention of protecting her from incidental 
 slights. Far from being beneath the other 
 rooms in point of decoration this room ex-
 
 DESCRIPTIVE. 29 
 
 celled them in luxury and in richness of fur- 
 niture — the appointments of its writing-table 
 were more precious, the stands of flowers 
 more numerous. It had sometimes been used 
 as a morning-room, for its attractions were 
 enchanced by a superb view across the lawns, 
 and over the wooded glades beyond them to 
 the sea. But it had its drawbacks. It was 
 immediately above the smoking-room, and its 
 door opened directly opposite the bachelors' 
 bed-rooms. Eugenia therefore could not fail 
 to be disturbed if Sir Edmund or the others 
 should keep late hours. The side wall of 
 her room was so distinctly on the stairway 
 that it was covered with armoury and pictures. 
 Mrs. Tomlinson, arrived at the end of her 
 pilgrimage, sat down upon the sofa and 
 debated whether she should not have this 
 room altered to serve as Lady Shortlands' 
 boudoir (which she would seldom need by 
 day, and never in the evenings), and give
 
 30 
 
 EUGENIA. 
 
 Miss Brand the adjacent room instead. This 
 chano"e could easily be made in a few minutes. 
 But somehow Mrs. Tomlinson did not make 
 this change. Though it would have neces- 
 sitated little more than the shifting of the 
 small silk-hung bed from one room to the 
 next, unaccountably or not Mrs. Tomlinson 
 did not have the small silk-hung bed shifted. 
 And she justified her obstinacy to her con- 
 science, by saying to herself over and over 
 again that she was sure Lady Shordands 
 would prefer to go through the dressing- 
 room straight from her bed-room to her 
 boudoir. Those three rooms, as it was, 
 communicated ; whereas there was no door 
 of communication between those rooms and 
 this. Having decided this point to her own 
 inward satisfaction, Mrs. Tomlinson gave a 
 last glance to Eugenia's room, the expression 
 of her face being at the moment more defiant 
 than anxious.
 
 DESCRIPTIVE. 3 1 
 
 It was called ''the tapestry room," and it 
 was a square chamber, by no means large, 
 and looking smaller than it was, because of 
 the dark hangings that had given it the 
 name, and because of the single square win- 
 dow in the southern wall, partially darkened 
 by the near tendrils of rose, clematis and ivy. 
 Although there were some rare old Venice 
 mirrors on the wall, the general air of the 
 contents was rather that of a chapel's than a 
 bed - room's, the dressing - table was draped 
 like an altar with lace of a yellowish hue, 
 the counterpane had been a priest's vestment 
 centuries ago. But there was a low bookcase 
 in the dark corner, stored with richly bound 
 volumes that would hardly have been in 
 keeping in a chapel. The truth was that 
 the books were relegated to these shelves 
 before the room was made a bedroom, to 
 prevent their being taken up by accident in 
 one of the drawine-rooms downstairs. Their
 
 32 EUGENIA. 
 
 rich morocco and gilding concealed the fine 
 frankness of Massinger and Fielding and of 
 some older French works, more curious, though 
 quite as explicit, if of a less classic literary 
 standard. Mrs. Tomlinson could, however, 
 not be expected to know the contents of the 
 French books, at all events, and on the laro^e 
 smooth writino^-table, which was inlaid with 
 Italian marbles, were a velvet-covered Tes- 
 tament, with a gold cross upon it, and an 
 exquisitely illuminated Thomas-a-Kempis. It 
 was one of Mrs. Tomlinson's rules, from a 
 decorative point of view, that there should 
 be at least two "good books" in every 
 guest-room. 
 
 No doubt it was a charming apartment. 
 As Mrs. Tomlinson looked round it from 
 her place of vantage on the wide soft sofa, 
 she felt with pride that " Miss Brand could 
 not have a better room given her — not if she 
 stayed in a palace." The tapestry hangings
 
 DESCRIPTIVE. 33 
 
 were quite good company for a silent occu- 
 pant, their dim visions glancing out, in the 
 afternoon sunshine, in a very magical way. 
 They presented no scripture scenes, or groups 
 of laughing dames with baskets of heaped-up 
 fruit, but rough battle and spoil of stuffs and 
 armour, where bearded, bare-legged warriors 
 were wrangling, oddly out of place in this 
 flower - decked lady's chamber. Beautiful 
 thinors too had collected here, under that 
 spell of accidental fitness which things ofteft 
 obey. There was a silver replica of Michael 
 Angelo's '' Slave " for sole ornament upon the 
 velvet mantelpiece ; for Mrs. Tomlinson, or 
 her predecessors, had the taste not to obtrude 
 French clocks and ormolu against such a back- 
 ground, though from the open window there 
 came in so sweet a seaside breath of honey- 
 suckle and roses as would have mellowed 
 even ormolu. Mrs. Tomlinson was one of 
 
 the many people who know more than they 
 VOL. I. , c
 
 34 EUGENIA. 
 
 feel ; and althouorh the charm of the room 
 meant nothing for her, she was aware that it 
 would suit Eugenia, and she took care there 
 should be nothing to undo its power. 
 
 She even went this lencrth — incredible for 
 her — she opened a blotting book upon the 
 ebony writing-table before her, heavy with old 
 encrusted silver shields upon its sides, and 
 when she came upon some paper and enve- 
 lopes blazoned with some of her own new 
 dies in all sorts of fanciful and hideous dis- 
 tortions, she removed them, taking the trouble 
 to eo back to her own rooms and brinor forth 
 from her store other writing material on which 
 the mere word *'Ashbank" was stamped in 
 quite plain silver letters. She did not think 
 it smart enough for general use. 
 
 One more glance round ! Yes ; it was all 
 perfect now, a room for a dreamer — were he 
 poet or painter — a room to think in, to invent 
 in ; only not quite a young lady's bedroom
 
 DESCRIPTIVE. 35 
 
 with Its short old-fashioned mirrors in their 
 framing of ivory and silver and shadow. 
 *' Well ! she can use the long glasses in Lady 
 Shortlands' dressing-room." That was Mrs. 
 Tomlinson's last word to herself, which showed 
 that her conscience was not absolutely at rest. 
 
 Artistically she was right to leave things 
 as they were ; it would have been a pity 
 indeed to shut out that fair picture of the 
 August afternoon, which the window showed, 
 with an orthodox toilet table, or to hide the 
 brave sinews of the broidered warriors with 
 the conventional tall sheet of lady's looking- 
 glass. But though the reservation was artistic, 
 it was not affectionate or kind. 
 
 And just then Mrs. Tomlinson was sum- 
 moned to join her husband. He had finished 
 his nap, indeed her search for the writing- 
 paper had roused him. He had now been 
 for some minutes watchinor the carriaofc-drive, 
 from the window of his own den downstairs,
 
 36 EUGENIA. 
 
 which commanded the front door at an angle. 
 He met his wife upon the stairs. He was 
 far more excited than she was. 
 
 '' It is the landau," he said, " for it is Tom, 
 not Denys, driving ; It must be the Buxtons." 
 
 Mrs. Tomllnson did not think It worth while 
 to reply. What did it matter who came first ? 
 She turned, with Mr. Tomllnson meekly follow- 
 ing- her, straIo:ht into a mornino^-room on the 
 ground floor, where she usually received her 
 guests. As she did so, she uttered, all to 
 herself, the least little ghost of a snort. The 
 spiritual warhorse in her soul neighed answer, 
 and the business of her autumn campaign was 
 launched at last.
 
 ( Zl ) 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 MATERIAL. 
 
 Mrs. Buxton was a small, faded woman, with 
 an irritating way of saying, ''How do you 
 do ? " as if the show of interest that she 
 manifested in your health was a concession, to 
 answer which would be a mere impertinence ; 
 and as she rarely said anything else to stran- 
 gers, except '' Thanks ! " the first Impression 
 that she made was never quite undone. You 
 would not have guessed, to look at her, that 
 her family were the most considerable com- 
 moners in the county, and that it was from 
 her past beauty that her handsome daughter 
 inherited her pretty looks. For while Mr. 
 Buxton — master of the hounds, and slave of
 
 8 EUGENIA. 
 
 routine — was just a vacuous magnate of rents 
 and acres, and had never been anything else 
 to boast of, Mrs. Buxton had been Miss 
 Dalrymple-Robarts, and the beauty of South 
 Hants. It was sad that nothing should be 
 left of that beauty but the little provoking 
 manner, which had perhaps been attractive 
 enough when self-consciousness had first dic- 
 tated It some five-and-twenty years ago. It 
 was want of energy, rather than illness, and 
 dulness, rather than trouble, which had painted 
 out all traces of Miss Dairy mple-Robarts in 
 May Buxton's mother. But in May Buxton 
 herself she was well content to bloom anew, 
 so long as she retained that dignity of prece- 
 dence which quondam beauty still conferred 
 upon her. 
 
 May Buxton, who was the eldest of a large 
 tribe of youngsters, was an admirable sample 
 of the typical English girl. Her looks were 
 fresh and her manners charming; she was just
 
 MATERIAL. 39 
 
 ready for any moulding that circumstances 
 might bring her ; of that easy adaptable type 
 that will become fat or lean, handsome or 
 careworn, as time and treatment will, but of 
 which it is always Impossible to predict that 
 you will be able to recognise It twelve years 
 hence. She was a brown-haired, hazel-eyed 
 girl, with a sweet mobile mouth, and a skin 
 of cream and roses ; as lovely as a flower, 
 and with a charm that might be evanescent 
 as a flower's perfume. * 
 
 Her cousin, Anne Jefferles, who hung be- 
 hind a little under Mr. Buxton's wing — not, 
 indeed, from shyness, but for better obser- 
 vation of her aunt's reception — was In direct 
 contrast to May. She was, In fact, younger, 
 being not yet of age, while May Buxton was 
 already two-and-twenty, but she looked older, 
 and her face had quite a different expression, 
 which it would be hard to define — perhaps 
 as of her having first been altered by experi-
 
 40 EUGENIA. 
 
 ence of the world, and then of having acquired 
 strength to resist it. She was a dark, pale 
 girl, with nothing handsome in her face but 
 its gipsy eyebrows and Its firm lines from 
 ear to chin. But nobody took her looks into 
 account — she was Sir Samuel Jefferles' only 
 child, the greatest heiress in the county. 
 
 The two girls were rare friends. Bright, 
 honest May Buxton, elder though she was, 
 had not sufficient quickness of penetration yet, 
 to see that her clear-eyed cousin made good 
 use of her sometimes, and that the costly gifts 
 Anne gave her were never quite disinterested 
 tokens of goodwill. This very ingenuousness 
 of May's was her passport to Anne's affection. 
 In her decided, if impulsive, manner, she was 
 sincerely fond of May. Mrs. Buxton liked 
 Anne less than her daughter did, perhaps be- 
 cause she had never forgiven her plainer sister 
 — Anne's late mother — for marrying the great 
 Sir Samuel ; and the history of the few pre-
 
 MATERIAL. 4 1 
 
 ceding days will illustrate sufficiently the 
 mutual relations of the three. 
 
 Since her mother's death, Anne Jefferies' 
 home was a dull one, pompous and splendid 
 though its adjuncts were, and she had a great 
 wish to accompany her cousin on this visit 
 to Ashbank. She did not know Mrs. Tomlin- 
 son, but she was aware that Mrs. Buxton had 
 been asked to bring her to Ashbank, though 
 it was from Mrs. Buxton's bosom friend 
 that she had heard it and not directly from 
 Mrs. Buxton — that lady, with a laudable 
 maternal instinct, wishing that her daughter's 
 charms should not be cast into the shade, under 
 Mrs. Tomlinson's roof, by the halo of Anne's 
 superior fortune. In fact, she did not mean to 
 take Anne. But as soon as Anne had heard for 
 certain that the date of the visit was fixed, she 
 wrote a little letter to her dearest May, propos- 
 ing to come over and stay with the Buxtons for 
 this very week, and to bring for May, when
 
 42 EUGENIA. 
 
 she came, a facsimile of some neat gold tennis 
 ornaments of her own desiofn, which she had 
 once worn and her cousin had admired. May's 
 girlish pleadings with her mother were, per- 
 haps, a little the warmer for the remembrance 
 how these pretty jewelled racquets had become 
 her, not but that her own welcome to Anne 
 was always hearty. Anyway, it ended In Mrs. 
 Buxton's asking Anne to accompany them to 
 Ashbank, and Anne was determined to find 
 her visit there cheaply purchased by the case 
 of shining trinkets, which were now in May's 
 travelling bag, and no doubt responsible for 
 her unusually radiant and animated looks. 
 
 The Buxtons and the Tomllnsons were com- 
 paratively near neighbours, and Intimate enough 
 not to need discuss the Innovations, and — so- 
 called — Improvements at Ashbank ; but Anne 
 was a stranger, and Mrs. Tomllnson was 
 anxious to enlist the approval of so important 
 a personage ; so, when some early tea was
 
 MATERIAL. 43 
 
 served them, she devoted herself exclusively 
 to the sallow heiress and her uncle, leavlne 
 Mr. Tomllnson to laugh with good-humoured 
 May and make himself agreeable to her 
 mother. That latter task was uphill work ; 
 but certainly Miss Jefferles could be very 
 pleasant when she chose. She had more 
 insight into character than love of beauty, and 
 her conscience was broad enough to allow her 
 to praise some very hideous things, which, her 
 discrimination suggested, were of Mrs. Tom- 
 linson's own choice — a tiresome fountain that 
 was plashing outside the open windows, where 
 had formerly been only a statue, in the small, 
 trim garden closed in with cypress trees ; and 
 some ''chair-backs," embroidered in coloured 
 silks and edged with fancy lace, the worst, 
 because the most individual, outcome of Mrs. 
 Tomlinson's hands at present. The one art 
 for which Anne cared more than a straw, was 
 music, in which she was not only critical and
 
 44 EUGENIA. 
 
 conscientious, but gifted. *' Music," she had 
 once said, ** is my only key to the passions 
 and to religion. I am sensitive and good when 
 I play." But the tennis ornaments showed that 
 she had also a certain facility in design. 
 
 Talk flagged a little in the summer warmth, 
 and indeed among these commonplace folk 
 there was not the material for conversation. 
 They were all people, each in his different 
 way, who would live more by the appetites 
 than by the intellect. 
 
 ** What is your progra7n77ie to-day ? " Mrs. 
 Buxton said at last. Life was like a play 
 to her — a pageant, in which she did not 
 interest herself too much ; she had a sort of 
 American temperament, that likes to see things 
 happen constantly, it matters little what, pro- 
 vided that they bring no pain. She liked 
 other people's parties. 
 
 "■ We expect Lord and Lady Shortlands 
 directly," said Mrs. Tomlinson, glancing at
 
 MATERIAL. 45 
 
 the clock. ** I am afraid I must wait In for 
 them ; and Mr. Tomllnson wants to take 
 Lord Shortlands — with Mr. Buxton, of course 
 — over his model cottages, or something ; so 
 I fear the expedition must be put off for an 
 hour or so. But, meanwhile, you and the girls 
 may like to see your rooms." Ashbank was 
 always Mrs. Tomllnson's resource. 
 
 " Whom else have you ? " asked Anne, 
 rather shortly ; she hated seeing rooms, and 
 she was not educated to fall In with othefs' 
 plans, or to disguise her curiosity. 
 
 *' No one as yet ; unless Sir Edmund Tre- 
 fusis is come. I fancy I heard the victoria, 
 but he always goes straight to his rooms ; he 
 is easily tired, as you know, and we make 
 no stranger of him." Mrs. TomHnson said 
 these last words in a higher tone, as with a 
 touch of proper pride ; it was something to 
 be able to say that she made no stranger 
 of Sir Edmund Trefusis. He was a man of
 
 46 EUGENIA. 
 
 culture as well as wealth, and had his choice 
 amons: all the best houses in the klno^dom. 
 
 ''Any other men ?" 
 
 " Only Mr. Vane, to-night, I think, and a 
 friend he brings with him ; we generally look 
 to him for our lion, in the way of a painter or 
 a poet, in a small way, or some one who plays. 
 It is absurd asking them; one just takes the 
 one that isn't somewhere else, or that is new." 
 Mrs. Tomlinson spoke of all artistic people as 
 if they were orchids ; but as with her orchids, 
 she was careful, while she had the treatment of 
 them, that they should have proper soil and 
 nurture. 
 
 ** I hope the little lion's roar will be musical 
 this time," said Anne laughing. 
 
 ** Miss Brand looks musical," said Mr. 
 Tomlinson, too rashly venturing in his oar. 
 
 ''Who is Miss Brand?" asked Mr. Buxton, 
 with the air of one who rather resents a fresh 
 name. What was not "Hampshire" was to
 
 MATERIAL. 47 
 
 him unknown. But before Mr. Tomlinson 
 had formulated his answer, beyond its first 
 statement that Miss Brand was Lady Short- 
 lands' niece, and while he was yet uncertain 
 what more Mrs. Tomlinson might let him say 
 unhindered, Sir Edmund Trefusis came Into 
 the room. 
 
 He was rather high-shouldered and delicate- 
 looking — he stooped a little forward, as he 
 walked — but he had a very rare and expressive 
 face. It was at once his advantage and hfs 
 misfortune to inspire more compassion at a 
 first glance, than he deserved : what with the 
 sedentary studious life he led, and the care 
 that had been taken of him, he looked more 
 of an invalid than he really was. In fact, it 
 was perhaps the extreme anxiety of his parents 
 that originated a state of invalidism for their 
 only son which his sorrow for their loss had 
 completed. He had never yet loved any 
 human creature so dearly as his mother, and
 
 48 EUGENIA. 
 
 he had mourned her till between sorrow and 
 seclusion he was seriously ill. 
 
 Lady Jane Trefusis had been a woman of 
 singular talent and charm. She was devotedly 
 attached to her husband, an Iron-founder 
 of enormous possessions and with other 
 large sources of Income besides the foundry. 
 Socially his wife had been his sponsor. The 
 son was but a boy, when he succeeded to his 
 father's ten year old baronetcy, and he retained 
 a greater reverence for that father's memory 
 than he might have had. If he had grown up 
 to see how far Inferior he had been to Lady 
 Jane In all but the gift of riches. It had been 
 his mother's aim to foster his remembrance of 
 his father into a religion. From Sir John 
 Trefusis Indeed, he had Inherited two distinct 
 qualities, he was both industrious and affec- 
 tionate, though neither his affections nor his 
 industry had yet found their proper sphere. 
 From his mother and her training he had got
 
 MATERIAL. 49 
 
 that special gift of winning sympathy — an 
 almost feminine persuasiveness and charm — 
 which distinguished him from his fellows. 
 Her death had saddened his whole life ; it 
 had driven him in upon himself, and in the 
 gravity of this reaction on his health, it was 
 feared that he might be contracting some mus- 
 cular, if not spinal, weakness. This, however, 
 was not yet such as need debar him from so- 
 ciety, and his slight limp was rather from the 
 nervous affection than from absolute disease. 
 
 Sir Edmund, like most spoiled children, was 
 apt to take unaccountable fancies, and in the 
 progress of some foreign tour, had taken a 
 decided fancy to the Tomlinsons. There was 
 much that was likeworthy in them both, at their 
 best, and they studied his tastes if they did not 
 understand them. Moreover, they had no 
 daughter — a strong recommendation for their 
 intimacy to Sir Edmund after his experiences 
 in London. As it was next to impossible that 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 50 EUGENIA. 
 
 there could be, in his fortunes or his career, 
 anything to call out the pettiness of Mrs. 
 Tomlinson's spites, she liked Sir Edmund, and 
 she liked herself in his society. As for Mr. 
 Tomlinson, he liked every one, except a few 
 men who had borrowed money of him, but as 
 is often the case with men of large heart and 
 small discrimination, he liked many others 
 equally with Sir Edmund who were not worthy 
 to be ranked with him. He was apt to say of 
 Sir Edmund, that he would '' gladly see him 
 well married " (for his own subjection did not 
 prevent his idealising the bliss of wedded life), 
 and Mrs. Tomlinson beo^an to consider ** the 
 baronet" her matrimonial trump card. In 
 fact, Mrs. Tomlinson, in her heart of hearts, 
 thought Sir Edmund — whom, had that been 
 possible, she would have liked to marry her- 
 self — "a deal too good for that Miss Brand;" 
 but, as we know. Lady Shortlands had over- 
 persuaded — not to say bribed — her into letting
 
 MATERIAL. 5 1 
 
 them meet each other at Ashbank. Mr. Tom- 
 linson saw a woman's beauty sooner than a 
 man's virtue ; he was even less tolerant of a 
 man of Intellect than he would have been of a 
 mere bluff sportsman. He thought the whole 
 scheme was "unnatural." 
 
 Sir Edmund received a very hearty welcome, 
 and his pleasant simple manner commended 
 itself at once to the Buxtons. Anne Jefferles 
 looked at him with curious eyes : few men 
 took her lonor to criticise. For him she had 
 more interest, with her captious, frank, in- 
 quisitive gaze, than honest May Buxton had, 
 with her gentle glance at his thin hands, and 
 the sympathy that was too legibly written on 
 her bright young face. Sympathy, so easily 
 won, was not precious to Sir Edmund. 
 
 His journey had not been so long an one as 
 usual, for he had started, not from his Cornish 
 home, but from a lodge he had upon the Sussex 
 coast, not many miles east of Ashbank by sea. 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITy OF ILLINOIS
 
 52 EUGENIA. 
 
 Still It was a journey with two changes in 
 It, and he expressed himself as far too tired for 
 his host's expedition to the model cottages. 
 
 '' Let me stay with you, w^hen they go," he 
 said, turning to Mrs. Buxton with his charming 
 smile, ** if you will not too much despise 
 Falstaffs * little half-penny worth of bread to 
 so much sack ' ?" 
 
 '' They are not going just yet, I believe." 
 Mrs. Buxton answered rather feebly. 
 
 Mrs Buxton did not understand what Sir 
 Edmund said, nor what ' bread ' and ' sack ' had 
 to do with it ; but she liked his smile, and the 
 deference he paid her. May Buxton, who 
 knew her poets better than most English girls 
 of her calibre, was delighted with him and 
 with her own intellicrence for recoo^nlsinof his 
 quotation. Anne Jefferles thought he was a 
 fool : not so much because he quoted poetry as 
 because he smiled at Mrs. Buxton. And as it 
 happened, Sir Edmund cared most what Anne
 
 MATERIAL. 53 
 
 Jefferies thought ! As he looked at her, he 
 was perusing her pale face — pale from the 
 even current of her blood and not from sickli- 
 ness. He noted too with interest her extreme 
 carelessness as to any impression she might be 
 making — the carelessness of a very rich woman 
 with an assured position. In return, she 
 watched with something of contempt his list- 
 less attitude, as he leaned back in an arm- 
 chair, and the half-shy, half-pleading look in 
 his brown eyes. 
 
 They were very different Ingredients In a 
 country house party : Anne might prove a 
 valuable friend to Sir Edmund, if she could 
 get to like him. 
 
 *'You are the Miss Jefferies, of whose 
 playing I have heard so much," he said, as their 
 eyes met; "my friend Lord Torre will talk of 
 nothing else." 
 
 '* I do play," Anne answered rather curtly — 
 she disliked compliments, although she would
 
 54 EUGENIA. 
 
 be grateful for Sir Edmund's praise if he 
 proved musical ; and then, as if afraid she had 
 been rough and not known how to use him, she 
 said, *' Are you fond of music ? " hating herself 
 for the inadequacy of the term, as she spoke it. 
 ''Yes," Sir Edmund was "fond of music:" 
 and his face, as he said so, showed that in his 
 case the phrase had a meaning. He studied 
 music too. He had brought the score of 
 Tronchetti's new opera from Italy : it was in 
 his portmanteau : — Miss Jefferies might like to 
 see it } 
 
 " I daresay Mrs. Tomlinson will let us make 
 some music together in the mornino:s," said 
 Anne, turning to her hostess with an air that 
 made the request a concession. (Sir Edmund 
 had a rather weak chin under his beard, Anne 
 thought, she must speak for him.) 
 
 Sir Edmund turned to May : he wanted to 
 enlist her too. "Oh, Anne plays beautifully," 
 she cried impulsively, as she felt the question
 
 MATERIAL. 5 5 
 
 he was o^oinor to ask her, '' I do nothino/' — 
 Afterwards May Buxton said to Anne that Sir 
 Edmund's eyes had made her feel that she 
 must speak, and then as If she must say some- 
 thing gentle — "something like 'poor,' you 
 know, Anne. " *' Something like ' rich ' you 
 mean, " Anne answered. Gentleness did not 
 appeal to her. But that was by-and-by. What 
 Anne thought just now was that she would like 
 to decipher the score of Tronchettl's opera. 
 
 Mrs. Buxton had not had time to yawn, be- 
 fore Mr. Vane was announced: she was only 
 half sorry for that. She would have liked to 
 yawn In Mrs. Tomlinson's face very much, 
 during the first hour of her visit ; that would 
 have been quite In her old manner, but she 
 liked Mr. Vane better. He was her per- 
 petual boon, and she could yawn in Mrs. 
 Tomlinson's face to-morrow. 
 
 Mr. Vane was a gentleman — nobody quite 
 knew who ; and he had come from somewhere
 
 56 EUGENIA. 
 
 — nobody quite knew where. He described 
 himself as '* a loafer" or an ''Idle fellow." 
 " Loafer " is a wide term perhaps, but he was 
 not an "Idle fellow" certainly, and whatever 
 " loafing " may be, he made society too much 
 his business to have many moments left to 
 'Moaf" in. He had organised two clubs — In 
 town and on the river — the town club had 
 criven a ball, and the ball and the clubs be- 
 tween them had brought him under every- 
 body's ken. After the success of the ball, 
 people began to ask each other where he came 
 from, and what he was, and would have gone 
 on asking until they had discovered that the 
 Lincolnshire parson, whose son he was, had 
 proved as Ill-conducted as he was poorly con- 
 nected. Happily, at this juncture, his sister 
 who had never even been to London, married 
 the local squire, and her newly acquired 
 position among the county families became 
 her brother's fresh guarantee, when his novelty
 
 MATERIAL. 5 7 
 
 had worn off, and society, with its strange 
 caprice, began to redemand his passport. He 
 was '*Lady Talbot's brother," and although 
 nobody had ever known Lady Talbot, nor 
 seen Talbot within the memory of man — and 
 indeed Talbot had been for thirty years a 
 mute cripple and half-imbecile — everybody 
 knew that he at least existed, and his place 
 was marked upon the county map. That 
 was enough : a poor sort of compensation to 
 devoted Lady Talbot, no doubt, for her mono- 
 tonous sick-nurse life, that she was her 
 brother's social shield and spear, but some 
 compensation it might have been, poor soul ! 
 had she had the faintest inkling that such was 
 the case. There are queer see-saws in life ; 
 and Mr. Henry Vane, when he came down to 
 Lincolnshire, was regarded in the light of a 
 London idol, spoiled and splendid, who kindly 
 gave up a few days of his visiting tour to his 
 sister and her sick husband, the fact beine that
 
 58 EUGENIA. 
 
 his sister and her sick husband were what 
 assured him his visiting tour at all. 
 
 He was a man who took philosophically all 
 that life brought him — only that, with a wise 
 man's reservation, he asked always *'a little 
 better and a little more," — and, by now, it was 
 quite the case that he conferred as much 
 distinction upon people like the Tomlinsons, 
 by his coming, as they gave him comfort 
 during his stay. His place was an established 
 one. *' We cannot ^^/ on without Vane :" and 
 he always had the newest news and the last 
 jackanapes at his bidding. 
 
 This time he had brought down "a poet;" 
 partly because the said poet was the younger 
 son of a Scotch peer, and Vane knew that 
 Mrs. Tomlinson liked peers — if not English, 
 then Scotch — and their sons — if not elder 
 then younger ; and partly because he knew 
 that Miss Jefferies and Sir Edmund Trefusis 
 could ** manacle the music between them."
 
 MATERIAL. 59 
 
 If they wanted a novelty he could always 
 write to the Royal Academy for a musician, 
 but a poet required more peculiar treatment. 
 And then Vane was fond of his young friend 
 James Chatteris — a slim brown-haired youth 
 with a large sensitive mouth and a small 
 nervous hand — and he had long promised 
 "Jem" the pleasure to be derived from a 
 visit to Ashbank, and Mrs. Tomlinson the 
 pleasure to be derived from knowing ''Jem's" 
 people, whose solitary Scottish home neigh-* 
 boured the moor her husband rented. 
 
 Miss Jefferies, indeed, was frank enough to be 
 a little disappointed at the poet, but his novelty 
 and his name secured him cordial welcome 
 from the rest. May Buxton had never met 
 "a poet" and rather fancied he would speak 
 in verse — a fancy that his look did not dispel. 
 
 Vane's manner was a study : always slightly 
 in extremes but never servile or impertinent, 
 he varied it becomingly, as he addressed each
 
 6o EUGENIA. 
 
 member of the group. He was genial to Mrs. 
 Tomllnson, and almost affectionate to her 
 husband, while he was sufficiently Intimate 
 with Sir Edmund and self-possessed towards 
 her distlnorulshed self to make Mrs. Buxton 
 venerate his tact more than before. He set 
 '* Jem" at home with Anne Jefferies and May 
 Buxton, In just such nicely shaded patronage 
 as seemed to Imply that May had his true 
 liking, Anne his profound respect, and the 
 young poet his kind consideration, but that 
 at the same time he considered them all very 
 small people. 
 
 " I Insisted upon bringing Jem on from 
 Westnor Castle with me," he said. " I knew 
 you had his book." 
 
 Mrs. Tomllnson certainly had his book ; 
 she had got it at Mr. Vane's own suggestion, 
 but what she had done with It, where It was, 
 whether she had seen It, or whether she hadn't, 
 she could not, for the life of her, remember.
 
 MATERIAL. 6 1 
 
 Sir Edmund came to her relief. '' Ah ! it 
 is in my room," he said kindly. " I glanced 
 at some delightful things in it, before I came 
 downstairs, while I was resting my prescribed 
 half hour." 
 
 " Oh, yes ! one copy of it, I daresay," 
 said Mrs. Tomlinson, fearing that he might 
 go on to remark that its pages were still 
 uncut. But he was too discreet to do so, 
 and was watching the young author with 
 some interest. 
 
 '' Are you a student of poetry as well as 
 of music ? " asked Anne ; she was still sitting 
 next to Sir Edmund. 
 
 **More," he answered; "I think it requires 
 a less special apprenticeship." Then, after a 
 pause, he added, *' I was going to quote 
 Shakespeare again — one of his sonnets ; but 
 I recollected that you did not like to hear me 
 quote Shakespeare." 
 
 Anne looked up, surprised ; her conscience
 
 62 EUGENIA. 
 
 pricked her; she took refuge in a sort of 
 hauteur that was all shyness. 
 
 ** Honestly," she said, " I have read very 
 little poetry ; and sometimes, when I hear 
 people making quotations, I mistake what 
 they say for exaggerated speech of their 
 own." 
 
 "■ I shall never forget Anne, one evening 
 — at your 'Dilettanti' ball, Mr. Vane," put in 
 May, turning her graceful neck from Sir 
 Edmund to Vane, and then back again to 
 Sir Edmund ; — '' when she came out on to the 
 balcony, close to a window in which I was 
 sitting with mamma. She had been dancing 
 with Herbert Rondesleigh, and you know 
 what a man he is for quoting poetry. It 
 was a lovely starlit night, and as they 
 passed us, he said to her in his loud tone, 
 as If he had a perfect right to say it — 
 as, Indeed, he had, — 'Sit, Jessica!* You 
 should have seen Anne's face, in its gradual
 
 MATERIAL. 63 
 
 change from utter bewilderment to sheer 
 contempt ! " 
 
 ** We have often called her 'Jessica' since," 
 said Mrs. Buxton, to fill up a pause ; the story 
 was but half appreciated. 
 
 **Who is Jessica?" said Mr. Tomlinson, 
 willing to laugh, but puzzled. 
 
 ** Jessica was the Jew's daughter," Sir 
 Edmund explained, in his innocent way ; 
 ** Shylock's best treasure." 
 
 It was rather an unfortunate speech ; for 
 Sir Samuel Jefferies was of Hebrew extrac- 
 tion, and the great fortune Anne was to in- 
 herit had been said to have first sprung from 
 usury. Miss Jefferies did not think the better 
 of Sir Edmund for his explanation — for there 
 was an intelligence in his manner that made 
 one apt to fancy that he was satirical — and 
 May Buxton was so unused to reeulate 
 the frank expression of her face that she 
 looked absolutely pained. Anne broke the
 
 64 EUGENIA. 
 
 silence herself, by enlightening Mr. Tomlin- 
 son. 
 
 '' I know now," she said, in a high tone, 
 '^ that it is from that passage in the * Mer- 
 chant' about the *yoimg-eyed cherubim.'" 
 
 '' What's that, eh?" said Mr. Buxton sharply ; 
 '' ' the ^;^^-eyed cherubim ? ' " And at this the 
 lauo^h was oreneral. 
 
 "Talking of cherubim," said Mrs. Tomllnson, 
 who would have argued that a cherub was 
 an angel, and an angel a beautiful creature, 
 but who — argument apart — had a way of set- 
 ting her speech in rather vague concatenation, 
 — ** talking of cherubim, Mr. Vane, you know 
 that Lady Shortlands is going to bring Miss 
 Brand ? " 
 
 Vane looked up sharply, in the midst of a 
 second laugh that was rewarding Mrs. Tom- 
 linson's unconscious humourism. 
 
 *'Ah!" he said; "she is really coming, 
 then ? I wonder how you will like her ; she
 
 MATERIAL. 65 
 
 is not like others, and yet she is not eccen- 
 tric." 
 
 *' They have been due this half hour," said 
 Mrs. Tomlinson, who was not disposed to 
 discuss Eugenia as a being of a different 
 order; ''and it is only for Lord Shortlands 
 that Mr. Tomlinson is delaying his expedition 
 to the model cottages and farms. I am so 
 sorry that Mr. Buxton should have to wait 
 for him." 
 
 Mr. Buxton, who was punctual and loved a 
 grievance, looked as if he were sorry too. 
 
 '* Do you mind about model cottages ? " said 
 James Chatteris softly to May. He was a 
 good young fellow and very tender-hearted, 
 but he liked to affect the languid tone of a 
 man of the world ; he did not care for things 
 much, but it was more from inexperience than 
 from fatiofue. 
 
 '* Oh, I do like them ! " she answered with 
 her sunny, candid glance, ''and farms, and 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 66 EUGENIA. 
 
 everything," (which was about the truth) : ** I 
 often tell mother I had much sooner live in 
 one of the farms at home than at the house." 
 
 '' Did you know that Mrs. Brand and her 
 daughter live at a farm of Lord Shortlands' 
 down in Surrey?" said Mr. Vane; "he has 
 given it to them ; he likes to have them near 
 him, for his niece is one of the few people 
 he hears." 
 
 " I suppose she bawls." said Mrs. Buxton ; 
 her suppositions were generally unpleasant ; 
 she was the kind of woman that one does 
 not envy her dreams. 
 
 *' And do they make farming pay them ? " 
 Mr. Buxton asked ; he prided himself on 
 being always practical. 
 
