L I B R.AR.Y 
 
 OF THL 
 
 UN IVER.SITY 
 
 or ILLINOIS 
 
 B5fe>So 
 v.l 
 
 J'li'i 
 
 III 
 
 liii 
 
 j
 
 ORLANDO 
 
 BY 
 
 CLEMENTINA BLACK, 
 
 AUTHOR OF "a SUSSEX IDYL," ETC. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON : 
 SMITH, ELDER & CO., 15, WATERLOO PLACE. 
 
 1880. 
 
 {All rights reser7'ed.)
 
 'RINTED AT THE CAXTON PRESS, BECCLES.
 
 M.J 
 
 CONTENTS OF VOL. I. 
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 I. In Piccadilly . . . . i 
 
 II. In Shrubb's Wood . . . 12 
 
 III. At a Dinner-Party . , -38 
 
 IV. Antiquities .... 63 
 V. In a Drawing-Room . , -97 
 
 _^, VI. Between Father and Son . 121 
 
 '> VII. A Chapter of Introductions . 139 
 
 ^ VIIL Chiefly in Dialogue . . i6t: 
 
 c) IX. Academical . . . .180 
 
 ^ X. In Friendly Conversation . 206 
 
 XL In Gower Street . . .220 
 
 4 
 
 ^ XII. In a Studio . . . 236 
 
 XliL In the 130TANICAL Gardens . . 253 
 
 XIV. "In Love-Longing" . . 267 
 
 i.
 
 ORLANDO 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 IX riCCADILLV. 
 ♦'Act I., Scene I.— A street. Enter two c,^cntlcinen." 
 
 The wisdom of our ancestors has rendered 
 familiar to us all the time-honoured sta^e- 
 direction that stands at tlie head of this 
 chapter. Reading it. we foresee at once 
 the introductory scene to follow, in which, 
 under colour of discussing the future, a first 
 and a second gentleman will artfully reveal 
 to us the past. Once more must this well- 
 worn prelude be sounded ; but the externals 
 of scenery, actors and costumes, must be 
 filled In in words. 
 
 VOT.. r. B
 
 2 ORLANDO. 
 
 The Street, then, was Piccadilly ; the 
 time, afternoon ; and the season, that in 
 which the most ardent lovers of London 
 begin to dream of green lawns and breezy 
 moors. The first and second gentlemen, 
 entering from Bond Street and from St. 
 James's Street respectively, met in the 
 fuller stream that runs between those two 
 affluents. The younger seemed to be 
 about twenty-two or twenty-three years 
 old, was well-crrown, well-lookincr, and well- 
 dressed, a favourite, apparently, both with 
 nature and with fortune. 
 
 The other was not to be described in so 
 few words. A first glance proclaimed him 
 accustomed to good society ; one who was 
 used to wear his clothes and regulate his 
 bearing according to the latest standard of 
 fitness ; a model after whom it would be 
 r>afe to dress or speak. A second glance 
 might gather, perhaps, some subtle indica- 
 tion, too fine to be rendered in words,
 
 IX PICCADILLY. 3 
 
 of military training ; but, beyond that, no 
 hint of tastes, dIsj:)osition, or pursuits. His 
 face was, as a witness of character, al- 
 together Impenetrable, conveying merely 
 the slightly sinister Impression which we 
 are apt to receive from Impenetrability. 
 It could only be said of him, at a first 
 meetlne, that he looked like a orentleman : 
 a convenient formula, into which the 
 speaker can put whatever measure he 
 pleases of the condemnation Implied In 
 faint praise. 
 
 The younger man's face, on the contrary, 
 was of very unusual openness. Its lights 
 and shadows were as changeable as those 
 reflected by a river beneath a sunny, but 
 cloud-flecked, sky. His name was on many 
 people's lips, and generally In the simple 
 form of Christian and surname— Lawrence 
 O'Brien, with no formality of 'Mr.' Every- 
 body liked him ; a sociable and confiding 
 temper, an inclination to universal friendll-
 
 4 OR (AN DO. 
 
 ness, and a worldly position tliat quieted 
 every apprehension of his ever wanting to 
 borrow money, had produced their natural 
 effect and perhaps no man In London had 
 more and pleasanter acquaintances, or 
 fewer Intimate friends. Just now, as he 
 came down Bond Street, the face which 
 everybody liked was overcast. The sight 
 of a friend was, however, always enough to 
 restore Its brightness, and the clouds gave 
 wa}^ as the two men met, to a particular!}' 
 pleasant smile. 
 
 " Why, Grove," he said, " I thought you 
 Avere out of tov/n ! " 
 
 His Avords had a lingering of the seduc- 
 tive, Incurable Irish accent, and from his 
 tone you might have supposed that his 
 whole anxiety had been a desire for this 
 meeting, which was not by any means the 
 case. 
 
 " Going on Monday," Captain Grove 
 replied. '' I thought ro?^ would have been 
 off before this."
 
 IX PICCADILLY. 5 
 
 '' I'm for the north by to-night's mall, to 
 CorriewhuilHe — Sydenham's, you know. 
 Going my way ? I must just look in at 
 Bailey's, about a gun of mine he has." 
 
 They turned into St. James's Street, and 
 Captain Grove dropped a careless obser- 
 vation on its emptiness. His companion 
 answered with an absent " Yes." A mo- 
 ment's pause followed ; then, seeming to 
 take a sudden resolution, O'Brien drew a 
 long sigh, and said abruptly — 
 
 *' I say, Grove — you know everything 
 about everybody — do you think it is true 
 that Miss Glendinning is to marry that fool 
 of a cousin of hers ?" 
 
 Captain Grove's feeling at this appeal 
 would best have expressed itself in the 
 words of Benedick, ' Sits the wind in 
 that corner?' but quotation was not a 
 practice in which he excelled, and his 
 personal feeling attained no clearer out- 
 ward form than a subdued " Ah ! "
 
 6 ORLANDO. 
 
 Passlncf a thoughtful fino-er over his 
 moustache, he answered, " I don't think it ; 
 • — not that he is such a fool, either." 
 
 " Would you bet against it, then ? " 
 
 " I don't bet on those things myself; 
 there's never any knowing." 
 
 He spoke lightly, but with a watchful 
 eye, suffering no fluctuation of his com- 
 panion's face to escape him. Its expres- 
 sion, at j)resent, was of a perplexed hesita- 
 tion, that showed no immediate symptom 
 of crystallizing into speech. 
 
 Captain Grove, therefore, continued, in 
 an easy tone, *' Where is Miss Glendinning 
 now ? " 
 
 *'At their place, you know — the Oakeses', 
 I mean — in Surrey. Willingshurst." 
 
 " But Oakes is not there. He's in 
 Norway, or somewhere." 
 
 "Yes, I know. That's my only comfort. 
 Of course there's somebody else, if he 
 isn't there. There's always somebody."
 
 IX PICCADILLY. 7 
 
 Captain Grove ever so slightly shrugged 
 his shoulders. 
 
 " What do you expect, if you will admire 
 the beauty of the season ? '' 
 
 Again there Vv^as a little pause, until 
 Lawrence broke forth vehemently — 
 
 " I don't think I can stand it much 
 longer. I feel sometimes as if it would 
 drive me mad. And then to be always 
 hearing that she is going to marry this 
 man or that man ! What do yo?^ think, 
 Grove ? Do you think I have any chance ? 
 You always know." 
 
 Captain Grove was not in haste to 
 reply ; it does not behove knowledge to 
 be too eager in unfolding its stores. 
 
 " I don't know that I do know much 
 about i^Iiss Glendinning," he said at last. 
 " Speaking in a general way, I should say 
 you have a better chance with any woman 
 than nine men out of ten. I feel pretty 
 sure of this about her : she is not the o^irl
 
 5 ORLANDO. 
 
 to throw herself away. And I don't think 
 she'll marry Oakes." 
 
 Lawrence appeared to take in and digest 
 these propositions one by one. 
 
 "And you are going to-night ?" Captain 
 Grove asked, dropping back into the most 
 ordinary tone of everyday talk. 
 
 '' Yes, to-night. I tried to speak to her 
 one day at the Leeds' ; but she looked so 
 unconscious and so self-possessed that I 
 had not courage. I don't believe she has 
 the least idea of what I feel for her." 
 