 Vane only laughed : '' I don't think you d 
 take Miss Brand for a 'neat-handed Phillis,' 
 would you, Mrs. Tomlinson ? " 
 
 *' I should not take her at all," said Mrs. 
 Tomlinson rudely ; she had a notion that a
 
 MATERIAL. 67 
 
 *' neat-handed Phlllls " was another term for a 
 house-maid. 
 
 Sir Edmund listened, his attention arrested. 
 He cared much less about surroundings than 
 James Chatteris did, who was rather shocked at 
 hearing of the farmhouse home. Sir Edmund 
 sometimes wished he lived at a farm-house 
 himself; his great possessions were a burthen 
 to his conscience. 
 
 " I should think she was a surprise to the 
 natives — " began Mr. Tomllnson. • 
 
 *' Nonsense," said his wife sharply and much 
 to Mr. Vane's amusement, annoyed with this 
 persistent recurrence to the praise of Eugenia, 
 and saying more than she meant in her de- 
 termination to put a stop to his " rhodomon- 
 tades." — *' She is tall, of course, and fine- 
 grown, but otherwise she Is a very ordinary- 
 looking girl." 
 
 . . . What was it made Sir Edmund turn 
 again to Miss Jefferies, with that almost pettish
 
 68 EUGENIA. 
 
 sigh ? Perhaps the mere words " tall and 
 fine-grown," which Mrs. Tomllnson's context 
 endowed with such significance. He had 
 been curious about Miss Brand, now he felt 
 shy of her. He seemed to feel his own 
 deficiency, from the very words meant to 
 suggest Eugenia's. " She is tall, of course." 
 He wondered what she was like, and why 
 Vane was so silent and had such a satirical 
 look in his eyes. Why did he not agree 
 with Mrs. Tomlinson, or contradict her ? 
 Vane always had an opinion. 
 
 Sir Edmund had not long to wait. Just as 
 Mrs. Buxton was giving her daughter that 
 first little tired glance, which was the pre- 
 lude to her yawn. Lord Shortlands was an- 
 nounced, on the stroke of the half hour, and 
 he entered the room with Eugenia. For a 
 moment no one but Mrs. Tomlinson saw 
 Lord Shortlands ; they were all gazing at 
 the '' very ordinary-looking girl."
 
 ( 69 ) 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 SPIRITUAL. 
 
 Your first impression when you looked at 
 Eugenia Brand was that she was not a girl 
 but a woman, your next that you were not 
 a man but an ape. It was only when you 
 had mastered these involuntary shocks of 
 reverence and of humiliation, that you could 
 tax her appearance critically, and your sub- 
 sequent verdict was a thought embittered 
 by them both. 
 
 Women generally said of her first, when 
 they had found their tongues, that she was 
 "no longer young," and men that she was 
 **cold." As the world reckons, both these 
 opinions were well founded. She was eight-
 
 70 EUGENIA. 
 
 and - twenty, and she was very self-centred. 
 What was noteworthy was that neither men 
 nor women troubled to say to each other 
 that she was handsome, after they had once 
 remarked her. There was no need to say so, 
 and the term was not adequate. She looked 
 as If she could not have been other than she 
 was — handsome, certainly, and with that air 
 of beautiful growth about her that made it 
 impossible for you to think of her as having 
 ever had her ugly moments. You were quite 
 sure that she had been a beautiful girl, a 
 beautiful child, a beautiful baby. You were 
 quite sure that her mother was a beautiful 
 woman, and her grandmother before her. 
 People might find to say of her that she was 
 silent, even that she was shy, never that she 
 was plain. 
 
 And yet she had not the looks that box 
 your ears, or that draw men, as by a burning 
 o^lass, across a room. She was tall, but her
 
 SPIRITUAL. 71 
 
 abundant hair was only brown, not gold, (and 
 no one but her mother ever saw It in its 
 full beauty), her clear eyes were grey, not 
 blue, her lips were rather pale than red, 
 and her smile rare. Men like Vane, who 
 dared be very critical, would notice that her 
 teeth were perfect — of a transparent purity 
 that was like fine china — that the white of 
 her eyes and the blue of her veins were those 
 of a woman who had never known an hour's 
 ill-health or a day's unrest. She had qualities, 
 not ways, like a well-grown shrub more than 
 a conscious creature ; she was like lilac or 
 laurel, there was something about her ever 
 sweet and fragrant ; you could not make 
 allowances for her, and you did not think 
 that you could hurt her. 
 
 And yet any one who could have looked at 
 Eugenia without bias of either sex, had that 
 been possible, might have seen that, if occa- 
 sion were, she would feel greatly and suffer
 
 72 EUGENIA. 
 
 much : all these fine nerves and splendid 
 senses might become chords intense with 
 passion. But she had arrived at her full 
 womanhood with no traces of struggle, for this 
 reason : what affected others mostly seemed to 
 her too trivial matter for disquiet ; under what 
 fevered them her pulse beat equably. Her 
 mother's poverty, her few dresses, the narrow 
 sphere of her pleasures — these were things 
 that gave her no moment's vexation : the 
 morning, for all this, was for her still the 
 morning, and the evening the prelude of sleep. 
 What she felt, you were fain to decide, would 
 not be intolerance or envy, what she suffered 
 would not be mortification or false shame ; 
 only a great grief would move her much, only 
 a great pain would hurt her. It takes a deep 
 plummet to sound great depths, one says, a 
 iiorhtninof bolt to blast the native rock. One 
 says this, but one is too apt to forget that a 
 common stone, once dropped into the well.
 
 SPIRITUAL. 73 
 
 must sound it to the bottom, that a mimic 
 engine placed against the rock may blast it 
 to its core. 
 
 Meanwhile Eugenia Brand was tall, and she 
 had a face that it helped one to see, with the 
 brown hair turned over backwards from a fore- 
 head like a child's, and deep grey eyes under a 
 child's lashes, and a most sweet mouth not 
 overswift at talking. And the expression on 
 her face was womanly and self - possessed. 
 Every man present noticed the way in which 
 her head was set upon her neck, no man per- 
 haps noticed more, but the women marked her 
 dress — a plain, grey, morning-dress, warm for 
 the time of year, with a broad leathern belt 
 about the waist — and her plain hat that sheltered 
 her but let her see. She wore leathern gloves, 
 and for all ornament a Runic cross of silver, 
 old and rare, that lay upon the plaited bosom 
 of her gown, and some useful things, also of 
 silver, that were attached to her belt. In her
 
 74 EUGENIA. 
 
 belt too, were some of those little round marl- 
 golds that have a ring of darker colour round 
 their golden centres, and give a faint myrrhy 
 smell. Eugenia had gathered them in her 
 garden at Shortlands, not for a sentimental 
 leave-taking, but from delight in the beauty 
 of their colours, as they pressed against her 
 grey skirt ; but as their perfume was not 
 sweet, she had put, with them, some leaves 
 of the lemon verbena, drooping a little 
 now after the long journey, and a sprig of 
 rosemary. 
 
 '' I am sorry you have no proper travelling 
 dress," Mrs. Brand had said with a sigh, but 
 Eugenia, as she kised her mother, had literally 
 not found a thought to spare upon her ward- 
 robe. 
 
 **ThIs does very well, mother," she had 
 answered; "If Aunt Agatha is ashamed of me, mi 
 I shall be back with you the sooner." It 
 never even occurred to her what Mrs. Tom-
 
 SPIRITUAL. 75 
 
 llnson would think, or whether others would 
 be better dressed at Ashbank. 
 
 Lord Shortlands was a little way In front of 
 Eugenia ; he was rather gouty, and he was 
 very deaf, but he was in high good humour. 
 He knew that he should like the Ashbank 
 cooking, and change of air had already begun 
 to give him an appetite for it, which he would 
 not spoil by tea. 
 
 — " But you will send some up to my poor 
 lady," he said, as he declined it for himself. 
 " She is knocked all to pieces by the travelling, 
 and has grone straio:ht to her room." 
 
 ''Miss Bi^afid is not tired," said Mr. Tom- 
 linson, with that embarrassing manner, which 
 some old gentlemen assume, that calls atten- 
 tion to the person they affect (as If he would 
 have added '* Look at her ! / know about Miss 
 Brand, and the sort of stuff Miss Brand Is 
 made of; ") but he dropped that manner after 
 he had shaken hands with Eugenia, and stood
 
 76 EUGENIA. 
 
 looking on In silence, while Mrs. Tomlinson 
 made her known to her circle, of whom, as 
 it happened, she as yet knew only Vane. 
 
 Eugenia did not particularly like Mr. Vane : 
 she could not help the feeling, when she met 
 him at great houses, that he had pushed and 
 striven to be there ; and pushing and striving 
 were alike against her instinct. Moreover, 
 though he much admired her, he did not 
 trouble to be at his best with her ; she had 
 still her way to make, and she might not make 
 it. Vane never committed himself to a friend- 
 ship. She was indifferent too to the Buxtons, 
 but she had a glance of interest for James 
 Chatteris, of whose book she had heard. Her 
 unformed opinion might perhaps have been 
 that he was much too young to have written 
 poems about Life and Love, but she did not 
 formulate opinions readily, and she was thirsty 
 after her drive in the sun. She sat down be- 
 tween Mrs. Tomlinson and Vane and drank
 
 SPIRITUAL. 77 
 
 her tea : Lord Shortlands was being shouted 
 to about the model farms and cottages, and, so 
 long as he heard, there was no need for her to 
 talk. Mrs. Buxton said afterwards to May 
 that Eugenia had ''made a display of herself," 
 and ** expected to be admired : " — this was the 
 effect of her having happened to sit down 
 facing the windows. After a few moments 
 Mrs. Tomllnson made Anne Jefferies, who 
 was on her other side, known to Eugenia, and 
 then It was Sir Edmund's turn. 
 
 He had resumed his seat when Eugenia sat 
 down, and was turning over a book of photo- 
 graphs, and awaiting his hostess' pleasure. 
 Now she Introduced him, and he got up out 
 of his chair again. It was a deep, low chair, 
 and as he was cramped by some Irons which 
 he wore for his lameness, he rose with diffi- 
 culty. Eugenia saw this, and having heard 
 of his ill-health from Lady Shortlands, who 
 was more explicit than reticent about people's
 
 78 EUGENIA. 
 
 misfortunes, she imagined him to be really 
 deformed. From a wish to help him, she rose 
 quickly and put out her hand, with a kind 
 girlish gesture, whereas he had expected her 
 only to bow. There was no mistaking her 
 meaning, and a red flush spread itself over 
 his pale forehead as he rose too. 
 
 " I beg your pardon," he said awkwardly ; 
 he was seldom awkward, and he did not 
 know what made him speak so. Eugenia did 
 not answer ; she felt that she had made a mis- 
 take : then — to explain it, not to cover it — 
 she said gently : 
 
 " I hope that you are better." 
 
 Her grave tones might have pitied either 
 his illness or his sorrow, till she added as she 
 got her courage back a little : "My aunt tells 
 me that you are not strong." She was still 
 speaking with that solicitude in her voice 
 which perfect health assumes towards un- 
 known weakness.
 
 SPIRITUAL. 79 
 
 '* I am a cripple," he answered her quickly. 
 As they stood looking at each other, his eyes 
 were on a level with her lips, and he saw 
 them move as if she were going to speak, but 
 she said nothing ; the divlnest pity does not 
 waste itself in words. Then she grave him 
 her tea-cup to put down. 
 
 The action was too slight to be called 
 significant : she gave it to him to fill up the 
 moment's pause, but, to Sir Edmund, she 
 seemed to mean, *' At least you can do some- 
 thing for me." She satisfied his heart with a 
 sense of perfect rightness. He loved Eugenia. 
 
 But still, she hurt him ; as he sat down again, 
 after inquiring after Lady Shortlands' health, 
 he felt small and mean. '* She is as grand 
 as she is good," he thought. 
 
 ** It was very kind of you to ask me with 
 my aunt," Eugenia said to Mrs. Tomlinson. 
 " You are to have a dance, I hear ? " 
 
 It was quite an ordinary girl's question.
 
 8o EUGENIA. 
 
 but she could not help that she asked It in a 
 way Mrs. Tomllnson disliked, as If it were 
 an effort for her to put herself down to her 
 hostess' level. 
 
 ** How are you off for men In this neigh- 
 bourhood — odd men, I mean ? " put In Mrs. 
 Buxton ; her question sounded commonplace 
 enough, and was asked in serious earnest. 
 
 "• Oh ! we pfet over officers from Portsmouth, 
 when we want dancing men," said Mrs. Tom- 
 llnson. Mrs. Buxton looked pensive, she knew 
 that there were officers and officers. 
 
 " I forget the regiments — are they present- 
 able ? " she asked. 
 
 " Oh, quite ! — for that sort of thing — the 
 White Highlanders ; not Intellectual or musi- 
 cal, but a very pleasant set, and they are 
 always delighted to come." 
 
 " I hope they are as delighted to go ! " said 
 Eugenia to Anne, laughing, for Mrs. Tom- 
 llnson had Included her In an arch glance
 
 SPIRITUAL. 8 1 
 
 towards Anne and May, and the notion that 
 she was expected to derive pleasure from this 
 military contingent struck her as absurd. 
 
 " That reminds me," Mrs. Tomlinson added, 
 lapsing into the inconsequence of her favourite 
 phrase, "that I am going to send Jebb over 
 with a note, to ask some of them for tennis 
 to-morrow ; we shall want active players. I 
 suppose " — to Mrs. Buxton — " I ought to write 
 to the Colonel, though Captain M'olyneux, 
 Lord George's son, is really our friend ; I 
 think he may be away on leave ; they are 
 rather a mixed set, you see." 
 
 '' Tell the Colonel to pick out the best 
 connected ones ! " suggested Anne. 
 
 '' You might add a limit to the size of 
 their checks;" said Eugenia, who began to 
 be amused at Mrs. Tomlinson, and who was 
 not without a sense of humour, '' At Lady 
 Dora Strutt's the other day, you had to look 
 at two together to arrive at the pattern of 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 82 EUGENIA. 
 
 their clothes — no one man's back was broad 
 enouoh to hold it — and oh ! Mrs. Tomlinson, 
 do put a postscript about their conversation." 
 
 — " Only to speak when they are spoken to," 
 chimed in Sir Edmund, laughing also as he 
 took her tone. Eugenia's silence might be 
 formidable, but she was not serious. He 
 quite recovered his composure, though her 
 gaiety put the last touch to James Chatteris' 
 subjection, and as for May Buxton, who was 
 watching her, and who '' never could say 
 clever things — Anne could," May Buxton 
 adored her already. 
 
 In truth Eugenia looked adorable enough. 
 With one of her peculiar gestures, half proud 
 and half simple, she had taken off her hat, 
 which somehow slipped off easier than other 
 people's hats, and had laid it, with her leathern 
 gloves, in her lap. Her brown hair, a little 
 ruffled from the journey, spared a few soft 
 fine locks which were lying loose, but close.
 
 SPIRITUAL. 83 
 
 about her forehead. The mass of it, which 
 was brushed back, was gathered into a thick 
 knot behind, the colour of leaves in autumn. 
 The group round her began to be aware that 
 there was a fine presence among them ; even 
 Mrs. Tomlinson felt it, and the feeling did not 
 make her like Eugenia the more. She let the 
 two girls talk to her, and crossed the room to 
 despatch her note by Jebb, and to send some 
 tea to Lady Shortlands. 
 
 It was the signal for a general move. Lord 
 Shortlands expressed himself ready, and started, 
 with his host and the all-important Mr. Bux- 
 ton, to see the farms and cottages, which had 
 been built upon some new principle, sanatory, 
 but most distasteful to the tenants. Mr. Vane 
 and his protdgd accompanied them on their 
 way, though it was doubtful whether either of 
 them *' minded much about the model cottages." 
 Then Mrs. Buxton gave her girls a sign, and 
 of a sudden Eugenia found herself left by the
 
 84 EUGENIA. 
 
 tea-table with Sir Edmund, Mrs. Tomllnson 
 installed, like Cerberus, at her writing-table 
 a few yards away. She had triple vigilance 
 thouorh she had but one head. She was in the 
 habit of saying it was "as good as anybody 
 else's three," — a statement, unfortunately, not 
 open to proof. 
 
 Sir Edmund felt at home with Eugenia by 
 this time, though he had recurring sensations 
 of shyness as the circle broke up. Her beauty 
 was of the sort that seems to make itself a 
 right to whatever place it occupies, and even 
 after these few moments in her company. Sir 
 Edmund was wondering how he could ever 
 have thought Mrs. Tomlinson's morning-room 
 complete without her. 
 
 Euorenia herself was of that unexclted nature 
 that does not find proximity to a man sufficient 
 cause for flutter. She had finished her tea, 
 and was refreshed, but she still preferred 
 resting to conversation. She sat by the table
 
 SPIRITUAL. 85 
 
 and drew her long gloves through her fingers 
 in an absent-minded fashion. She was not 
 thinking of anything in particular, but her 
 look was an incentive to Sir Edmund. To 
 a nervous, ardent nature like his, nothing Is 
 perhaps less tolerable than the air of inatten- 
 tion on a face that looks as If it ml^ht be 
 interested. It Is the visible sign of a lost 
 moment. Here was Eugenia, all at his dis- 
 posal, and he made no claim upon her. 
 
 "You do not like soldiers?" he asked her 
 presently, not because he needed to hear her 
 answer, but because he wanted to make her 
 attend to him. 
 
 She did not trouble to say "yes" or "no" 
 — she smiled gradually. 
 
 " Because I said that?" she answered. " I 
 don't like large checks, and I don't like small 
 talk. I have generally found that officers are 
 fond of both ; they do very well when they 
 are silent and In uniform."
 
 86 EUGENIA. 
 
 *' Oh ! you like them then ? " 
 
 " They give me a satisfactory impression 
 of strength." — She paused, too quickly for her 
 arrest to escape his notice. 
 
 " And so you don't like cripples ?" he said, 
 before she could correct her speech. 
 
 She did not attempt evasion. " I am very 
 sorry," she said softly, almost in a tone of 
 reverence, "do you have pain .'^ I cannot 
 imagine bad pain, but I am sure it gives 
 people a value. My mother suffers." He 
 looked at her, half with shrinking and half 
 with gratitude, he knew that it had cost her 
 something to say that. Her confidences were 
 not on the surface. 
 
 Eugenia had a way of sitting still that was 
 almost like movement — a way of silence that 
 was as adequate as articulate speech. Her 
 lips were just parted, and her eyes, though 
 they looked down, were not inactive. They 
 seemed only to be not looking at you, because
 
 SPIRITUAL. Sy 
 
 they were looking at your thoughts, which per- 
 haps lay on her knees, (Sir Edmund fancied), as 
 the Greeks said our future lay " on the gods' 
 knees." He felt that she was thinking about 
 him, although he could not meet her gaze. 
 
 Mrs. Tomlinson's pen scraped on in the 
 stillness : the pen's scraping and the foun- 
 tain's plashing filled the pause. Presently Mrs. 
 Tomlinson stopped writing, and the cessation 
 of the sound brought Eugenia to herself. She 
 rose and expressed her wish to join Lady 
 Shortlands upstairs. 
 
 *' Oh, surely there is no hurry for that," 
 said Mrs. Tomlinson, who knew that Lady 
 Shortlands wished first to discuss the field 
 with her. " I am going up to her myself, 
 to see that she has all she wants, and you 
 and Sir Edmund must not be stranorers. He 
 
 o 
 
 is at home here, and he must show you my 
 conservatories. If you step out of that win- 
 dow, you will find yourself in the glass ranges
 
 88 EUGENIA. 
 
 immediately, and you are fond of flowers I 
 can see, because you have some in your belt." 
 This with a glance, between compassion and 
 contempt, at Eugenia's drooping marigolds, 
 which possessed Sir Edmund with a fierce 
 desire to replace them from some flowers of 
 his own choice. 
 
 And so, between talking and fastening her 
 note for J ebb, Mrs. Tomlinson wandered out 
 of the room, before Eugenia could answer. 
 Both she and Sir Edmund had risen, and 
 were standing- facinof each other. It was 
 rather a difficult moment. 
 
 '' Shall we go ? " he said, and as she had 
 no valid reason for not going, they went. 
 
 Mrs. Tomlinson's "glass ranges," as she 
 called them, were the joy of her heart and 
 the envy of half the county. Eugenia, whose 
 life had been as simply ordered as a peas- 
 ant's, had never imagined anything in the 
 least like them for culture and display. At
 
 SPIRITUAL. §9 
 
 Shortlands, there were but few gardeners, 
 and they drew their ancestral wages without 
 much care for botany. Here you went on 
 from one great stretch of lofty glass into an- 
 other, in an enchanted atmosphere of light 
 and sweetness. These special house-conser- 
 vatories were arranged with a path straight 
 through them, the flowers banking down from 
 a tall background of immemorial camellias on 
 either hand. Their dark and glossy leaves, 
 unrelieved at this season by any blossom, 
 set off all the better the glowing colours of 
 the alamander and the lesser plants before 
 them. The lowest of these were mere border 
 flowers, flush with the ground — for the pots 
 were sunk — while the highest only let you 
 catch a glimpse of this dark wall of leaves, 
 before light twining creepers hid the glass 
 above. And everywhere, about and overhead, 
 shone starry blooms, like butterflies in sunlight, 
 some naturally hanging from the roof, some
 
 90 EUGENIA. 
 
 exquisitely grouped In baskets massed with 
 fern, where the frailest orchids exhaled an 
 almost overmastering scent. Fountains added 
 motion and sound to the fairy scene, and 
 made each live blossom like a tropic bird 
 in song. 
 
 The tiled path was a narrow one, borders 
 of fern and maidenhair throwing their dainty 
 fronds across it, and Eugenia went first, her 
 brown hair still uncovered, her grey dress 
 making for Sir Edmund's eyes the patch of 
 soberness and life he needed, amid the same- 
 ness of all this inanimate glow. She was 
 still holding her hat and gloves In her left 
 hand, with her right she touched from time 
 to time, the top of some taller plant or lesser 
 shrub as she passed it ; she seemed to make 
 a coolness throucrh the olarlno: heat. She did 
 not once look behind her, because she dreaded 
 to see that her companion walked with pain, 
 but he had half- forgotten the awkwardness
 
 SPIRITUAL. 91 
 
 of his nervous gait — which indeed was not al- 
 ways perceptible — in watching her lithe move- 
 ments. How much better she was than the 
 rest of the summer flowers, showing under 
 the crimson lamps of the creepers^passlon- 
 flower and hybiscus — like a young palm, he 
 thought, or a bit of Solomon's seal ! 
 
 They did not speak for some minutes ; not 
 Indeed until EuQ^enia had reached the end of 
 the narrow path, when she, perforce, turned 
 in the direction which the range of glass 
 took to the left, round the corner of the 
 house. Then she said, but without looking 
 at Sir Edmund, '' I had no idea there could 
 be anything so beautiful." 
 
 '* The conservatories are perfect of their 
 kind," he answered, only half thinking of his 
 words, " but I confess I do not care for 
 them." 
 
 " Oh, that is what I wanted to say," said 
 Eugenia, brightly ; ''but I feared lest I might
 
 92 EUGENIA. 
 
 seem ungrateful. Now I know you think as 
 I do ; all this is not half so natural or good 
 as an open-air walk amid the bracken. It 
 is like a court-dress for everyday wear." 
 
 She shook the handle of the door at her 
 right, impatiently, as she spoke, but it was 
 locked. Sir Edmund had come close to her 
 by now, and they stood like two prisoners 
 in a palace of exhausted air, looking out into 
 the shady alleys of the garden. 
 
 *' One cannot breathe at first in this atmos- 
 phere," he said, " but one becomes acclima- 
 tised." 
 
 And Eugenia too began to feel the charm 
 of the place steal over her. Involuntarily she 
 half-sighed, as she stooped over the white 
 upturned face of a gardenia. Her eyes looked 
 limpid and more almond-shaped, she was 
 beginning to be mesmerised a little by the 
 scent-laden air and by Sir Edmund's earnest 
 glance.
 
 SPIRITUAL. 93 
 
 *' I lead an out-door life," she said quietly, 
 making an effort to resist the spell. 
 
 '' Yes," Sir Edmund answered, '' that is 
 what you have done with your days, — spent 
 them ' amid the bracken.' " 
 
 ''At Shortlands, yes;" said Eugenia, with 
 a smile : " but you forget — I mean you do 
 not know — that I have spent many days 
 where there was no bracken ; — by the sea," 
 she added half to herself, and for Sir Ed- 
 mund her voice had the deep sea's sound- 
 in it. 
 
 " Ah ! " he said, " by the sea ; as if I could 
 not have told it ! You have not only the fern- 
 life in you, but the life of wind and wave " — 
 he stopped abruptly, he had spoken fervidly, 
 foolishly perhaps ; he felt that he was hard 
 to answer. 
 
 " Yes," said Eugenia, still quietly ; " there 
 is that also " — she was thinking of the effect 
 that natural things had on her, not of her-
 
 94 EUGENIA. 
 
 self — '* I lived most of my life at a little 
 village near Worthing, with my mother." 
 
 '' Tell me," said Sir Edmund in the same 
 quiet tone, so much easier to talk with — even 
 in paradoxes — than the tone of surprise. 
 
 '' There is not much to tell," answered 
 Eugenia, whose smile had not left her. *' I 
 suppose no one's life has been less eventful 
 than mine, since my father's death, — and I 
 remember little of the time before. We wan- 
 dered about. I was not twelve when he died." 
 
 " What made you choose Worthing ? " asked 
 Sir Edmund. 
 
 '' We did not choose it," said Eugenia, " and 
 it was not Worthing. You see I am more 
 truthful than grammatical. You have heard 
 of old Corafiume ? " 
 
 Sir Edmund had heard of the atheistic 
 old astronomer, who was reputed to have 
 been the greatest rascal of his time, but he did 
 not say that he had heard that verdict.
 
 SPIRITUAL. 95 
 
 "He had been my father's friend once." 
 said Eugenia simply ; *' When he died he left 
 his house, and what small means he had, 
 to a woman who had nursed him." 
 
 Sir Edmund started. The story had been 
 one of the scandals of his young manhood, 
 and, easily as he forgot scandals, this one 
 was half-historical and had lodged in his 
 memory. 
 
 " She soon tired of the little house without 
 him," Eugenia went on — for she had not 
 observed his astonishment — '*but she had 
 some difficulty in getting a tenant, and she 
 let it to my mother just as it stood — library 
 and all — to rent at a nominal sum when 
 she went abroad. We lived there fourteen 
 years, paying her fifty pounds a year. We 
 should have been there now but for Lord 
 Shortlands' wish that we should be near 
 him. We live at Shortlands' farm now, as 
 you know."
 
 96 EUGENIA. 
 
 " You have been very unfair to yourself/' 
 said Sir Edmund, with a motive in testing her 
 of which he was half ashamed. ''You said 
 you had lived there since you were twelve, and 
 now you say you lived there fourteen years — 
 Do you know that you are crediting yourself 
 with twenty-six summers ? " 
 
 " And I am nearly twenty-eight," said 
 Eugenia, her smile becoming wider and more 
 charming, " it is my length of days and not 
 myself that I am wronging. Yes, indeed, we 
 lived at Wisdean fourteen years, and this is the 
 second autumn we shall have been at Shortlands. 
 I had time to read all the dry old books in 
 the poor Marchese's library, so if any one should 
 know about Italian history, it is I ! But, alas ! 
 I know very little about anything : I have 
 gleaned something of geography I think, but I 
 have been to few places." 
 
 " I am not five years older than you are," 
 said Sir Edmund, w^ith a dash of pride which
 
 SPIRITUAL. 97 
 
 he could not restrain, " and I am a cripple, but 
 I have seen all the world." 
 
 *' I daresay;" said Eugenia- — she was not 
 one to be moved by travel — " my consolation 
 must be that you have exhausted only this 
 planet, and that — thanks to the old observatory 
 at Wisdean — as regards Saturn and Jupiter, 
 not to speak of the moon, I am at least your 
 equal." 
 
 " I am sure you know more of heaven 
 than I do ; " said Sir Edmund In his deep* 
 low-toned voice, but though he said It, he 
 did not feel that he was paying Eugenia 
 an empty compliment. She was not apt to 
 bridle. 
 
 ^^ I always think of Wisdean as my home," 
 she went on, quite at her ease with Sir Edmund 
 now. " I am sure you would have liked the 
 house, though It was so little, and so close to 
 the village road. Between Its windows and 
 the garden wall there grew a row of cypress- 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 98 EUGENIA. 
 
 trees, with a Greek name — the * long-fruited 
 
 cypress;' they were called." 
 
 *' Cupressos makrokarpos ? " 
 
 *' That was it. The Marchese had planted 
 
 them to remind him of former days in his old 
 
 Campagna villa, and they were cut into all 
 
 manner of odd shapes, partly to please his 
 
 fancy, but more not to keep out the sun. When 
 
 you looked at the house from a distance and 
 
 the light shone on the windows, it made them 
 
 gleam like water through the dark green mass." 
 
 — (How glad Sir Edmund was, that she had 
 
 said ** like water ; " another woman would have 
 
 said ''like diamonds," he thought). — " I did not 
 
 know my room at Shortlands for a long time. 
 
 I missed the shadows of the cypresses, which 
 
 used to nod and sway across the floor at Wis- 
 
 dean always ; but now I am accustomed to my 
 
 farm-house room, though it only looks across 
 
 the meadows." 
 
 And then Sir Edmund said, half to himself:
 
 SPIRITUAL. 99 
 
 " * Peace in her chamber^ wheresoever 
 * // be^ a holy place : 
 ' The thought still brings my soul such grace 
 ' As morning meadows wear — ' " 
 
 ** Yes," said Eugenia, '' ' as morning meadows 
 wear/ I know something of the 'grace they wear' 
 after two years at Shortlands. I love to see them 
 in the winter snow or in the summer dew^" 
 
 '' Who could not have told it ? " said Sir 
 Edmund (he had been a little bit spoilt, and so 
 perhaps, despite his shyness, he was readiei; of 
 speech than other men). '' You will think me 
 such a humbug, because I swear that I find 
 signs in you — your very self— of all those places 
 that you tell me of. But so it is. You have 
 lived among your cypresses by the sea, and you 
 have got the tree's straightness and strength, 
 and the sea's music and power ; and you have 
 walked 'amid the bracken,' like a fawn, and 
 
 looked out upon the meadows " ■ 
 
 **Like a cow !" said Eugenia, with an amused 
 look which recalled him to himself.
 
 lOO EUGENIA. 
 
 " Yes ; like a cow',' he said, Insisting laugh- 
 ingly upon the paradox, *' it doesn't sound so 
 nice as it is, but it Is very nice." 
 
 " I know what you mean," she said, laugh- 
 ing too, " and I think I like to be like a 
 cow." 
 
 '' But I was going to find beautifuller traces 
 than these," he said. *' I was going to tell you 
 that you had the grey sea's colours in your eyes, 
 and the autumn bracken's In your hair, and the 
 grace of the morning meadows In your soul — 
 oh ! but I am sure there must have been pines 
 at Wisdean or at Shortlands." 
 
 '' There are more pines near here than at 
 Shortlands," said Eugenia. She began to be 
 tired of similes. Then she rubbed one of the 
 steamy panes in the glass door with her 
 leathern gloves and looked out. *' See that belt 
 of pines down there," she said. '* I think they 
 must go straight on to the sea." 
 
 '* I wish we could eet out," said Sir Edmund
 
 SPIRITUAL. lOl 
 
 looking through the pane too: he would not 
 break the mystery of this intimate happiness 
 by looking at Eugenia, as they stood there, with 
 but one wish between them, like two children : 
 *' we will go walks together, won't we ? " 
 
 "If you like," said Eugenia, as forgetful of 
 his lameness as he was himself. She spoke as 
 if she were thinking of something else, and so 
 she was. She was thinking of the pines going 
 straight to the sea, and wondering if they looked 
 at all like the King's Forest at Pisa, where she 
 remembered playing when she was quite a little 
 ofirl. 
 
 '' Do you know Italy as well as its history ? " 
 said Sir Edmund presently. 
 
 Then for the first time she thrilled with 
 pleasure. 
 
 " Oh/' she said, " you were thinking of the 
 King's Forest — Shelley's forest — and of how 
 one comes straight through the pines down to 
 the wonderful broad sea."
 
 102 EUGENIA. 
 
 " Yes," Sir Edmund said, and his voice 
 trembled a little. '' I was thinking your 
 thoughts." And then he looked at her. 
 
 She blushed and walked on further through 
 the flowers. 
 
 Even Mrs. Tomlinson's conservatories do 
 not go on for ever, and at last it came to pass 
 that Eugenia had to turn. The slight flush 
 that Sir Edmund's speech had roused was not 
 quite faded from her face as she fronted him. 
 
 To her relief she fronted at the same 
 time Mr. Vane and James Chatteris, whom a 
 glimpse of her face at the locked door had pre- 
 vented from accompanying Mr. Tomlinson's 
 *' model-cottage-investlgating party," as Vane 
 called it, beyond the garden. The door where 
 Euorenia and Sir Edmund had been standinor 
 was locked from the outside, and the key was 
 in the lock. The two friends entered the con- 
 servatory at its angle and freed the prisoned 
 pair, for they left the glass door open.
 
 SPIRITUAL. 103 
 
 Mr. Vane looked older in the broad light, just as 
 Sir Edmund looked more ill, and Eugenia more 
 noble and fair. Standing there thus together, 
 under the articulating sun, they felt all to have 
 made a stride in Intimacy, though at the same 
 time to be more critical and more embarrassed. 
 Mr. Vane, for instance, was hardly likely to be 
 reassured with Eugenia, though her eyelashes 
 were longer than he had thought, by the con- 
 viction that she could detect the dye upon his 
 whiskers. But embarrassment would have been 
 the wrong term for his feeling; what he felt was 
 that the sun was behaving in an Ill-judged 
 way. 
 
 " We saw you beating your wings against 
 the door," he said, ''and came to the rescue." 
 
 *' The air is delightful," said Sir Edmund, 
 *'but the draught will spoil Mrs. Tomllnson's 
 orchids." Sir Edmund was often thoughtful 
 for others out of their presence. 
 
 " Had you not better put on your hat. Miss
 
 I04 EUGENIA. 
 
 Brand ? " Mr. Vane went on, with some inten- 
 tion in his tone. 
 
 " And oh ! come out," added the young poet 
 with childish persuasion. 
 
 Eugenia quietly put on her hat, which, in- 
 deed, she had forgotten ; but she returned 
 Mr. Vane no thanks for being so solicitous. 
 '' I will come out if you like," she said to 
 James Chatteris, and they walked from the 
 conservatory side by side, Sir Edmund follow- 
 ing with Mr. Vane. 
 
 Anne and May were at Anne's bay-window 
 above, in the room where the piano had been 
 placed. 
 
 ** There goes that woman in her mushroom 
 hat," said Anne, " with three men trailing after 
 her already, two, at least, of whom she has never 
 set eyes on till to-day, to our certain knowledge." 
 
 ** She looks like one of those draped statues 
 on your terrace at Broome, Anne," said May.
 
 SPIRITUAL. 105 
 
 '' Does she ? " said Anne caustically, turn- 
 ing away from the window as she spoke, with 
 a curious sigh ; *' She's rather thick in the 
 waist, I grant you." 
 
 '' What, don't you like her ? Don't you 
 think her lovely?" said May, astonished at 
 her cousin's trenchant comments. 
 
 *' Like her ? " repeated Anne ; " think her 
 lovely ? I'll tell you what it is, May. It's a 
 plan^ and a sel/, and we're not going to enjoy 
 ourselves a bit. She's a riorht-down beautiful 
 woman, beautiful from the crown of her head 
 to the sole of her foot, and she's as good as 
 she is beautiful. And if you want to know 
 the truth, I don't mind telling you, and it's 
 this : Sir Edmund Trefusis is head over ears 
 in love with her by now, and Mrs. Tomlinson 
 and I — not to speak of your dear mamma — 
 we loathe her ! " 
 
 Which, like most of Anne's confidences, was 
 only partly true.
 
 ( 106 ) 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 DEVILISH. 
 
 Mr. Vane always said of Lady Shortlands 
 that she was '' the wackedest woman between 
 the three seas." His meaning was as vague 
 as his geography ; he could no more have 
 told you any positive crimes of her commis- 
 sion than he could have named the three seas 
 that bounded them. But the verdict that he 
 formulated thus, was — under one formula and 
 another — the current verdict, and passed for 
 true. 
 
 She had suffered a good deal of pain, 
 caused certainly by braving London fogs 
 for the sake of theatres, and overeating her- 
 self for the sake of gluttony, but still honest
 
 DEVILISH. 107 
 
 gout and bronchitis that had left her with a real 
 feeling of sympathy for other invalids. But 
 she balanced her compassion for the body by 
 an equal spite against the soul. Against the 
 spiritual part of man she waged incessant 
 war. She might have been a fallen angel, 
 judging from her persistent denial and de- 
 fiance of good. Without ever having com- 
 promised herself — for the world confessed her 
 to be a model wife and mother, viewed by the 
 world's own standard — there was no enormity 
 whispered of others that she did not relish, 
 and was not prepared to believe. ''Not that 
 she wished any one 111," she would say ; but 
 her cravlnof for excltinof Incident was such 
 that she would have given a sister the last 
 little push downhill, for the sake of holding 
 up her hands at her fall. 
 
 It v^2ls half a pity that Lady Shortlands was 
 so truthful. She w^ould have made a most 
 amusing Scheherazade, could one only have
 
 I08 EUGENIA. 
 
 disbelieved her. But she would never proceed 
 without data, and If her righteous anger or her 
 Christian pity were wasted on your news, you 
 were no better than a false informant. " You 
 may rely upon me for the truth," was her favour- 
 ite self-recommendation, and as there are more 
 than enough seams in the social cloak for an 
 old woman to spend her life in unpicking, 
 Lady Shortlands always had her little legiti- 
 mate handful of unravelled threads to show 
 you, and her series of peepholes to exhibit, 
 through the slits of her own making. And 
 through these peepholes, may be, indeed, you 
 always saw ''the truth," but then you always 
 looked at the mud, and if you always look at 
 the mud you will very seldom and very faintly 
 see so much as the reflection of the stars, so 
 that at last you will get to disbelieve in stars 
 and think small beer of astronomers. 
 
 Lady Shortlands was very fond of Mr. Vane, 
 though she was not deceived about him, and
 
 DEVILISH. 109 
 
 she meant to dine down at Ashbank, if it were 
 only for the sake of his gossip ; but previously 
 she had to interview Mrs. Tomlinson to see 
 what was on the cards, and to publish her 
 own opinion about her niece Eugenia ; for 
 Lady Shortlands was particularly exacting 
 where her own flesh and blood were con- 
 cerned, and particularly confidential about their 
 shortcomings. 
 
 She had established herself in the Ven- 
 etian sitting-room, she was lying on a sofa 
 with her back to the window, looking like 
 a battered Emperor-butterfly, with all the 
 bloom off its wings, and upbraiding her 
 maid and her absent niece, with what breath 
 she had left. 
 
 ** Object ! " she was saying ; *' why, the crea- 
 ture won't be fit to be seen, if she meanders 
 and philanders about those cucumber frames, 
 with the dust of the road in her hair and the 
 railway smuts smudged on her nose."
 
 no EUGENIA. 
 
 It is difficult to say ''smuts smudged" when 
 one is lying on one's back ; and the phonetic 
 exercise had just set Lady Shortlands sneez- 
 ing, when Mrs. Tomlinson knocked at the 
 door, followed by her own maid, with some 
 tea upon a tray. 
 
 *' Dearest Lady Shortlands !" said the hostess 
 with effusion, '' I am so glad to see you looking 
 at home already." 
 
 *' Yes, thank you, Mrs. Tomlinson. I'm 
 comfortable enough, and your rooms are 
 charming ; only you must remember, I've the 
 responsiblHty of bear- leader now, and I'm 
 anxious about my bear. She's a fine crea- 
 ture and tame ; but she's very stupid ; and 
 Parfitt — who daren't tell me a lie for her 
 life — says she's gone off on her tricks without 
 even staying to powder her nose." 
 
 ''You mean your niece, Eugenia?" said 
 Mrs. Tomlinson, rather stunned at this tirade, 
 but glad of the opportunity for inserting
 
 DEVILISH. 1 1 I 
 
 Eugenia's name ; she had no intention of 
 calling her '' Miss Brand." 
 
 *'0f course I do; what, I ask you, is my 
 motive, Mrs. Tomlinson, in coming here ? " 
 (Lady Shortlands was not careful to disguise 
 her schemes, and she was annoyed with Mrs. 
 Tomlinson already). " I mean to marry the 
 woman to your rich dwarf. I bring her all 
 the way here; I'm dead beat; I push her 
 into the room with Milord, and tell her to 
 look sharp and bring me up some tea. What 
 is the point of that ? I can trust your ser- 
 vants for the tea; and if I can't — for I never 
 believe in new servants — what do I care for 
 tea ? I want to get her up here, for Pariitt 
 to give her a good brushing and shaking down 
 before she's seen. No such thing ! Off she 
 goes with the first man she claps eyes on — 
 the dwarf of course — and, Parfitt says, without 
 a hat on ; Parfitt knows, and she's made out 
 the ironmonger already"
 
 I I 2 EUGENIA. 
 
 *' Sir Edmund Trefusis is not an ironmonger, 
 dear Lady Shortlands," said Mrs. Tomlinson, 
 In a tone meant to be mildly deprecating, 
 thouorh her voice shook with answer — not that 
 she was sorry that Lady Shortlands should 
 find fault with Euorenla. 
 
 *' Ironfounder then, man in irons, whatever 
 he Is. I'm sure I'd sooner it was gold than 
 iron ; however there's something In quantity. 
 You know what Lady Kingsborough said 
 when she aimed at the horse-breeder, and 
 her daughter ran off with the groom, ' It 
 isn't the stable I mind, but I wanted a great 
 deal more of it,' and I hear your Sir Edmund's 
 iron Is as good as other people's gold " 
 
 "Sir Edmund Trefusis has sixty thousand 
 a year," said Mrs. Tomlinson, slowly, and with 
 something of her husband's manner, which 
 she unconsciously assumed when making any 
 statement about money. 
 
 *' Now, has he, Mrs. Tomlinson ? " inter-
 
 DEVILISH. I I 3 
 
 rupted Lady Shortlands, " and are you sure ? 
 because, you know very well, rumour counts 
 for nothing with me. I must have it in black 
 and white ; I don't say that I should stop the 
 marriage for the difference between sixteen 
 and sixty, in thousands, any more than Lady 
 Elspeth did for her girl in years, but I like 
 to know the truth." 
 
 *' Mr. Tomlinson says sixty thousand," said 
 his wife with authority. 
 
 *'Well," assented her ladyship, in a tone 
 more mollified than grateful, ''Tomlinson ought 
 to know ! " 
 
 Mrs. Tomlinson glanced round to see that 
 Parfitt and her own maid had left the room. 
 It galled her that they should hear her hus- 
 band spoken of as if he were a steward, but, 
 when she saw that they were gone, she sum- 
 moned up a smile, and said as amicably as 
 she could, that she ''thought he did." 
 
 " And now," Lady Shortlands went on, 
 VOL. I. n
 
 114 EUGENIA. 
 
 having got the information she wanted, ** sit 
 near me, my dear, and tell me all about the 
 people ! The girl's beyond our reach, and 
 there's no help for it now. She never looks 
 bad out of doors, that's one comfort. If she's 
 made a slatternly first appearance, Parfitt can 
 freshen her up, and if she's tired herself out, 
 I think my tongue can sting her into life. 
 There are certain things that I say, which 
 Eugenia does not like. Odd that ? isn't 
 it.?" 
 
 Mrs. Tomlinson could not express surprise 
 at this announcement, so she affected not to 
 notice it. " The Buxtons are here," she said, 
 ** with May ; and Anne JefTeries has come 
 with them. " 
 
 '' She's ugly, isn't she ? " said Lady Short- 
 lands. " Her father's skin ; 'can the leopard,' 
 &c. ? Who was it said of money, '71011 oletf 
 I always say it does — through the pores." 
 
 This witticism was thrown away on Mrs.
 
 DEVILISH. I 1 5 
 
 Tomlinson, who knew no Latin ; and she 
 made as if she would have gone on with 
 her Hst. 
 
 '' Oh, you needn't tell me^' said Lady 
 Shortlands ; "77/ tell you. The Buxtons 
 and ourselves — Eugenia, Anne, and May, Sir 
 Edmund Tre-what's his name ? — Vane and a 
 mountebank. You see I know them already. 
 Now, my dear, you want more men : there 
 isn't a haporth of manhood among them. 
 Milord can't hear a word from any one 
 but Eugenia — why you asked him I don't 
 know I — ; Buxton's a fool, and Vane's a daily 
 paper. Sir Edmund and the mountebank don't 
 count. The one's a cripple (poor creature !) 
 and I hope booked, and the other's a monkey, 
 I suppose — who is he } " 
 
 *' Mr. James Chatteris," said Mrs. Tomlin- 
 son, feeling that the name needed no warrant. 
 
 *'A monkey:" repeated Lady Shortlands, 
 to her hostess' chagrin ; **you must have men,
 
 Il6 EUGENIA. 
 
 what I call fibre, or your girls will be bored, 
 and your party dull." 
 
 *' We have the White Highlanders at Ports- 
 mouth," said Mrs. Tomllnson, naming that 
 popular regiment. She half anticipated a 
 crushing retort, but Lady Shortlands was 
 tolerant : 
 
 *' Very well ; ask them over and say you 
 can sleep some of them ; you can easily send 
 them back if they won't do, and it will take 
 a deal of sinew to balance the Buxtons." 
 
 *' I did not know you knew the Buxtons," 
 said Mrs. Tomllnson, unwisely. 
 
 *'Not know them ?" said Lady Shortlands, 
 shutting her eyes with a sigh. *' I know 
 everybody, for my sins, and a great many 
 nobodies too. You ask Mrs. Buxton whether 
 I know her or not. You might remind her 
 that I caught her out opening my letters with 
 hot water, thirty years ago, at Hepsworth ; 
 but you needn't, if you think it would hurt her
 
 DEVILISH. 117 
 
 fine feelings," she added with that short laugh 
 which invariably followed her recital of a 
 scandal, like the clock-work squeak of a me- 
 chanical toy, as It runs down. 
 
 " Did she really ? " said Mrs. Tomlinson, 
 not displeased. To a new landowner, such 
 information about '' her county " is pre- 
 cious. 
 
 '''Did she really'?''' repeated Lady Short- 
 lands, opening her eyes again very wide in- 
 deed. " Yes, Mrs. Tomlinson, she really did ; 
 when I say people have done things, you 
 may be pretty certain that they have done them. 
 I daresay she does it still. You find out if 
 she asks for some hot water — * Very hot, to 
 melt some cement : ' she used to say — about 
 half an hour before the post goes ; then look 
 for your postbag, and when you hear that 
 she's ordered it to be brougrht to her room 
 that she may put her letters into it herself, 
 ask me again if she really does!'
 
 Il8 EUGENIA. 
 
 Mrs. Tomllnson shivered. There was some- 
 thing so enormous and so graphic in Lady 
 Shortlands' strictures, that they gave her quite 
 a chill. 
 
 " She reads everything and she does no- 
 thing," concluded her ladyship, '' and that sort 
 of woman is a perfect sink of iniquity. As to 
 Anne Jefferies, I could tell you something about 
 her, Mrs. Tomlinson, that would make your 
 mouth water ; but I won't, because she'll very 
 likely marry my old friend Torre, and I'm not 
 one to throw mud at a possible peeress. Now, 
 look here, there's nothing of that sort about 
 Eugenia ; she is fond of music, 7io^ of music- 
 masters; " (Lady Shortlands said this slowly), 
 " she is not like other eirls. You don't think 
 her handsome, I daresay, because she doesn't 
 know what paint is, and doesn't dip her face 
 into the meal-tub or her hair into the mus- 
 tard-pot, but handsome she is ; and if an 
 eligible baronet — with, say, sixty thousand a
 
 DEVILISH. 1 1 9 
 
 year — wants the genuine woman, there she is 
 — minus a heart, as far as I can tell — and 
 she shan't say * no,' for a twist In his leg or 
 a turn In his temper. Now, you manage this 
 for me, like the dear creature that you are, 
 and don't forget to bring Tomllnson to 
 Shortlands at Christmas, and meet the Dur- 
 hams ! " 
 
 '' Has Eugenia never cared for any one ? " 
 said Mrs. Tomllnson, too wily to express her 
 delight at the contingent invitation that might 
 put her on terms of intimacy with a Duchess, 
 thouo^h she could not dlsorulse a certain o:listen 
 in her eye. 
 
 — " She's improving," thought Lady Short- 
 lands : " she'd have jumped at that, six months 
 ago:" but she only said, " Never ! It's an odd 
 thing, but I'm sure of It. When the caring 
 does come, it will come with a rush, and over 
 she'll go. It's the way with us Carruthers." — 
 Lady Shortlands was quite still for an instant.
 
 I20 EUGENIA. 
 
 and then she went on : — " I want to get her 
 married first, or she'll fall in love with some 
 wicked old astronomer, like Corafiume ; she's 
 educated and cut out for a martyr, and I mean 
 to baulk her of that vocation at least. If she 
 must make a sacrifice of herself, let her do so to 
 your dwarf!" And Lady Shortlands squeaked 
 again, while Mrs. Tomlinson gave symptoms of 
 her characteristic snort. 
 
 ** A pretty sacrifice, I think," she said 
 angrily. 
 
 " My niece ? " said Lady Shortlands, de- 
 lighted to have put her hostess into a temper 
 which she did not dare to show : *' A very 
 pretty sacrifice ; tell me, my dear Emma, 
 what will you wear at the wedding ?" 
 
 ''Brown:" said Mrs. Tomlinson, appeased. 
 Though she disliked her Christian name, it was 
 sweet to hear it from Lady Shortlands' lips. 
 *' Do you know Mr. Buxton well?" she asked, 
 changing the subject.
 
 DEVILISH. I 2 I 
 
 " Mr. Buxton," said Lady Shortlands, clos- 
 ing her eyes again as if to look into her 
 memory, '* proposed to me three times. So I 
 ought to know him well, but I don't suppose 
 I do, for I should never have given him 
 credit, after so much persistency, for yield- 
 ing to Miss Dalrymple-Robarts. Either he 
 was a greater fool than he seemed, or else 
 my reiterated refusal turned his brain. They 
 have scores of children, I suppose ; I hope 
 you have only asked the one, sisters whis- 
 per so in corners and are the scourge of a 
 party." 
 
 ''Only May," said Mrs. Tomlinson, "she is 
 my husbands favourite." 
 
 " Oh! I can see her; bread and butter, blush 
 and smile, * yes ' and * no ' — or rather always 
 ' yes ! ' She will do for the captains, all of 
 them desirable young men riding upon horses ; " — 
 Lady Shortlands knew parts of her Bible well. 
 — " I appropriate Vane, and I daresay Anne
 
 122 EUGENIA. 
 
 Jefferles will teach the monkey something; Is 
 it musical ? " 
 
 *'No, It's a poet, — Mr. Chatteris Is," said 
 Mrs. Tomllnson vaguely. 
 
 ''James Chatteris a poet ?" said Lady Short- 
 lands. " What a mistake of Vane's to brinof 
 him here — poor boy ! I must kiss him, if he's 
 presentable, for his mother's sake. What a 
 martyr she was to gumboils, and how my Friars' 
 balsam cured them ; poor soul, I wonder If she 
 has them now ? " 
 
 '' I wish you would give me something for 
 Mr. Tomlinson's knee," said Mrs. Tomllnson, 
 immolating her absent husband, in her joy at 
 getting Lady Shortlands mounted on her pet 
 hobby of medicine ; " he has suffered terribly 
 from the season's dinners." 
 
 *' I wi// give you something," said Lady 
 Shortlands, sitting bolt upright for the first 
 time, and drawing some small tablets from her 
 pocket. '* Tomlinson's knee ! where's a spare
 
 DEVILISH. 123 
 
 place for It ? Here, just look at my memoranda 
 from the journey ! A woman in the carriage 
 with us let out that she was Marian Dorcaster's 
 governess. I've put down, ' Write to Lady 
 Marianl I shall have that woman sent away, 
 people shouldn't talk of their employers' con- 
 cerns. She said nothing of consequence, but 
 she might have said a great deal, and I shall 
 not tell Marian that she didnt ! Then what's 
 this — ' 79 Hans Place! Oh ! that was on a 
 travellinof baof ; I must find out who's — * Chet- 
 wynd, what Chetwynd?^ That was a man 
 sat opposite to me, and read a letter dated 
 from ' Brooks's.' I didn't know the man, 
 and I know every Chetwynd under the sun. 
 The letter began, * My dear Chetwynd/ He 
 must have been an impostor. Here's a place, 
 ^Liniment — knee — Tomlinson' — that means I 
 must have Parfitt make a liniment for Mr. 
 Tomlinson's knee, — underline knee, that means 
 that I must see It." — Mrs. Tomlinson looked
 
 124 EUGENIA. 
 
 shocked — ''Nonsense, my dear, I must see 
 Tomllnson's knee." 
 
 Some one laughed In the room. She had 
 come in without noise. 
 
 " It Is I, Aunt Aoratha," said Euo^enla. *' I 
 have had such a lovely walk ; but may 1 come 
 In ? I don't want to trespass upon Mr. Tom- 
 llnson's knee," she added with an amused look 
 at Mrs. Tomllnson. 
 
 ('* She Is an odious girl," thought that lady, 
 ** she speaks to me as If I were a child.") 
 
 ''Good!" said old Lady Shortlands, squeak- 
 ing again; ''trespass tipon Tontlinson's kneel 
 I daresay Tomllnson wouldn't mind it If you 
 did. Yes, come In ; where have you been '^. " 
 
 "In the conservatories and In the garden : 
 the air is delicious after travelling." 
 
 " Who was with you ? " 
 
 " Sir Edmund Trefusis, and Mr. Henry 
 Vane, and young Mr. Chatteris, the poet.''
 
 DEVILISH. 125 
 
 (" She hasn't fallen in love with him," thought 
 her ladyship, '* else she'd either have put his 
 name last — for effect, — or In the middle, — that 
 I shouldn't notice It ! ") 
 
 *' How do you like Sir Edmund ? " said Mrs. 
 Tomlinson, with the arch glance which Eugenia 
 had resented already. 
 
 ** I am very sorry for him," she answered ; 
 *' he seems so lame." 
 
 ''He has sixty thousand a year," put in Lady 
 Shortlands. ♦ 
 
 *' Has he ? " said Eugenia in an absent man- 
 ner. — *' Affectation," thought Mrs. Tomlinson, 
 until she went on quietly, " I wonder what It 
 is like to have so much mone}^ at one's com- 
 mand, and at the same time to be always ill 
 and see the poorer people well, about one. 
 Life must become so full of Irony." 
 
 ** Full of iron - foundry," squeaked Lady 
 Shortlands impatiently ; and then she pulled 
 herself up short as she remembered that It was
 
 126 EUGENIA. 
 
 to Eugenia, and not to Mrs. Tomllnson, that she 
 was talking ; " Think of the opportunities for 
 o-ood that such an income brino^s ! " 
 
 — To hear Lady Shortlands' counsel upon 
 ' opportunities for good ' was like hearing the 
 devil quote Scripture. — 
 
 ''It is kind of you to think of that, Aunt 
 Agatha," said Eugenia, trying to repress her 
 instinct that the speech was insincere. As she 
 could not repress It, however, she said no more 
 upon the subject. '' What beautiful things 
 you have at Ashbank, Mrs. Tomlinson ! " 
 
 '' Oh, nothing much," said Mrs. Tomllnson, 
 fingering an exquisite Cellini cup, upon the 
 writine-table, as if it were a trifle of no mo- 
 ment ; " A few pretty little things." 
 
 Eugenia reached out her hand for the cup, — 
 she had seated herself on a footstool by Lady 
 Shortlands' sofa. Mrs. Tomlinson handed it 
 to her carelessly, but she took it with reverent 
 hands.
 
 DEVILISH. 127 
 
 ** That is most beautiful," she said, looking 
 at it with Intense pleasure. 
 
 ** Have you seen your room ? " said Mrs. 
 Tomllnson, perceiving that it was herself and 
 not the cup that she had depreciated — and she 
 could have melted down the o^old with the 
 heat of her own indignation — " I think you 
 will like it." 
 
 ''Am I not to sleep there ?" said Eugenia, 
 turning towards the dressing-room. 
 
 ** No, in the room beyond this ; It is — ah ! 
 — warmer:'' (a doubtful recommendation in 
 August) "You will be close to Lady Short- 
 lands without disturbing her," she added. 
 
 *' I shall be happy anywhere," said Eugenia 
 with her smile, proud and yet gracious. 
 
 Lady Shortlands marked the effect of her 
 voice on Mrs. Tomllnson, who seemed collaps- 
 ing more and more into the position of house- 
 keeper to Ashbank; and her heart, withered 
 as it was, swelled at Eugenia's bearing. She
 
 128 EUGENIA. 
 
 liked, too, the unconscious change of tone with 
 which her niece addressed herself, the tone of 
 one who speaks to an equal and with no shade 
 of patronage. 
 
 *' Mr. Chatteris has been finding out that he 
 is my cousin. Aunt Agatha," she said. 
 
 '' So he is ! " said Lady Shortlands, In- 
 terested at once. '' At least your poor 
 father was a sort of cousin of his mother's. 
 They say the world is small. I don't know 
 that, but everybody seems related to one 
 somehow." 
 
 Mrs. Tomlinson said nothing ; but she had 
 an uncomfortable feeling that neither the Jub- 
 bers nor the Tomlinsons were likely to prove 
 related to Eugenia Brand. 
 
 — " Yes," Lady Shortlands went on, " Lady 
 Shetney was a Brand, and she was Jem's 
 grandmother — Bra7idmother I might say," she 
 added with her squeak. Her ladyship liked 
 any pun, however poor, if she had made it her-
 
 DEVILISH. 129 
 
 self. If It were made by another, she only liked 
 it If It was Irreligious or Indecent. 
 
 Mrs. Tomllnson smiled. " I hope you will 
 like Anne and May ; " she said to Eugenia. 
 
 " I have no doubt of it ; " said Eugenia. — She 
 had not paid much attention to either, and that 
 was why she spoke without enthusiasm, but 
 Mrs. Tomllnson set her down as cold and 
 jealous. — '' And I am quite sure I shall like 
 Sir Edmund." 
 
 Lady Shortlands squeaked again, and Mrs. 
 Tomllnson suppressed a snort. 
 
 *'0h, yes," she said, " I am certain of that ! 
 We dine soon after eight, so I shall leave you 
 with your aunt till then. If you are inclined 
 to come downstairs you know your way, and 
 this is Liberty Hall. I hope dearest Lady 
 Shortlands will dine down too. Your room, 
 Miss Brand," — she had meant to say ** Eugenia,'' 
 but she did not — " is the last door on the left 
 as you go towards the staircase." 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 130 EUGENIA. 
 
 ** Thank you very much," said Eugenia, 
 gracefully rising, as Mrs. Tomlinson rose, and 
 going with her towards the corridor. '' I shall 
 write my few lines to mamma here, if Aunt 
 Agatha will let me." 
 
 Mrs. Tomlinson drifted off, with her incon- 
 sequent gait, and Eugenia walked back to the 
 writing-table, Lady Shortlands watching her 
 the while under half-closed eyelids as she 
 gasped for breath. 
 
 ** Put me some brandy in that tea," she said 
 presently. " The old cat has clawed me to 
 pieces." 
 
 Eugenia got some brandy from her aunt's 
 travelling-bag and poured it into the tea. Then 
 she sat down at the writing-table ; but all the 
 time she was silent. 
 
 There are some few people in the world 
 whom to watch doing things is perfect rest. 
 Eugenia was one of these people. There was 
 no hurry or fatigue in what she did. To see
 
 DEVILISH. I 3 I 
 
 her write a letter was just to see a beautiful 
 creature duly exercising certain mental and 
 bodily faculties with use as refreshing- as food. 
 As Lady Shortlands watched her, the faintness 
 passed. " Give her my love/' she said pre- 
 sently, " and tell her my pun." Then, queru- 
 lously, after a pause, — '' Are you never tired, 
 Eugenia ? " 
 
 " Not with sitting still in the train," Eugenia 
 answered : '' I was cramped, but my walk has 
 freshened me." 
 
 She folded up her letter as she spoke. 
 
 This was Eugenia's letter : — 
 
 ^' My own dear mother — 
 
 " You have just finished your tea, and I 
 ** know perfectly well what you are doing. You 
 '' are sitting down to write me a real, long letter ! 
 *' That is good, for I feel that more than half of 
 " me is with you ; the other half has little news 
 " as yet. Ashbank is beautiful, but there are 
 '* many ugly things in it ; so many antimacassars.
 
 132 EUGENIA. 
 
 •' Mr. and Mrs. Buxton are here, with a 
 " daughter, who is pretty : they have also 
 *' brought a niece, Miss Jefferies. Then there 
 '* are Sir Edmund Trefusis, and H. Vane. The 
 '' former Is almost a cripple ; the latter you 
 '' know. Also a Mr. James Chatteris, whose 
 *' poems you will find In my bedroom, he is 
 *' very clever and he is my cousin ! 
 
 " Mr. and Mrs. Tomlinson seem kind. 
 
 **Aunt Agatha Is on the sofa, in a pretty 
 " sitting-room she Is to have, where I am wrlt- 
 " Ing. She looks very tired ; but I am glad to 
 " see she is not pale. Lord Shortlands bore 
 *' the journey very well, and has gone out ; I 
 *' have been out too. There is a belt of 
 " pines here which you can see from the house- 
 " conservatories, which are very large. It 
 " oroes straio^ht down to the sea, and reminds 
 " me so much of the King's Forest at Pisa : you 
 " will recollect those pines. I did so wish for 
 " you when I noticed this. Sir Edmund said
 
 DEVILISH. 133 
 
 " the view reminded him of the same place, 
 '* just as I was thinking how Hke it was. That 
 " was nice of him, was it not .^ And it proves 
 " the resemblance, for he has travelled a great 
 " deal. It made me think of Wisdean too, and 
 *' the dear Marchese's trees — but he could not 
 *' know that. 
 
 " After all, I left behind the little jewel-case 
 " you lent me. I put it in my left-hand drawer 
 " to be safe, and then forgot all about it ! You 
 " will find it there, but you need not forward it. 
 " It does not matter in the least: I am sure 
 ** there are plenty of trinkets here without mine 
 " or yours, and I can easily get flowers. 
 
 " Good-bye, dearest mother, kiss the pony 
 '* for me, if you can get as far as the stable, and 
 " don't let Kafoozelum forget how to say grace 
 " for her milk. Your loving daughter — 
 
 '' Eugenia Brand." 
 *' Aunt Agatha sends you her love and bids
 
 134 EUGENIA. 
 
 *' me tell you a pun she made. She called Mr. 
 *' James Chatteris' grandmother his Brand- 
 " mother. (She was a Miss Brand.)" 
 
 That was Eugenia's letter ; neither very 
 wise nor very witty ; but faithful, as a letter 
 seldom is. Mrs. Brand would certainly not 
 stop to question of its wisdom or its wit; it 
 was " Eugenia's letter ; " and if Mrs. Buxton did 
 practise on the post-bag, as Lady Shortlands 
 averred, she could get no scandal out of it. 
 
 ** And now, Eugenia," said Lady Shortlands 
 when the letter was put aside, *'as Milord is 
 out of the way, and we can talk without your 
 having to shout it all to him, I want to speak 
 to you." 
 
 *'Yes, Aunt Agatha," said Eugenia; she 
 shut the blottlnor-book and leaned forward 
 over the writing-table, fronting the light. 
 
 "You are elght-and-twenty, so7inds!' 
 
 " Ouite an old woman ! "
 
 DEVILISH. 135 
 
 "Quite a woman at all events, and I hope 
 not a fool. Now I want you to listen and not 
 to interrupt me : you know I have no breath 
 to waste. You are no longer young, and you 
 have no fortune ; but I have made up my 
 mind that you shall have your chance. It is 
 not so much for your sake as for my poor dear 
 sister's, that I want you to marry well." 
 
 Eugenia looked down at her hands, and her 
 lip curled a little ; ''Is that why you have 
 brought me here ? " she said. 
 
 " Partly — and partly because I am not 
 strong, and want your company. I am not 
 likely to find a single dme de connaissa^ice here. 
 But I do not disguise that I wish you to place 
 yourself well. Now, Eugenia, I don't know 
 who may come here or who may not;" — this 
 was a lie and Euo^enia knew it — ''but I want 
 you to bear the idea of marriage in mind (that 
 sacrament seems to have slipped your notice 
 hitherto) and not to neglect an eligible oppor-
 
 1 36 EUGENIA. 
 
 tunity (really eligible, mind, don't jump at 
 straws) of providing for yotcr mother'' — (" I 
 think I had her there," she added to herself, 
 unsnapping her eyes and looking at Eugenia's 
 troubled face. " Now for a scene ! "). 
 
 But no scene came. Eugenia was silent 
 for a few seconds, and then she said, " I see ; 
 do you think marriage is a sacrament. Aunt 
 Agatha?" 
 
 — Now what in the world could be more 
 provoking than this? — 
 
 " I'm sure I don't know," said Lady Short- 
 lands, entirely nonplussed, as people are apt 
 to be when an incidental clause in their 
 advice is combated, instead of the main 
 issue; ''wiser heads than mine or yours have 
 thought so." 
 
 " ' A sacrament,' " said Eugenia, half seriously 
 and half in banter, as she clasped her beau- 
 tiful hands round the Cellini cup, '' ' is an out- 
 ward and visible sign ' "
 
 DEVILISH. 137 
 
 " * Of an inward and spiritual grace,' " said 
 Lady Shortlands briskly, snapping - to her 
 eyes again, and glancing deep into the 
 various stores of her memory. " Put down 
 that chalice — cup, I mean, and don't preach 
 to me ; I know all about it." 
 
 Eugenia dropped the quotation, but she 
 said what she meant to say. " I don't see 
 how one can make a rzo/i^ marriage, because 
 one is old and poor." 
 
 ** I never said you could," said Lady 
 Shortlands, *'but I think you may as well 
 try : — what I say to you is simple enough ; 
 I say * don't be rude.' Your manner to 
 men is unpleasant, you hurt their self- 
 respect, and some day you will hurt your 
 own." 
 
 "I am sorry if I am rude," said Eugenia, 
 with a slight consciousness that she had hurt 
 Sir Edmund's pride. " I have not had much 
 to do with men who require gentleness, and
 
 138 EUGENIA. 
 
 I am afraid that I am rough. I must try to 
 mend my ways." 
 
 She said this owing to the direction her 
 thoughts had taken, of which her speech was 
 always a truthful reflex. She did not mean 
 to yield ; but Lady Shortlands unsnapped her 
 eyes again, and jumped for joy upon her 
 sofa. ** The creature absolutely takes my 
 drift," she said to herself, '* she's not such a 
 oroose as I thoug^ht." 
 
 And with that she determined to say no 
 more, but dismissed Eugenia to her room. 
 
 Now Eugenia's sense of beauty was even 
 keener than Mrs. Tomlinson had surmised, 
 and when she entered her chamber, its 
 storied walls all golden in the late afternoon 
 glow, she experienced a feeling of delight 
 which would have amply repaid a hostess 
 who had been actuated by any wish to please 
 her guest. Although she had truly said that 
 she was not tired, the quiet and the warmth
 
 DEVILISH. 139 
 
 inclined her to repose. She sat down in an 
 old-fashioned chair by the window, which had 
 a seat that sloped backwards, and enjoyed 
 the prospect before her, Indoors and out. 
 She was in a disturbed state of mind, unusual 
 for her, caused partly by her having suddenly 
 been thrown among strangers, and partly by 
 her aunt's hard speeches. She could not 
 have told you quite what her thoughts were ; 
 but presently they formulated themselves into 
 the words, *' I should like to be Independent," 
 a wish which Lady Shortlands, had she heard 
 it, would have taken as a good omen for the 
 sacrament she had ordained. She looked at 
 the lavish wealth of beauty round her, and 
 thought, without a grain of envy, of Mrs. 
 Tomllnson's power; ''It is well to be rich!" 
 She sat for some minutes without stirring, 
 but presently, as she rose to survey the room, 
 she beheld on the wall opposite the window 
 a most curious and magnetic picture, which
 
 140 EUGENIA. 
 
 Struck her, on the instant, as the glory of the 
 whole. The picture was raised, upon an old 
 receding frame of brass, and ivory, and silver, — 
 a miracle of workmanship — and it represented 
 a woman darkly dressed, stooping forward a 
 little from against a sunset scene. Behind 
 her you could see stretch be)'ond stretch of 
 pleasaunce and still water, vivid in tone, and 
 yet, Eugenia thought, quite unpicturesque in 
 its crowding, as it were the backofround of a 
 Diirer etching, coloured by Holman Hunt, 
 crimson and purple and green. There was 
 something in the woman's pose so noble, 
 somethincr so natural and winnincr in her 
 figure and the attentive way she stood, that 
 Euorenia felt she must advance and examine 
 the subject nearer. As she did so, the sloping 
 imaore made her a sort of sudden bow and 
 disappeared, leaving the crowded landscape a 
 still wider field ! It had been her own re- 
 flection, the strong sunset light behind her
 
 DEVILISH. 141 
 
 making the grey of her gown and the tints 
 of her face darker, in one of the old Venice 
 mirrors hung upon the warrior tapestry, and 
 leaning forward from the wall. 
 
 The momentary vision and its sudden loss 
 gave Eugenia an odd sense of loneliness, 
 w^hich she tried vainly to dispel by an ex- 
 amination of the tapestry. It was more 
 comely than edifying, and she turned again 
 to the window. 
 
 When she looked out, she saw Anne Jefferfes 
 and May Buxton, in pretty tennis dresses, stand- 
 ing grouped with Mr. Vane and James Chat- 
 teris, in the gravel court, where they were going 
 to play, to avoid the heavy dews upon the lawn. 
 