 *' x^h-h ? " said Captain Grove. The 
 tone of interrogation seemed addressed 
 rather to himself than to his companion. 
 His voice, as he proceeded, had a slight 
 difference of pitch. " She ought to be 
 well up to the signs by this time, one would 
 suppose. Perhaps she understands more 
 than you give her credit for." 
 
 " Do you think so ? " 
 
 ''Who can tell — until you ask her? If
 
 TX PICCADILLY. 9 
 
 you wanted my advice " (" I do," Inter- 
 jected Lawrence), " I should say, see for 
 yourself at the earliest opportunity." 
 
 They were in Pall Mall now, and at 
 this juncture stood still outside the lodmni^-s 
 of that Captain Bailey who had O'Brien's 
 ^un. 
 
 Captain Grove had glanced down re- 
 flectively at the pavement ; he now looked 
 up with a curious smile, and said, " Well, 
 good-bye. I shall look to have to con- 
 ^gratulate you by the time we meet again." 
 
 " I hope so, I am sure," said Lawrence, 
 giving as profound a sigh as that with 
 which he had begun his confidences. And 
 with a hearty grasp of the hand, and a 
 return of his peculiarly bright smile, he 
 nodded and went into the house. 
 
 Captain Grove turned back up St. 
 James's Street, and his thoughts, as he 
 walked, were rather vindictive. Lawrence 
 O'Brien marry Elizabeth Glendinnlng !
 
 lO ORLANDO. 
 
 Never ! Of. all preposterous and dis- 
 pleasing ideas, this was the most displeas- 
 ing which had ever been presented to him.. 
 And w^hat a fool the man must be to talk 
 of it to Jiim ! Or no ; probably it was his 
 own astuteness which rendered such con- 
 fidences possible. It was well in any case 
 that they had been made. And now, when 
 O'Brien came back from Scotland, he would 
 go to her with his proposal, and of course 
 she would accept him. " Not if I know 
 it," said Captain Grove to himself; and as 
 he said them, the somewhat indefinite 
 words held as fierce an intention of havinor 
 his own way as the orthodox second 
 gentleman of tragedy could have expressed 
 in blank verse. It would be strano-e indeed 
 
 o 
 
 if he were less than a match for Lawrence 
 O'Brien. 
 
 Willingshurst, in Surrey. Willingshurst, 
 by Willingham, surely he remembered. 
 Willingham would be the station. Let 
 him get a railway guide.
 
 IX PICCADILLY. II 
 
 And the next morning, when O'Brien, 
 wrapped in a thick coat, was being driven, 
 cold and wean*, across a stretch of hieh 
 moors to CorriewhuiUie, Captain Grove 
 sat leaning back in a blue railwa3--carriage. 
 between flying lines of field and lawn and 
 white-faced villas. In the minds of both 
 hting the vision of ^liss Glendinning, who, 
 for her part, was strolling between her 
 uncle's garden-borders, gathering the late 
 roses, without any thought of either of 
 them.
 
 ,1 2 ORLANDO. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 IN shrubb's wood. 
 
 '•' True Thomas lay on Huntly bank, 
 A ferlie spied he wi' his ee ; 
 There he saw a lady bright 
 
 Come riding down by the Eildon tree. 
 
 * Now maim yc go wi' me/ she said — 
 ' Now, Thomas, ye mami go wi' me ; 
 
 And ye maun serve me seven years, 
 Through weal or woe, as may chance to be.' " 
 Thomas tJic Rhymer. 
 
 Orlando Sherborne, to whom Is destined 
 the first tenor's part In this tale, lay out- 
 stretched beneath a clump of trees, looking 
 up through their foliage to the sky. The 
 birds sang above him In the summer air, 
 and a rippling dance-melody ran in the 
 background of his memory and set his
 
 IX SHRUBBS WOOD. 1 3 
 
 thoughts to measure. His thoughts were 
 of the kind to which some such accom- 
 paniment, pleasant, but not too pronounced, 
 makes a fitting framework, as the grass 
 and copse made a fitting framework for 
 the young figure stretched out in happ)' 
 indolence. He was one and twent}'. and 
 this was the last month of the lono- 
 
 o 
 
 vacation in his third year at college. 
 Beside him lay an open book, upon whose 
 face his one hand rested, and on his lips 
 sat the peculiar smile of youth, neither 
 wholly wistful nor triumphant, but touching 
 the edo-e of both moods — the smile of 
 
 o 
 
 possibility which haunts true medii^val 
 art sometimes and modern mediceval art 
 always. The book was the Od)'sse}'. in 
 an Oxford Pocket Classic edition. It bore 
 Orlando's name on its first page ; its 
 corners were worn to roundness, and it 
 was marked in sundr)- places with ink-spots 
 and marginal notes. For a time its charm
 
 14 ORLANDO. 
 
 had kept his thoughts salHng with Ulysses 
 on the unknown seas. But, after a time, 
 the young present asserted its superiority 
 to the far-distant past. The unknown seas 
 of Homer gave way to the unknown 
 expanses of an individual life ; the name 
 within the book became more potent than 
 the title on its back, and the figure whom 
 his dreamy musings encircled was called no 
 longer Odysseus, but Orlando. The visions 
 of craft, force, and struggle yielded place 
 to those of peace and order, and 'a life 
 that leads melodious days.' His were 
 those visions of every man's youth, in 
 which he sees himself walkine the world 
 like a king. The accompanying homage, 
 however, which fills so large a place in 
 the dreams of so many of us, held, in 
 Orlando's, none at all. His ideal com- 
 plete self had no attribute of a knight- 
 errant, riding brilliant through the world, 
 deserving and w^inning applause. His
 
 IX SHRUBB S WOOD. I 5 
 
 aspiration was rather to be noble than 
 to do o-reat deeds. He would be content 
 in all simplicity with doing his duty in that 
 state of life to which it should please God 
 to call him. And if that state should be 
 one involving martyrdom, he was of a 
 nature to go to his martyrdom quietly, 
 serene within himself, and untroubled 
 by considerations of praise, blame, or 
 oblivion. 
 
 As some men train their bodies, and some 
 develop their minds, so it was Orlando's 
 desire to cultivate his soul. Born to a 
 place whose duties he was fitted to perform, 
 he would work out his life into one serene, 
 full whole, careless of fame, content with 
 the love (which could not fail to follow 
 such a life) of a few. Circumstance and 
 nature had done much for him ; it behoved 
 him to see that he did not waste their 
 eifts. To a fine nature ofood fortune, like 
 noble birth,^ brings obligations. Those
 
 1 6 ORLANDO. 
 
 lines, which lend themselves so readily to 
 mockery — 
 
 ' Not more than others I deserve, 
 But God has given me more '— 
 
 may be taken nobly as well as meanly ; 
 and so taken, they formed the ground-bass 
 to that harmonious fugue into which 
 Orlando's day-dreams grew. Distinction 
 was not for him ; to take his deo^ree with 
 ordinary success was the outside limit of 
 his hopes. He had long since confessed 
 that to himself frankly, although by no 
 means without regret. Even now, as his 
 thoughts turned that way, a shadow fell 
 upon his face ; but it was as fleeting as 
 a bird's passage across a clear sky, and 
 was followed by a keener smile as his reflec- 
 tions dropped into another channel. Was 
 not love, after all, better than distinc- 
 tion ? A vision floated before him of 
 the perfectly good, true, and beautiful 
 w^oman whose love should be the com-
 
 IN shrubb's wood. 17 
 
 pletion of his life. He surrounded her 
 with a halo of all imaginary perfections ; 
 yet her idea remained but vague, ready 
 to be fitted to whatever external shape 
 fortune might decree. Indistinct as the 
 image was, his thoughts dwelt long upon 
 it. He closed his eyes against the outer 
 world, that he might have it the nearer. 
 Presently he laid a sunburnt hand across 
 his eyelids, on which the dancing sunlight 
 flickered. The other hand, lying on the 
 book, relaxed ; the pages fluttered slowly 
 upward ; the morning grew stiller and stiller 
 towards the noon. 
 
 In the same copse Captain Grove was 
 walkino^ with a Qrracefullv dressed and 
 beautiful young woman. 
 
 " Quite a flying visit," she was saying. 
 
 '' Yes ; I must go back this afternoon. 
 And — who knows ? — I may very likely be 
 abroad before you come back to town. 
 My people have been wanting me to take 
 
 VOL. I. C
 
 1 8 ORLANDO. 
 
 a very good Indian appointment, and, 
 under certain circumstances, perhaps I 
 might. If so, I should ahnost certainly 
 be away from London when you come 
 home." 
 
 ''Oh, I hope not," said the lady, in a 
 tone of friendly concern. 
 
 He had watched her narrowly. At 
 these words he dropped his gaze, and 
 answered slowly, " I am not sure that 
 I do." 
 
 She lifted her eyes, and looked at him 
 with a slight, perplexed raising of her 
 delicate eyebrows. An incredulous smile 
 held her lips in momentary pause, then 
 passed into a little laugh as she said, 
 lightly, " That is hardly a compliment, 
 is it?" 
 
 '' I did not mean it for a compliment. 
 It is just the truth. It does make me 
 unhappy, always. I come, longing to see 
 your face again, and the moment I see it,
 
 IX SHRUBB S WOOD. 1 9 
 
 it fills me with pain, because it tells me so 
 plainly that I am nothing to you." 
 
 She looked down and made no answer. 
 Her colour had grown a little deeper, but, 
 on the wdiole, her countenance expressed 
 rather surprise than emotion. His face, 
 too, chaneed a little, trrowinQ^ a trifle 
 keener and more intent. 
 
 *' And if it is so," he went on, ''as you do 
 not deny that it is, is it not better that I 
 should see as little of you as may be ? I 
 know my own weakness ; if I were where 
 it was possible to come to you, I should 
 come. And I have taken pride in being 
 thought a reasonable man. I don't care to 
 make a fool of myself in people's eyes, 
 Aliss Glendinning — and I should." 
 
 Miss Glendinning still looked before her 
 in silence, and at last murmured, "It seems 
 so strange to hear you talk like that." 
 
 Captain Grove was not the man to 
 damage his cause by overhasty speaking ;
 
 20 ORLANDO. 
 
 he remained silent, looking at her, and the 
 silent gaze presently forced her to speak 
 again. 
 
 • Turning her face towards him with a 
 kind of defiance, " Plow could I suppose," 
 she asked, '' that I was anything to you ? " 
 
 " Surely, surely, you must have known 
 that, alw^ays." 
 
 She kept her eyes fixed earnestly 
 upon his face, as if seeking there some 
 deeper tone of truth than sounded in his 
 words. Her beauty was very great, but 
 hardly more awake to love than that of 
 Pygmalion's statue in its first completion. 
 
 *' No," she said, quite quietly. 
 
 She had not at all calculated her man- 
 ner. Neither her speech nor her silence 
 had been dictated by the desire to lead 
 him on, but if she had had such a desire, 
 she could have adopted no course of con- 
 duct more likely to succeed. 
 
 *' You are everything to me — everything,"
 
 IN SIIRUBE S- WOOD. 21 
 
 he returned, In a tone which was either of 
 i^'enulne passion or of something- so neadv 
 like it that he himself beheved It eenulne. 
 " Am I bhnd, that I should overlook you ? 
 There Is no woman like you In London — 
 no, not In Enc^land. I never thoueht of 
 marrying — I'mi not a marrying man — but 
 if you would marry me, I would give half 
 my life to win you." 
 
 " Butj'^//f " said the girl, with a return 
 to the lowered shyness of her former 
 speech. "Somehow, I never thought "" 
 
 " There was no need to tell it to all 
 London, was there ? " said Captain Grove, 
 almost fiercely. 
 
 Throui-diout the scene the note of 
 tenderness had been strangely wanting 
 from his speech. Probably she felt the 
 want ; she looked at him with a new 
 trouble dawnluQ: through the calmness 
 of her face, and asked slowh', with ap- 
 pealing eyes, " Do you really love me ? "
 
 2 2 • . ORLANDO. 
 
 He snatched liQr hand and laid It 
 against his cheek. " Love you ! Oh, 
 Elizabeth, don't torture me." 
 
 She doubted no longer ; she began to 
 tremble ; for a moment she seemed In 
 terror. 
 
 He, seeing the change, said hurriedl)', 
 " Don't answer now. Let me come again 
 — in a week." 
 
 '' No, wait a moment," she answered. 
 
 She walked a few steps forward, and 
 stood with her back towards him, her 
 hands clasped and her eyes looking fixedly 
 before her. She stood so, perhaps, a 
 minute, which to him, as he waited, seemed 
 immeasurable. How should she answer ? 
 she asked herself. The question had 
 come upon her altogether unexpectedl}-. 
 like thunder from a clear sky. It was an 
 honour, there could be no doubt of that — a 
 triumph. What a surprised shock would 
 A., B., and C. receive. If they could know
 
 IX SHRUBBS WOOD. 23 
 
 that Captain Grove had asked her to 
 marry him ! And he did love her. That 
 was so strange, so impossible to realize. 
 She had never dreamed of this. Captain 
 Grove was in a measure the acknowledged 
 autocrat of the circle which made Elizabeth 
 Glendinning's world ; she had no more 
 thought of him as a possible husband than 
 if he had been a king, indeed. Certainly 
 there was no one else whose Avooing could 
 so uplift her in her own eyes — yes, and in 
 the eyes of others, too. Should she say 
 ' yes ' to him ? She would never find 
 any other man whom she would be so 
 proud to marry. And she began to see 
 that she miQ^ht be a fittino- wife to him. 
 No, it was, after all, not so strange that he 
 should love her. The pained, frightened 
 look passed into a triumphant smile. She 
 turned and saw him standing waiting for 
 her. She measured him with her eyes as 
 she came slowly towards him. He was
 
 24 ORLANDO. 
 
 not the handsomest man whom she knew, 
 but his appearance had, she thought, a 
 character of unexceptionabihty to which 
 more of absokite orood looks would have 
 been rather an injury than an assistance. 
 He advanced a step towards her and left 
 his face to ask his question. She met him 
 with a clear gaze, in which something of 
 the elation still lingered, and giving him 
 her hand, said simply, '' If you think I can 
 make you happy, I will try." 
 
 Her lover received this answer with no 
 enthusiastic demonstration of his gladness. 
 He found himself overcome, to his own 
 surprise, by an emotion of reverent, almost 
 remorseful tenderness. 
 
 " And is your happiness," he asked, 
 gently, " to count for nothing ? " 
 
 She, still looking up at him with clear, 
 serious eyes, answered, *' I trust that to 
 you." 
 
 *'You safely may; you never shall repent
 
 IN SHRUBB S WOOD. 
 
 -0 
 
 It," he fervently returned. His fervour 
 was an astonishment to himseh'', and 
 brought with it a pleasant sense of his 
 own earnestness and devotion. 
 
 Elizabeth heard him with a faint smile, 
 and said — 
 
 " ' Bin doch ein arm' imwissend Kind, 
 Begreife nicht was er an mir find't.' " 
 
 Her tone was one in which many shades 
 of feeling melted together, as the notes 
 mingle in a full chord. 
 
 Captain Grove had an impression of 
 having heard the words before, and wished 
 that he could recollect the character of the 
 context in which they appeared. He had 
 an uncomfortable idea that her humility 
 was but half sincere, and fancied he dis- 
 cerned in it a tone of mischief which he 
 scarcely knew how to meet. His pleasant 
 momentary thrill of self-forgetfulness 
 withered at once, and left him once more 
 governed chiefly by the desire to say the
 
 26 ORLANDO. 
 
 most fitting- thing. He said, therefore, 
 with a careful Q-entleness, '' Your lookine- 
 glass might tell you." 
 
 And Elizabeth, looking meditatively 
 before her, thought in all seriousness that 
 perhaps it might. 
 
 '' I shall go back to London happy now," 
 he proceeded. 
 
 " And 3^ou won't be away, perhaps, when 
 Ave come back ? " said Elizabeth, with a 
 laugh in her eyes. 
 
 "No, indeed ; not if I can possibly help 
 it. But even if I am, I shall not be un- 
 happy, for I have your promise." 
 
 " Yes. I don't know^ — it seems to me 
 so odd that this should have happened." 
 
 " You don't wish to draw back ? " 
 
 " No ; oh no. I mean no more than that 
 it is strange to me. And so f//af was what 
 brought you down here ? " 
 
 " It was." 
 
 "You must have grown suddenly im- 
 patient. How funny ! "
 
 IN SHRUBB's ^VOOD. 2 7' 
 
 A prick, not exactly of conscience, but 
 rather of uneasy recollection, kept Captain 
 Grove from finding a ready answer. 
 
 ^' Will you come up and see papa ? " 
 Miss Glendinning asked, after a moment 
 
 or two. 
 