 Lady Shortlands looked out on to the same 
 prospect, shordy afterwards, from her bedroom, 
 three windows off, and to her satisfaction she 
 beheld Eugenia, *' with her face clean and 
 her hair tidy," crossing the grass to\\ards the
 
 142 EUGENIA. 
 
 tennis grounds, quite unaware that the basket- 
 seat which two footmen were bringing out 
 to set upon the terrace, was one specially 
 designed for the comfort of Sir Edmund 
 Trefusis. 
 
 " Pariitt," said her ladyship to her maid, 
 who entered the room just then, to help her 
 dress for dinner, ''you needn't give me that 
 tonic before I go down to-night ; I feel quite 
 set up without it! Pour it, with those other 
 things, into a bottle you will find upon that 
 table near the window, labelled ' The Lijii- 
 menty for Mr. Tomlinsoit's knee — Poison — with 
 care' And much good may it do him ! "
 
 ( H3 ) 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 SENSUOUS. 
 
 There were some people called Jarvis, who 
 lived at Clifton, with whom the worthies of 
 this story could never have had anything to 
 do, seeing that they were quite outside the 
 boundary line which society draws, however 
 vaguely, and never made an effort to pass it 
 but by one proxy. 
 
 Mr. Vane might indeed have recognised the 
 Jarvis' existence, had he been some days with 
 them in a desert, because their appearance con- 
 noted good living, and he would have trusted 
 them to direct him to an oasis ; but he would 
 have heard their name mentioned over and 
 over again, in a civilised land, and not have
 
 144 EUGENIA. 
 
 given any sign of consciousness. They were 
 substantial " Villa " people, with a three-stall 
 stable close to their Villa, and a loud seven 
 o'clock dinner-bell which rang from a mock 
 tower and was more audible on the near road 
 than in the drawing-room. But for the carriage 
 and the horses and the loud dinner-bell, you 
 miorht have lived unaware of Mr. and Mrs. 
 
 o 
 
 Jarvis, though you would have seen their 
 names, on local charity lists, before such good 
 round sums as made you wonder that you 
 never heard of them. They were so very like 
 so very many other people ! They were not 
 very vulgar, nor very rich ; they were prosper- 
 ous folk, and in their own set popular. But 
 then it was a planetary set that revolved on its 
 own axis, and its satellites were insignificant. 
 The people who belonged to it were always 
 ''at home" and always "quite well," so that 
 one could not glean interest, even from ups 
 and downs of their whereabouts or their health.
 
 SENSUOUS. 145 
 
 For crown of their prosperity, Mr. and Mrs. 
 Jarvis had one son, baptismally recorded as 
 "Arthur John" though not a scion of the earHer 
 princes of England. He was called Arthur 
 because, straight upon her confinement, Mrs. 
 Jarvis brought to the birth her sole moment 
 of romance, and insisted with tears — ''of 
 weakness," the doctor said — upon ''a name 
 out of a novel," for her crimson hopeful. 
 The Waverley Novels were the only ones to 
 hand, good Mr. Jarvis having bought them 
 with the decorations of the house. Some of 
 them were real books and some were only 
 backs fastened on to the library door. Mr. 
 Jarvis did not know which were books and 
 which were backs ; the presence of the backs 
 had accounted for his purchase of the 
 books. ''Anne of Geierstein" was, however, 
 it transpired, a bond fide book and not a 
 back. Mr. Jarvis raked out ^' Anne of 
 Geierstein," and sent it up to his wife's room, 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 146 EUGENIA. 
 
 with strict injunctions that she was not to 
 read it. 
 
 She did not read it, but it served its turn ; 
 she opened it, and lighted on the name of 
 "Arthur." Mr. Jarvis thought it an absurd 
 name, but he humoured her so far as to let it 
 stand before his own plain work-a-day name 
 of John; and thus the only child that was 
 their portion became "Arthur John," and like 
 the other Jarvis tmpedimenta, he prospered. 
 
 But, prosper though he did, Arthur John, 
 as might be surmised from the parts whereof 
 he was compounded, was not more brilliant 
 than most other people's sons. He was a 
 perfectly healthy and a perfectly stupid boy, 
 whose stomach could stand cigars before his 
 brain could dioest Latin. Whether from diffi- 
 culty of choice between two royal names so 
 eligible, or from shame at the spasm of 
 romance implied in "Arthur" while there was 
 a prior parental claim to "John," he was
 
 SENSUOUS. 147 
 
 always called by a nickname — '' Buck," to wit; 
 suggested by his partiality to some American 
 buckwheat cakes, which were sent annually to 
 his mother from emigrated relatives in Ohio, 
 during the years of his hungry boyhood. 
 
 Perhaps he would have grown up a nicer 
 young man if he had occasionally been bullied 
 and flogged. As it was, though he was packed 
 off to school directly he had kicked his gover- 
 ness, he grew up a bit of a bully himself; and, 
 had he cared to put his creed into words, it 
 would, perhaps, have been found to be this, 
 that you can have all you want in the world, 
 provided you make up your mind to get it, and 
 shout for it until you do : which is no doubt 
 true, provided it is only rocking-horses and 
 toffee that you go on wanting, in divers forms, 
 all your life long. 
 
 Arthur John Jarvis — alias Buck — was sent to 
 Harrow, and thence, after unpropitious experi- 
 ences of a vulgar sort, to a crammer s ; for he
 
 148 EUGENIA. 
 
 had expressed a very decided predilection for 
 a red coat, and his youthful misdemeanours 
 were not such as need disquaHfy him for a 
 military career, though they might have been 
 considered to his disadvantage had he selected 
 the Church as the profession he wished to 
 adorn. Good fortune and the single-hearted- 
 ness of his parents, who would have made 
 every effort to get him the moon had he wanted 
 it ( — but he did not want it, and would not have 
 known what to do with it if he had got it — ) 
 made his career easy ; and when he first hon- 
 oured Portsmouth with his lordly presence, he 
 was a lieutenant in the regiment of which 
 Mrs. Tomlinson had spoken, by its usual and 
 historic title, as the '' White Highlanders." 
 
 In person, Mr. Buck Jarvis was very like a 
 private in the footguards, being noticeably free 
 from any distinguishing refinement of appear- 
 ance or manner. Though you could not per- 
 haps have made certain that he was a gentle-
 
 SENSUOUS. 149 
 
 man, there was no doubt whatever of his being 
 a soldier. That was what admitted him at all. 
 As a civilian he would have been impossible, 
 but even as it was, he looked more like a 
 soldier-servant than an officer. 
 
 He was not quite six feet high, though, by 
 brushing his thick curly hair a little upwards, 
 he managed to attain the air of this ideal stan- 
 dard. His mother called the said hair auburn, 
 and his face was florid too. It was rather a 
 handsome face of the common soldierly type, 
 unchanging in complexion and aspect under all 
 circumstances and in all weather. No doubt 
 his figure, though he had some work to keep 
 it down, was magnificent, but it was incapable 
 of grace or of the slightest dramatic expres- 
 sion. If he put himself into any conscious 
 attitude, beyond standing or sitting, he looked 
 at once like a vulgar caricature. His ample 
 frame would not be " cabined," whether his 
 "ample spirit " would, or no. There was some-
 
 150 EUGENIA. 
 
 thing about his lips and hands — the way he 
 breathed and the way he spread himself — that 
 made you feel he was a young man who re- 
 quired room. He seemed to exhaust the air 
 in which he moved ; a winter arbour that he 
 had sat in was well-aired, and the Ice cracked 
 as he passed over It. He did not say much, 
 but what he said he said loudly, as If he meant 
 it, and, as It was generally a demand for some- 
 thing good, he mostly did mean It. The veins 
 showed in his hands, and his clothes accentu- 
 ated his muscles — he always wore regulation 
 boots. When he was off duty, what he liked 
 best was shooting rabbits. 
 
 No one In the regiment ever called him any- 
 thing but Buck, but when he spoke of him- 
 self in the third person, as he sometimes did, 
 it was by the more affectionate pet-name of 
 ** Buckleboy." 
 
 Men seldom found anything to say about 
 him ; and when they did, their praise or blame
 
 SENSUOUS. I 5 I 
 
 was for the most part negative — for instance, 
 that he was *' not a bad sort of chap," and that 
 he would '' not set the Thames on fire " — 
 what he was and what he wottld do, it would 
 have required discrimination to tell. For pur- 
 poses of his own amusement, he was lavish 
 of his father's money ; and he was not the 
 least bit of a bore, for so long as he got what he 
 wanted, you might get ^\i2X you wanted for all 
 that he cared. Girls talked about him a orood 
 deal, and though they professed to laugh at 
 him, they liked to be with him. No '' really 
 nice woman," as Mrs. Tomllnson would have 
 said, " had ever troubled her head about him," 
 but the middle-class maidens at Clifton thought 
 him ''jolly," and the housemaids at his father's 
 villa, who always put new ribbons in their 
 caps when Mr. Arthur was expected home, 
 considered him a very fine young man in- 
 deed. He always tipped them, and after 
 meeting him upon the stairs they had been
 
 152 EUGENIA. 
 
 known to spend whole afternoons in quarrel- 
 ling for the possession of his buttonhole flower 
 of the previous evening, the vanquished one 
 even refusing the solace of tea — a proof that 
 his favours had been fairly distributed. 
 
 Of such flesh and blood was Mr. Arthur John 
 Jarvis at four-and-twenty, of whom perhaps 
 too much has been said already, to the ex- 
 clusion of describinof other officers of his reei- 
 ment, but, in a word, it is upon the red head 
 of Mr. Buck Jarvis that the halo centres ! 
 
 One is too apt to confound cause with cir- 
 cumstance ; it is often not because a man is 
 this or the other that he gets the greater 
 boons of life, but just because he happens to 
 be there when the greater boons are going- 
 a-begging. The lot falls upon him. Now 
 and then it makes him worthier, but for the 
 most part it leaves him pretty much where 
 he was. The greatest gift seems small if one 
 have not wrought for it.
 
 SENSUOUS. 153 
 
 Now Mr. Jarvis, being always "fit" for tennis 
 and much inclined for the o^ood thlno^s of this 
 life, was one of the readiest of his regiment 
 to accept that invitation of Mrs. Tomlinson's 
 which J ebb conveyed to Portsmouth, while 
 Euofenia was writinor to her mother on the after- 
 noon of her arrival at Ashbank. He at once 
 proposed to drive over two friends of his, Cap- 
 tain Boville and Lieutenant Crossley, In his new 
 cart ; and he and Crossley went next morning 
 and bought more scarves and ties than they 
 would be likely to need for a month's sojourn. 
 The scarves were not selected by the canons 
 of sestheticism, they were bright and fresh ; 
 Buck called them " rather classy." Captain 
 Boville, who was twelve years older and im- 
 pecunious, bought no scarves and called Buck 
 a fool to his face, though he accepted his lift. 
 The three men had leave to sleep if asked, 
 and brought their dressing-bags with them, 
 and Crossley, who was musical, took two songs,
 
 154 EUGENIA. 
 
 ''In the gloaming" and the " Midshlpmlte," 
 which Bovllle made a feint of accompanying 
 and Buck whistled, though he was apt to 
 swear, with adjectives, that they were " rot." 
 
 The party at Ashbank had coalesced and 
 amalgamated surprisingly during the twenty- 
 four hours that elapsed before the advent 
 of the military contingent. Lord Shortlands 
 had not only approved of the model cottages 
 but made the delightful discovery that he 
 could hear what Anne Jefferies said to him. 
 Lady Shortlands had kissed Mrs. Buxton 
 (averring it was true that *'she was so changed 
 she should 7tever have known her") and 
 patted May upon the head, for she was in 
 hiofh eood humour after her talk with Eugenia. 
 Mr. Buxton, some of whose suggestions had 
 been put under consideration by Mr. Tomlin- 
 son's surveyor, thought Tomlinson vicariously 
 *'a very good fellow." Vane and Anne were 
 the better friends for having beaten May Bux-
 
 SENSUOUS. 155 
 
 ton and James Chatteris at their tennis, and 
 Mrs. Tomllnson, assured that her party would 
 be a success, spoke with more command than 
 usual to her footmen. 
 
 And Sir Edmund Trefusis — and Eugenia ? 
 
 They had sat side by side and watched the 
 tennis, taking up the thread of their talk un- 
 like strangers, hindered only — if it were not 
 encouraged — by Mrs. Tomlinson's wandering 
 visits to their terrace, (for both she and 
 Mrs. Buxton were '* too much afraid of Uie 
 falling dew," to sit with them) — and what 
 little each had said had approved itself to 
 the other's taste. Such conversation is hard 
 to register, it is so slight as to escape the 
 most scrutinous memory, but much is built 
 upon it : and it is well if one feel, the follow- 
 ing day, that there is none of it which one 
 would wish unsaid. 
 
 Eugenia certainly wished no word of Sir 
 Edmund's unsaid, at present ; the manner,
 
 156 EUGENIA. 
 
 rather than the matter, of his speech, had 
 pleased her, and she had said so very httle 
 herself that there was nothing to need repent- 
 ance. Eugenia liked watching tennis, although 
 she was herself an exceptional player, and 
 she liked sitting out in the warm sunset 
 elow. She beg^an to feel at home at Ash- 
 bank, making, as she soon did, a sort of circle 
 of calm around her ; the place had sufficient 
 charm in its immemorial beauty to let you 
 forget that it was not its own hostess. 
 
 As for Sir Edmund, he continued to wonder 
 that he had ever thought Mrs. Tomlinson's 
 parties complete before. He longed, in his 
 sweet-natured random way, to buy Ashbank 
 and give it to Eugenia that he might be able 
 to thank her for his enjoyment there. Sir 
 Edmund had '' the grace to give thanks," and 
 his position in life was anomalous. For with 
 this exceptionally grateful heart, it was always 
 his lot to be receiving thanks, instead of giving
 
 SENSUOUS. 157 
 
 them ; and thus, as it was out of his power 
 to be grateful to others for what are accounted 
 the chief gifts of the world, he was almost 
 unduly susceptible to the value of small ones. 
 
 In this case, he was disposed to be thankful 
 that a beautiful woman like Eugenia should 
 listen to him kindly. 
 
 And Eugenia had a gracious way with her 
 that did not dispel this view. She was as 
 free from all mean self-seekine as Sir Edmund 
 himself, and it was really a favour on her 
 part to sit there with him in the garden quiet. 
 Even Lady Shortlands, whose trenchant way 
 of putting things always doubled their incisive- 
 ness, could not have allowed to her own self 
 that Eugenia was '' making up to him." Still 
 she was pleased, as we know, to have seen 
 them together ; and at dinner, later on, she 
 liked to notice that Sir Edmund stooped 
 forwards sometimes over the round table to 
 look at Eugenia, who was unfortunately placed
 
 I5B EUGENIA. 
 
 on the same side with him. May Buxton 
 and James Chatteris intervened, while Anne 
 and Mr. Vane were opposite. Mr. Vane was 
 on Lady ShortlanJs' right hand, and she took 
 him into her confidence a little — it being her 
 principle to confide her schemes to people 
 who were likely to find them out, that she 
 might be beforehand in imposing secresy. 
 
 The following day was of a still riper 
 summer beauty : the sky was cloudless, and 
 there was so little stir in the air that Mrs. 
 Tomlinson had a raised plateau of her garden, 
 on which stood several cedars, furnished with 
 sofas, chairs, and writing-tables, the journals 
 and materials on which were not even rustled 
 by the breeze. Cedars were a distinctive 
 beauty of Ashbank, and Sir Edmund had 
 christened the sunburnt lawn which they en- 
 closed and overspread, '' the cedar drawing- 
 room." Its turf was more dry and springy 
 than any carpet, and, being strewn with the
 
 SENSUOUS. 
 
 159 
 
 fine needles of the firs, It made the atmosphere 
 rarely fragrant and exhilarating. The whole 
 party were assembled here for tea — after a 
 morning of varied exploration — when the mili- 
 tary contingent was let in upon them, Captain 
 Boville being the bearer of a note from his 
 Colonel to accept for the rest of the officers 
 Mrs. Tomlinson's invitation to her dance the 
 following evening. 
 
 Lieutenants Crossley and Jarvis, albeit no 
 cowards, were a trifle shy. They felt indeed 
 shyer than they had meant to feel, just as 
 perhaps under those noble trees the group 
 looked more distinguished than It really was. 
 The company had been for some time listening 
 to music — for Anne Jefferies had brought a 
 kind of zither — and the expression on the faces 
 of an audience, as the old French painters 
 well knew, is always elevated if sometimes 
 fatigued. Mr. and Mrs. Buxton were asleep, 
 the one corporeally and the other mentally,
 
 l6o EUGENIA. 
 
 SO that their faces wore a staid repose. Sir 
 Edmund's happy features were quite calm, 
 and Eugenia's Heht brown hair, In the same 
 ghnt of sunshine which was transfiguring Lady 
 Shortlands' postiche, looked gravely virginal 
 and classic. At this eventful hour, she wore 
 nothing more decorative than a plain white 
 dress, simpler than May Buxton's was and 
 of the same thin material — but '' with a differ- 
 ence." All the ladles but Anne, who was still 
 playing, were busied with some handiwork 
 or other, and Eugenia had been doing patch- 
 work. It lay on the ground, In front of her, 
 and made a bright foreground, for she had 
 let it fall while she listened to the music which 
 brouQfht her childish memories of far-off lands. 
 
 She sat with her hands idly clasped in her 
 lap. 
 
 Anne was a very thorough musician, and 
 besides the Rhine melodies and such Italian 
 canti popolari as form the stock-in-trade of
 
 SENSUOUS. l6l 
 
 all zither players, she had given some adap- 
 tations of her own, of a French gavotte and 
 an old English love-song, and now — at Mrs. 
 Tomlinson's request for something a ''bit 
 more stirring" — of the German '* Wacht am 
 Rhein ! " Whether it was the wide range of 
 these fragments that made Eugenia's fancy- 
 drift, or whether she was mesmerised by Sir 
 Edmund's gaze, she could not have told you, 
 but, according to her wont, she was looking 
 at him in her imagination, with her eyes cast 
 down, as if his face were before her on her 
 lap, and thinking to herself (what she would of 
 course have disowned, had you taxed her with 
 it) that she wished Sir Edmund were her 
 brother. There was a sympathy between 
 them ; she was feeling his delight in this 
 exquisitely-paced, old, foreign dance-music, 
 his deep thrill in this pathetic, royalist love- 
 song ; but could he share the fibrous beat of 
 her own heart in this national air ? — a common 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 1 62 EUGENIA. 
 
 air enough, Eugenia knew, and sounding com- 
 moner than ever, with the zither's twang in 
 it — for all Anne's clever playing — but still 
 a stirring tune ; yes ! the more so for the 
 tripping and the sentiment before it — vigorous 
 — manly — brave . . . 
 
 Then she looked up, and saw Buck, standing 
 near her underneath the cedar boughs ! 
 
 Something like this had been Eugenia's 
 thought, could one rightly uplift her maiden 
 veil of calm, and watch the pulse beneath 
 it beating time to the various music. '' All 
 these surroundings are very beautiful," — here 
 the gavotte was playing, — "these cedars and 
 this pleasaunce ; and to sit still in these long 
 shadows is good; — and his companionship, what 
 does it mean for me ? It is part of a scheme 
 which I have every right to make, which is 
 not against my duty and hardly against my 
 inclination ; a scheme that this most amiable 
 man and I should belong to each other, and
 
 SENSUOUS. 
 
 163 
 
 all my days be filled with gavottes and pleas- 
 aunces and cedars and good company. Is 
 not that well ? " Then came the royalist love- 
 song, with its pathos, and the cry of a tender 
 heart caught up in its bars for ever ; and it 
 said to Eugenia, '' Oh, do you love this man ? 
 without cedars and good company and danc- 
 ing days ? Love him for himself and you ? 
 Love him for all time ? Love him with 
 love?" And so she fell to wondering if .she 
 could love Sir Edmund, and if that was why 
 she wished he were her brother — or was it 
 that she might be at home in his pleasaunce 
 and his good company — and perhaps an- 
 other with her ? The wonder made her rest- 
 less — motionless though she stayed. She did 
 not know that she might not get to love him ; 
 (that was how she put it to herself;) neither 
 Wisdean nor Shortlands had furnished her 
 with this experience. One home had taught 
 her the sound of the sea, and the other the
 
 1 64 EUGENIA. 
 
 peace of the meadows ; might it not be for 
 Ashbank to bring her this better gift of love ? 
 What was wanting? what did it mean — that 
 love was a new thing, that love was all ? And 
 then came the twang of the fierce German 
 war-song, that had no national spell for her, 
 and surely nothing to say of love, but that 
 just clenched her heart with its masterful 
 chords and made it beat, till she felt her 
 colour change . . . and then she looked up 
 — looked up and saw Buck, standing under- 
 neath the cedar boughs, and could not indeed 
 have said if she liked or loathed him, could 
 but have said that there was some one there, 
 but in that instant knew that it was only as 
 a brother, or as a friend — that emptier word 
 — that she could love Sir Edmund Trefusis. 
 
 You may dazzle yourself with soft lamplight 
 and call it day, until, when at morn you look 
 out upon the hills, you are only blinded and 
 cannot say, ^'The sun is up;" but the sun is
 
 SENSUOUS. 165 
 
 In the heavens though you wot not of it, and 
 he shines for you, and at least you have the 
 heart to say no longer, '' This lamp of mine 
 is the true light of day!" 
 
 It was only an instant, and yet It had told 
 her all. 
 
 Anne Jefferies ceased playing, with a 
 thrum across the strings ; and she was natu- 
 rally the centre of the three officers' notice 
 for the moment. Mrs. Tomlinson, who had 
 been thinking out a menu, came to her senses 
 with symptoms of a snort, and introduced 
 them to her, after presenting them to Lady 
 Shortlands and Mrs. Buxton. Boville, as we 
 have seen, was musical, and had not impro- 
 bably recognised the air she had been play- 
 ing, for he alluded to It as " that martial 
 strain." Crossley and Buck stuck by each 
 other at a respectful distance, made their 
 bows together, and turned towards one 
 another again with some identical word about
 
 1 66 EUGENIA. 
 
 the beauty of the cedars. They furnished 
 nothine more to the creneral scene than two 
 oood suits of clothes — with men in them — 
 four well -planted feet and two red ears. 
 Buck shifted his chin, more than Crossley 
 did, over the stiff collar which would have 
 galled a less seasoned throat — he was never 
 perfectly still— and looked, with the self-con- 
 sciousness of an underbred man, as if he had 
 been brought there to box or fight ; — much as 
 the professional wrestler looks among the 
 better actors on the stage, in the first act of 
 '' As you like it." 
 
 Miss May Buxton adored " the service ; " 
 she thought the two young fellows might be 
 " rather nice," but thought so indiscriminately, 
 and she left off thinking even thus much, when 
 she got a good view of their Captain. The long 
 moustaches and the eyeglass turned the scale. 
 
 " They are fine cattle ! " said Lady Short- 
 lands aloud to Mrs. Buxton, as if they had
 
 SENSUOUS. 167 
 
 been talklnor of farm stock. She had a sano-- 
 froid that let her say such things of men before 
 their faces, and, to do her justice, they seldom 
 perceived that she was speaking of them. 
 
 Mrs. Buxton underwent ''her smile," which 
 very often saved her a foohsh utterance. She 
 did not in the least know what Lady Short- 
 lands meant, and her ladyship felt that she 
 had cast her rhetorical pearls before swine. 
 '' Pick up your patchwork, Eugenia ; " she 
 went on impatiently, in the same loud voice, 
 and it drew the three new pairs of eyes towards 
 the group of which her niece was the centre. 
 
 (" Rum old cat," thought Buck and Crossley 
 together ; like similarly prepared plates they 
 took similar impressions.) 
 
 Sir Edmund and Eugenia stooped for the 
 patchwork at the same moment, and it was 
 just as she did so, that Buck's eyes first fell 
 upon her face. It occurred to him — he could 
 never be said to think — that an awkward
 
 1 68 EUGENIA. 
 
 woman must have knocked her head against 
 Sir Edmund's. 
 
 " Eugenia, that's a gassy name," was the 
 conviction, produced by Lady Shortlands' 
 utterance, in Buck and Crossley. 
 
 '' You care as Httle for your needlework as 
 Omphale did," said Sir Edmund. 
 
 ''Who the deuce is Omphale?" wondered 
 Buck: — Crossley happened to know: — he stared. 
 Something in his orlance made Euo^enla brace 
 herself, and she began talking faster than her 
 wont. " I have more reverence for it than 
 skill,'' she said. " I should have been a poor 
 worker at such tapestries as adorn my bed- 
 room here ; just think. Sir Edmund," — 
 
 (" Oh, the lame beggar's a ca7^d, is he ? " 
 thought Buck, and he hated him for it). 
 
 — "Just think of it — wonderful people, with 
 shields and helmets and battle-axes, and such 
 remorseless cruel faces — noble too — and all this 
 just women's needlework."
 
 SENSUOUS. 169 
 
 " Well, here are model men for you, at 
 any rate ! " put in Mr. Tomllnson, with his 
 aggressive air of proprietorship in his guests 
 — the same air which he had used to Eugenia 
 on her arrival ; — it was his reading of hospi- 
 tality, and he touched the two young soldiers 
 as he spoke : '' I am sure our friends here, 
 Mr. Crossley and Mr. Jarvis, would be proud 
 to sit for you. Miss Brand, as long as you 
 liked to work them. Our armoury would 
 furnish the helmets and shields, and I think 
 I can answer for the sinews," he had hold 
 of Buck's arm as he spoke. 
 
 Crossley blushed a little, but Buck, to whom 
 this sort of coarse praise was not unfamiliar, 
 laughed and spread himself 
 
 Eugenia swept them with her eyes, just 
 acknowledging the introduction which Mr. 
 Tomlinson's mention of their names implied. 
 Inwardly she blamed herself for speaking of 
 the tapestries, nor could she have said how
 
 1 70 EUGENIA. 
 
 she had come to do so— and to Sir Edmund ! 
 As for Sir Edmund, he was looking at her 
 in a puzzled way that could not help her, 
 and yet it was to him, and not to her aunt, 
 that she turned in her embarrassment. 
 
 '' Modern uniforms are nothing like that 
 fine armour," she said ; " think of the oppor- 
 tunities for cross-stitch in a coat of mail, while 
 a red coat would be the simplest groundwork. 
 Is not the armour at Ashbank beautiful, Sir 
 Edmund ?" 
 
 ''Ah ! no more chance for the ironmongers 
 now ! " cried old Lady Shortlands— with her 
 squeak, and a touch of sarcasm, to which 
 only Mrs. Tomlinson and Eugenia had the 
 clue and which Mrs. Tomlinson was too 
 preoccupied to observe — " beat their spears 
 into pruning-hooks, ploughshares — what is it, 
 Vane ? " 
 
 Sir Edmund, who, sensitive though he might 
 be, was not snob enough to be perpetually con-
 
 SENSUOUS. 171 
 
 sclous of the source of his father's wealth, set 
 Lady Shortlands right in her quotation, with- 
 out seeing that he fledged an arrow which was 
 aimed against himself. Eugenia was indignant 
 at her aunt ; and, with her healthy instinct to 
 get away from whatever was repugnant to her, 
 she rose and crossed the grass to Anne. 
 
 (''She did that," said Mrs. Buxton to her- 
 self, with an air of conviction, ''entirely for 
 show.") 
 
 Captain Boville was bending over the 
 zither. He had already experienced the first 
 half of the impression that Eugenia made 
 — he felt that she was a woman, not a 
 girl; and Captain Boville preferred girls, 
 because they admired his moustaches more — 
 now he began to experience the second half, 
 and to feel that, despite his moustaches, he 
 was less of a man than a monkey. 
 
 Crossley and Jarvis were perhaps not so 
 impressionable ; the latter, at all events, would
 
 I 72 EUGENIA. 
 
 have been hard to shake out of the convic- 
 tion of his manhood: "That's an uncommon 
 fine girl," he said to Crossley, under his 
 breath. They were standing apart from Anne 
 and their senior officer. 
 
 " She looks like a princess," said Crossley. 
 
 '' Princess be blowed ! " said Buck, who often 
 thought Crossley an ass ; " I'd sooner talk to 
 her than break my leg ; " but, as he said so, 
 another shifting of his chin brought his eyes 
 back to May, who had attracted his roving 
 glance already. At the same moment, Mrs. 
 Tomlinson presented Crossley and himself to 
 her, with an unfortunate misplacement of their 
 names, and thus created a further diversion. 
 
 ''My name is Crossley," said the owner 
 of that patronymic, — " rather crossly,'' Vane 
 remarked to Lady Shortlands ; but she did 
 not laugh at the pun, because she had meant 
 to make it herself, in which event she would 
 have laughed heartily.
 
 SENSUOUS. 173 
 
 "Oh!" said May with her pretty smile, 
 and that faint, roseleaf flush which anything, 
 or nothing, called to her soft cheeks, " then 
 you are Mr. Jarvis?" 
 
 Buck nodded. "Yes," he said, "I'm Mr. 
 Jarvis!" 
 
 It was not much to say, but he said it in 
 a way that deepened the flush. An ill-bred 
 man can put a world of offence into his "how 
 do you do ? " — an intimacy that is almost an 
 insult into his merest "good-bye." When 
 Buck said, "Yes, I'm Mr. Jarvis," the effect 
 of his utterance of the words was much the 
 same as if another man had added, " And 
 what do you think of that, my dear ? " 
 
 May had not experience enough to con- 
 strue this tone, which would have made a 
 barmaid titter, but it set her upon her guard. 
 " That is my cousin whose playing you were 
 admiring," she said, turning again from Buck's 
 blue stare to Crossley's gentler, browner gaze ;
 
 174 EUGENIA. 
 
 "you could hardly have made out what she 
 was playing, and it is lucky, for a German 
 war-song is not up to her usual form." May 
 always became rather slangy when she was 
 nervous. 
 
 '' There are some rousing good tunes 
 among 'em ; " said Buck, as if deciding the 
 point in question, with the authority of one 
 after whose decision the world mi^ht wae as 
 it could — the lesser niceties of criticism beino- 
 left to meaner intelligence. 
 
 And then Crossley and May Buxton fell 
 to telling each other what they thought about 
 German war-songs (it was pleasant that their 
 tastes agreed), and they discovered that they 
 had both heard a selection of them at the 
 Crystal Palace, when they were quite children, 
 and Crossley said he wished he could re- 
 collect the date, for the war-songs were given 
 several times during the period of the Franco- 
 Prussian war; and May said she thought she
 
 SENSUOUS. 175 
 
 could find it, for she had kept a diminutive 
 diary about that time, when she had been a 
 very busy Httle girl. And then Crossley said 
 he hoped they had heard them on the same 
 day, and then he became involved, and May 
 blushed and began to think he was " quite 
 nice," but to wish that Mr. Jarvis had looked 
 piqued, and had not wheeled round in that 
 odious way, as if nothing that she said could 
 matter, and as if the choice of war-songs 
 were a question entirely beneath his notice ; 
 — there being a species of crass ignorance 
 which is almost as impressive as the indiffer- 
 ence of an expert, had May Buxton only 
 known it. 
 
 Meanwhile Euorenia had been askine Anne 
 
 <-> o 
 
 to sing, Captain Boville having found his 
 courage to join in the request. Anne was 
 noway loth to comply, having one of those 
 small voices, perfectly cultivated and perfectly 
 controlled, which require no humouring, and
 
 176 EUGENIA. 
 
 are as suited to a lawn as to a music-room. 
 But she revenged herself upon her audience 
 for that German war-song, by singing some- 
 thing weird, in a minor key, and with words 
 in an unknown tongue. 
 
 *' That is the best of all the Swedish melo- 
 dies," said Sir Edmund, when she ended it, 
 and, in contrast to the stupid thanks of the 
 others, Eugenia thought his knowledge de- 
 lightful. 
 
 ''It is beautiful;" she said, as she had said 
 of the Cellini cup; that much she knew, 
 although she did not know the song; her 
 instincts were ahead of her culture. 
 
 ''Yes, it is beautiful;" said Sir Edmund, 
 who appreciated Eugenia's conviction as well 
 as the music, and who had pushed his long 
 chair nearer to Anne, with a peculiar move- 
 ment that was half confidential and half 
 tutorial — " it is beautiful, but it was thrown 
 away. Look at the face of that man who is
 
 SENSUOUS. 177 
 
 leaning against the boughs of the cedar to 
 your left ; did you ever see anything — passez- 
 moi le mot — so indisputably Philistine ? Had 
 you but caught a glimpse of him, during your 
 song, he would have paralysed its refrain." 
 
 ** I never see any one when I am singing,'' 
 said Anne. 
 
 '' I know, and this time it was well for 
 you ! He thinks there is somebody looking at 
 him, but he does not know that it is I. Be 
 merciful, Miss Jefferies, you don't happen to 
 sing ' VilHkins and his Dinah,' do you ? " 
 
 Anne laughed : Sir Edmund's comment had 
 been quite in her own vein. '* No, I don't," 
 she said, "there's a song called * He's got 'em 
 on ; ' — I wish I knew it, for it would be really 
 appropriate. I go as far as ' Christy Min- 
 strels ' though, sometimes. Do you know 
 ' Old folks at home,' Miss Brand ? — that is 
 ' beautiful ' too, by the way." 
 
 Then, without further prelude, she sang the 
 
 VOL I. M
 
 178 EUGENIA. 
 
 sweet old-fashioned melody. Eugenia still 
 stood listening, her eyes filling with the pic- 
 ture. The whole circle was very silent. 
 
 Anne sang on, not too slowly, but in the 
 only half pathetic, and half careless, style that 
 best suits the meaning of the simple song : 
 
 " One little hut among de bushes 
 One dat I love ; 
 Still sadly to my memory rushes, 
 No matter where I rove " — 
 
 (" I like that ' rushes, ' " said Sir Edmund 
 softly to Eugenia.) 
 
 '* Christy's ! by George," said Buck, surprised 
 Into unmusical speech, as Anne played a few 
 last chords, which sounded very ringing in the 
 entranced stillness. He had heard the song 
 murdered by some girls, at Clifton or else- 
 where, whom he had found to his liking, and 
 had himself joined in an unison chorus, with 
 great effect he flattered himself — at least his 
 voice had been heard. *' Have you been to
 
 SENSUOUS. 179 
 
 those new minstrels, Miss Brand, and do you 
 know * Mary's gone with a coon ' ? It's an 
 almighty good song." 
 
 " No," said Eugenia kindly, *' I don't know 
 it; they sing very well, I have heard." 
 
 Sir Edmund looked up astonished. He 
 had half expected her to petrify the bold 
 lieutenant with a scornful glance, or freeze the 
 words upon his lips by silence. Eugenia was 
 the last person present to be tolerant of such 
 a speech, nor could she have explained why 
 she answered the infelicitous remark — blurted 
 out, as it was, at the wrong time and in the 
 wrong context, with such gentleness and pity. 
 She was not used to be tactful, and was both 
 surprised and ashamed in her own heart that 
 she had troubled to smooth off the rough 
 edges of Buck's blunder. 
 