 -No; the fact is Could you forgive 
 
 me, if I asked you to let our talk remain a 
 secret between ourselves for the next week 
 or two ? " 
 
 It was scarcely possible to know in what 
 point Elizabeth's face changed, but its 
 change expressed a fine shade of dissatis- 
 faction ; and the same expression tinged 
 her voice as she answered, " Of course it 
 shall, if you wish it." 
 
 '' I will tell )'ou why. I don't know that 
 there is very much in it, perhaps. My 
 uncle, you see, regards himself as the head 
 of the family ; he would expect to be told 
 first of any such matter ; and if I could put 
 it off till I could see him myself, it would
 
 2 8 ORLANDO. 
 
 be much better. You see, there Is no 
 telhiig in what temper a letter may find a 
 man. And a man of his property really 
 has a natural right to expect special con- 
 sideration from his relations." 
 
 '' Yes, I suppose so," Elizabeth answered, 
 so demurely that the flavour of irony escaped 
 his ear. " Oh yes ; I should think it would 
 be much better to wait." 
 
 In her heart she added, " He might have 
 waited before he came to me." Another 
 inward voice whispered, ''He could bear 
 to wait no longer," and her calm gaze 
 melted into something gentler. She began 
 to realize more plainly that this man beside 
 her held her as a precious thing in his life, 
 and could not endure to risk a chance of 
 delay or failure In making her his own. 
 Strange ! — and sweet. An ashamed feel- 
 ing of her own unsympathetic dulness over- 
 came her ; a vast expanding tenderness 
 stirred and rose In her heart like the re-
 
 IN SHRUBB S WOOD. 29 
 
 turning swell of a warm spring. Captain 
 Grove, as he watched the beautiful face 
 slowly awakening from its self-contained 
 quiet to a new world of emotion, felt, per- 
 haps, the keenest thrill of triumph which 
 his somewhat thin experience of life had 
 yet brought to him. 
 
 He answered her deep gaze with an 
 elated smile, and Elizabeth, meeting it, 
 vowed within herself that since the power 
 to call up that smile and that glad light of 
 rejoicing was indeed hers, no word or look 
 from her should ever cause them to fade 
 disappointed. How if she could have 
 known the thought which gave its crowning 
 zest to that elation ? For he, meanwhile, 
 had before his eyes the vision of a keen 
 young face turned towards him in anxious 
 question, and in his ears rang poor Law- 
 rence O'Briens words: "What do you 
 think, Grove ? Do you think I have any 
 chance ?" Where was Lav/rence O'Brien's.
 
 30 ORLANDO. 
 
 chance now ? When would he, with all his 
 money and his youth and his good looks, 
 win such a gaze as this from Elizabeth 
 Glendinnino- ? 
 
 His triumph was disturbed by no touch 
 of shame or of remorse. Shame, Avith him, 
 needed the acid of another's knowledge to 
 bring it to effervescence, and in Elizabeth's 
 eyes lay no shadow of mistrust. She was 
 rather exalting him by ashamed comparison 
 with the poorness of her own feeling. 
 
 '' I Avill try," she said again, softly. 
 Then, after a moment's pause, '' I think I 
 am glad it is not to be spoken of at once. 
 I want to get used to it. I think, please, I 
 will go home ; I w^ant to be by myself a 
 little. You don't mind, do you ?" 
 
 The tone of submissive appeal was in- 
 expressibly satisfying to him. It was 
 wonderful, he thought, how well she suited 
 him. The fitting reply came easily enough 
 now.
 
 IN SHRUBB S WOOD. 3 I 
 
 " Not mind ? " he answered, smiline. 
 '' Why, of course I mind. I should Hke 
 never to have you out of my sight." 
 
 Again EHzabeth returned that deepened 
 look which uttered, in its noblest kind, the 
 ■' illness at ease of tenderness under a love 
 which it cannot return.' 
 
 She paused, irresolute. But Captain 
 Grove, for all his liking to have her in his 
 sight, had no real intention of keeping her 
 beside him. Perhaps he, too, felt some- 
 thing of her desire to be alone, and to 
 examine this newly turned page of his life 
 unwatched by interested eyes. And the 
 very fulness of her faith in him, which gave 
 a sense of ease in her presence, brought also 
 a contradictory sense of restraint, by re- 
 minding him at every turn that it existed 
 and that it might be destroyed. The two 
 had once more paused and were standing 
 face to face ; he with his easily worn smile, 
 she with her grave eyes, and with the
 
 32 ORLANDO. 
 
 pathetic line of lip which belongs so often 
 to the best type of beauty, and carries to the 
 heart of the unaccustomed beholder a self- 
 reproachful pang like that evoked by the 
 frightened eyes of an animal : like an ani- 
 mal's terror in this, too, that it acts as an 
 incentive to the human instinct of cruelty. 
 
 *' Good-bye, then," said Elizabeth ; and 
 thinking that the words sounded cold — as,, 
 indeed, they had no special warmth — she 
 added, " When shall I see you again ? " 
 
 *'As soon," he replied, *' as I possibly can 
 manage." 
 
 His tone was rather self-satisfied than 
 ardent. He drew his hand across the 
 smooth waves of her hair, and bending her 
 head a little backward, kissed her forehead 
 with a quiet air of taking possession, and 
 of rather cono^ratulatino;- himself in the 
 spirit of little Jack Horner. Elizabeth 
 underw^ent the ceremony quietly, and as 
 their faces parted, drew back a little, and
 
 IN SHRUBB S WOOD. 2)3 
 
 gave him her hand exactly as she would 
 have done before this meeting. Then 
 again she felt herself remiss, and looked 
 up with a deprecating smile that was 
 tender, apologetic, self-depreciating — every- 
 thing that can be said in words of the 
 smile a man would have from the 
 woman he loves, but which yet, if it had 
 been eiven to Orlando, would have smitten 
 him to the heart with the chillest certainty 
 of despair. Captain Grove gave back a 
 smile of triumph, and again she was glad 
 in her power of making him happy. 
 
 '' But may I not come with you ? " he 
 asked. 
 
 She paused and said, '' I would rather 
 not." 
 
 Words are the least part of the speech 
 which we utter to one another. Those 
 Insignificant five syllables of answer might 
 have borne any shade of meaning, from 
 the haughtiest denial to a sweeter assent 
 
 VOL. T. D
 
 34 ORLANDO. 
 
 than "Yes." As she spoke them, they 
 expressed a real preference, but a pre- 
 ference which submitted itself absolutely 
 to his. No tone could have been more 
 pleasing to him. A little motion of the 
 head, courteous and graceful, uttered on 
 his side that her preference was law, 
 and the softest shade of gravity be- 
 tokened his regret. He stood still, 
 watching the passage of her light figure 
 under the sudden shadows of this or that 
 farther-reaching bough, till she came out 
 into the broad sunshine of the open 
 meadow, making a third brio^htness be- 
 tween the blue and the green. Then, 
 lifting his chin a little, he laid his hand 
 across his eyes, and suffered his smile to 
 expand. 
 
 The copse was crescent-shaped, and the 
 pathway, after traversing the intervening 
 patch of meadow, dipped again into the 
 second horn. The trees stood for the
 
 IX SHRUBBS WOOD. 35 
 
 most part close at the edge of the path ; 
 at one spot only, a little amphitheatre of 
 turf came between, and it was here that 
 Orlando lay. His dim, sweet musings had 
 slipped insensibly into sleep, from which 
 the sound of ]\Iiss Glendinning's approach 
 aroused him. He opened his eyes, and in 
 the border-land between sleep and waking, 
 received a vision which seemed the embo- 
 diment and continuation of his dreams. 
 As yet, his mind was not free from the 
 dream-atmosphere in which the whole per- 
 sonality is concentrated into observation. 
 He lay still, with wide-open eyes, watching 
 her as she drew nearer. She came along 
 in a thin line of light, between two lines of 
 shadow that seemed to fall away from 
 her as she moved ; her light dress touched, 
 rustling, against the thin tufts of herbage 
 that grew up between the ruts and round 
 the deep hoof-marks of the way. Her 
 mind was at the very opposite pole of
 
 36 ORLANDO. 
 
 feeling from Orlando's. He was absorbed 
 in watchfulness of her ; she, equally forget- 
 ful of all outer things, was entirely im- 
 mersed in her own thoughts. She was- 
 quite unconscious of any second presence, 
 and her face wore the aspect of self-com- 
 munion which it is impossible, knowingly, 
 to wear under the observation of another. 
 Come suddenly on whom you will, friend, 
 enemy, or casual acquaintance, you will 
 catch of that expression only the retreating 
 w^ave of its garment, a momentary confu- 
 sion of images as the ma^ic-lantern slide- 
 shifts. 
 
 This change came suddenly to Miss 
 Glendinning. Recognition of an observer's 
 presence sprang into her face, and took the 
 form of a slackening of expression. Her 
 deep, dreamy eyes, awaking to the actual, 
 became merely perceptive ; her step took 
 more precision ; the grave line of her 
 mouth relaxed into ereater indifference.
 
 IX SHRUBB S WOOD. 2)7 
 
 A reflected change fell upon Orlando. 
 Self-consciousness returned to him also. He 
 remembered that he was lying carelessly 
 upon the ground; that his hair had all fallen 
 back from his forehead, and was probably 
 very untidy ; that his tie was out of place, 
 and that crawlinQf things were makino- him 
 their px'omenade-ground. He started up, 
 shook himself and stood, flushed and con- 
 fused, looking mute apology. Miss Glen- 
 dinnincr, havinsf bestowed on him a o^lance 
 of cursory interest as on a creature ob- 
 served in an unlikely habitat, withdrew her 
 eyes and passed on. If she had been 
 asked whom she had passed on the road, 
 she would probably have answered, " A 
 schoolboy ; " and if Orlando could have 
 heard such a question so answered, his 
 undergraduate indignation might have suf- 
 ficed to stifle the admiration which set 
 Elizabeth Glendinning's face from that 
 day in the centre of his dreams.
 
 38 ORLANDO. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 AT A DINNER-PARTY. 
 
 " Any one watching keenl}' the stealthy convergence of 
 human lots, sees a slow preparation of effects from one 
 life on another, which tells like a calculated irony on the 
 indifference or the frozen stare with which we look at our 
 unintroduced neighbour. Destiny stands by sarcastic, 
 with our dramatis persono! folded in her hand." — Middle- 
 viarcJi. 
 
 The changes of society's customs are slow, 
 and seem superficial. It is only in com- 
 paring times divided by a long interval of 
 years that a significant difference can be 
 perceived. Looking back on the day — 
 somewhere among the later sixties of this 
 century — when Orlando Sherborne lay 
 dreaming in Willingshurst plantation, a 
 swarm of such differences rise, circling in
 
 AT A DIXXER-PARTY. 39 
 
 the memory like moths shaken out from an 
 old garment. To Orlando, when he looks 
 back, as to Orlando's chronicler, that time 
 seems to have been somewhat easier and 
 less urgent than this. Politically, all Eu- 
 rope was at a different stage of growth. 
 Pius IX. was still in the Vatican, Victor 
 Emmanuel at Florence, and Queen Isabella 
 in Spain. France had lain quiet for fifteen 
 years or so with the same hand upon her 
 neck, and unimperial Prussia had only 
 lately evinced, at Sadowa, the possession 
 of an army and a leader. In England, 
 reigned, on the whole, an optimist spirit 
 of peace, and a prosperity less feverish 
 than that which followed. The very toys 
 of life were pursued more easily. Croquet 
 was in its early prime — a relaxation still, 
 rather than a science. Lawn-tennis was 
 not. Art- furniture, art-needlework, and 
 artistic dress, those three despots of to-day, 
 were in their veriest infancy, cherished only
 
 40 ORLANDO. 
 
 by an eccentric few ; while the potent word 
 cBsthetic possessed as yet no spell. It was, 
 perhaps (to use another of to-day's shibbo- 
 leths), a PhiHstine time, but its Philistinism 
 was supine, and imposed a lighter yoke than 
 the Israelitism which has succeeded. So, 
 at least, it seems to Orlando, to whom in 
 those days life looked plain and easy, 
 as a path seen distinctly on a far hill, 
 that grows vague and confused upon 
 approach. 
 
 He came up from that copse of sweet 
 dreams, resolved to discover the name by 
 which his final and fairest vision was 
 known amonof men. Willlno-shurst was 
 no more his home than it was Elizabeth's ; 
 he was merely spending there a fortnight 
 of his ' Long ' with a college friend. 
 
 To this friend — Arthur Rendell — he 
 took an early opportunity of carrying his 
 question. 
 
 "■ Who," he asked, '' would a very pretty
 
 AT A DINNER PARTY. 4 1 
 
 girl be, whom I saw just now in Shrubb's 
 Wood ? " 
 
 Arthur, incHning his head slowly from 
 side to side, like a meditative stork, re- 
 peated, " A pretty girl ? There isn't a 
 pretty girl in the parish — except Tottie." 
 
 " It wasn't Miss Rendell. And she was 
 more than pretty ; she was the most beau- 
 tiful girl I ever saw in my life." 
 
 '' She may have been one of the villagers, 
 you know," Arthur suggested. 
 
 But Orlando scouted the suggestion, on 
 the ground that he knew a lady when he 
 saw her. 
 
 Arthur, upon this, could only say he 
 didn't know, and Orlando's question re- 
 mained unanswered. 
 
 But a few days later a dinner-party was 
 given in the neighbourhood, to which he 
 was invited. 
 
 As he came into the room, no thought 
 was with him of his unknown beauty :
 
 42 ' ORLANDO. 
 
 such visions, although they may make the 
 crises by which to write the history of a 
 Hfe, have by no means an ever-present 
 influence among its superficial comings 
 and goings. The room seemed full. His 
 eye fell upon the familiar faces of the vicar 
 and his wife, and upon a young man who 
 was supposed to admire Miss RendelL 
 The futile, before-dinner talk was flowing 
 feebly, while the hostess glided gently, 
 an amalgamating influence, from group to 
 group. Orlando, in his turn, was led 
 across the room to a young lady whose 
 face was bent down over an album. The 
 introduction, '' Mr. Sherborne — Miss Glen- 
 dinning," followed, falling upon unexpec- 
 tant ears, a prelude to much. 
 
 Miss Glendinninof lifted her face, smiled, 
 and bowed. Orlando, with a sharp stab 
 of pleasure, recognized the lady of Shrubb's 
 Wood. Her beauty struck him afresh, 
 with a kind of venerating wonder. Yet
 
 AT A DINNER-PARTY. 43 
 
 not in the beauty, as beauty, lay, he thought, 
 its power on him, but in some individual^ 
 indescribable characteristic, to which some- 
 thing akin in himself answered, as a harp's 
 note answers to a voice speaking beside it. 
 He felt as if his Avhole soul lay open, trans- 
 parent as water, beneath the direct gaze 
 of her clear eyes ; and his memory paused, 
 suddenly, to feel back across the years into 
 some other life, when, surely, some strong 
 union had been between them. 
 
 In the first glance of youth upon a new 
 face there is always something of search and 
 appeal, a desire of finding recognition and 
 fellowship. For every introduction to a new 
 acquaintance is like lifting the cover of a 
 new book, known to us as yet only by its 
 binding, and in youth we are always ready 
 to hope that the unopened volume may 
 contain our own story. With Orlando this- 
 curiosity can scarcely be said to have ex- 
 isted in regard to Miss Glendinning, since
 
 44 ' ORLANDO. 
 
 the moment of first slsfht had answered 
 and appeased it. She, on the other hand, 
 although accustomed to a wider and colder 
 range of society, where the lesson of in- 
 difference is soon learned, wore pretty 
 clearly the expression of such a feeling. 
 She had, in fact, a little gentle cause for 
 special interest, whose roots lay in a stratum 
 of emotion far removed from his. The silenc 
 double o^aze lasted but a moment. The 
 strongest emotion, like the keenest dream, 
 can go through the mind with the swiftness 
 of a sword-stroke, leaving behind again the 
 ■everyday wakefulness to everyday things. 
 Orlando was ready, before Miss Glendin- 
 ning had yet felt a pause, to strike some 
 indifferent, tentative note of conversation. 
 
 " Do you know Willingshurst well ? " 
 he asked, speaking with two distinct 
 currents of consciousness running parallel 
 in his soul, like a red and a blue stream of 
 light falling through adjacent panes of a 
 stained window.
 