 Mr. Buck himself was, naturally, conscious 
 of neither surprise nor shame. ** ' Mary's gone 
 with a C007Z ' / " he said loudly, illustrating the
 
 l8o EUGENIA. 
 
 crescendo of the song in a somewhat tuneless 
 way. "That's the style of thing, you know ; 
 and then theyVe got a chap that fights with a 
 bantam — haven't they, Crossley ? " 
 
 This speech was an unusually long one for 
 Lieutenant Jarvis, and he was glad to shift its 
 weight on to his comrade's shoulders, should it 
 entail cross-questioning. He was not given to 
 racontes^ and would not have troubled to say 
 thus much, had he not felt that he was on 
 safe ground and likely to distinguish himself. 
 ** Hang it all!" he was saying in his heart, 
 with an involuntary wish that he felt more 
 at home in the company about him than he 
 really did, " let 'em see they've got a chap 
 among 'em that knows something about it ; " 
 and in this happy frame of mind he leaned 
 against the cedar boughs again. He was 
 blessedly unaware that Anne Jefferies was 
 laughing at something Captain Boville said 
 to her about him ; — for Captain Boville had
 
 SENSUOUS. 1 5 I 
 
 just brains enough to see when another man 
 made a fool of himself — and that Mrs. Buxton 
 was whispering to Vane her most fatal verdict 
 that he was '* vulgar." Eugenia was, however, 
 aware of both the laugh and the whisper, and 
 pursued that unaccountable Instinct which had 
 impelled her to the luckless warrior's rescue. 
 As she looked at him she felt her temples 
 throb and her heart beat quicker. '* You like 
 songs ? " she said. 
 
 "Yes, Miss Brand," said Buck, *' I like a 
 good song with a chorus, — I know a song or 
 two, by Jove — but I don't care much about 
 music, you know." 
 
 "No;" said Eugenia — weakly she felt, but 
 she did not find anything else to say. She 
 resented ''you know," she resented this young 
 man altogether. That was the feeling that 
 Buck brought her, resentment — so much more 
 dangerous than dislike. It was strange that 
 she did not wish him to make himself de-
 
 152 EUGENIA. 
 
 spised, but her resentment was not the judicial 
 glow that springs from calm contempt. It was 
 full of passion. She could sooner have struck 
 him on the mouth than not have listened. 
 
 Because at this moment of the summer day 
 in this place of cedars, Eugenia was making 
 a discovery, some such an one as a person 
 might make who had always lived at low 
 tide — could one imagine the case — when the 
 tide rose. It is hard to put it into words, for 
 it is only half described as an ''awakening." 
 At Buck's first look, we know that she had 
 felt to brace herself, forced to move, to speak, 
 to make some self-display, as a noble horse will 
 arch its neck at its stupid master's glance. 
 Then followed the reaction of reason — an 
 involuntary sense of having abased herself 
 that one shy word from Buck would have dis- 
 pelled. But, with the wisdom of the fool, he 
 spoke no word : he only went on staring at her 
 and thought her figure and her manner *' fine."
 
 SENSUOUS. 183 
 
 He was thinking about women in general, 
 she was thinking of no man but him, and, 
 — heaven save the mark ! — they were talking 
 about music. 
 
 ** Now then," said Lady Shortlands, who 
 began to be fidgetty, the moment she saw 
 Eugenia parted from Sir Edmund, ''organise 
 something, Mrs. Tomlinson ; bless the woman! 
 No ! I don't mean make a plan. Nobody 
 wants to start off and see your dairies (which 
 you never go near, I'll warrant, unless you've 
 got a houseful), just stir them up a bit — not 
 the mUk-pans^ but the mi\k-soJ>s — eh, Vane ! 
 and make them mix. Society, Tomlinson," 
 she added, turning her shaky old head to her 
 inefficient host, " is like a pudding ; you must 
 keep it together, but you mustn't let it settle." 
 
 — *' And distribute the plums and the sugar, 
 as equally as you can, throughout," added 
 Vane, who liked Lady Shortlands' homely 
 metaphors.
 
 1 84 EUGENIA. 
 
 *' Yes," concluded her ladyship ; *' or else it 
 will taste of the suet ! " 
 
 (Mrs. Tomlinson might not know much 
 about society, but, thanks to her handy manual, 
 she knew something about puddings, and 
 elsewhere would have said so with pride. 
 She knew too what Vane meant by " plums " 
 and *' sugar," and she guessed what Lady 
 Shortlands meant by ''suet." Afterwards she 
 said so to her husband : 
 
 '' By ' suet,' Mr. Tomlinson," she said, 
 ''the old harridan meant you and me — you 
 and me, and perhaps Mr. Jarvis. You may 
 be blind and deaf and he may be a pol- 
 troon ; I am not blind and deaf (though 
 I may be ^suet,') and I am not a pol- 
 troon ; and if she does chop me up, she'll 
 find it pretty hard to digest me, and so 
 I tell you" .... (but here Mrs. Tomlin- 
 son found — for this happened later — that 
 far from putting any weight into this awful
 
 SENSUOUS. 185 
 
 threat, her husband had already fallen 
 asleep). 
 
 And so It came about that, at Lady Short- 
 lands' own suggestion, Anne and May started 
 to put on their tennis skirts, while Eugenia, 
 who had no tennis skirt, went with them to 
 pin up her dress. Mr. Vane and his host, 
 between them, took '' the army," as Lady 
 Shortlands dubbed the new arrivals, to don 
 their flannels, and Richard Crossley and 
 Arthur Jarvis felt that their moment was 
 come. 
 
 One parting glance at the sunburnt lawn, 
 before the business of the afternoon com- 
 menced ; the young people giving their elders 
 messages for home letters to be written by 
 post-time, the elders looking for their tea, 
 which was just being brought out to them, 
 upon trays of gleaming silver. There were 
 old Lady Shortlands, on her wicker-sofa gay 
 with cushions, and Mrs. Tomlinson in her
 
 1 86 EUGENIA. 
 
 high arm-chair, with a beaded footstool, and 
 Mrs. Buxton with her parasol up, despite the 
 cedar shade. 
 
 And there were Lord Shortlands, pretend- 
 ing that he heard what Mr. Buxton was say- 
 ing about southdowns and shorthorns, and 
 Sir Edmund, idling with a journal and watch- 
 ing them all patiently, as he would watch the 
 tennis by-and-by. 
 
 And then, descending from the turfed pla- 
 teau, getting out of the sweet cedar shade 
 into the open sunshine, was the group for 
 whom' afternoon still meant, not leisure, but 
 time for work and play. Captain Bovllle and 
 Lieutenant Crossley, sticking close together 
 by Anne and pretty May, as they followed 
 Mr. Tomlinson and Vane — rather ashamed, 
 to say truth, of their friend Jarvis' efforts 
 at musical criticism, and looking as if they 
 did not want to belong to him, despite their 
 similarity of garb.
 
 SENSUOUS. 187 
 
 And Eugenia — our dear Eugenia — still stand- 
 ing in the shadow with the young poet James 
 Chatteris, not cousin only, but sworn knight 
 long ere this ; and full in front of her — right 
 in the glow — masterful Buck, in his big suit 
 of dittos and his regulation boots, waiting to 
 walk towards the house with her, for no other 
 reason than that she was the handsomest 
 woman there, while he was well convinced 
 he was the finest man. "• By George," he 
 thought, " if she can dance like she can w^lk, 
 she won't be a bad find for yours truly ! " 
 
 '* Give mother my best love," said Eugenia 
 to her aunt, as she stept down ; " I will send 
 Parfitt with your tonic." She still felt rather 
 to be Lady Shortlands nurse than her charge, 
 and she still felt that she could not be 
 silent. 
 
 And then she set foot in the sunlight, side- 
 by-side with Buck, for a mere game of play ; 
 and for Eugenia, not again would the cedar
 
 1 88 EUGENIA. 
 
 shadows lengthen and the grass smell sweet 
 of the needles of the pine, or the afternoon 
 only wax into a peaceful cool, as just that 
 day, any more, quite the same way — for 
 ever !
 
 i89 ) 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 MUTUAL. 
 
 There were several tennis-courts at Ashbank, 
 turfed or gravelled, of nearly all which the 
 cedar-plateau commanded a view. The eight 
 players put In such appearances as ten minutes 
 dressing-time and their Individual tastes or 
 wardrobes provided. Anne Jefferles and Buck 
 — at two extreme poles of thought on most 
 matters, as they were likely to prove — were 
 the only ones equipped with elaborate care, 
 though In Anne's case the costume was one 
 due to the foresight of her dressmaker and her 
 maid, and not, as in Buck's, to active personal 
 vanity. She looked distinguished enough, her 
 dark head showing to advantage over the neat.
 
 IQO EUGENIA. 
 
 though fanciful, dress which became her slight 
 figure well. Buck, too, was the handsomer for 
 his change to white knickerbockers and a jersey. 
 He never looked so well as In uniform, the 
 putting on of It seemed to exhibit his reserve 
 fund of strength, and this tennis dress gave 
 him something of the strapped look that uni- 
 form did, while it conferred on him additional 
 grace by the easy display It afforded of his 
 throat and limbs. He wore a striped sash 
 round his waist and a striped cap upon his 
 curly head. 
 
 Vane and Chatteris had tennis suits too, 
 but they were less dressed — or rather, less 
 undressed — than Buck was ; and his fellow- 
 officers were In ordinary boating flannels. 
 May's frock was altered in aspect by a pretty 
 embroidered apron with a pocket for the balls ; 
 but Eugenia had only gathered up the skirts of 
 her white gown a little, and tied them firmly 
 back, with a wide old-fashioned scarf which
 
 MUTUAL. 191 
 
 served an apron's purpose, into such a knot as 
 Atalanta might have used. 
 
 Boville and Anne played Crossley and 
 May upon the gravelled court, while Eugenia 
 and Vane faced Buck and Chatteris on the 
 grass. Buck wanted to be on Eugenia's side, 
 but, little as he thought of Chatteris' physiqtie, 
 he remembered that a man comrade, however 
 great a duffer, is more amenable to your calls 
 to " play up " than a lady, and may even be 
 stimulated by oaths. 
 
 For any one with a keen delight in the beauty 
 of living people — and to this Sir Edmund was 
 almost morbidly susceptible — there could hardly 
 have been chosen better types of man and 
 woman than Arthur Jarvis and Eugenia Brand. 
 Vane and Chatteris looked, respectively, lanky 
 and mean beside them, while the other qtiartette 
 were mere imitative marionettes in comparison 
 with their free movement. To Sir Edmund, 
 who was far too unselfish to grudge her a pas-
 
 192 EUGENIA. 
 
 time in which he could not share, it was like 
 hearing music to watch Eugenia play. Her 
 whole being seemed significant of activity. 
 May skipped and giggled, while Anne was not 
 completely attentive, though she surprised you 
 sometimes ; but Eugenia, healthy and single- 
 hearted as she was, devoted all her mind, for 
 the moment, as well as all her energies, to the 
 game ; whereas Buck, who was always self-con- 
 scious though he was never sensitive, felt over- 
 much that the eyes of the world were upon him 
 and was poorly seconded by Chatteris. He 
 was disposed to quarrel with the poet, not 
 knowing him to be '* an Honourable," when after 
 a most brilliant match, his side was beaten at 
 last by Chatteris's failure to take a clever ser- 
 vice of Vane's. Indeed, he said somethinor 
 under his breath, contemptuous and not too 
 delicately phrased, which made his young 
 companion colour to the roots of his hair ; and, 
 after he had said it, he turned sulky, went up to
 
 MUTUAL. 193 
 
 the net, and began tightening the ropes instead 
 of listening to Chatteris' excuses. Vane, who 
 never lost his temper, and whose humour was 
 rendered additionally placid by his victory, 
 watched him with some amusement. He had 
 heard Jarvis say two or three things already, 
 when he was standing in the inner court durino- 
 Eugenia's service, which made him think him 
 rather " an outsider," and a burst of temper 
 would not have astonished him. But Eugenia, 
 still under the same strange spell of peace- 
 making which had moved her from the first, 
 walked also up to the net, racquet in hand, and 
 with a lovely flush upon her cheeks in which 
 triumph had no share : — 
 
 '* How well you play ! " she said to Buck. 
 She did not add his name, and he took a slight 
 advantage of the intimacy in her tone and did 
 not assume civility. 
 
 " I ought to," he answered roughly, '' but 
 that muff's no good at all 1 If he wasn't worse 
 
 VOL. L N
 
 1 94 EUGENIA. 
 
 than any girl, we should have licked you 
 easy." 
 
 It was an ungraceful speech, for he could 
 not know but what the poet was Eugenia's 
 brother, or at least her closest ally. As he made 
 It, he jerked his racquet in the direction where 
 Chatteris was standing, leaving his ex-partner 
 no doubt that he was the subject of his com- 
 ment. Poor Jem looked reproachfully towards 
 Eugenia, as he humbly collected the balls and 
 threw them across to Vane. 
 
 Eugenia was at a loss what answer to make. 
 She was afraid of hurting Chatteris, if she 
 proposed to take him on her side — with which 
 " odds against her she would moreover be sure 
 to lose — and she could not fairly join forces 
 with such a Titan as Buck, against the poet 
 and Vane, even to flatter the lieutenant by a 
 victory. 
 
 '' Let us take a turn," she said at last : **the 
 air is so very still — hark ! there is surely
 
 MUTUAL. 195 
 
 thunder — and it is warm," she added, though 
 in Buck's own vocabulary, Hke himself, she 
 had '' not turned a hair." 
 
 Vane and Chatteris, who were in less 
 good training, were hot and rather blown : 
 they stayed to put on their jackets, and per- 
 haps to exchange remarks upon Buck's want 
 of breeding ; and thus it fell out that Eugenia 
 paced the lawn alone with her companion, 
 — Sir Edmund still watching their movements, 
 with more pleasure than apprehension, from 
 the cedar plateau. 
 
 Buck lifted his striped cap, and pushed up 
 his hair with his rough hand, after which he 
 smacked his thigh with it : then he was him- 
 self again. His big chest heaved evenly, 
 while Eugenia's breathing was but little quick- 
 ened by the exercise that had added a vivid 
 charm to her beauty. 
 
 "That chap can't play, you know," he said 
 confidentially. He had no idea of conversa-
 
 196 EUGENIA. 
 
 tion, but he felt that he had an opportunity 
 for compliment, which he must not lose: 'Met 
 you and me play those two fellows, and we'll 
 teach 'em a thing or two ! " He looked at her 
 as he spoke, expecting perhaps that she would 
 laugh or smile. Eugenia did not look at him, 
 (though she saw his face before her quite 
 clearly) and she neither laughed nor smiled ; 
 only her voice as she answered was singu- 
 larly gentle. 
 
 " I have played a great deal, this summer : " 
 she said, " my London season was a very 
 short one: I live in the country." 
 
 '' It's the make that does it, more than the 
 practice," said Buck, still looking at her figure. 
 The remark might have been offensive, and 
 in that case none would have resented it more 
 than Eugenia, but it was made with such a 
 plain brutality and carelessness that she was 
 neither flattered nor offended. — "If I were 
 tending the sick," she thought to herself, find-
 
 MUTUAL. 197 
 
 ing an excuse, against her wont, for his want 
 of polish, '' I should not be annoyed, if the 
 doctor spoke to me as to a professional nurse ; 
 and, if I play these games, I must submit to 
 be spoken to as an athlete." So she said, not 
 without a touch of amusement at her own 
 answer — 
 
 *' Yes : I am long in the legs and arms." 
 Buck opened his grey eyes and stared in 
 impertinent reproof. '' Oh ! long in the reach, 
 we call it ! " he said, with a laugh that was less 
 endurable, and that froze Eugenia's smile at 
 her own plain speaking. She . felt she had 
 been funny for nothing ; and took rhetorical 
 refuge out of her companion's reach, as a bird 
 might hop to a higher bough. 
 
 '' A tyro's terms for things sound always like 
 mistakes," she said; with a note of dignity in her 
 voice, which had its effect on Buck, though he 
 did not understand what she said. He supplied 
 the deficiency in his understanding by a yawn
 
 198 EUGENIA. 
 
 and said "yes;" and though Eugenia did not, 
 like May Buxton, mistake his ignorance for 
 contempt, she kindly descended to his level 
 again — perhaps because she could not help 
 herself— and made some criticism on the fashion 
 of his racquet. As she did so, she looked at 
 his hands — clumsy veined hands, unlike a 
 gentleman's, with short flushed nails round 
 which the skin ridged a little — and she expe- 
 rienced a feeling almost like repulsion. He 
 took hold of her racquet, to compare its weight 
 and network with his own's, and, though he did 
 not even touch her fingers, she felt as if his 
 hand had grasped her heart. Such a sensa- 
 tion defies analysis : it is nothing, and yet it 
 is all oneself: like the influence of weather. 
 In this case it was the symbol of his entire 
 mastery over her nerves, and, when she took 
 the racquet from him again, she knew exactly 
 where his hard fingers had pressed the handle. 
 Her own hand closed upon the place, almost
 
 MUTUAL. 199 
 
 Without her will. Eugenia was unused to such 
 acuteness of perception ; it troubled her — per- 
 haps it was the thunder in the air that made 
 her feel so deadly faint. She took off her hat, 
 but when she found that the action attracted 
 Buck's gaze to her beautiful hair, she put it 
 on again. She was restless — she could not 
 breathe freely — she wanted to get away. 
 
 Buck divined nothing of her restlessness ; 
 he admired her greatly, and liked to walk 
 along the lawns beside her ; he thought Cross- 
 ley would have been awkward in his place, 
 and he was quite sure he was not awkward 
 himself. He expanded his chest, put his 
 racquet under his arm and his hands into 
 his pockets and whistled a little. *' Rather nice 
 grounds ! " he said possessively. (He had never 
 been in any gardens like them in his life, but 
 he did not say that.) 
 
 ** Yes," Eugenia answered thoughtfully : 
 '* that is a fine cypress alley, with its cool
 
 200 EUGENIA. 
 
 shadows : though indeed this sultriness is not 
 sun-heat, but storm. I wish Mr. Vane and 
 my cousin would join us." 
 
 *' Is that muff your cousin?" said Buck 
 blushing. 
 
 Eugenia smiled; *'Yes; and he is a great 
 poet," she said with gentle reproach, ''you 
 see you should not have abused him to 
 me." 
 
 She expected him to apologise, but he did 
 not ; he only looked hot and sullen : '' I never 
 thought much of poets," he said, " and, cousin 
 or no cousin, he's no business to play tennis 
 here." 
 
 Just as they turned into the cypress alley, 
 after glancing round to see that Vane and 
 Chatteris had started to follow them, Mrs. 
 Tomlinson summoned those two gentlemen 
 to the cedar plateau, to explain the other set, 
 which was not yet over, — adding that "she felt 
 rain in the air, and believed a drop had
 
 MUTUAL. 201 
 
 fallen upon her nose." It was some minutes 
 before Eugenia perceived that Vane and Chat- 
 teris were not following them, and when she 
 did so, it occurred to her that she ought not 
 to feel embarrassed. She was not at her ease, 
 but was the more determined to try and ap- 
 pear so, surprised at her own disquiet. Mr. 
 Buck began to be quite at his ease, and felt 
 himself distinguished by her favour ; the cy- 
 press alley led to a fountain which he expressed 
 a wish to visit, but when they reached it, 
 the first fountain proved to be only the sen- 
 tinel of a fine cluster, and he had led Eugenia 
 some considerable distance from the tennis 
 courts, when a few heavy drops warned her 
 of the thunder shower, to which she had at- 
 tributed her faintness. 
 
 ''By George," said Buck, "it's going 
 to pelt : you don't mind a little rain, do 
 you ? " 
 
 '' No," said Eugenia : she never took cold ;
 
 202 EUGENIA. 
 
 but to her own amazement, she found herself 
 looking at him, and hoping that he would not 
 get harm from the rain. 
 
 It was nothing at first, and they stood by 
 the fountain watching the big drops fall into 
 the plashing water, till, all of a sudden, a per- 
 fect sheet of rain descended on them from the 
 bursting storm-cloud. To do Eugenia justice, 
 her immediate thought was of Lady Short- 
 lands' safety, but she recollected that there 
 was a red-brick orangery, close behind the 
 cedars — which indeed completed their shelter — 
 where the party on the lawn could take refuge 
 in a moment. What refuge was there for her- 
 self and Buck ? 
 
 Her shoulders were wet already, and the 
 drops that rained from her companion's cap 
 seemed to hiss upon the bare muscles of his 
 neck and arms, as he stood before her ; ex- 
 posing himself, more than he need have done, 
 to the deluo^e, out of bravado.
 
 MUTUAL. 203 
 
 ** You will get very wet," she said. 
 
 Buck laughed. *' Oh ! a wetting's good for 
 me," he said; — '' cools my ardour ; I wish I'd 
 got a coat for you, but I'm afraid I mustn't 
 offer to take off my jersey." However, as 
 the rain showed no signs of abating, he sug- 
 gested, in a minute or two, that they should 
 try to get back to a little Doric temple in 
 the cypress alley, which was used as a gar- 
 dener's storehouse. 
 
 They retraced their steps to it, but found 
 it locked ; still there was shelter underneath 
 its coping, just between the columns ; — only 
 a ledge of shelter, though, for the rain drove 
 towards it. Eugenia stood upon the steps 
 between two of the pillars, which were deep. 
 Buck planted himself in front of her, still in 
 the rain, and feeling the hardier for this little 
 circumstance of weather. He was about as 
 likely to suffer from cold or wet as a strong 
 young tree : but Eugenia, who had no fears
 
 204 EUGENIA. 
 
 for herself, continued unaccountably to feel 
 solicitude for him. 
 
 " Go between those next pillars," she said, 
 with a smile ; it seemed absurd to place this 
 young demigod in a niche, even while she 
 proposed it. 
 
 '' No, I shan't ! " said Buck manfully ; ** you'd 
 get wet ; " and he spread himself in front of her, 
 putting a strong arm on either pillar, the rain 
 driving hard upon his back and shoulders. 
 
 ** I don't mind the rain," said Eugenia — with 
 some contrariety, she was aware, after having 
 taken shelter in this precipitate way. Buck's 
 eyes were close to her face, and level with it — 
 for he stood on the step beneath her — and he 
 could see her colour slowly heighten ; then she 
 grew pale and shivered. Girls' colour usually 
 did heighten when Mr. Buck had been talk- 
 ing to them a few minutes ; he was disposed 
 to take that as his due, a sort of crimson, put 
 out at his royal coming, but the pallor — this
 
 MUTUAL. 205 
 
 healthy Hly-pallor of Eugenia's was a new symp- 
 tom. *' I don't want you to get wet," he said, 
 leaning rather closer. 
 
 Eugenia was fluttered — she felt nervously 
 that she must do something, she could not 
 stand idle under his glance. So beautiful a 
 woman was intuitively aware that to let a 
 man's eyes rest upon her face, without the 
 screen of speech, is often more intimate than 
 talking. Moreover, she was really anxious for 
 him ; he was so hot and so wet — his 'thin 
 jersey steamed and smelt of rain. After an 
 instant's hesitation, she untied the knot behind 
 her, into w^hich her skirts were gathered, and 
 loosened the wide scarf of brocade which she 
 had taken to metamorphose her costume for 
 playing. '* Put this round your shoulders," she 
 said to Buck. 
 
 Buck laughed outright, but he took the 
 scarf; and, a moment later, Eugenia wished 
 he had not done so, for he was disposed to
 
 206 EUGENIA. 
 
 regard it as the vehicle for a rather pro- 
 nounced bit of flirtation. 
 
 ''Won't the rain spoil it.'^" he said as he 
 helped her to detach it. 
 
 ''It does not matter if it does, — it is mine ; " 
 said Eugenia coolly. 
 
 " I don't know how to get it on ; there's 
 some dodge," he said ; " you must put it round 
 me." 
 
 May Buxton would have told him to " do 
 it himself," his familiars would have tittered 
 and said, " Get along with you ! " Eugenia 
 did not quite know what to say, but it oc- 
 curred to her that it was nothing to make a 
 piece of work about, after all ; the thing she 
 had to do was to ward off the rain, which 
 drove against his back. So she quickly threw 
 it over him, spread out to its full width, and 
 knotted it loosely in front, flinging the ends 
 back over his shoulder. It did not make 
 him in the least ridiculous, but blended with
 
 MUTUAL. 207 
 
 his tennis-sash, as if it had been part of a 
 fancy dress. It had silk fringes, and he stood 
 drawing them through his square fingers and 
 looking at Eugenia. That he should have 
 something of hers round him made an ex- 
 traordinary link between them ; and this was 
 one of those breathless days when every pulse 
 is quickened, until, to a sensuous organisa- 
 tion, life becomes as keen as pain. Buck's 
 whole frame was thrilled. It flashed upon 
 him, while Eugenia, with her eyelids down, 
 was fastening the scarf about his body that 
 this was something like a new experience, 
 and that he had never been with anybody 
 who was '' worthy to be put in the same 
 street with " Eugenia Brand. But the flash 
 was a dull one. Had Sir Edmund Trefusis 
 been in his place, he would her felt her gesture 
 like a benediction and have taken it with re- 
 verence ; but, naturally. Buck's view of the 
 episode was a different one to Sir Edmund's.
 
 208 EUGENIA. 
 
 His curiosity was roused, and he wanted to 
 push his satisfaction further — "to see what she 
 would stand." When he was a boy, although 
 his interest in grammar and the hemispheres 
 was small, he never rested till he had broken 
 a plaything, or found out if his dolls were 
 all wax ; and so, now, he felt the promptings 
 of a vague desire to find out if this care for 
 his well-being had anything to do with that 
 roseleaf flush and lily pallor which had alter- 
 nated on Eugenia's cheek. 
 
 There was a moment's pause, while he pon- 
 dered, for his processes were slow. Then she 
 became possessed of an over-mastering wish to 
 get free, into whatever tempest of rain, but she 
 was still afraid of the sound of her own voice ; 
 she clasped her hands upon her racquet, and 
 peered out from her prison. 
 
 ''What's the matter?" he asked: why 
 should she be restless, now that he was 
 protected ?
 
 MUTUAL. 
 
 209 
 
 ** I think the rain Is ceasing," she said, for 
 his bulk kept It from her ; she was astonished 
 at the effort It cost her to say even so common 
 a sentence. 
 
 ''Oh! is itf said Buck laughing; ''that's 
 because I'm so thick through; can't you hear 
 It ? " He knew she could see little but his 
 own big self, his two hands bounded her 
 scope ; but he did not know that, by calling 
 her sense of hearing Into play, he gave her a 
 moment's relief from the tension of her nerVes. 
 
 She tried to listen and so found her voice : 
 " Have you ever read Chopin's life 1 " she 
 said. 
 
 " No," said Buck, as careless as he was 
 ignorant who Chopin was. 
 
 " I remember," said Eugenia, conscious of 
 that hop to the higher bough again, " a pas- 
 sage about his composing one of the pr^hides, 
 while he was with Georges Sand ; who, on 
 returning from a lengthened absence, found 
 
 VOL. I. o
 
 2IO EUGENIA. 
 
 that he had been setting the rain upon the 
 roof to music, in his anxiety about her." 
 
 "About whof said Buck, who liked the 
 sentiment, in his present mood. 
 
 ** About her^' said Eugenia ; she had not 
 sounded the depths of Mr. Jarvis' unlearned- 
 ness. 
 
 " Phew!" said Buck, with a knowing whistle ; 
 ^^ and what did Master George say when he 
 fotind out there was a lady in the case ? " 
 
 For an instant Euo-enla could not even 
 understand him, then the reaction shook her 
 with uncontrollable laughter. *' Georges Sand 
 ivas the lady," she said, not daring to look 
 at him, for fear of his sinking Into the ground 
 with shame at his own blunder ; but he 
 was too prosperous and too conceited for 
 shame. 
 
 "Was she ? " he said, "what sporting names 
 some women have ! upon my soul I thought 
 you said George somebody."
 
 MUTUAL. 211 
 
 Evidently an explanation was of no use 
 here. Eugenia held her peace. 
 
 " Youve got rather a rum name," he said 
 presently, " Eugenie, isn't it ?" — he pronounced 
 it in the French way, but with a strong British 
 accent of which he was happily unaware. 
 
 Eugenia winced. ''No," she said, ''it is 
 not Eugenie, it is Eu^^nia — a Greek name 
 not a French one — and it is a good name ; it 
 means 'nobility,' does it not?" (she thought 
 all men knew Greek). 
 
 "Oh!" said Buck, " by Jove ! that's you all 
 over then ; but ivJiat do they call you for short? " 
 
 The question would have been clear enough 
 to almost any girl but Eugenia. But she had 
 never had brother or sister, her father had 
 not been given to caresses, and her mother 
 seldom said her name. She had no pet-name ; 
 she did not understand. "What do who call 
 me for short ? " she said. 
 
 "Why, your 'sisters and your cousins and
 
 2 I 2 EUGENIA. 
 
 your aunts,' " said Buck ; but Eugenia had lived 
 out of earshot of Gilbert's witticisms, and he 
 inwardly dubbed her as rather dull. 
 
 ** My mother has always called me Eugenia," 
 she said, "and so do the Shortlands." Her 
 manner and Lord Shortlands' dignity, together, 
 stopped him from answering as he might have 
 answered May. 
 
 ''I am always called by a nickname," he 
 said, with a sense of apology. 
 
 ''Are you?" said Eugenia. It was odd 
 that the moment he began to talk about him- 
 self she heard her heart beat again, and felt 
 this overmastering impulse to get free : "What 
 is your name ? — Jarvis, isn't it ?" Buck thought 
 it was the first time he had ever heard his 
 name sound sweet ; for she said it with diffi- 
 dence ; she felt the strangeness of the situa- 
 tion, standing between his arms as closely as 
 if she were dancing with him ; and asking him 
 deliberately, his name.
 
 MUTUAL. 2 I 3 
 
 '' My name is Mr. Arthur John Jarvis," he 
 answered — the *' Mr." jarring on Eugenia's 
 finer instinct of speech — ''but everybody calls 
 me Buck." 
 
 ''Do they.^" she said absently, as if it did 
 not matter, (nor did it). " Why ? " 
 
 " Oh ! I don't know ; because I used to 
 eat American cakes, or something." 
 
 "How do you sz£'n your name ? " said 
 Eugenia : she felt the topic was a safe one, 
 and she was amused a little, despite this curious 
 heart-beating. 
 
 "Buck Jarvis," he said, "unless it's a bill, 
 and then I put A. J." 
 
 "Oh!" said Eugenia, still absently; ''and 
 then you put A. JT She did not care ; and 
 yet she felt that all her mind was concentrated 
 upon this unbeautiful name. It seemed written 
 up in front of her, and the rain repeated it. 
 
 The rain ? it w^as decreasing certainly ; the 
 evening sky was brightening.
 
 2 14 EUGENIA. 
 
 '* I think we can get back to the cedars 
 now," she said, but at the same moment she 
 ceased to wish to go. Buck too desired to 
 prolong the tete-d-tete. 
 
 ''What do you want to get back to those 
 fiddle-headed old Tomllnsons for ? " he asked. 
 
 "What Is 'fiddle-headed'?" said Eugenia, 
 through her reproachful smile. 
 
 "Oh, /f/^^yr^ fiddle-headed, don't you know; 
 chalk and all that." 
 
 " I never heard the term before : It doesn't 
 mean ' musical-looking,' does It '^. " 
 
 " God bless you, no ! " said Buck with a 
 loud laugh — he often said " God bless you," 
 and meant nothing by It when he said It ; but 
 Eugenia remembered that he had said It, after- 
 wards — so long afterwards ! — " I didn't use 
 to like the word either," he went on, making 
 an anecdotal effort to balance her story of 
 Chopin ; ** I remember licking a chap at 
 school because he opened my photo-album.
 
 MUTUAL. 2 I 5 
 
 where I was fool enough to keep my old 
 people's photos then, and he said what a 
 fiddle-headed lot they were." 
 
 Eugenia kept a photograph of her mother 
 in an olive-wood frame upon her dressing- 
 table, wherever she might be. She wondered 
 whether Mr. Arthur John Jarvis and his frank 
 school-friend would call it ''fiddle-headed," 
 and if they did, what she should do ? ** I am 
 glad you licked him," she said. 
 
 ''Why, of coiirse I licked him," said Buck 
 spreading himself again a little, "but I took 
 out the photos all the same." 
 
 "You love your father and your mother 
 very dearly," said Eugenia in a kind, low 
 voice ; she did not quite know on how sacred 
 ground she might be treading. 
 
 "Oh, so-so!" said Buck, "it wasn't that 
 so much. It was because, when I looked at 
 the photos in the other chaps' books, I thought 
 mine were a fiddle-headed lot — "
 
 2l6 EUGENIA. 
 
 "Oh!" said Eucrenla. There was a note 
 of pained entreaty in her voice, but it missed 
 him and he went on ; 
 
 '' They're stick-in-the-77itid, you know, Miss 
 Brand — that's what they are. I don't think 
 much of them ; but, by the Lord, they think an 
 awful deal of me ! " 
 
 '* Let us go now," said Eugenia. Although 
 she saw he had no sense of shame to speak 
 hke this, and therefore forgave him, she felt 
 ashamed. She fancied that she saw '' Buck 
 Jarvis' people " — saw them wrongly no doubt, 
 for Eugenia's freshly - awakened heart was 
 judging, and too impulsively. But she saw 
 that he was not bred from the order to which 
 she belonged herself; and she imagined poor 
 and humble parents, quite wrapped up in the 
 welfare of their soldier son. She conjectured 
 how this chance word of his, to a stranger, 
 would hurt them, could they have heard it. 
 She saw in her mind a grey-headed father —
 
 MUTUAL. 217 
 
 an unsuccessful man — a mother, dowdy, old- 
 fashioned, *' fiddle-headed," with a long grave 
 face. Perhaps they sat at home and talked 
 of him in some quiet orchard, perhaps they 
 prayed for him. . . . She was wrong! Mr. 
 and Mrs. Jarvis, "fiddle-headed" though they 
 might be, were neither old-fashioned nor sen- 
 sitive. They would have laughed, had they 
 heard the way Buck spoke of them, though 
 they would have actively resented the epithet 
 as cheek, and Mrs. Jarvis would have boxed his 
 ears. No! had Eugenia known the world better 
 she could have told that this young lord of the 
 creation was not sprung from a sensitive stock. 
 But then our dear Eugenia did not know the 
 world. She knew the book of the sea and the 
 book of the meadows, as Sir Edmund had seen, 
 and some written books beside. But she had no 
 guide for an estimate of '* Buck Jarvis' people." 
 — '' Let us go now ! " she said. His speeches 
 were busy contradictions of his strong personal
 
 2 I 8 EUGENIA. 
 
 influence : she wanted to hear no more of 
 them. And he, a little surprised at her poor 
 appreciation of his humour and general efforts 
 at conversation, let her out of her niche, with 
 something very like a sigh, and walked by her 
 side ; the sky gradually widening over them, 
 and the relieved air, with the mutual elasticity 
 of their step, seeming to Eugenia to free her 
 a little from the intolerable oppression that 
 was upon her. 
 
 They went back along the cypress-alley. 
 Its aspect was transfigured now; the sombre 
 trees shone with big jewel-drops of rain, the 
 baked paths glistened, and water-runnels lay 
 on either side of the raised walk against the 
 vivid green of the refreshed turf. The young 
 lieutenant was the fresher too for his rain 
 bath ; his crisp hair was curlier, though the 
 fringes of Eugenia's scarf hung straight and 
 draggled at his side. He took them in his 
 hands and wrung them out.
 
 MUTUAL. 219 
 
 As they turned the corner where the alley- 
 gave upon the lawns, the scene that met their 
 eyes was very different to that they had so 
 lately left, and the anomaly was greater be- 
 cause it had worn its trimmer air under the 
 storm-clouded sky, and kept its confusion for 
 the return of the placid golden light. 
 
 Eugenia paused amazed. *' Look," she said, 
 '* how altered it all is ! " 
 
 ''By George!" said Buck ; he did not notice a 
 great difference. The people had taken shelter 
 from the rain, that was all he saw ; a little 
 more or less confusion did not strike him as 
 anything out of the way. 
 
 But confusion there was ; the wicker tables 
 had been hastily stripped of newspapers and 
 letters, the rugs rolled up, the light chairs 
 and couches dismantled of their rich stuffs, 
 and turned topsy-turvy upon the lawn for the 
 rain to drain off them ; on the courts, the 
 racquets had been hastily thrown into their
 
 2 20 EUGENIA. 
 
 cases, the nets loosened and the balls col- 
 lected ; an earthquake could not have pro- 
 duced a more complete bouleversement, but 
 the sun was shininfj over all ! 
 
 It did not definitely occur to Eugenia 
 that, in this sunlit overturn, she was con- 
 templating a type of her own life ; but she 
 felt in sympathy with the scene — as well 
 she might. Under a moral heaven, calm as 
 yet, but with infinite possibilities of tempest, 
 her life had lain as trimly ordered as that cedar 
 garden with its games. Hurriedly the storm 
 had gathered, hurriedly the landmarks of her 
 lawns had been left and overthrown, her pas- 
 times spoiled, the crowd of pleasant thoughts 
 that were her guests flying with fluttering 
 skirts to other harbours. But the torrent 
 had fallen now, the windows of the sky 
 were opened, and over all the desolation and 
 disturbance gleamed the golden light ''that 
 never was on land or sea," and altered all.
 
 MUTUAL. 22 1 
 
 They two stood still at the end of the 
 cypress-alley before crossing the wet grass, 
 where a Diana and Endymlon faced each other, 
 in marble, at its corners. The change that was 
 about them brought them at least the recogni- 
 tion of their prolonged absence together. Per- 
 haps at the moment, Eugenia wanted to say 
 some helpful word to this young man, and Buck 
 to make some tender speech to this beautiful 
 woman. But just then, his keen sight, trained 
 to long marking in his rifle-practice, detected 
 faces pressed against the glass-doors of the 
 orangery opposite, and the waving of a hand- 
 kerchief with a bright border. Immediately 
 afterwards the door was opened, and there was 
 the whole group, mocking the sad plight of the 
 truants, and laughing at the draggled scarf — all, 
 that Is, but two of them. Sir Edmund was 
 anxious for Eugenia's safety, and Lady Short- 
 lands was rather wet — not having been able to 
 run fast to shelter — and extremely angry. She
 
 22 2 EUGENIA. 
 
 prescribed them both some horrible posset of her 
 own concoction at once, and threatened Eugenia 
 with bed; ''And as for you, Mr. Jones," she 
 said, focussing the offending Buck with her 
 eyeglass — Lady Shortlands often found it too 
 much trouble to remember your name correctly, 
 and expended much time, people said, upon 
 finding an alias that would annoy you — " as 
 for you, you look as if you had been playing at 
 poses plastiques. For God's sake, go and put 
 some clothes on, before you come into the 
 presence of decent people! My niece is a 
 wild woman of the woods, I know ; but even 
 she seems to have done her very best for you, 
 by giving up her own garments. Here, give me 
 that scarf before you go — your poor mother's 
 best scarf, Eugenia ! Parfitt must see what she 
 can do for it. Upon my word ! young man," 
 she concluded, not without some admiration in 
 her tone, as Buck clumsily untied the scarf, and 
 giving it to her, stood in his soaked jersey and
 
 MUTUAL. 223 
 
 his pride of muscle; *'you might stand for a 
 statue ; who was the man who swam the 
 Hellespont ? " 
 
 '' Hero," said Mrs. Tomlinson, feeling rather 
 proud of herself; had she been uncertain she 
 would not have ventured to put in her word, 
 but she was quite sure it was *' HeroJ' and 
 that he had swum across the Hellespont, ''to 
 Leanda!' 
 
 '* ' Hero ' ! what Hero ? why, bless me if 
 the woman doesn't think that Hero was 
 the man ! Yes, thank you, Mrs. Tomlinson, 
 Leander. Vane, where's Vane ? you really 
 must tell that to Milord. Now Mr. Jones, 
 I'm old-fashioned ; do, do go and put your 
 clothes on." 
 
 Buck laughed outright. Anne would laugh 
 afterwards, though she looked demure now, 
 but Sir Edmund was pained ; as for Eugenia, 
 she was smoothing her wet dress, and her face 
 was turned away — she exhibited only a sweep
 
 2 24 EUGENIA. 
 
 of brown hair charged with raindrops, and that 
 showed no blushes. When she fronted the 
 group again, she was quite collected, and her 
 tone was cool, though higher than before. But 
 she did not look at Buck as she addressed him. 
 ''Thank you very much," she said, "for keep- 
 ing the rain off me ; Aunt Agatha, surely you 
 had better come back now to the house, per- 
 haps your feet are wet." 
 
 Anne Jefferles and Vane were much occupied 
 with this scene, In which their elders took a 
 more languid Interest. Lord Shortlands was 
 trying hard to gather what had occurred, from 
 a critical survey of the wet couple, whom he 
 vaguely imagined to have fallen into a fountain, 
 and whom he pronounced to be ''very dry 
 considering!' He said so tentatively. 
 
 " I am 'dry,' " said Buck in a savage under- 
 tone, to Crossley ; " damned dry, and I wish 
 the old buffer would dry up himself, and let me 
 go and get a B. and S."
 
 MUTUAL. 225 
 
 May Buxton and James Chatteris sympa- 
 thised about Eugenia : 
 
 *'So very awkward for her," said pretty 
 May, as she connected the particulars, ''to be 
 boxed up like that, with the monster, for half 
 an hour ! " 
 
 "Yes," said the poet, puzzled at the change 
 — he knew not what — in Eugenia's aspect : '* it 
 was like an eclipse of the moon." 
 
 May did not understand him, but Anne — 
 who overheard him — did, and laughed. '* Wfth 
 the shadow of some very earthy earth, to hide 
 her ! " she said to Vane. 
 
 '' I am glad it was not you, May," murmured 
 Mrs. Buxton. " Miss Brand of course is older 
 and — " Somehow May did not re-echo the 
 wish. She had found herself looking at Buck 
 once or twice, while she spoke of Eugenia ; 
 and each time she was aware that he answered 
 her look. He was not such a thorough 
 ''officer" as Captain Boville, but he was very 
 
 VOL. L p
 
 226 EUGENIA. 
 
 manly and tall — May thought him tall — and 
 then he was the hero of the moment, at 
 least Lady Shortlands had said so. 
 
 " Let us get back to the house now," inter- 
 rupted Mr. Buxton, fuming at the delay, for 
 it was fine now, and he wanted "another talk 
 with Tomlinson about those farms." 
 
 His remark roused them all to the remem- 
 brance that they were several minutes' wet 
 walk from the house, and Vane volunteered, 
 with Chatteris, to get some footmen to bring 
 one of the tasselled chaises-a-porteurs from the 
 terrace, for Lady Shortlands' locomotion. 
 
 As they left the orangery Chatteris glanced 
 back and thought how pretty the scene was, the 
 sun slanting down through the glass, with renew- 
 ed brilliancy, upon the variegated foliage of the 
 creepers, and touching the golden fruits within 
 their glossy leaves. Amid all the tumbled 
 furniture and bustling people, Eugenia was to 
 him as bright as one of these golden fruits, and
 
 MUTUAL. 227 
 
 as sweet as one of their white blossoms on the 
 warmed air. He felt that he should make a 
 sonnet about her before his visit was over. 
 And he did. 
 
 When the procession was accomplished, and 
 they had borne Lady Shortlands back to the 
 house, Eugenia went with her to her rooms, 
 but did not trust herself to speak. She felt 
 she was unreasonably wroth, and was aware 
 that there had been a time (which lasted as a 
 matter of fact until an hour before) when *she 
 would have been the first to speak ironically of 
 her escapade. It would have had no meaning 
 till now. She sent for Parfitt therefore, to 
 minister to her aunt's manifold needs, and 
 then she went to her own room to change her 
 gown. But she never took much thought 
 about her dressing, and when she entered the 
 chapel-like chamber, all calm and burnished in 
 the copious light, she sat down first at the altar 
 table and let the freshened south-west air from
 
 2 28 EUGENIA. 
 
 the open window play about her head. She 
 was quite still for some minutes, though her 
 heart beat hard ; then she rose suddenly, her 
 lips parted, *'Oh! this pain," she said — ''Oh! 
 this pain, — what Is it ? " 
 
 There was no answer but the drip of the rain 
 from the ivy and the honeysuckles and the roses 
 at her window, and the call of a sheltered bird 
 to its mate — sheltered safe from the weather. 
 
 She rose with a step weary for her, and 
 walked to the window, like one overmastered 
 by an impression, almost as if she had seen a 
 spirit. As she stopped, she rested her left 
 hand upon a table, on which lay an old, silver- 
 framed mirror. Mechanically and against her 
 wont, she took It up, and, standing In the flood 
 of light, looked down at her reflected face. " Is 
 that /f " she thought. She did not smile, but 
 she trembled ; at last she put down the glass 
 and made no sign ; she seemed to have been 
 weighing her beauty in a scale, for some one
 
 MUTUAL. 
 
 229 
 
 else's sake, and to be doubtful still about her 
 verdict. The look upon her features was one of 
 fear ; a great awe had fallen upon her. Then, 
 of a sudden, in that quiet room — henceforth 
 indeed a chapel, consecrated utterly— she sank 
 upon her knees down — lower — lower in an 
 agony of prayer — 
 
 ** Oh ! my God ! bless him, guard him, love 
 him — not me but him — not me but him — Oh 
 my God ! my God ! " 
 
 It was not for Sir Edmund that she prayed. 
 
 THE END OF BOOK THE FIRST.
 
 Boofi tbe Scconb. 
 
 LOVE, THE CROSS.
 
 " Listen, Eugenia, 
 How thick the bursts come crowding through the leaves ! 
 Again, thou hearest ? 
 Eternal passion 
 Eternal pain." 
 
 — Matthew Arnold.
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 PROSPECT. 
 
 '' There was a lady loved a swine; 
 
 — ' Honey ^^ said she, 
 * Pigy hog, wilt thou be mine ? ' — 
 
 ' Hunc,^ said he I " — 
 
 Anne Jefferies was singing the next morning 
 at the piano in her bedroom — not practising, for 
 she seldom did anything methodically, but 
 skimming some loose music, which was scat- 
 tered through a Canterbury at her side. She 
 was sitting in the sunshine, her dark face in- 
 tent, at the moment, upon a little book of 
 children's songs — a drifted relic of babyhood — 
 which the Tomlinsons had bought among the 
 odds and ends at Ashbank, for these rooms 
 had been the nurseries.
 
 234 EUGENIA. 
 
 All of a sudden she called out to May, who 
 was still dressing In the adjoining room, as 
 sunny and as chintzy as her own : ** May," she 
 said, ''come here, and tell me what this song 
 reminds you of! " 
 
 May came in, with her hair about her face, 
 looking very pretty, — " Isn't It a heavenly morn- 
 ing, Anne?" she said, *' I thought our rooms 
 were north, but they seem east enough to get 
 all the early sun — which song ? " And then 
 Anne sang the verse again. 
 
 ''What a horrid song!" said May, "it is 
 nonsense, isn't It ? " 
 
 " No, it isn't ; " said Anne, " it is particularly 
 good sense ; and it reminds me of Eugenia 
 Brand and the monster, mother Shortlands 
 calls 'Mr. Jones.'" 
 
 "What very strange ideas you do have, 
 Anne — have you got any hairpins ? " 
 
 " What very strange things one sees — or 
 doesn't see if one is as dense as you are — "
 
 PROSPECT. 235 
 
 returned Anne, pointing to the dressing-table. 
 " Here you have them — I don't mean the hair- 
 pins — Mr. Jones, or Jarvis, or whatever his 
 eligible name may be, is ' the swine,' and Euge- 
 nia Brand is 'the lady.' " 
 
 '' I don't see why you should call him a 
 * swine,' " said pretty May, as she put back her 
 hair, not caring to trouble the head beneath it 
 with Anne's similes, "but I grant you that 
 Eugenia is a Mady.' I think, Anne, she is the 
 most glorious creature I have ever seen ; fook 
 at her skin." 
 
 **You talk of her as if she were a rabbit," 
 said Anne. '' She loves him ! Aha ! " (this in 
 a most melodramatic tone). 
 
 ** Have you taken leave of your senses ? " 
 said May. 
 
 ** No," said Anne, ''they are here," (tapping 
 her forehead), " seven of them, at least ; it is 
 your glorious Eugenia that has ' taken leave ' 
 of hers. But there ! it's no use telling you
 
 236 EUGENIA. 
 
 what I mean. Cut off to Celestlne, and don't 
 attempt even to do your own hair." 
 
 *' Lunatic ! " said May, but the hint that she 
 was spoiling her curls sent her back to her 
 own room. 
 
 Anne went on playing. '' It would be a 
 pity," she said to herself not ill-naturedly, '' for 
 she's a thousand-fold too good for him. If May 
 won't do it, I must ; but I rather think she will." 
 
 Whence it may be perceived that the attrac- 
 tion of Eugenia to Mr. Arthur John Jarvis had 
 not escaped Anne's vigilance, while, owing to 
 something of the same attraction, differently 
 answered, Miss May's blue eyes were a little 
 blinded ; and in fact, the stalwart lieutenant, 
 whom Mrs. Buxton had thought rather vulgar, 
 and whom Mrs. Tomlinson had wished she 
 could have replaced by ''her friend Captain 
 Molyneux — Lord George's son — who was on 
 leave," bade fair to become somewhat of an 
 apple of discord. (At the present moment he
 
 PROSPECT. 237 
 
 was thinking so himself, as he lit his after- 
 breakfast cigar downstairs ; '' Yours truly Is In 
 luck ! " he would have said.) 
 
 As Anne sat playing, she reviewed the events 
 of the previous evening. Sir Edmund had taken 
 her In to dinner, Eugenia falling to Captain 
 Boville, who seemed to make but little way with 
 her, while Buck and Chatteris, In the momentary 
 plethora of men, faced Crossley and Vane lower 
 down the table where Mr. Tomlinson was im- 
 mutably flanked by Lady Shortlands and Mrs. 
 Buxton. Miss Jefferles, seated as she was 
 between Lord Shortlands and Sir Edmund, 
 had ample opportunity, owing to the deafness 
 of the one and the abstractedness of the other, 
 for watching Miss Brand, who was placed be- 
 tween Mr. Buxton and Boville and was thus In 
 the full range of admiring glances from both 
 Sir Edmund and Mr. Jarvis, who were sitting 
 together on Anne's side of the table. And, 
 whether from being a little bored by Lord
 
 238 EUGENIA. 
 
 Shortlands' deafness, or a little annoyed at Sir 
 Edmund's pre-occupation, Anne had criticised 
 Miss Brand with more than her usual care. 
 
 The special sign that she had noticed, had 
 belonged to the same order as the symptoms 
 that surprised Eugenia, in her own self. It 
 was when Buck had inadvertently fallen into 
 conversation with his " Honourable " neighbour 
 Chatteris, and plunged into some literary or 
 musical error, so glaring as to be past all hope 
 of concealment or repair. She noticed then, 
 that, in her deep distress, Eugenia had made 
 efforts to engage Chatteris' attention, not hear- 
 ing a word, meanwhile, that Captain Boville 
 said to her, so that the worthy warrior had 
 to take refuge in his impotent moustaches, 
 wondering if it were she or he that was stupid. 
 Nor would Eugenia answer Sir Edmund's 
 amused glance ; she had studiously avoided 
 meeting his gaze till dinner was over ; and in 
 the evening, though she had not talked to
 
 PROSPECT. 239 
 
 Buck, she had also kept away from Sir 
 Edmund. In fact, though Anne had found 
 the dinner dull, she had not found it uninstruc- 
 tive, and knew, by now, far better how things 
 stood with the hearts concerned — the depths of 
 two, at least, of which, she could not fathom 
 — than their owners did. In her blunt way 
 she was sorry for Sir Edmund, indignant with 
 the hero, and determined to assist Miss Brand's 
 simplicity with her own superior skill. 
 
 Being an active-minded young lady, and par- 
 ticularly heart-whole herself at this moment of 
 time. Miss Jefferies did not despise a task of this 
 kind, and she was pondering it over now, as 
 she had pondered it on the preceding evening. 
 Desultory music always assisted the workings 
 of her mind. During the dinner, a wonderful 
 foreign band had played, in the conservatories 
 leading from the dining-room, some of the 
 dance music for the following evening, and it 
 had been perhaps the unconscious agent of her
 
 240 EUGENIA. 
 
 thoughts ; and now, before she went down to 
 breakfast, her own fingers accompanied her, as 
 we have seen, while she thought out her project. 
 
 " It was fortunate for ' the lady,' " concluded 
 Anne aloud, as May came dressed into her 
 room to ask her " if she were going down- 
 stairs to-day or to-morrow ? " — " To-morrow 
 certainly," she replied, in a parenthesis, *' but 
 very likely to-day too," — ''fortunate for 'the 
 lady ' that the pampered ' swine ' could say 
 nothing but that monosyllable, else he would 
 have committed himself as certainly as Mr. 
 Jones did last night." 
 
 " I wish you would not call him, Mr. Jones, 
 what did he do ? " 
 
 ''Jones is quite good enough for him, my 
 dear, — ' Do ? ' Oh ! nothing of any conse- 
 quence ; only confused ' Robert le diable' with a 
 horse of the name, or something like that." 
 
 "Well, and what did it matter ?" said May, 
 "any one can see he knows nothing about music."
 
 TROSPECT. 241 
 
 " ' Whafs Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba ? ' " 
 
 said Anne, pensive ; — rather to May's sur- 
 prise she did not answer tardy — '' Yes, that 
 is really the right point of view, but if you 
 were to ask Miss Brand, you would find out 
 that she thinks that it matters a great deal, 
 and that it matters too that any one should 
 laugh at him ; and that he is, in point of 
 fact, her 'sacred Lama.' But never you 
 mind that ! I mean to blaspheme against the 
 sacred Lama all the same, and we'll see what 
 comes of it : the first result of my audacious 
 blasphemy is a gigantic appetite." 
 
 And so the two girls went downstairs, to 
 find the great hall swept already — and partially 
 garnished — for the dance to take place in the 
 evening ; — the gathering masses of flower and 
 fern looking very radiant in the stream of 
 sunlight upon the polished floor. It was a 
 beautiful hall, this central one at Ashbank, 
 from one side of which the great staircase 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 242 EUGENIA. 
 
 slanted up to its division beneath the blazoned 
 window ; and its beauty never showed to such 
 advantage as when it was, what Mrs. Tomlin- 
 son called, ''stripped." The ''stripping" pro- 
 cess rid It of the rubbish its present owners 
 had imported there, — Japanese satin screens, 
 plush-covered tables and ormolu stands and 
 frames — while it exposed to view the fine old 
 tapestries, the armour and the carven seats. 
 Nothlnof was left in it now more breakable 
 than ebony or ivory or steel, and the daily 
 furniture looked very valueless and trivial, 
 pushed away into alcoves, while in process 
 of being shelved and arranged in the other 
 rooms. A mass of Chinese lanterns in a corner 
 looked also like rubbish, compared with three 
 great silver candelabra, black with age, that 
 had been brouo^ht from some Moorish cathedral 
 and were the glory of the hall in its intact 
 days. The lanterns, however, were not yet 
 hung, and would perhaps flaunt prettily in
 
 PROSPECT. 243 
 
 the evening, when the mood of the guests 
 was one of artificial Hght and evening dress. 
 
 But certainly the flowers would not show 
 then to as complete advantage as now. 
 Such tables as were not already removed, 
 were literally hidden with a ruthless harvest 
 of August roses : festoons of them were being 
 strung across alcoves, and the vast fireplace 
 was turned into a bower — trees full of blos- 
 som being bodily set there — while the ledges 
 of the panelling were banked with tuberose 
 and gardenia ; and hanging baskets shaped 
 like Roman lamps — in which the case was all 
 of stephanotis bloom, and the inner fiame of a 
 sort of exotic honeysuckle — were being fastened 
 up the stairways and along the balustrade. 
 
 When the two girls came down into this 
 carnival of fiowers — the warm sunlight filling 
 their nostrils with sweet moist scents of earth 
 and moss — Anne sniffed approval, and May 
 danced along the smooth and fragrant floor.
 
 244 EUGENIA. 
 
 dispelling such loose stalks and scattered rose 
 leaves as were not yet swept up, with the swirl 
 of her little shoes. She was unable to contain 
 herself for joy. 
 
 Crossing the hall they came upon Mrs. 
 Tomlinson, standing amid a dozen gardeners, 
 and holding up the rich skirts of her light silk 
 dress — for Mrs. Tomlinson was never dressed 
 appropriately. She looked bilious and de- 
 pressed, and was very helpless, but she 
 patted May's cheek affectionately with her 
 disengaged hand. Everybody patted May's 
 cheek, much as everybody touches or smells 
 a sweet and hardy flower. 
 
 ''Get out of this mess, dears," she said, in a 
 heart-broken voice, " and go into the breakfast 
 room ; you are sure to find some one there, 
 though, to be sure, I breakfasted an hour 
 ago, and Miss Brand kept me company." 
 
 *' How lovely it will all look!" said May, 
 enraptured still.
 
 PROSPECT. 245 
 
 *' Do you think it will?'' said Mrs. Tomlin- 
 son with a sigh, as if it were a funeral that she 
 was planning. ''Well! well! I think I've got 
 more flowers than Lady Sophia had ; and if 
 not — we're here to-day and gone to-morrow ! " 
 
 " Oh ! you're not going to send us away to- 
 morrow ! " said Anne, pretending to take her 
 literally, and she could not repress her smile, 
 for which Mrs. Tomlinson liked her none the 
 better. She had not yet quite ''taken that 
 Miss Jefferies' measure." So she trailed* off 
 along the hall, on the pretext of giving some 
 order to her head-gardener, dragging a lot of 
 boughs and twigs after her, and oversetting 
 a small rose-tree with her train. 
 
 "Oh! the roses!" said a clear, full-toned 
 voice behind her, as fresh as a bird's song at 
 morning ; and Anne turned and saw Eugenia 
 coming in from the conservatory, her hands full 
 of starry crimson blossoms — passion-flower and 
 poinsettia — followed closely by James Chatteris
 
 246 EUGENIA. 
 
 with a load of bracken and bulrushes and moss. 
 She wore a cotton dress like a housemaid's, 
 but she did not look like a housemaid. 
 
 "At it again ! " said Anne to May, as they 
 passed into the breakfast-room, after bidding 
 her " good morning ; " but they looked in vain 
 for either Sir Edmund or "the monster," to 
 dissever from Eugenia's company. 
 
 Sir Edmund was, indeed, reported to be less 
 well, and, any way, it was not usual for him to 
 have yet left his rooms ; he was the only one 
 who had suffered anything from the tropic 
 weather, and he had telegraphed to London 
 for his doctor, the previous afternoon, "less 
 perhaps," suggested Anne, "from apprehension 
 about his present ailment, than because he 
 meant to dance with Miss Brand ; and thought 
 it well to have a doctor handy. In case of break- 
 ing anything more reparable than his heart." 
 
 As for Buck, he "couldn't stand a mess;" 
 and was off, after a superb breakfast, to pass
 
 PROSPECT. 247 
 
 the morning with his fellow-officers in smoking- 
 room and stable. 
 
 Eugenia was not sorry ; she loved to handle 
 flowers, and could now do so with her old un- 
 disturbed conscience, and she would have to 
 divide her pleasant toil by dutiful incursions on 
 her aunt at her toilette, as well as by these 
 expeditions into the garden, with her new- 
 found cousin, after some special flower or 
 another. She looked forward to a very happy 
 morning. ♦ 
 
 The gardeners were delighted at her useful 
 interference and considerate taste, while, as for 
 James Chatteris, he was in the seventh heaven 
 by her side, in the radiant day. Only Mrs. 
 Tomlinson was disposed to think *' her style a 
 little sober'' 
 
 *' Charming, my dear Miss Brand!" she said 
 of the red flowers, ''just the shade we wanted;" 
 (she would have said so, had Eugenia brought 
 the calceolarias from the garden borders) '' but
 
 248 EUGENIA. 
 
 what are you going to do with those common 
 ferns ? " 
 
 "Oh! don't you Hke them?" said Eugenia 
 disappointed, " look at the colours ; — and then 
 the bulrushes, we took such pains to get them — 
 so tall and strong ; — we thought of putting them 
 round those scented fountains ; " she had too 
 much kindness of heart to say, she thought the 
 greenery would conceal the fountains. 
 
 '' You were at Lady Sophia's ball last season, 
 were you not, Miss Brand?" said Mrs.Tomlinson 
 earnestly, as if (from the funereal point of view) 
 she were recalling the last wash of the deceased. 
 
 ''Yes, I was," said Eugenia — "I thought it 
 hideous." 
 
 ''Well, now," said Mrs. Tomlinson, disre- 
 garding the comment in her anxiety, "had she 
 ferns like these — common ferns ? " 
 
 "Oh, no!" said Eugenia laughing, "only 
 hot-house flowers and forced things." 
 
 "Then," said Mrs. Tomlinson, with noble
 
 PROSPECT. 249 
 
 resolution and a touch of proper pride, "/ 
 will have only hot-house flowers. Lady Sophia 
 will be here to-night, and I cannot give her a 
 loop-hole," (Mrs. Tomlinson s metaphors always 
 confused her speech more than they enlight- 
 ened it), *' I cannot give her a loop-hole to say 
 that I stinted hot-house flowers ; bracken will 
 never do,'' she concluded, looking at Eugenia 
 with a glassy resolution in her eyes. 
 
 Eugenia did not answer her directly ; she 
 turned to James Chatteris instead. '' I am so 
 sorry you had the trouble of getting these for 
 me," she said, though she could not but be 
 aware that her thanks repaid him; ''and the 
 bulrushes too ; I am still sorrier that we cut 
 them; Mrs. Tomlinson is quite right; they de- 
 serve the beauty of the river." — Which was 
 not at all what Mrs. Tomlinson had meant. 
 
 James Chatteris did not care what was done 
 with the bracken or the bulrushes, now that he 
 had exhausted the pleasure of cutting them
 
 250 EUGENIA. 
 
 under Eugenia's eyes, and he said so very 
 prettily, " The tints of the fern are lovely," he 
 added timidly, '' Could you not put one little 
 frond of it among the flowers in your dress 
 to-night, for cousinship ? — it is very Scottish," 
 he finished with his shy smile. 
 
 '' Wait, and see what I will do for cousin- 
 ship ! " said Eugenia, delighted with a thought 
 that struck her ; and, giving the poinsettias to 
 the gardeners, she took the bracken from Chat- 
 teris' hands. " I will put it in my own room," 
 she added, glancing with pity at a mass of 
 beautiful stems, thrown down amid the refuse, 
 " I cannot bear it to be trampled on, like these." 
 
 She turned to go up the broad stairway, 
 with her load of green and gold, just as the 
 three officers crossed the hall from beneath 
 it, on their way from the smoking-room to 
 the front door. They stood still and looked 
 at her with admiration, as well they might. 
 Buck was last of the three, and least sus-
 
 PROSPECT. 251 
 
 ceptlble to the charm of the picture. He saw 
 at once that it was Eugenia, and he thought 
 he would '' fetch " her. 
 
 **AhemI" he said loudly, In a tone that 
 made Mrs. Tomlinson start. 
 
 ** Good gracious me! Mr. Jarvis, how you 
 made me jump ! " she said : it was just the 
 sort of joke Mrs. Tomlinson understood. 
 ** Boys will be boys," she would say. 
 
 Eugenia did not ''jump ; " — she was past that 
 stage of feeling when Buck's presence could 
 surprise her— but she flushed hotly beneath 
 her shady hat, behind the swaying bracken, 
 which she held before her. *' Good-morning! " 
 she said, acknowledging the officers' greeting 
 rather coldly, but when she met Buck's eyes, 
 her own grew dewy, and she smiled. You 
 would have said that Boville and Crossley had 
 given her offence, not Jarvis : and so indeed 
 they had ; their offence was that they were 
 there : such is the divine unreasoning of love.
 
 252 EUGENIA. 
 
 Buck certainly was a fine fellow enough in the 
 summer weather ; he had another new suit on, 
 which happened by a wonderful chance to be- 
 come him, and his robust look made the flowers 
 appear trifling, much as they do to farmers in 
 the cornfield hedgerows. His friends moreover 
 set him off, for though their private verdict 
 would have been that he was a crude specimen 
 of them, the fact remained that he was, to 
 adopt a French expression, ''more Buck Jarvis 
 than they were." They put some rosebuds in 
 their buttonholes, but Buck — not from any dis- 
 taste for roses, but because it would be a bore, 
 and his buttonholes were new — stuck a clove- 
 carnation into his mouth instead, and began 
 chewing the stalk of it as he looked up 
 at Eugenia. He was rather disposed to 
 plume himself on his unchallenged impertin- 
 ence. 
 
 — "Morning!" he said, ** you're going it; 
 are you coming out for a stroll ? "
 
 PROSPECT. 253 
 
 *' Not yet," said Eugenia, stroking some of 
 the sun-scented bracken with her white hands. 
 
 '' Going to wait for another shower ? " he said, 
 in a lower tone, coming right up under the balus- 
 trade, and looking hard at her with his grey 
 eyes, as he showed his square white teeth in 
 a smile. It was his notion of flirting; and he 
 flattered himself he was '' making the running." 
 
 Eugenia did not answer ; she had no notions 
 of flirting, and what May Buxton would have 
 called ** cheek " was something new to "her, 
 something not yet in her experience. His 
 ways were really rather vulgar ways and meant 
 little ; to Eugenia they seemed impassioned 
 and meant everything. She stood on the stair- 
 way above him, in her light dress — one foot on 
 a higher step than the other — and the bracken 
 cast its shadows over her, from knee to chin. 
 You might have sculptured her for Proserpine 
 or Ruth. She did not answer, but she looked 
 down at his face, and her beauty gave the look
 
 254 EUGENIA. 
 
 a significance in itself, that a plainer woman 
 would have had to put into words. 
 
 ''We weren't so badly off there, were we ? " 
 he said presently, for he saw that Crossley's 
 eye was upon him and was determined to seem 
 intimate with Eugenia, though her silence did 
 not reassure him. He chuckled nervously. 
 
 " No," she said at last, " I hope you did not 
 catch a cold ? " and then, looking at his giant 
 strength, she was amused at the question she 
 had asked him, and she laughed. 
 
 " No I didn't," he answered, quite at his ease 
 again, '' I didn't feel the rain at all, you know." 
 
 ''Didn't you?" said Eugenia, without the 
 least notion that he was blunderinof over a 
 compliment, "you must be a most im.pervious 
 person." There was a caress in her voice 
 which she could not keep out of it, and it 
 surprised herself. 
 
 " Oh ! am I ? " said Buck, putting his arms 
 upon the balustrade. " No ! but, I mean, we
 
 PROSPECT. 255 
 
 were so — snug — between those pillars — werent 
 we ? " 
 
 Had a thunderbolt fallen at her feet, Eugenia 
 could not have been more paralytically at a 
 loss for a suitable reply. "Oh," she began, 
 with unmitigated surprise and uncontrollable 
 amusement shining in her frank eyes. *' Oh, 
 snug I " — and then, finding no sort of answer 
 she could even try to make, she fairly burst out 
 laughing. 
 
 When Eugenia laughed, which was seldcfm, 
 and never so thoroughly as when the laugh 
 was against herself, you could not help laugh- 
 ing too. Mrs. Tomlinson shook her belaced 
 head and laughed with her, against her own 
 will, and then waggled off with something 
 of the unexpressed comment about her walk, 
 " Young people will be young people." And 
 Crossley and Boville grinned, though they 
 would have been mightily surprised at Miss 
 Brand, If they had heard the joke, and even
 
 256 EUGENIA. 
 
 the gardeners smiled (In their sleeves), and just 
 then Anne and May came out of the deserted 
 breakfast-room, and as they exchanged greet- 
 ings with Chatteris, the laughter was so Infec- 
 tious that they caught It too. And the best of 
 it was that none of them had a notion that the 
 joke was just a piece of Insolence, which Euge- 
 nia should have been the first to resent, and of 
 which Buck was a little bit ashamed already. 
 
 He hastened to change the subject ; and the 
 way In which he did so was an instance of 
 his fine consideration for his hostess. " Now, 
 then!" he shouted, as soon as Mrs. Tomlln- 
 son s trailing skirts were out of sight, and while 
 she was still perilously within earshot — '' when 
 the cat's away . . . ! " and, taking a pile of loose 
 lovely rose-blossoms from a table where they 
 were ranged in order for decoration, he pelted 
 them, one after another, as fast as he could 
 fling them, In his heavy-handed way, at Boville 
 and Crossley.
 
 PROSPECT. 257 
 
 "Very humorous;" said Anne trenchantly, 
 as the great red and white blossoms shed 
 their leaves over the young men's coats in 
 the skirmish ; for the two officers were not 
 a whit behindhand in returning at least the 
 leafless centres. — '' If I were Mrs. Tomlinson, 
 Mr. Jarvis, I should make you pay for those 
 roses, at so much a dozen, as you'd have to 
 for sticks at Aunt Sally." 
 
 " I'd have a — shy at the — old Aunt Sally — 
 herself, if she — did ! " he guffawed spasmodically, 
 ducking to dodge a stalk, and seizing another 
 handful. 
 
 It was altogether not an exhibition of taste ; 
 and the head-gardener, who chanced to be at 
 hand, looked grave ; though the younger ones 
 stared with their mouths wide open at such 
 bold fun. To see Buck use their roses so, 
 made them foolishly ashamed of themselves 
 for being gardeners. 
 
 '' Now sir ! " said the chief functionary 
 
 VOL. I. R
 
 258 EUGENIA. 
 
 Sternly, in a tone he would certainly not 
 have used to Sir Edmund, '' if you gentle- 
 men wants to bally-rag, you'd better just 
 take yourselves off into them playgrounds of 
 your'n." 
 
 Crossley and Boville laughed, and Crossley 
 cried: ''You've got it now, old man!" for 
 in truth. Buck was much more crestfallen 
 than he had been at Anne's rebuke. With 
 a weak attempt at rebellion, he made as if he 
 would shy the last rosebud at the grave gar- 
 dener's head ; but as that personage was far 
 too well accustomed to the control of romps, 
 to duck, he thought better of that, and flung it, 
 with much gesture, to alight amid Eugenia's 
 bracken. His notion of "sport" would have 
 been that she should toss it back to him, his 
 notion of flirting that she should "stick it 
 in her hat." But, Eugenia being Eugenia 
 and the rosebud being a rosebud, she did 
 neither : she laid it carefully among the
 
 PROSPECT. 259 
 
 fern-leaves, where it fell. There were no more 
 roses left upon the table, so perforce the 
 game was over, and she went upstairs, just 
 finding some sufficient answer to excuse her 
 from tennis for a while. Her aunt furnished 
 her with a valid pretext for engagement. 
 