 AT A DINNER-PARTV. 45 
 
 " I have stayed here two or three times," 
 she answered, " with my aunt and uncle." 
 Then, pushing the open book a Httle 
 towards him, " Have you seen this sketch 
 of the Roman villa at Sellingham ? You 
 see, this is all restored. I don't know 
 how much is really remaining." 
 
 " Oh, a o-ood deal, I believe. It is said 
 to be the most complete specimen of pave- 
 ment in England. It is quite worth going- 
 over to see." 
 
 At this point came the general exodus 
 to the dining-room. They followed Mrs. 
 Rendell. Her escort w^as a stranofer to 
 Orlando, and therefore interestino- as the 
 possible uncle of Miss Glendinning. He 
 was an elderly man whose appearance 
 might justify the epithet — usually so in- 
 applicable to elderly men — graceful. 
 Orlando, observinor him, thous^ht, first, that 
 there would be nothing inappropriate in 
 such a man's relationship to the beautiful
 
 46 ORLANDO. 
 
 girl on his arm, and secondly, that he was 
 sure he discerned a likeness between them. 
 This, indeed, might well be, since he 
 afterwards discovered that the person 
 so scrutinized was not her uncle, but her 
 father. 
 
 In this little pause from speech it re- 
 curred to his memory that a schoolfellow of 
 his sister's had borne the name of Glen- 
 dinning. This might possibly be she ; and 
 if so, how delightful a ground for more 
 intimate acquaintance. When they were 
 seated, and dinner had well beo^un, he 
 turned to put his question, and found that 
 she also had turned to him, and was also 
 in act to speak. 
 
 " I think," she said, " it must have been 
 your sister who was a great friend of mine 
 at school — Millie Sherborne." 
 
 '' Yes," replied Orlando, with a smile of 
 much pleasure. " I was just going to say 
 so to you. I have very often heard her
 
 AT A DINNER- PARTY. 47 
 
 Speak of you." And his memory added 
 that the speech had all been praise. 
 
 '' Oh yes, we were great friends. She 
 was lonely at school at first, and I think it 
 was a comfort to her when she took to 
 me." 
 
 Orlando's fancy, enlarcrine the bareness 
 of her words by the possibilities of her 
 face, saw her playing- the part of a con- 
 soling angel to poor, indulged, dominion- 
 loving Millie. A young man's visions, 
 built on such a basis, are apt to be unre- 
 liable, but for once they w^ere pretty nearly 
 In harmony with the truth. 
 
 "And Is she quite w^ell ? " Miss Glen- 
 dinning asked. "Where is she? Not at 
 Willingshurst ? " 
 
 " Oh no ; she is at home, with my father, 
 at Sherborne." 
 
 " And I suppose she is quite happy .^ 
 She always used to say she would be when 
 she left school."
 
 48 ORLANDO. 
 
 " Yes, I think she is. Certainly she has 
 entirely her own way, which, I think, 
 counts for a good deal with Millie." 
 
 ''With most of us," said Miss Glen- 
 dinning. 
 
 At this moment occurred one of those 
 sudden silences which are apt to fall 
 unaccountably upon a party of busy talkers, 
 and these two fell into silence with the 
 rest. The vicar, practical Christian that 
 he was, threw himself boldly into the gap, 
 and the waves began to flow again. 
 Orlando, however, did not find his speech 
 so easily return. Miss Glendinning was 
 giving her attention to the man beyond 
 her, and he was not sorry to pause and 
 grow^ accustomed to her presence. To sit 
 thus, silent, among many speakers is a 
 position which has its peculiar charm. It 
 might be a nice point to consider whether 
 more pleasure may be found in being 
 consciously sought or being unintentionally
 
 AT A DIXNER-PARTV. 49 
 
 forgotten and left to observe, unobserved 
 and unfettered by any debt of attention. 
 
 The observation of Orlando was directed 
 almost wholly upon his beautiful neighbour. 
 He tried, for the first time, to look at 
 her critically. Her face was turned 
 from him, leaving him the curved outline 
 of her cheek and an inimitably graceful 
 line of neck. Some anecdote was beine 
 told to her ; a slight movement showed 
 him the extremest profile of her chin 
 and smiling lips. Few indeed are the 
 faces which will endure prolonged scrutiny 
 in that point of view, bringing into relief, 
 as it does, every defect of mouth, nose, 
 or outline of face. Elizabeth's, however, 
 seemed to him, even thus, more beautiful 
 than any but her own, turned full. As the 
 tale closed she broke into a light, low laugh 
 that, in Orlando's ears, w^as indescribably 
 harmonious. She turned ao^ain towards 
 him, and took up their broken-off talk. 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 50 ORLANDO. 
 
 " Did you say you had seen the remains. 
 at Sellingham, Mr. Sherborne ? " 
 
 '' No ; I had only heard about them. I 
 mean to see them, if I can. It seems a 
 wasting- of opportunities, doesn't it, not 
 to o^o when one is so near ? " 
 
 *' It does, rather. I think I must make 
 papa ride over with me." 
 
 '' Oh, then she has a father at WilHngs- 
 hurst?" thought Orlando. His eyes; 
 travelled round the table, and Miss Glen- 
 dinning, observing him, said quietly — 
 
 " That is my father on the other side of 
 Mrs. Rendell." 
 
 *' You know Mrs. Rendell ?" 
 
 '' I have met her. I know Miss. 
 Rendell." 
 
 " I am staying with them, you know." 
 
 ** Oh, are you ? I didn't know. You 
 are quite near us, then. I wonder that we 
 have not met before." 
 
 *'We have," said Orlando, conscious of
 
 AT A DINNER-PARTY. 5 1 
 
 a little mortification. '' I saw you on Wed- 
 nesday morning in Shrubb's Wood." 
 
 *' Did you ? Yes, I remember now ; 
 I did pass some one in the wood, but I 
 Avasn't paying much attention. I hardly 
 noticed." 
 
 Her thoughts went away again. She 
 . sank into a short silence, and presently 
 roused herself from it with a little shake 
 and a sigh, saying, " It is a pretty little 
 bit of wood, isn't it ? But it is prettiest 
 in the spring. You should see the quan- 
 tities that there are of primroses and 
 anemones." 
 
 '' You speak as if you were fond of the 
 spring flowers ? " 
 
 "Yes, I am. I so seldom see them 
 growing. We are in London generally 
 in the spring. I happened to be here for 
 Easter this year, and my cousin and I 
 rode through. Afterwards, we came down 
 as^ain to o^et a lot for the church. We— ^
 
 52 ORLANDO. 
 
 I mean all of us from my uncle's— 
 decorated our chancel by ourselves, all 
 with wild-flowers." 
 
 .... And so on. Why report their 
 words any further? Has it. not been said 
 already that our words make the smallest 
 part of our speech ? Why reproduce 
 talk which touched no deep notes of 
 feeling, opinion, or principle, but which yet 
 sufficed to establish between two young 
 people a ground of sympathy, liking, and 
 approval ? Look back — if your memory 
 yet retains the record— to your own first 
 conversation with the nearest and dearest 
 of your friends. It is enough to say that 
 Orlando received the impression of an ex- 
 quisite fitness, grace, and harmony. To 
 liim it appeared that her every tone and 
 motion had chimed in fine accord with 
 some preconceived ideal of his own. Who 
 shall decide how far in such a case the 
 woman does indeed accord with the ideal,
 
 AT A .DINNER-PARTY. 53 
 
 and how far It is the ideal which accords 
 itself to her ? 
 
 Elizabeth passed away to the drawing- 
 room ; Orlando was left to try and recall 
 her features and her tones. What a waste 
 of time, he thought, to sit here, needlessly 
 imbibing wine and hearing these country 
 gentlemen enunciate slowly their common- 
 place opinions ! This was not, it may be 
 noted, a usual mood with him. Nothing- 
 was further from Orlando's nature, or more 
 repugnant to his habits of thought, than 
 the small customary cynicism, the spirit 
 of petty arrogance, through whose medium 
 so many young men see the world a desert 
 and their fellow-creatures fools. He was 
 glad, however, to observe, amid his misan- 
 thropy, that Miss Glendinning's father spoke 
 little and by no means dogmatically, but 
 with a gentle, deprecatory air, as who should 
 say, '' I speak, of course, under correction." 
 When at last the moment arrived for
 
 54 ORLANDO. 
 
 migration to the drawing-room, it need 
 hardly be said that his first glance was one 
 of search for Miss Glendinning. She was 
 sitting by an elderly lady of dignified 
 appearance. On her other hand was an 
 empty chair, to which he immediately 
 advanced. She received him with a smile, 
 and said — 
 
 " I have been talking to my aunt about 
 Sellingham. This, is Mr. Sherborne, 
 auntie — my aunt. Lady Mary Oakes. She 
 suggests making a party to drive over and 
 picnic in the park." 
 