 But, as she deposited the bracken in her 
 room, before going to Lady Shortlands, she 
 disengaged the rosebud from its fronds and 
 stood holding it in her hand for a moment. 
 It was a common rosebud after all, and 
 Eugenia had passed leisure days enough in 
 the country and with old-fashioned people, 
 to know the language of flowers : " Cabbage- 
 rose," she said to herself softly, ''Ambassador 
 of Love." 
 
 It was crushed and bruised ; — the leaves 
 half pressed from the stem — she did not kiss 
 it with her lips, but her eyes kissed it ; she 
 did not even put it into water ; she saw that 
 it was killed. Eugenia was not one to do
 
 26o EUGENIA. 
 
 girlish or jerky things. But she laid it re- 
 verently down, upon the old lace cover of 
 her dressing-table, and her hands lingered on 
 it as she did so ; it seemed as if there were 
 a spirit in the flower ; she looked at it and 
 sighed. If Buck had seen her look at it and 
 sigh, he might have wondered, he could not 
 have understood. 
 
 "He would have used then all the worse, had 
 they been birds instead of flowers," she said ; 
 but she did not hate him. " He does not 
 know," she said; ''he does not know — Am- 
 bassador of Love." Often, perhaps, our life is 
 changed for us, by some no greater thing ; and 
 to Eugenia — in her present altered mood — the 
 rosebud, however roughly sent, was a myste- 
 rious emblem. There is something to be said 
 for her. In old Florentine days, as we see 
 them on canvas, and in our own later painters' 
 imaging of them, this rose-pelting is accounted 
 beautiful. We do not call it "bally-ragging,"
 
 PROSPECT. 261 
 
 when we see It pictured there ; and surely 
 the play of It, with Its interchange of glance 
 and laughter, suits the roses better far than 
 being ranged In cornice, out of reach and 
 smell, as we range them In ball-rooms now. 
 To be tender-hearted over flowers is, after all, 
 the outcome only, of our ''pathetic fallacy;" 
 Buck was as careful of them as the Floren- 
 tines ; but then Eugenia had been educated 
 up to the '' pathetic fallacy." As regards 
 birds, she had not only declined to enter 
 the enclosure at Hurlingham (as many may, 
 to spare their nerves), but even to make the 
 acquaintance of a handsome and successful 
 shot, who had asked leave to be presented 
 to her there one Saturday. But she did not 
 hate Buck, and she made allowances for 
 him. 
 
 What a morning It was ! soft airs seemed to 
 be blowing all over the house, wherever the 
 sunlight fell — and where did it not fall ? And
 
 262 EUGENIA. 
 
 yet, though there was cool after the storm, 
 there was no breath of wind stirring. It was 
 only open doors and windows and hurrying 
 feet that fanned the stillness ; every flight of 
 stairs and every corridor ran over with pre- 
 paration and life. 
 
 Eugenia went into her aunt's apartments. 
 There, too, preparation was going on, though 
 vitality was at a low ebb. Lady Shortlands 
 was being ''done up for the day." 
 
 " Come in," she said sharply, as Eugenia 
 knocked at the panel. ** Come in, and put the 
 curtain down over the door, or the draught will 
 blow my wig off." The old lady never spared 
 herself, if she was invariably hard on others ; 
 but she rather tempered her self-depreciation. 
 Her niece knew, as all the world did, that she 
 wore false hair, but she did not know of the 
 rouge and the cosmetiques, increasing day by 
 day, which were Parfitt's secret care. 
 
 Eugenia went in, the meridian glory of her
 
 PROSPECT. 263 
 
 beauty shining like light in the closely shut-up 
 room smelling of drugs and perfumes. 
 
 ''Well," said Lady Shortlands looking up 
 at her with a grudging admiration, ''and how 
 may you please to find yourself to-day ? " 
 There was a note of battle in her voice ; 
 something was evidently amiss, and Eugenia 
 forbore a literal answer. Then the charo^e 
 came at once. " Do you remember why I 
 brought you here ? " said the old lady, always 
 inflammable enough, and working herself* up 
 into a great rage, " do you think it was to 
 moon about in the rain with a man in a bathing- 
 dress, leaving me to catch my death of cold — 
 not that it matters, of course, what happens to 
 me, so long as you're amused ? Oh ! you won't 
 answer me before Parfitt, won't you ? Well, 
 miss, I can just tell you, for your peace of 
 mind, Parfitt knows my views already " — this 
 was an untruth, told pardy to annoy Eugenia, 
 and partly to conciliate Parfitt, who was really
 
 264 EUGENIA. 
 
 quite in the dark as to the origin of " Miladi's 
 tantrums " — '' and Parfitt agrees with me. And 
 now, Parfitt, stick me on my best wig, and 
 leave us : I want Miss Brand to write some 
 notes for me." 
 
 But, when Parfitt was gone, it turned out that 
 Lady Shortlands — who loved to bamboozle her 
 maid — had no notes to be written. She wanted 
 to appeal to Eugenia about Sir Edmund Trefusis. 
 Ah ! if it had only been the previous morning. — 
 
 " Now," she said, with her usual frankness, 
 " you generally look extremely well at a ball, 
 Eugenia, and I confess I feel that I shall soon 
 get bored here — one always does at this sort of 
 house, there's no real company — I want you to 
 settle it to-night. You know what I mean ; 
 the occasion will be a good one, and we can 
 make short work of this visit." 
 
 Eugenia was too much distressed to answer 
 at once : after a minute, she said, '' Sir Edmund 
 Trefusis is not well, he is hardly likely to
 
 PROSPECT. 265 
 
 appear at the ball. He sent yesterday to 
 London for his own doctor." To Eugenia, 
 sending for the doctor implied that there was 
 immediate danger, and she had felt surprise that 
 Mrs. Tomlinson, who was accustomed to Sir Ed- 
 mund's chronic ill-health, had not seemed more 
 put out about it. Lady Shortlands, however, 
 shared Mrs. Tomlinson s view of his '' fancies." 
 
 **Pooh!" she said, "he's nervous, that's 
 what's the matter with him : he's worrying him- 
 self and he will worry himself until it's over. * / 
 want it settled too. I'm not well, and, I tell 
 you, I must get away. If he can't come down- 
 stairs you must go up and sit with him and the 
 doctor, and manage it so." 
 
 "How can you say such things?" said 
 Eugenia, who could not believe her aunt 
 in earnest, and indeed the old lady was half 
 laughing through her anger : "If he pro- 
 posed to me to-night, Aunt Agatha, I could 
 not accept him."
 
 266 EUGENIA. 
 
 Lady Shortlands put down her hand-glass 
 and absolutely glared at her niece. 
 
 " Why the deuce not ? " she said. — One of 
 Lady Shortlands' first rules in conversation was 
 that there was but one vocabulary, whether for 
 men or women. 
 
 Euofenia did not answer : words never scared 
 her. 
 
 " Now, look here," her aunt went on, '' Sir 
 Edmund Tre - thingummytight is poetical. 
 You don't understand poetry, but I do" — the 
 reproach and the assertion were alike strange 
 as from Lady Shortlands to Eugenia. — ''Re- 
 member Romeo and Juliet and all the rest of 
 them. Voti. have a cold nature : you cannot 
 realise falling in love at sight ; /ze does. 
 Take my word for it, Sir Edmund is the 
 man for your money, or rather — for remember, 
 you haven't got any money — you're the woman 
 for his." 
 
 Lady Shortlands leaned back after this tirade.
 
 PROSPECT. 267 
 
 prepared for open rebellion on Eugenia's part, 
 but oddly enough, as she thought, Eugenia 
 still said nothing. She stood looking out of 
 the window : across the lawns she could see the 
 statues of Diana and Endymlon at the end of 
 the cypress- alley. Her aunt's words sounded 
 strangely In her ears — '*a cold nature — you don't 
 understand poetry — you cannot realise love 
 at sight." She was thinking of the cabbage- 
 rosebud In her room, ** Ambassador of Love : " 
 Its scent was In her nostrils yet. She cduld 
 not argue. 
 
 ** I begin to Imagine," said Lady Shortlands 
 gravely, changing her tone, as she traced the 
 coronet and Initials on her Ivory brushes with 
 a shaky be-ringed old hand, *' that you are 
 wanting, Eugenia Brand, — wanting — daft." — 
 
 Eugenia laughed : she thought perhaps she 
 was. 
 
 — '' Is there any just cause or Impediment — 
 barring the Irons, which I believe to be remov-
 
 268 EUGENIA. 
 
 able — why you should not let Sir Edmund love 
 you ? None. And is there any need for you to 
 trouble your poor silly head about loving him ? 
 None. — You don't dislike him, do you ? " 
 
 "Oh no! indeed," said Eugenia, indignant 
 with herself. "He has been so kind, so 
 thoughtful ; I have found his company de- 
 lightful." 
 
 " I am sure you have. You were a fool to 
 play off that young savage against him — and I 
 think, lost ground. Men like Sir Edmund are 
 particular " — 
 
 (Eugenia was not listening ; she was thinking 
 with contrition — " dislike him ? " had she been 
 rude — unkind ? — and he was ill.) 
 
 — '' Well, make amends ! you can't have 
 everything. Why, my dear," the old lady 
 went on in a gentler voice, looking at Eugenia's 
 perplexed face, "the same blood runs in your 
 veins that runs in mine. Did I think I loved 
 my old Lord ? Not I ! And if it didn't heat
 
 PROSPECT. 269 
 
 me so to talk, I could tell you a long tale 
 against myself, which — as it is — you must make 
 your mother tell you some day. ' Somebody 
 else ? ' of course I loved somebody else ; and I 
 thought at the time that there was nobody else 
 like that somebody else, in the world. And 
 would you believe it, Eugenia, I woke up 
 Shortlands last night, to try and help me re- 
 member what that somebody else's name was ? 
 — not that rd forgotten him, but my memory has 
 played me curious tricks of late. — 'Shortlands,' 
 1 said, ' what was the name of that young buck, 
 as you used to call him, that I loved when I 
 married you ? ' Why, what's 'the matter, 
 Eugenia, you tired ? " 
 
 Eugenia had sat down suddenly, at a certain 
 idle little word ; that was all. 
 
 " Tell me about it. Aunt Agatha," she said 
 with her first show of interest. 
 
 *' I can't," said the old lady, after a pause, 
 and with a stifled sigh. ** I suppose I was
 
 270 EUGENIA. 
 
 more of a fool than most people. And that's 
 why I asked you If there were any 'just cause or 
 impediment/ Eugenia ; for even after all these 
 years of marriage — happy marriage, as things 
 go, and successful life — I don't think I should 
 urge you, if I thought you had ever cared for 
 somebody else, like that." 
 
 " Does it never change ? " said Eugenia, in 
 a low sweet voice. 
 
 '* Never," said Lady Shortlands, almost in 
 the same tone. '' One may not remember 
 always, dii^ it is ahvays there. I've forgotten 
 his name, I tell you, but that makes no odds : 
 if he could come into this room now — he can't: 
 he's dead, poor darling — though I'm past 
 sixty, I should blush through my — " (she 
 was going to say ''rouge," but she stopped 
 herself in time, and substituted) — " wrinkles. 
 However, you, thank God, have nothing of 
 that kind to think of; so look your best at 
 the ball, and don't let things slide. And now
 
 PROSPECT. 2 7 I 
 
 I've talked myself purple, so get along, and 
 send me that wretched woman, Parfitt, again. 
 It's twelve o'clock, and she's got her work cut 
 out for her if she's to make me fit to go down- 
 stairs to luncheon." 
 
 How was it that, despite her aunt's first 
 harshness, Eugenia went up to her before 
 she left the room, and, for the first time in 
 her whole life, kissed her tenderly, of her 
 own free will ? Let those guess who do not 
 know ; for surely those who do, will never 
 be quite able to put it into words. It touched 
 her deeply to find that this worldly old woman 
 had gone through that same phase of passion 
 which was overwhelming all her senses. She 
 would almost have confided in her aunt ; but 
 what was there yet, that she could affirm or 
 claim ? What was she to Arthur Jarvis ? No- 
 thing : although it seemed that every fibre of 
 her heart and brain now wove itself about him. 
 She must wait.
 
 272 EUGENIA. 
 
 She went down the broad staircase, like a 
 woman in a dream. As she passed Sir Ed- 
 mund's apartments, she saw that his doors 
 were open ; and in the luxurious Persian 
 sitting-room, a tall, dark-bearded man was 
 seated at a table, writing busily. As she de- 
 scended into the hall, she heard the sound 
 of a piano from the music-room. It was 
 Anne's crisp touch; and Eugenia, in her per- 
 plexity, was more disposed to listen to the 
 playing than to go out of doors. She turned 
 in the direction of the room whence the sound 
 issued, taking her hat off, as she did so, with 
 her habitual gesture. 
 
 She found herself in a small ante-chamber 
 that communicated with the larger room, 
 but was separated from it by silken curtains. 
 In this small room Sir Edmund was perdu^ 
 under a vast oriel window, 'listening abstract- 
 edly to the music. Eugenia was surprised to 
 see that he was looking quite as well as on
 
 PROSPECT. 273 
 
 the preceding day ; but, as she did not like to 
 tell him that she had been apprehensive, she 
 said only : " Good morning." 
 
 ** I am eavesdropping, you see," he said, 
 *' and I have made a discovery — such a dis- 
 covery in a country house, like finding wild 
 flowers in the sea! — Miss Jefferies is a mu- 
 sician. We know that she can sing and play 
 — oh, yes ! but she is more than an artist — she 
 is a musician, ' with a capital M.' She is 
 * nothing if not a Musician!'" 
 
 Eugenia smiled and signalled to him to 
 speak lower, that she might listen. 
 
 ** She thinks to musicl' Sir Edmund went on, 
 ** is not that rare ? Will you sit down here, by 
 me, and let me tell you what she thinks about ? 
 She is thinking about you.'' 
 
 Eugenia shook her head and lifted her eye- 
 brows, with a gentle incredulity. 
 
 " You are distraite, this morning," he said, 
 " and you do not care ; but yes ! she is think- 
 
 VOL. I. s
 
 2 74 EUGENIA. 
 
 ing about you. Oh ! I know it Is Bach ; but 
 listen, and learn what all that interweavlnof 
 means to her. She is not playing from notes, 
 but from memory ; she stops now and then, but 
 it is not forgetfulness that makes her stop, it is 
 interest. She is absorbed, but, at this moment, 
 it is not with the music, or she would do it 
 more artistic justice. The thread of its noble 
 strain is but the symbol of the noble life 
 of which she thinks. Hark ! how it goes 
 on, finding Its way amid the puzzledom — 
 making light in the dark places. I know she 
 is thinking of you." 
 
 Eugenia listened, but her face looked grave. 
 She was sitting by Sir Edmund, on the window- 
 seat, beneath the stained glass panes, and he 
 took her hat out of her hands. 
 
 " You are like the monk, In the Ingoldsby 
 legends," he said, *' that carried his head about 
 with him." 
 
 *' Hats, with me," said Euc^enla, ''are a con-
 
 PROSPECT. 275 
 
 cession to Fashion ; and you see how little 
 pleased Fashion must be with my taste.'' 
 
 Sir Edmund looked at the hat : " It is very 
 ugly," he said, "but I like it: I like the 
 
 clothes of people that I And so, you 
 
 are very poor ? " 
 
 " ' Are you honest, are you fair .^ ' " said 
 Eugenia, quoting. She was amused at the 
 impertinence of a question which somehow 
 was not impertinent. " Yes, I am poor." 
 
 " And you are very ' honest ' and you are 
 very * fair,' I know," said Sir Edmund. 
 
 EuQ^enla looked vexed : she had not meant 
 him to take her so. Since the first moment of 
 their meeting, she had found herself alone with 
 Sir Edmund more than once, and she liked 
 talkinor to him. But now she thouo^ht him hard 
 to answer. This last speech fortunately did not 
 need reply, and she maintained her golden 
 silence. He saw that she was embarrassed, 
 and, with a sudden change of manner, he asked :
 
 2/6 EUGENIA. 
 
 *' Is Lady Shortlands better this morning ? " 
 
 "Better?" said Eugenia, whose embarrass- 
 ment was changed to surprise ; *' she is much 
 as usual. I have only this moment left her." 
 
 '' She is ill," said Sir Edmund quickly, after 
 a pause : '' I do not think she will live long, 
 and I think she is aware of it." 
 
 " What do you mean. Sir Edmund ? " 
 
 " I have observed ; " he answered gravely, 
 '* I am very observant ; there are moments 
 when she does not know where she is, when 
 her existence flickers." 
 
 Eugenia recalled what her aunt had said to 
 her about her memory. '' She has not been 
 well for some time past," she said slowly, 
 *' she has had rheumatism, — gout, she calls it, 
 — and she is weak." 
 
 '' It is more than that," he said. " Yester- 
 day afternoon, I was alarmed — I hope, idly. 
 I was comlne across the room after dinner to 
 speak to you, but you seemed to avoid me." —
 
 PROSPECT. 277 
 
 Eugenia turned her face aside, to hide its 
 mantling flush : she knew that she had done 
 so, and she remembered the reason. 
 
 " I do not know Lady Shortlands well," he 
 went on, " and she may be habituated to these 
 attacks ; but it is good to be on guard — on our 
 guard," he added, looking at Eugenia, and con- 
 scious of the sweetness that he tasted, in link- 
 ing her name with his, but she was too pre- 
 occupied to notice this. 
 
 '' Did you say anything to my uncle about 
 it ? " she asked. 
 
 '' Nothing; it would distress him ; it does not 
 distress you in the least!' 
 
 " No," said Eugenia, glad to have an oppor- 
 tunity of confessing to him an insensibility that 
 she resented in herself. " I wish it did ! I 
 envy you your quick sympathy ; I suppose I 
 am selfish ; few things disquiet me. I don't 
 understand pain ( — I have told you this already, 
 and I wonder that you do not hate me — ) ; I
 
 278 EUGENIA. 
 
 think there are natures for which illness micrht 
 be repose." 
 
 ** Btit not death ; " said Sir Edmund, in a yet 
 graver tone than he had used. 
 
 Eugenia was much moved : " You do not 
 think" — she said, turning pale, and then she 
 paused. 
 
 " Keep counsel ! " he answered her gently ; 
 '' after luncheon, we shall know better if my 
 fears are founded. I have sent for my own 
 doctor, in whom I have the greatest faith. He 
 is a young man, and it will not seem strange 
 that he should like to stay for the dance, if there 
 be any real cause for anxiety. Mrs. Tomlinson, 
 of course, will ask him to remain. I have 
 begged him to observe Lady Shortlands with- 
 out seeming to do so. He is here already." 
 
 "Oh!" said Eugenia suddenly, laying her 
 hand upon his arm, and thrilling him uncon- 
 sciously with the magic of her touch, '*is t/iat 
 why you have sent for him ? I am so glad. I
 
 PROSPECT. 279 
 
 had been so afraid it was because you were ill 
 yourself!" 
 
 It was a charming utterance, had he dared to 
 take it literally; but he saw, too clearly, that it 
 seemed to mean more than Eugenia had in- 
 tended ; he knew that, had she cared intensely, 
 she could not have spoken with so much free- 
 dom. Still she did care. And he felt proud 
 and happy. 
 
 '' I wish it had been only that," he said ; 
 '' but I am better." 
 
 " And it was from anxiety about my aunt ?" 
 said Eugenia, ''how kind and thoughtful you 
 are ! I don't think ever any one was half so 
 good" — 
 
 '' It was from anxiety" — he answered her, 
 with a deep meaning in his tone — "for 
 you." . . . 
 
 Suddenly Anne's music ceased with a bang, 
 and her clear voice rang oddly after its intri- 
 cacies.
 
 28o EUGENIA. 
 
 " I thought that you were never coming back !" 
 she said impatiently to May, who had just 
 joined her, and then she went on softly playing 
 the nursery rhyme with one finger, but neither 
 Euo^enia nor Sir Edmund recog^nised it. 
 
 '' Oh ! one of mamma's lectures on deport- 
 ment," said May's fresh tones in answer, 
 " and to try on my stockings for to-night." 
 
 " Perhaps I had better listen no more, I am 
 shy of stockingsl^ said Sir Edmund, with a 
 smile ; but there were no reciprocal confidences 
 about dress. Anne never knew anything about 
 her clothes, till her maid had fastened them 
 upon her ; and she took still less interest, if 
 possible, in other people's. 
 
 Anyway they could not help hearing the 
 rest, for May came up so close to the silk cur- 
 tain that it rustled against the arch between the 
 rooms, at the end of the window-seat where Sir 
 Edmund and Eugenia sat. She had advanced 
 to the piano and was standing behind her cousin.
 
 PROSPECT. 281 
 
 " What have you been playing ? " she asked. 
 " Bach ? I want you to come out now." 
 
 Anne's fingers were still busy with the teas- 
 ing nursery rhyme. She was making it into a 
 little /u^z^e now. "There was a lady" — sang 
 the treble : " was a lady" — echoed the bass. 
 
 " Oh, Anne ! that eternal tune ! you don't 
 mean to say that you are still thinking of 
 Eupfenia Brand?" 
 
 Sir Edmund and Eugenia started ; the ques- 
 tion was such a sudden and distinct verIficat*on 
 of what he had said to her that they were both 
 amazed. 
 
 " Hush," she said to him ; " now for my 
 punishment ! ' Listeners never hear any good 
 of themselves.' " 
 
 *' Well, at that moment," said Anne, rising 
 and shutting the piano, " I confess I was think- 
 ing more of that pig, ' Mr. Jones.'" 
 
 Sir Edmund's interpretation was thoroughly 
 spoiled, as far as he could tell.
 
 282 EUGENIA. 
 
 *' I was wronof indeed," he said, lauehinof, 
 for it did not occur to him who '* Mr. Jones " 
 was. 
 
 But Eugenia knew ; and she knew also that 
 Sir Edmund's surmise had been right.
 
 So ) 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 HUMAN. 
 
 pRETTV as the old hall had looked In Its sunny 
 morning disarray, when all the beauty and the 
 freshness of the flowers were discernible, its 
 effect was still prettier at nine o'clock In Ihe 
 evening when the decorations were complete, 
 the swept floor shining and the many lanterns, 
 as well as the old silver lamps and candelabra, 
 adding brilliancy to the scene. 
 
 Out of doors, the night was of a wonderful 
 deep blue, studded with " patient stars ; " 
 indoors, you were dazzled with a light more 
 bright than day's, which made you blink as 
 you passed into its glow, from beneath the 
 heavily brocaded pointier es. The short strip
 
 284 EUGENIA. 
 
 of vestibule which you first entered, with the 
 morning- rooms on either side of It reserved 
 for hats and cloaks, was crowded with statu- 
 ary and scented fountains, but when you had 
 stooped under the last lifted curtain, the great 
 hall was before you, black-floored, and gleam- 
 ing, In its emptiness, like a frozen lake In 
 winter. 
 
 Not that there was any chance of mistaking 
 the season ; for roses were massed against the 
 tapestry panels and round the pictures, were 
 banked along the galleries, festooned beneath 
 the alcoves, and wreathed about the suits of 
 armour, with a lavishness to make the Lady 
 Sophia of Mrs. Tomllnson's envy confess 
 herself royally outdone. 
 
 But, despite flowers and lights, the ensemble 
 was sombre at first ; the big organ and the 
 Moorish lamps held their own against the 
 wreaths and muslin ; and the old portraits of 
 worthies, that had known neither Tomlinson
 
 HUMAN. 285 
 
 nor Chinese lanterns, seemed to frown down 
 upon the hall possessively still. By and bye, 
 the organ would be hidden from sight by the 
 red and gold of the regimental band — which 
 was mustering In the gallery before It with 
 much whispered approval of the scene, settling 
 of stands for music and furtive essays of 
 sound — and the pictured faces would cease 
 to be observed, behind the steam and din ; 
 but when nine o'clock struck, there was nobody 
 to dispute their rights, except Mr. Buxton 
 and his host, who were standing at the foot 
 of the staircase, looking — according to your 
 mood — like two mutes or two butlers, eschew- 
 ing the polished boards and measuring out 
 the length of the hall with complacent and 
 admiring eyes. 
 
 Not that Mr. Buxton, In his Insular self- 
 restraint, would ever have dreamed of ex- 
 pressing that he thought It fine. When the 
 ball was over, he would find fault with some-
 
 286 EUGENIA. 
 
 thing, and if his censure were but shght Mrs. 
 TomHnson would know that her ball had 
 been perfect in the estimation of others. Mr. 
 Buxton was as critical as he was punctual. 
 
 ''Shortlands is ageing — " he said, in his 
 heavy magisterial tone ; well aware that Mr. 
 Tomlinson, having only known Lord Short- 
 lands within the last year, was quite unquali- 
 fied to give an opinion. 
 
 " Yes," said kind Mr. Tomlinson, nervously ; 
 "yes — h'm — I'm sorry for that — sorry for 
 that — " Mr. Tomlinson was much more at 
 his ease with young people than with Mr. 
 Buxton, except when model cottages and 
 farms were the matters under consideration. 
 
 ** Well ! " argued Mr. Buxton, with a grand 
 air, as if he were putting into shape the pro- 
 babilities of modern politics, in his own town- 
 hall — (he was as prosy an old person as was 
 ever returned for a county ; but, lacking 
 courage to speak at St. Stephens, he said
 
 HUMAN. 287 
 
 his say In South Hampshire). — ''Well! what 
 have we ? We have the Dunfarrell consti- 
 tution, It Is true, but then we have port wine 
 — port wine unlimited, and — at Shortlands — 
 bad." 
 
 "Dear me!" said Mr. Tomllnson consider- 
 ably Impressed, ''have we? badf 
 
 " Bad ; " said Mr. Buxton ; '' don t you think 
 so?" 
 
 Now Mr. Tomllnson had never been to 
 Shortlands ; and, as we know, It was a oon- 
 tingent Invitation thither, for Christmas, that 
 had lured Mrs. Tomllnson to lend Lady Short- 
 lands her aid, in furthering her views for 
 Eugenia's future : but this invitation she had 
 not yet mentioned to her husband, so that, 
 at Mr. Buxton's abrupt question, he was 
 rather nonplussed — "good easy man" — and 
 began to be surprised at his own hospitality 
 to people who had not yet invited him. 
 
 But his wife, as usual, came to his aid, Mrs.
 
 288 EUGENIA. 
 
 Tomllnson — en peignoir — appearing round the 
 corner of the stairway and answering for him : 
 *' Fie, Mr. Buxton ! " she said, " you are taking 
 advantage of his Lordship's deafness, and you 
 forget how sharp her ears are. Notlmig is 
 bad at Shortlands, and we are so looking for- 
 ward to our Christmas there ; the Durhams 
 will be there the whole week — astonishing for 
 them to Christmas out. Mr. Tomlinson, just 
 go round and look at the buffets and say if 
 you don't think so many gardenias may pos- 
 sibly spoil appetite." 
 
 The obedient husband glided off in surprised 
 delight, and left Mrs. Tomlinson decidedly 
 mistress of the field. 
 
 Nor could the visit be further discussed, 
 for Lord Shortlands was comine downstairs 
 already, and joined Mr. Buxton in his survey 
 at this moment. 
 
 *'Well, well!" he said, for he was the most 
 good-natured of old gentlemen, and too ready
 
 HUMAN. 289 
 
 to praise, to mind not hearing other folks' 
 opinions, '' This is pretty : " — Lord Short- 
 lands said '' pooty : " — '' shows what money 
 can do, eh Buxton ? " — Lord Shortlands forgot 
 sometimes, that others were not as deaf as he 
 was, and thought aloud ; — '' money, and taste, 
 Mrs. Tomlinson — and taste of course. No, one 
 would need to ask who's the taste was, who 
 looked at your dress, eh ? " — Mrs. Tomlinson 
 was at present in her dressing-gown. — '* Well ! 
 'pon my soul— 'pon my soul, I'm glad my poor 
 lady's coming down to your party : " — Lord 
 Shortlands said "porty." — ''She was very 
 unwell after dinner — hates a scrambled dinner, 
 at odd hours, puts her out terribly — " this was 
 a thought : — *' not so young as we were, eh ? " — 
 this was a speech proper; — "but still delighted 
 with it all — de-lioh-ted ! * Go to bed like a 
 sensible woman,' I said to her : not she ! likes 
 to see how it's all done, you know, look at 
 the natives, pick 'em to pieces ; s/ie sees 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 290 EUGENIA. 
 
 faults where nobody else does," — these were 
 thoughts — "see the pooty frocks," — this was a 
 speech proper, again, in compliment to Mrs. 
 Tomlinson's dressing-gown : — " see the niece 
 land her big fish, eh ? " — this was another 
 thought, — " help play the ironmonger — lives 
 for that ! see that done — die happy ! Ah ! 
 Mrs. Tomllnson," — ending with a speech pro- 
 per — " no daughters, no nieces ! . . No," he 
 added to his obtuse old self, but by this time 
 fortunately he had crossed the hall to admire 
 some flowers, and Mrs. Tomllnson was wan- 
 dering upstairs, with an instinct to avoid see- 
 ing his Involuntary ^/w^^^/^i- upon the polished 
 floor, '' no daughters, no nieces, no father, no 
 mother, nobody: and can't, for the life of us, 
 make out where the Jubbers came from — 'the 
 jub-jub birds' my lady calls them — ^jujubes 
 eh ? jtijitbes — not bad for me ! — Why, Buxton, 
 this will cost a thousand pounds ! " 
 
 Mr. Buxton nodded his head violently, but
 
 HUMAN. 291 
 
 did not attempt to answer. Conversation 
 with Lord Shortlands had been voted impos- 
 sible except through the media of Eugenia 
 Brand and Anne Jefferies, both of whom he 
 contrived to hear. But he did not mind 
 about it ; if you heard what he said, so much 
 the better, — you gave him starting points, — 
 but if you did not, he talked about what he 
 fancied you liked. Sometimes he was right 
 and sometimes he was wrong. He had been 
 known to light upon your pet aversion, and 
 there were sundry good stories afloat about 
 his want of judgment. For instance, when set 
 on, once, to talk to the portly and prosperous 
 composer of a famous cantata, he had per- 
 sisted in takino^. him for a farmer and beorin- 
 ning each fresh clause of his talk with the 
 prefixes ** Cattle, eh .^ " and ''apropos of fat 
 cattle ; " which had not commended him to 
 the musician. 
 
 In society, a frank deafness like this, when
 
 292 EUCxENIA. 
 
 acccmpanled by loquacity, acts like a neces- 
 sitous looking-glass : — you cannot help seeing 
 the sort of figure you make : — and it was 
 noticeable that people liked or disliked Lord 
 Shortlands, according as their manner and 
 appearance were the true index to their 
 tastes. Mr. Buxton, for Instance, liked Lord 
 Shortlands, because his own appearance con- 
 noted more intelligence than he really had. 
 He was a man of what is called a ' fine pres- 
 ence,' and when he had uttered a platitude he 
 looked as If he had formulated a philosophy, 
 — Lord Shortlands, who felt he would have to 
 talk up to the philosopher, would avoid him 
 then — but when he was silent, he merely had 
 the air of beinor wealthier and wiser than he 
 was, and then Lord Shortlands would ap- 
 proach him, with a deferential reference to 
 politics or the value of land. Both his lord- 
 ship and Mr. Buxton were shallow men, but 
 the shallowness of the former deceived no one :
 
 HUMAN. 293 
 
 it was constantly gauged by Lady Shortlands. 
 Any false claim to depth would have been 
 futile from him ; whereas Mrs. Buxton, partly 
 from incapability and partly from a wish to 
 save trouble, had a sort of belief in her hus- 
 band's judgment, and persuaded him to his 
 own depth. 
 
 Presently these two rather tiresome people 
 were joined by James Chatteris, who did not 
 smoke with the officers and his patron Vane, and 
 required no after-dinner rest like Sir Edmund 
 Trefusls. He had been wanderlnof throuofh 
 the reception-rooms, and out at the back of 
 the house, on to a terrace lit with countless 
 lanterns and overlooking the illuminated shore. 
 He was amazed at the magnitude of Mrs. 
 Tomlinson's preparations, being himself of an 
 austere Scotch stock, that asked its neieh- 
 hours to dance at Christmas - time without 
 more decoration than evergreens ; — pushing 
 aside the old-fashioned furniture and lettino
 
 294 EUGENIA. 
 
 first one and then another sit down to the 
 
 piano. He did not realise that all this pomp 
 
 was simply emulous, but he was wondering 
 
 why, amid so much light and beauty, he did 
 
 not feel brighter. Perhaps he wanted the 
 
 music to begin, perhaps he wanted Eugenia. 
 
 As he passed through the library he had 
 
 actually reached down a book, and read 
 
 several pages of grave poetry ; and then he 
 
 had turned over In his mind some lines for 
 
 a projected sonnet of his own ; for James 
 
 Chatteris mostly read poetry before he wrote 
 
 any. It was to be about Eugenia, of course, 
 
 and it was to end : 
 
 " As these gay lanierns to a midnight sfar^ 
 
 He was quite sure of that — quite sure that 
 
 she would look and shine like a star, among 
 
 the guests — yes ! that was it — 
 
 "... the guests that are 
 As these gay tanter?is to that 7uid?iight star^ 
 
 He admired the contrasted pronouns, and
 
 HUMAN. 295 
 
 was tasting them in his mouth, like wine, 
 when he stumbled up against Lord Short- 
 lands and Mr. Buxton. It occurred to him, 
 with one of those jerks of common-sense, 
 which often beset composition, that they 
 were neither of them in the least like " gay 
 lanterns ; " and the creation of the sonnet was 
 hindered. These pauses before a festivity, 
 which are really only pauses for some half- 
 dozen people, often curiously influence these 
 half-dozen people's moods. To Chatteris it 
 seemed as if all were over, instead of just about 
 to begin, as if the hour were a solemn one 
 and the place sacred. A church-bell would 
 not have jarred upon his feelings. He for- 
 got that most of the guests were, long ago, 
 upon their way — for country neighbours are 
 punctual people — that, upstairs, the maids* 
 hands were busy with their mistresses' 'Mast 
 touches," that, downstairs, cooks and scullions, 
 footmen and grooms were leaping in the heat,
 
 296 EUGENIA. 
 
 like salamanders, and that even In this *' vasty 
 hall " the stillness was only the breathing space 
 before a shout. 
 
 And so he looked sad and rather pale, poor 
 boy, and he was not reassured by hearing the 
 officers as they came along a corridor from 
 the smoking-room, laugh heartily at a joke 
 of Vane's of which he was the butt, and 
 which surmised that he had run off, after 
 dinner, to get Lady Shortlands' maid to " put 
 a peacock's feather in his button-hole." They 
 did not perceive him, and went bounding up 
 a back staircase, to change their gay smoklng- 
 jackets for their dress-coats again. The lull 
 had no significance for them. 
 
 Next, Anne came down ; quite careless that 
 she was the only lady yet upon the scene, and, 
 glad to find some one besides Lord Shortlands 
 and Mr. Buxton — whom she hated and always 
 spoke of as her " aunt's husband " — she was 
 unusually civil to Chatteris.
 