 "We have been intending to go for 
 quite a long time," said Lady Mary, " but 
 I thous^ht we would wait until Elizabeth 
 was with us. We must see what day will 
 suit your uncle, my dear. It is a pity 
 Gilbert is not at home ; he knows all about 
 it, and would have explained it all. He 
 is so good at anything of that kind." 
 
 " Yes ; but I dare say we shall find our 
 way," Elizabeth answered.
 
 AT A DINXER-PARTY. 55 
 
 '•And so you are Miss Sherborne's 
 brother ? " Lady Alary continued, turning* 
 again to Orlando. " How very nice, now, 
 happening to meet in this way ! I trust 
 your sister is very well ? " 
 
 '' Thank you, yes,'' said Orlando. 
 
 " And as pretty as ever, I suppose ? I 
 remember Elizabeth pointing her out to 
 us at Miss Maxwell's. I know we thought 
 her decidedly the prettiest girl in the 
 house." 
 
 Orlando glanced involuntarily at Eliza- 
 beth, but her face expressed no dissentient 
 claim. 
 
 " And are you making a long stay here ? 
 I trust w^e may have the pleasure of seeing 
 you at The Oaks. Isn't it odd, now, our 
 house happening to be called that ? It 
 was called The Oaks before we came into 
 the neighbourhood ; and really, as my 
 husband said, it could not have been 
 named more appropriately."
 
 56 ORLANDO. 
 
 She smiled so benignantly that Orlando- 
 was obliged to smile too. Then, returning 
 upon her original starting-point — as she 
 had a happy knack of doing — she pursued, 
 *' Let me see ; did you tell me how long 
 you would be here ? " 
 
 " Until the middle of next week, I think." 
 
 *' And you will remember The Oaks,. 
 won't you ? " 
 
 '' Thank you ; oh yes." 
 
 " And then we must arrange some day 
 for Sellingham, you know. Just a nice little 
 party. Let me see ; ourselves, and you,, 
 and young Rendell and his sister. Isn't she 
 another pretty girl, Mr. Sherborne ? Oh, 
 and of course we must ask Mr. Wheel- 
 wright. Now, Mr. Sherborne, of course 
 you can tell us — are they really engaged ? 
 You'll think me a terribly gossipping old 
 woman, I dare say ; but I assure you it is 
 only kindly gossip that I like. I'm always 
 pleased to hear of any good happening
 
 AT A DINNER-PARTY. 57 
 
 to anybody. Of course, if anything bad 
 should happen, it is as well to know that 
 too, because, if not, one might say the 
 wrong thing by mistake, you know." 
 
 " But I assure you that I am not at all 
 in Miss Rendell's confidence," said Orlando. 
 " I have no doubt you know a great deal 
 more about her than I do." 
 
 " Ah, now you are sarcastic ; as much as 
 to tell me that I am interfering. But I am 
 hardened, you know — quite hardened ; my 
 husband tells me that every day of my 
 life." 
 
 Orlando, with rather unnecessary vehe- 
 mence, protested his innocence of any sar- 
 castic meaning. ! 
 
 The vicar now came up. 
 
 " Miss Glendinning, I have been trying 
 to speak to you ever since we came in. 
 How are you, after the fatigues of your 
 fashionable life ? Delighted to welcome 
 you to Willingshurst once more." He
 
 SS ORLANDO. 
 
 smiled and shook hands with her. '' And 
 how is your cousin ? Away again, I 
 hear. What a wanderer he is ! You 
 should exert your influence to keep him 
 with us — you should, indeed." 
 
 " I am afraid I should rather use it to 
 o^et taken with him. His letters have 
 made us quite in love with Norway. If 
 only papa were equal to the fatigue of it, 
 I should enjoy nothing more than such a 
 trip." 
 
 In Orlando's mind ran the vaguest of 
 dreams that he might marry her and take 
 her thither. Nearer and more distinct lay 
 a jealous curiosity concerning this often- 
 mentioned cousin. 
 
 The vicar, rocking himself gently for- 
 ward and backward, replied, ''If your idea 
 of Norway is so bright a one, you would 
 do well to avoid verification ; for, you know 
 
 ' 'Tis distance lends enchantment to the view, 
 And paints yon heaven with its azure hue.'
 
 AT A DINNER-PARTY. 59 
 
 You might find many disadvantages upon 
 a nearer acquaintance." 
 
 '' Yes, very likely. I had better try and 
 think so, since I cannot go." 
 
 " Your cousin is Lady Mary's son ? " 
 said Orlando. 
 
 " Yes, her only son. I wish you had 
 met him ; everybody likes him," answered 
 Elizabeth, who was of course in happy 
 ignorance of Lawrence O'Brien's opinion. 
 
 Orlando, however, could not feel any 
 strong desire for Mr. Oakes s acquaintance. 
 It seemed decidedly preferable to imagine 
 him in Norway without Elizabeth, rather 
 than in Willingshurst with her. 
 
 '' My dear," said Lady Mary, laying her 
 hand on Elizabeth's, " Mrs. Warnham is so 
 anxious to hear you play that very pretty 
 thing of Schumann's that you played at her 
 house in the spring." 
 
 '' Oh, please, if you can remember it," 
 pleaded Mrs. Warnham from Lady Mary's 
 left.
 
 6o ORLANDO. 
 
 Elizabeth rose and went to the piano. 
 Orlando followed. Music was one of the 
 many points concerning which he was 
 fastidious ; a coarse or harsh performance 
 would have been a ^ shock from which his 
 young admiration might not, perhaps, have 
 recovered. He was not, however, put to 
 the test. Miss Glendinning's music was, 
 like herself, quite up to society's standard, 
 but in a line a little aside. In all her 
 words and acts she seemed to refer to some 
 private measure of her own, following the 
 customs round her 'with a difference.' 
 You felt that she followed them, not because 
 others did, but because they accorded with 
 her own Inner law, and were assured that 
 in a moment of emergency, intuition, not 
 imitation, would be her guide. So, though 
 she played the same music as her contem- 
 poraries, and with about the same degree 
 of skill, she did not play exactly as they 
 did. A music-master might have com-
 
 AT A DINNER-PARTY. 6 1 
 
 plained that her own thought shone through, 
 where she should have sought only to 
 convey the composer's, but to a lover s ear 
 the interpretation was all the sweeter for 
 breathing of herself. 
 
 As she rose from the piano, she was 
 absorbed into a group of ladies, and Orlando 
 could but watch her from afar. Nor did 
 he again hear her voice until she bade him 
 good night, and begged him to give her 
 love to rylillie when he should next write. 
 
 ''And you'll remember The Oaks, won't 
 you, Air. Sherborne ? " said Lady Mary, 
 nodding and smiling as she passed him. 
 
 Orlando, it need hardly be said, assured 
 her fervently that he w^ould. 
 
 Elizabeth, when she walked into her 
 uncle's house, saw a letter awaiting her. 
 A slight flush came into her cheek. She 
 took it up. The writing was unfamiliar ; 
 she was sure it must be Captain Grove's. 
 
 ** You saw your letter, Lizzie ? " said her
 
 62 ORLANDO. 
 
 uncle, as she came with her aunt and father 
 into the room where he was sitting. 
 
 "Yes, uncle, thank you," she answered. 
 But she did not open it. She held it in 
 her hand, beneath her cloak, and felt the 
 pulses of her fingers throb faster against it. 
 
 Alone in her own room she read it, the 
 slow^ red deepening in her face. It was 
 a letter of no special import. A woman,, 
 whose susceptibilities love had sharpened,, 
 might well have felt it cold. To Eliza- 
 beth the mere beginning and ending — 
 ' My dearest Elizabeth,' ' Yours ever, E. 
 Grove ' — breathed a warmth which almost 
 frightened her, and left her ashamed again 
 of being able to give so little in return. 
 
 And Orlando, meanwhile, was walking 
 up and down, sleepless, pausing now and 
 again to watch the slow^ travelling of the 
 moon, and haunted by a wailing melody of 
 Schumann's. 
 
 Truly, Destiny stands by, sarcastic.
 
 63 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 ANTIQUITIES. 
 