 HUMAN. 297 
 
 ** Don't ask me to dance/' she said, '' or I 
 shall have to go upstairs again ! I didn't come 
 down early for that, but my aunt has gone 
 into May's room to give her a ' Mother's last 
 word' — it's a ^rap^ not a /r^^/ — so I slipped out 
 of my room, before she came to an ' Aunt's 
 advice ' which is also of the series . . . Yes : it 
 is a pretty gown I suppose. I mostly choose 
 red — generally this particular red — like a 
 pomegranate flower : I always think I am too 
 old for white. Oh ! don't deny it : I have felt 
 too old for white, ever since my lamentable 
 failures, as a baby, to keep my long frocks 
 uncrumpled." — 
 
 '' Don't you feel exactly as if you were going 
 to a funeral?" said Chatteris, who sometimes 
 impressed people widi his paradoxes, but oftener 
 aired them in ungenial atmosphere. 
 
 *' No, I don't ; " said Anne, who despised 
 them : "I don't go to funerals in red : I feel 
 as if I were going to a ball, or rather as if a
 
 298 EUGENIA. 
 
 ball were coming to me. Don't be angry ! I 
 know what you mean — it's Indigestion, from 
 dining an hour too early. Let's go up to the 
 gallery and see what the band is going to 
 play. I know the conductor and he always 
 does just as I tell him. We will have ' Chan- 
 tllly ' twice ; " — and she proceeded to take up 
 one of Mrs. Tomlinson's elaborately-blazoned 
 and superfluous programmes, and to bend her 
 sleek head over it, with a view to its entire 
 regeneration. 
 
 '' Do you know," said Chatteris timidly, 
 ''what Miss Buxton is going to wear?" He 
 was approaching a subject of importance to 
 the embryo sonnet, and was disposed to 
 plume himself upon his tact. 
 
 "Miss Brand, you mean," said Anne with 
 her little laugh, which was sweet despite its 
 sharpness, '' don't circumlocute — or whatever 
 the verb may be — with vie. No : I do not 
 know what that wise virgin will wear — pro-
 
 HUMAN. 299 
 
 bably an old petticoat of her mother's, or one 
 of her aunt's tro7isseatt-dr^ss&s turned inside 
 out, — but I know that you will think it divine 
 (that's indigestion, too) and that nobody else 
 in the room will know what she has got on. 
 Y021 wouldn't, only you mean to sit up all 
 night and put it into verse. Now take my ad- 
 vice ; if you want to study dress with a view 
 to poetry, turn your attention to Lady Short- 
 lands : she's a creation in herself, only she's 
 taken sixty years instead of six days. Come 
 alono^ — and let us interview the bandmaster ! 
 Oh, no such luck ; here they come ! " 
 
 Yes ! there was the first arrival : before Mrs. 
 Tomlinson had ''got her dress over her head," 
 and while Buck had his hot face still under 
 water. The inevitable lady from a great 
 distance, who ''thought she had better allow 
 plenty of time ; " rather tired already, with 
 two daughters and a stranger niece (to whom 
 the daughters looked appropriatlve over the
 
 300 EUGENIA. 
 
 beauties of Ashbank, while she giggled and 
 shrugged her shoulders, in return, as if she 
 were acclimatised to dancing in much finer 
 houses) and with a long-nosed boy, for all male 
 kind, who, after dozing in the footman's place 
 upon the box, looked scared and white, and 
 was not set at his ease by Lord Shortlands 
 garter. 
 
 And then, on the inevitable first arrival, 
 followed the inevitable mistake ; Mrs. Buxton 
 ('Miss Dalrymple-Robarts that was' as we 
 know) coming down stairs to be taken for Mrs. 
 Tomlinson, who was as yet an unfamiliar 
 figure in the county. 
 
 Mrs. Buxton looked very well still at a ball : 
 across the room you would almost have taken 
 her for her daughter — that is until you saw her 
 daughter. May wore a white frock all dotted 
 with blush rosebuds and she looked as pretty 
 and as wholesome as a blush rosebud herself. 
 Lord Shortlands and the long-nosed boy —
 
 HUMAN. 301 
 
 whose surname was Grigg-Smith, and whose 
 cross was that his acquaintance always dropped 
 the 'Grigg' — were equally enchanted with her 
 aspect, In juvenile and senile wise. 
 
 Then, just as the announcements were being 
 made thick and fast and Mr. Tomlinson was 
 beginning to be at his wits' end, Mrs. Tomlin- 
 son was hustled out of her room by her two 
 body-maids and pushed downstairs. The skill 
 of her domestic tyrants had been sorely tried, 
 in fastening a monster poppy over the " thin 
 place in her parting " to bear the weight of half 
 a dozen priceless emerald and diamond flies 
 and beetles, which clustered over It in Arcadian 
 simplicity. She looked anxious ; and the 
 poppyful of jewelled field-bugs waggled in 
 sympathy, as she rustled apologetically down. 
 
 " Crikey ! " said the long-nosed boy to the 
 niece, " look at her diamonds ! " 
 
 She was immediately followed by Sir Ed- 
 mund and his friend Dr. Burroughes, who
 
 302 EUGENIA. 
 
 seemed to view the gathering not wholly from 
 a scientific standpoint, but with a touch of 
 young-man's Interest. 
 
 More announcements ! and then, first tremors 
 of sound among the fiddles, for a stringed band 
 had grouped Itself in an alcove to supplement 
 the brass band of the regiment which now 
 hid the organ; and then — ''cannon to right 
 of them, cannon to left of them " — just as the 
 three home officers came downstairs in their 
 broad white waistcoats and with Mrs. Tomlin- 
 son's gardenias showing like immaculate fav- 
 ours on their big chests, the Colonel and the 
 rest of their contingent arrived on their own 
 coach from Portsmouth. 
 
 Then, never was such a tramp of entrance 
 and flutter of introduction, or such an echo 
 of shrill arid noisy talking — "Ah! my dear," 
 and '' By Jove, old man ! " — or such a congre- 
 gating of shy girls — looking all pretty — and 
 crowding of black-coated men — looking all alike
 
 HUMAN. 303 
 
 — in the dazzle, never was such a dividing of 
 the sheep from the goats or such a tootooing 
 of the band over all, — broken only by the 
 butler's stentorian shout — heard, seen, foretold, 
 or imagined at Ashbank since the days of its 
 founding ; in the midst of all which, Eugenia 
 came quietly down the great staircase, with old 
 Lady Shortlands leaning heavily upon her arm. 
 It was not EuQfenia's fault that she made 
 her appearance so late : she had been dressed 
 an hour ago ; her gown was not new and she 
 had soon put it on : it was of some soft gauze 
 that was neither grey nor green, with a satin 
 body of the same neutral colour that fitted her 
 as the sheath fits the flower. And on the 
 shoulder, and low down upon the left side of the 
 skirt, she had fastened some well-chosen fronds 
 of the careen and orolden bracken. She wore no 
 flowers that one could see, but she had not 
 left the cabbao^e rosebud in her room. This 
 simplicity was not studied : we know that she
 
 304 EUGENIA. 
 
 forgot her box of trinkets at Shortlands Farm, 
 and she did not wear flowers, only because she 
 wanted to please Chatteris by having nothing 
 but his ferns to adorn her. She had even 
 allowed some slight change in the dressing of 
 her hair — which by exhibiting its luxuriance 
 with a wider sweep, surprisingly accentuated 
 her beauty — and this was an unwonted con- 
 cession for her. The clever Parfitt had been 
 her coiffeuse, and the style made Eugenia hold 
 her head rather higher than usual, being, to 
 say the truth, a little constrained with it so. 
 Although her dress was not of the newest 
 mode. It was cut low and left her arms and 
 shoulders bare — arms and shoulders beyond 
 the power of any fashion to better, — and, with 
 their rare whiteness against her water-coloured 
 dress, with her beautiful brown leaves and her 
 miore beautiful brown hair and the most beauti- 
 ful soul that looked out of her eyes, she was 
 as fair a woman to behold as earth can show.
 
 HUMAN. 305 
 
 Lady Shortlands was used to her beauty — 
 "She strips well," she had said to Parfitt, in 
 her rough way; *' Indeed the creature is so well 
 made, that it is a pity she should have to wear 
 clothes at all ! " — but Sir Edmund felt himself 
 to tremble, as he gazed at her. It mattered 
 so much to him how she looked, although he 
 knew she must look ' best ' always. He was 
 like a man who is the first to perceive a rain- 
 bow. As she shone forth, after that pelting 
 shower of nonsense and name-calling, he knew 
 that he alone, as yet, saw truly this crystal- 
 line prism of celestial promise : Sir Edmund 
 was quite satisfied with Eugenia's appearance. 
 Chatteris— chiefly for the sonnet's sake— had 
 hoped that she would be in dazzling white. 
 * Stars' were not green or grey. But he was con- 
 tented when It occurred to him that he miorht 
 represent her as a star reflected in dull water. 
 
 '' Who is that young lady ? " Dr. Burroughes 
 
 asked him, at the moment ; for he noticed the 
 VOL. I. u
 
 306 EUGENIA. 
 
 impression that her entrance made on his friend 
 Sir Edmund. He had been at the other end 
 of the table to Euo^enia at dinner, and she had 
 not taken luncheon, occupied as she was. 
 
 " She is my cousin," said Chatteris, with 
 pride, — " Miss Brand : — and she is Lady 
 Shortlands' niece, but I am not related to 
 Lady Shortlands.'' 
 
 Dr. Burroughes smiled. Lady Shortlands 
 did not indeed look like one whom a poet 
 would wish to have taken for his mother : '' She 
 is an incarnation of the world and the devil," 
 Vane whispered to Anne Jefferies : /'indeed it's 
 only the absence of the flesh that saves her; 
 if she weren't so thin, we should all have re- 
 nounced her formally in our catechism." 
 
 Whether it was in contrast to Eugenia, or 
 whether it was that Parfitt at last had overdone 
 her pains, it was certain that Lady Shortlands* 
 aspect was not prepossessing. She looked 
 half as old again as she was — you would have
 
 HUMAN. 307 
 
 taken her for ninety, — and, while she professed 
 herself in capital spirits, she moved in such a 
 haphazard fashion that you would have said 
 she was walking in her sleep. 
 
 '' I feel like an owl," she said, honestly, to 
 Mrs. Tomlinson, ''but I was determined to 
 come down and enjoy myself : good Lord ! 
 how I used to love a ball ! " — 
 
 She was evidently excited and weak, for her 
 old eyes filled with foolish tears, and she 
 trembled, as she leaned upon her jewelled 
 stick, Eugenia standing by. 
 
 *' I cared fifteen times as much as this 
 creature does," she said, **but I never go out 
 now." 
 
 '' My dearest Lady Shortlands," said Mrs. 
 Tomlinson, delighted at the compliment implied 
 in her ladyship's appearance downstairs, — and 
 delighted also to see that the Tomlinson 
 diamonds made her ladyship's old parure look 
 as yellow as topaz, — *' you are as fresh as one of
 
 308 EUGENIA. 
 
 your own daisies." — (Yes, indeed : Lady Short- 
 lands' wig was decked with field-daisies !) 
 
 Somethinor in her hostess' tone, or in 
 Eugenia's involuntary movement, made Lady 
 Shortlands aware that her flowers were inap- 
 propriate, and she retorted with a comment 
 on Mrs. Tomlinson's monster poppy, which 
 Eugenia managed should somehow pass un- 
 heard. It might have marred the harmony 
 of this interchano^e of civilities. 
 
 But Lady Shortlands had not taken the 
 trouble of coming downstairs for a passage of 
 arms with Mrs. Tomlinson. "Where's Sir 
 Edmund Thingummy ? " she asked impatiently, 
 rejecting Mr. Tomlinson's escort, '' I w^ant him 
 to find me a place. Oh ! here you are. Now, 
 set me down somewhere. Eugenia, go and find 
 Vane ! Tell him that he must come and tell me 
 all the people's names and all their enormities. 
 This county is a perfect hot-bed. Here Tom- 
 linson, you take her! — knee better I hope? — I
 
 HUMAN. 309 
 
 want to speak to Sir Edmund. You need not 
 hurry Vane, Eugenia ; he seems well enough 
 engaged with Miss Jefferies, and I have scarcely 
 had Sir Edmund to myself at all. No ! don't 
 dance : I don't wish you to dance at present." 
 
 Sir Edmund sat down attentively by Lady 
 Shortlands, as the dance began. She had no 
 sooner secured him there quite to herself, in 
 uninterrupted possession, than she turned her 
 drawn old face, under its daisies, to his, and 
 looked hard into his kind brown eyes. 
 
 " Sir Edmund Trefusis," she said slowly, 
 clasping her withered hands upon her stick, and 
 forgetting his name no longer; " I am going to 
 say some very strange things to you, and I 
 have no excuse for saying them at all, but that 
 I am a spoilt woman with but one foible still 
 ungratified." 
 
 The flippancy of her worldly manner had 
 quite left her, for the moment. Sir Edmund 
 did not doubt that what she had to say was
 
 3IO EUGENIA. 
 
 worldly — nor was he at a loss to guess its drift, 
 ■ — but he was impressed by her demeanour, 
 and had determined, since his talk with Dr. 
 Burroughes, to meet her, as far as he could. 
 " I shall esteem myself honoured," he answered 
 gravely, '' by any confidence you may repose 
 in me." 
 
 *' What I have to say," Lady Shortlands 
 went on, as she acknowledged his attention 
 by a courteous bend of the head, " can be said 
 in a few words : I have done a good deal of 
 mischief in my day, and I have had more luck 
 than I perhaps deserve. I daresay you know 
 my daughters : you know at any rate that 
 one of them is the Duchess of Durham and 
 the other Lady Cornwall. Now, as to the 
 Duchess . . . ." 
 
 To Sir Edmund's horror and distress, Lady 
 Shortlands had quite lost the thread of the 
 explanation she had so incisively begun, and 
 her eyes looked troubled :...'* What was it I
 
 HUMAN. 311 
 
 was going to say to you ? " she asked, staring 
 at him in a helpless way, and flushing deeply. 
 
 Sir Edmund bent his eyes downwards ; by 
 now he knew quite well what Lady Short- 
 lands wanted to say to him, and he knew that 
 she had only drifted into mentioning the 
 Duchess. " You were going to tell me your 
 wish ; " he said, with more perception than 
 accuracy. 
 
 ** That was it : " — a look of intelligence, 
 almost of cunning, came back suddenly, to 
 her face, but at the same time it was evident 
 that she had forgotten Sir Edmund's presence : 
 — " I want her to marry him," she said. *' Her 
 grandfather has behaved ill to my sister — we 
 Carruthers do not forget a slight : — Eugenia 
 must punish him : I want her to marry this 
 ironmonger, this cripple ; he has sixty thousand 
 a year r 
 
 Poor Sir Edmund ! Great as was the pain 
 these words inflicted on his sensitive heart,
 
 312 EUGENIA. 
 
 it was as nothing to the keenness of his 
 hope that Lady Shortlands might never realise 
 that she had said these words to him. It 
 was clear that either her sight or her memory 
 was troubled in some desperate way. Perhaps 
 she mistook him for Vane, perhaps she was 
 not conscious that she spoke aloud. He made 
 up his mind to bear with her, as he could. 
 '' You wish your niece to marry soon ? " he 
 said, trying to keep her thoughts in the same 
 channel. 
 
 " In a couple of years," she answered, indi- 
 rectly, recovering herself again and seeming 
 unaware that she had wandered, " Eugenia 
 Brand will be thirty. She ought to have 
 been settled in life long ere this ; both my 
 girls were. My sister has nothing. She 
 married for love, and she has been punished 
 for being a fool. I did not marry for love — 
 I did well. Yes ; I did well, but I gave 
 myself pain — I loved some one else. I wish
 
 HUMAN. 313 
 
 Eugenia to be married before she loves any 
 one else. When we do love — we Carruthers 
 — we love with our whole being, it is like a 
 madness. Eugenia is a true Carruthers, like 
 her mother rather than like me ; but I was a 
 true Carruthers a hundred years ago. Life 
 changed me : I trusted that it would, when I 
 took up my lot" — she paused and tapped her 
 fingers on her stick — '' I wish to get Eugenia 
 safely settled. It has tarried with her, but, 
 when it comes to her, it will be all her life. 
 If she marries. Sir Edmund, she will love her 
 husband. She is an honest woman ; — she is 
 more, she is a good woman ; — and no other 
 man will exist for her." 
 
 Lady Shortlands paused, perplexed again : 
 she was trying to remember what she had 
 said to Sir Edmund, and what not; and the 
 effort was dreadful to see. She repeated, as if 
 looking for a clue: *' If she does marry you, 
 no other man will exist for her." Then, takinor
 
 314 EUGENIA. 
 
 up the thread of what the words seemed to 
 suggest, she went on with the complete con- 
 sciousness that it was to Sir Edmund she was 
 talking: ''I see you are afraid she does not 
 love you yet ? " 
 
 It was a difficult question to answer, but Sir 
 Edmund had foregathered what was coming, 
 and, after all, it was the dear wish of his 
 heart which she was approaching thus. Who 
 shall blame him that he took the hand Lady 
 Shortlands had stretched out to him, in her 
 excitement, and whispered ? — 
 
 " What I say is, how can she love me ever f 
 I am insignificant, but just for this world's 
 goods — and these she holds of small account 
 I think — and I am ill." 
 
 ''Take heart!" said the old lady, — her face 
 radiant under the impression that she had 
 achieved all this — " I may assure you, dear 
 Sir Edmund, that my niece is not indifferent 
 to you : ' I think him delightful ' she said to
 
 HUMAN. 315 
 
 me this morning. I questioned her, and you 
 know you may trust me for the truth of what 
 she answered, If not for the actual words — 
 and dear friend, I wish it ; it Is my great wish 
 now. ... Be assured that you shall have my 
 good word," she concluded, as If giving him 
 a formal dismissal after receiving his proposal 
 for Eugenia's hand. 
 
 ** You are very good," said Sir Edmund, 
 impelled to speak now, lest she should ever 
 recall what she had said, and how she had 
 elicited his speech. '' You are very good, 
 dear Lady Shortlands : you have Induced, 
 me to confide to you the chief desire of my 
 life. If there be any beauty or virtue in the 
 world. Miss Brand is beautiful and virtuous ; 
 if there be any true love in the world, it is 
 here in my heart." 
 
 For all that she had wounded him, against 
 her will, Sir Edmund felt that he could speak 
 more freely to Lady Shortlands, as a tottering
 
 3l6 EUGENIA. 
 
 wreck, than he could do when she was fenced 
 about with her wonted artifice ; but the simple 
 earnestness with which he now addressed 
 her had the unexpected effect of recalling 
 her to entire command over her faculties, for 
 the moment. 
 
 '' Softly, softly — fair and softly ! " she said 
 with an arch smile more pitiful to behold 
 than her previous genuine emotion, '' I do 
 not think that I must listen yet, to this. 
 Remember you have hardly seen my niece, 
 remember too how many claims she has ! 
 Be patient, my good friend — I have surely 
 said as much as you could hope, when I said 
 — What did I say ? He has sixt — no ! not 
 that. You have my good word with her, and 
 I will not defer speaking to her beyond to- 
 morrow. Can I say more than that at pre- 
 sent ? I think not. Indeed it is in great 
 part for your mother's sake that I say thus 
 much. I knew Lady Jane slightly. See,
 
 HUMAN. 317 
 
 Eugenia has brought me Vane — a charlatan^ 
 but so amusing — not a word to-night, I beg, 
 not a word ! Ah ! Vane, you will give me 
 your arm, I want to get out of this whirl. 
 So many ^ bare-backed steeds ' — yes ! I always 
 say a roomful of women In evening dress is 
 like a pork-butcher's shop — why does that 
 man look at me ? Your doctor, Sir Edmund ? 
 Ah, well ! many doctors have told me they 
 cannot believe I am past sixty — past sixty ? 
 . . . . he has sixty — . . . . No! . . . Your arm, 
 Mr. Vane. Watching this waltz has made me 
 quite giddy — Eugenia, where is my pocket 1 
 that woman has forgotten my salts — go up- 
 stairs for them, child, and bring them to me 
 in the library : Sir Edmund will wait for you 
 here." 
 
 Lady Shortlands wandered along the cor- 
 ridor, leaning heavily upon Vane's arm ; while 
 Sir Edmund and Eugenia stood for a moment, 
 face to face, in a pause which to them was
 
 3 I 8 EUGENIA. 
 
 none the less silence because of the noisy- 
 music. Then Eugenia turned and went up- 
 stairs for Lady Shortlands' scent-bottle, Sir 
 Edmund standing still in the hall. 
 
 The grand staircase at Ashbank, magnificent 
 as its effect was, had a disadvantage for use 
 when the hall was filled with guests ; because 
 by keeping you entirely in their view it made 
 you most conspicuous, if you went up or down. 
 Had this occurred to Eugenia, she would 
 have gone along the corridor, with her aunt, 
 and up a back stairway ; but, from her utter 
 want of all self-consciousness, it did not occur 
 to her, and as her room, we know, was straight 
 upon the grand staircase, she had never used 
 any other and was hardly acquainted with 
 the windings of the big house. Sir Edmund 
 watched her, as she went up, and his kind 
 face was so troubled that she could not re- 
 sist giving him a grateful glance, which added 
 a fresh beauty to her features. Buck Jarvis,
 
 HUMAN. 319 
 
 panting from the waltz, in the hall, where he 
 was taking his first spell of rest with a Hamp- 
 shire hoyden great across country — whose 
 face and whose dimpled elbows were about 
 equally expressive — caught sight of her, at 
 that moment, and became inattentive to his 
 partner's charms. 
 
 He had seen Eugenia, now and again, in 
 the course of the afternoon, but only for a 
 moment at a time, and her manner had pro- 
 voked him. He had determined that the 
 evening should make good the ground he 
 seemed to have lost during the day. Once or 
 twice indeed Engenia had positively shunned 
 him and a less thick-skinned man mio^ht 
 have dreaded that he had given her offence, 
 but Lieutenant Arthur John Jarvis could 
 not conceive that he was disagreeable to any 
 woman, and he was not so far afield as might 
 have been expected when he concluded that 
 her keeping away from him did not mean
 
 320 EUGENIA. 
 
 aversion. He did not feel displeased that 
 she had done so. But this was the first 
 moment in which he felt that he wished her 
 at least to keep away from others also. He 
 realised with a sudden spin — for all this hero's 
 knowledge came to him in shocks, which 
 forced an entrance to a brain that never 
 reasoned — that he was actively jealous over 
 Eueenia, that — while he had not the least 
 intention of letting her know it — he was mad- 
 dened that she should smile like that when 
 her eyes were not meeting his. He wanted 
 her, with that possessive want which craves 
 every look. If this selfish passion of youth 
 be any way akin to being In love, let us give 
 him the benefit of wide terms, and say that 
 when he saw her going upstairs and smiling 
 down upon Sir Edmund, as he waited for her 
 below, he began to be aware that he was in 
 love with her himself 
 
 He fidgetted and bit his thick short mou-
 
 HUMAN. 321 
 
 stache, his senses were sharpened and he 
 even heard what was being said behind him 
 by some fellow-officers — he was usually as 
 obtuse as a wall. 
 
 " That's the girl for me ! " said one ; " about 
 as good as they make 'em, eh ? Who is 
 she?" 
 
 ** Don't know," was the reply. '' Nobody 
 here seems able to introduce a fellow to her ; 
 looks like bespoken property." 
 
 "Well! she's not the sort that's left on 'the 
 shelf — who's ? " 
 
 '' Sir Edmund Trefusis — chap on the stairs 
 — lucky devil ! " 
 
 ** Is that Trefusis ? What, the man with the 
 house in Grosvenor Square ? " 
 
 *' That's him, my boy, you didn't expect 
 him to carry his house on his back like a 
 snail, did you ? " 
 
 '' I thought Sir Edmund was a cripple." 
 
 "Well, he don't dance: he hasn't got a 
 
 VOL. I. X
 
 32 2 EUGENIA. 
 
 hump, you know : money-bags a little too 
 heavy perhaps, that's about the size of it. 
 By George, I wish / was crippled in that 
 way." 
 
 ** They look the cream of the lot here, any 
 way. Safe to be settled." 
 
 Buck was indignant : he shifted his place, as 
 he stood, and fidgetted more and more, until 
 his dimpled partner thought that he was 
 thirsting for the dance. '* I am quite rested 
 now," she said, but Buck literally did not 
 hear her ; and on looking up at him — for she 
 was about five feet high — she found she was 
 speaking to his blank ribbed shoulder, and 
 she had to wait at least a minute before he 
 put his arm round her waist again, with scant 
 ceremony, and piloted her off without a 
 word. 
 
 What a chopping sea it was when you were 
 fairly launched ! quick-sighted as Buck was, 
 it took him all his wits to steer ; for he was
 
 HUMAN. 323 
 
 not a graceful dancer, though he was so 
 sound and strong. Swimmers and sailors, 
 floaters and flounderers, on they all went. 
 Lady Sophia and the fat Colonel, Crossley 
 and May, Chatteris and a raw young female 
 — a Scotch cousin. Distant-mannered ladles 
 in long dresses, free and easy ladies in short 
 ones — slim men with one shirt-stud, broad 
 men with three — llo^ht hair and dark hair — 
 dyed head and bald head — red face and 
 pale face — couples pausing, couples starting — 
 fresh arrivals and scudding wall-flowers, and 
 through all the swirl and storm of it, ' the 
 dimples' must be anchored safe in harbour. 
 
 When the haven was reached at last, and 
 he bent his curly head to catch his partner's 
 breathless comment — for she had been very 
 happy on his broad shoulder — he found that 
 they were at the bottom of the great stair- 
 case, and that Eugenia was waiting to pass 
 them, with Sir Edmund. How unrumpled
 
 324 EUGENIA. 
 
 and virginal she looked against poor blowsy 
 * dimples,' how white and cool her marble arm 
 lay on Sir Edmund's sleeve ! *' Let us take 
 this to Aunt Agatha at once/' she was saying, 
 and Buck did not know that she only spoke 
 at all from nervousness, because she knew that 
 he was near. Her voice sounded fresh and 
 high. 
 
 "And you will keep those lancers for me," 
 said Sir Edmund, '' or do you want to dance 
 them with a harlequin ?" 
 
 '' I had rather dance them with you than 
 with any one ; " she answered sincerely : she 
 was afraid he was alluding again to his lame- 
 ness. Just as she was speaking, the music 
 stopped with a bang, so that Buck heard 
 distinctly what she said, and he could not 
 know that It would have been impossible for 
 her to have said those words to him. He had 
 soon handed the unfortunate ' dimples ' over 
 to her mother, who chanced to be sitting in
 
 HUMAN. 325 
 
 the protection of the balusters, and then — 
 settling his chin over his stiff collar with 
 something very like an oath, he walked up to 
 Sir Edmund and Eugenia. 
 
 "Aren't you going to dance?" he said at 
 once, ignoring Sir Edmund's presence. 
 
 ** Oh yes," she answered, not daring to look 
 at him, and with a feeling that the blood had 
 stopped about her heart. Then she held out 
 to him a card that some one had given her ; 
 it was empty. • 
 
 " Pleasure of the next waltz with you ? " he 
 said, in a manner meant to be fine, but in effect 
 rather common. 
 
 " I will be back directly," she said, but she 
 did not stop. She left him the card while she 
 went on with Sir Edmund to her aunt ; but 
 when she eave it to him his hand touched 
 hers for an instant, and when she laid it on 
 Sir Edmund's arm again, he noticed that she 
 trembled.
 
 3 26 EUGENIA. 
 
 *' Do not be alarmed about Lady Short- 
 lands," he said, attributing her agitation to 
 concern : '* Burroughes says that what she 
 mzis^ have Is quiet, and she will get that best 
 in the library with Vane. But he says also 
 that he is sure her state Is critical, that there 
 must be some brain-congestion, and he dreads 
 lest any excitement should produce a sort of 
 apoplectic seizure, which might result in par- 
 alysis : that Is what we have to fear. Has she 
 ever suffered in that way ? " 
 
 " I believe she has had occasional violent 
 headaches," said Eugenia : '' I recollect her 
 having one last year, and she may have had 
 them frequently before we came to Short- 
 lands." 
 
 She was attendinof to Sir Edmund with an 
 effort. She found herself longing to ask him, 
 "what it was like to be in love ?" She was 
 aware that her aunt s health ought to be her 
 first consideration, but she could not help it
 
 HUMAN. 327 
 
 that It was not ; and she brought herself back 
 to the subject with a wrench. 
 
 Nor did there seem, at the moment, to be 
 any real grounds for alarm. They found 
 Lady Shortlands comfortably seated in the 
 ante-room of the library, which was less dis- 
 arranged than the other rooms, having been 
 left for the use of letter-writers who had 
 occupied it till the stroke of the dressing-bell. 
 Vane was there too, In rapt attendance upon 
 her, listening to some story of old times 
 which she could hardly tell for laughing, and 
 which she was obliged to stop short altogether 
 when Eugenia joined them. 
 
 " I can't tell you the rest of It before the 
 creature," she said ; *' Eugenia, you lose a great 
 deal of wit by being an old maid ! " 
 
 Her manner had been consistently gentler 
 to her niece, since their interview of the morn- 
 ing, but although she spoke kindly, her language 
 made Sir Edmund feel embarrassed ; and, as it
 
 328 EUGENIA. 
 
 was evident that Lady Shortlands wanted no- 
 thing more than to see them together, he said, 
 '' Let us go into the Hbrary, if your waltz does 
 not commence this instant — they are playing a 
 polka now. It will be such a relief to escape 
 those Chinese lanterns." 
 
 They turned into the vast silent room, which 
 was separated from Lady Shortlands' audience- 
 chamber by an oriental curtain. It was lit only 
 by its own lamps and wore a studious look. 
 
 They were quite alone, the sound of the 
 polka reaching them from afar off, mellowed 
 by the distance and the heavy curtains that 
 hung over the doors. Nor did Eugenia feel 
 in the least that she was at a ball herself. It 
 seemed to her as if she were assisting at a 
 school-treat or a children's party. Although 
 she had been made a little anxious by that 
 anxiety of Sir Edmund's, on her aunt's behalf, 
 which as yet she could hardly be said to share, 
 she was otherwise in her usual mood. She had
 
 HUMAN. 329 
 
 changed her gown and passed through a crowd 
 of dancers, that was all. Her breathing was 
 still slow and even, and not a fern upon her 
 dress was disarranged. She had got over the 
 first moment of seeing Buck, which she had 
 dreaded, and she was calm and impassive as 
 a statue. 
 
 Not so Sir Edmund. He never went out 
 to dances, and all this noise and movement 
 was, In Itself, something unusual and exciting 
 for him. He had, moreover, just endured. the 
 painful scene with Lady Shortlands of which 
 we know, after the day-long strain of his fears 
 for her safety. To crown it all, he was under 
 the impression that the evening was to be a 
 crisis in his life ; and he was In the presence 
 of the woman whom he loved. 
 
 It was little wonder therefore that Sir 
 Edmund was at his worst. His ordinary 
 susceptibilities were greatly increased and 
 he was deeply agitated. The two were at
 
 330 EUGENIA. 
 
 quite opposite poles of feeling — extreme cool 
 and extreme heat. 
 
 " I want to speak to you," he said, at last. 
 
 *' I hope," Eugenia replied, noticing his dis- 
 tress, " that you will not trouble yourself too 
 much, about Aunt Agatha. You will upset 
 your own health." 
 
 " It is not about Lady Shortlands that I 
 wish to speak " — he said. 
 
 Eugenia waited to hear, but he did not go 
 on directly with his sentence. 
 
 " Who gave you those ferns ? '' he began 
 again rather impetuously. 
 
 Eugenia looked at him ; she was not used 
 to such questions, but there was a gravity in 
 his expression that prevented her anger. 
 
 ^' James Chatteris," she answered, in the 
 tone that one might use to a feverish child. 
 
 '' He is in love with you, too, I suppose," he 
 said, but his impatience dropped from him. 
 
 Had Eugenia been like other women she
 
 HUMAN. 331 
 
 would perhaps have asked Sir Edmund what 
 he meant by the adverb. But she was too 
 honest to do so and therefore she said 
 nothing. She only sat still, hoping that he 
 was not going to tell her that he loved her. 
 
 He went on. ** They are very beautiful, 
 which you know — and you are very beautiful, 
 which I suppose you know also ; every one 
 who sees you tells you so. . . . Tell me if 
 any one has ever told you so before?" He 
 scarcely knew what he said, but her self- 
 possession hurt him. 
 
 " No one," said Eugenia, slowly rather than 
 coldly : she was pondering but not perplexed. 
 
 *' If I could indeed be sure of that," he 
 said. . . . *' then I might dare " 
 
 Eugenia moved away from him a little, as 
 he bent closer : all the while it was herself, 
 and not Sir Edmund that she blamed. 
 
 " How is it," she wondered, '' that I do not 
 feel more moved by what moves him so
 
 332 EUGENIA. 
 
 deeply ? " Indeed he seemed to have lost 
 the power of speech and to be trying diffi- 
 cultly to articulate words which would not 
 come to his lips. 
 
 Not knowing quite what she should do, 
 she did what ought best to have helped him 
 to speak ; she took up a book from a table at 
 her elbow, and turned its leaves abstractedly. 
 It was not even an English book, and, had It 
 not been already familiar to her, she would 
 not have gleaned the slightest sense from Its 
 contents by looking into it so ; but It was an 
 odd volume of Mollere, and she had chanced 
 upon the fifth act of the '* Femmes savantes." 
 She had been used to recite some tirades from 
 the comedy with her governess, abroad. It 
 could not be said that she was reading, but 
 the words before her eyes started to life in 
 her memory. 
 
 "Ah! yes. Don't look at me," said Sir 
 Edmund, " I want to speak but your
 
 HUMAN. 333 
 
 eyes have looked pity on me, from the first 
 moment. Look at your book — but listen." 
 
 He paused for an instant. Eugenia did not 
 look at him, she looked at her book, and she 
 read : 
 
 " Si Von aimaif, Monsieur, par choix et par sages se 
 " Vous auriez tout mon ca^ur, et toute via tendresse: 
 " Mais on voit que H amour se go uv erne autrement, 
 ^^ Laissez moi^je vous pri'e, d- mon aveuglemeTit." 
 
 It was exactly what she wanted to say to 
 Sir Edmund : there was her answer written 
 out before her, in super-excellent French verse. 
 She had only to wait until he had spoken and 
 then push the book towards him, and show 
 him the passage. He would surely under- 
 stand. Even the music was hushed now — 
 his moment was come ! 
 
 Just then the curtain was pushed roughly 
 back, and Eugenia shut-to the book, with 
 a surprised gesture, as Mr. Arthur John Jarvis 
 swung into the room.
 
 334 EUGENIA. 
 
 '' This Is our waltz," he said rudely, still 
 quite ignoring Sir Edmund's presence. '' I 
 have been looking for you everywhere." 
 
 He stood holding back the curtain, as he 
 spoke. Eugenia murmured a word of apology, 
 half to him and half to Sir Edmund. 
 
 But Sir Edmund's chance was gone : she 
 was fain to leave the room with her partner. 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 PRINTED BY KAI.I.ANTYNE. HANSON AND CO. 
 EDINBURGH AND LONDON.
 
 L
 
 A*"'