 " My love and I went hand in hand. 
 All under the green trees ; 
 The little birds in all the land 
 Were singing melodies. 
 
 " And in their singing, all the birds, 
 Meseemed, did but say. 
 How man, Avith all his deeds and words, 
 Doth quickly pass away ! " 
 
 A New Ga7-land of Poesy. 
 
 Orlando, in his blindness, was of opinion 
 that Destiny — the mocker — was particu- 
 larly favourable to him. Had she not 
 o-ranted a link of interest between him and 
 Elizabeth ? Had she not caused Eliza- 
 beth's aunt to smile upon him, and — 
 sweetest thought of all [—permitted the
 
 64 ORLANDO. 
 
 prospect of a happy day together at 
 Sellingham ? And happy indeed it was ; 
 a day to be looked back upon with tender 
 regret; sanctified by the memory, not of 
 events, but of tranquilHty. 
 
 His way led him through Shrubb's 
 Wood. At one point of the path, he 
 paused. Here he had seen Elizabeth, a 
 week ago to-day. How far off and dim 
 seemed now the vaoue lookinors onward 
 upon which her presence broke ! — as far 
 away, he thought, as a man's recollected 
 childhood. The very world he walked in 
 was altered by the knowledge that she was 
 in it. He knelt and gathered a leaf or 
 two of grass from the place where he had 
 lain. Some day, he thought, he might 
 show them to her, and tell her how she 
 had come upon his life like a bright dawn. 
 He was but one and twenty, recollect, and 
 was alone. The action, which has a touch 
 of the comic when it comes to be openly
 
 ANTIQUITIES. 65 
 
 recorded, wears a different significance to 
 youth and solitude. Not that Orlando 
 reflected upon the character of his action 
 at all. He shut the green blades into his 
 pocket-book and followed the path by 
 which she had gone. The sky was clear 
 above him ; the intensity of its blue had 
 begun to turn towards the paleness of 
 autumn, and the first autumn leaves were 
 beginning to change too, and to fall. A 
 soft breeze stirred in the warm air, and 
 lifted the scent of the second hay-crop 
 over the hedges. 
 
 Within the gates of The Oaks he 
 met Major Glendinning, slowly pacing the 
 lawn. Together, they passed through a 
 long window into the drawing-room, where 
 Lady Mary, her niece, and her two little 
 girls, were waiting. The group was one in 
 which a good portrait-painter might have 
 rejoiced. A strong likeness ran through 
 the four faces. Elizabeth's was the perfect 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 66 ORLANDO. 
 
 type, whose fine lines had a httle lost their 
 clefiniteness in her aunt, and were yet in- 
 completely developed in her cousins. The 
 cousins were handsome children, slightly 
 built, tall, and of a bright fairness. They 
 were dressed alike. Orlando took them 
 to be twins, and was puzzled all day by 
 the difficulty of deciding which was Ida 
 and which was Maud. 
 
 Lady Mary received him with her usual 
 flow of amiable, if not very original, discourse. 
 
 " What a delicious day, isn't it ? As I 
 said to my husband, we could not have 
 had a finer, if we had been able to choose. 
 Maudie dear, do get your papa to come in 
 from his grapes. My husband is so de- 
 voted to his gardening, Mr. Sherborne — it 
 is quite a passion with him. And here 
 comes Miss Rendell. So pleased to see 
 you, my dear. And how is your mother ? 
 Mr. Wheelwright is keeping us all waiting. 
 How very improper ! Ah ! here you are.
 
 ANTIQUITIES. 67 
 
 George. And I see Mr. Wheelwright on 
 the lawn. Now we are all ready. If only- 
 Gilbert could be here, to complete the 
 party ! Oh, thank you, Mr. Rendell. Yes, 
 it is my parasol. Thank you ; I certainly 
 should have left it behind. The wag- 
 gonette is ready, isn't it, George ? " 
 
 Orlando had drawn as near as he could 
 to Elizabeth, but her attention was occu- 
 pied by Miss Rendell, whose arm she now 
 drew, smilingly, through her own. He 
 followed them down the path, debating in 
 his mind the question whether it was more 
 desirable to sit next to the lady of your 
 admiration, or opposite to her. At dinner, 
 no doubt, it was advantageous to sit next 
 her, but how in a waggonette, wTth no 
 intervening barrier of dinner-table ? He 
 might, however, have spared himself so 
 much consideration, for when the time 
 came, no choice remained to him of sitting 
 at Miss Glendinning's side. He found
 
 68 ORLANDO. 
 
 himself placed opposite to her, and Imme- 
 diately concluded, first, that this situation 
 was the best, and next, that he had never 
 at all appreciated her beauty until now. 
 Hers was not one of the faces in which 
 the tone of colouring is the most Im- 
 pressive characteristic. These, however 
 striking, are seldom, I think, the most 
 enduringly irresistible. The completely 
 fascinating^ faces are those which, like the 
 marbles of antiquity, leave no certain im- 
 pression of dark or light in hair or eyes ; 
 and are endowed, like them, with the 
 jDower of presenting both aspects. Eliza- 
 beth Glendlnnlng's was a face of this kind. 
 In bright sunshine, or beneath a glare of 
 pas, her hair would take all the wonderful 
 golden lights and liquid shadows of fair- 
 ness, and her eyes would glance up sud- 
 denly with a bright transparency of depth 
 which left you in assurance of their blue- 
 ness. But In another mood, or beneath
 
 ANTIQUITIES. 69 
 
 another light, the framing waves of hair 
 were as dark as the shadows that fall on a 
 sunny day, and her deep eyes were like 
 those of a southern painter s saint. 
 
 No very distinct conversation was kept 
 up. The pleasant influences of sky, air, 
 and rapid motion brought on a serene, 
 silent content. Lady ]\Iary, indeed, main- 
 tained a gentle monologue, and Ida and 
 Maudie exchanged little calls on each 
 other's attention, which had something of 
 the charm, and after a time somethinof of 
 the monotony, of the chirping of two birds. 
 Orlando, perhaps, enjoyed the drive most, 
 having the gift of that deejD love of nature 
 which is like in kind to the love of music. 
 And to-day the enjoyment was, as it 
 were, transfigured by the companionship 
 of Elizabeth. 
 
 As they went on, the day grew hotter, 
 the road whiter, and the edges of the 
 shadows sharper. At last the high-road,
 
 70 ORLANDO. 
 
 with Its atmosphere of reflected heat, gave 
 place to the shade and greenness of the 
 park. A halt was made, a place chosen 
 for luncheon, and luncheon Itself fixed for 
 three-quarters of an hour later. Mean- 
 while the party divided, and spread In 
 twos and threes about the shady slopes. 
 
 The two little cousins hovered round 
 Elizabeth. 
 
 " There's a lake down here, Cousin 
 Lizzie." 
 
 *' Cousin Lizzie, come with us, won't 
 you ? " 
 
 She turned away accordingly, followed 
 by her pair of golden-haired satellites. 
 Orlando, hastening to join the nearer of 
 the children, asked — 
 
 " Ls It a pretty lake ? " 
 
 " Oh yes, lovely," she answered, looking 
 up with the pretty, childish face that was 
 an immature copy of Elizabeth's. " And 
 there are swans in It, and we have some
 
 ANTIQUITIES. J I 
 
 bread for them. Shouldn't you Hke to see 
 them ? " 
 
 " Ver}^ much indeed;" said Orlando. 
 
 For a few moments the little girl walked 
 sedately by his side, until a call from her 
 sister invited her to race down the bank. 
 She flew off, and Orlando, quickening his 
 pace a little, came up with Miss Glendin- 
 ning. They were on a steep, grassy slope, 
 bordered below by trees, and between the 
 trees shone the crleams of water. The hill- 
 side was rather slippery ; Elizabeth called 
 to the children to take care. 
 
 "Will yotc not take my hand?" asked 
 Orlando. 
 
 She shook her head, and, with a smile, 
 refused. 
 
 A yard or so lower down, he himself 
 slipped, and had a moment's difficulty in 
 regaining his footing. Miss Glendinning 
 caught his wrist. Both laughed, and she 
 said, lightly, " If I had trusted to you, you 
 would have pulled me down."
 
 72 ORLANDO. 
 
 " No ; I should have been more careful, 
 if I had felt you depending on me." 
 
 She smiled approvingly upon the quick 
 answer, almost as apt as one of Captain 
 Groves, and thought in herself how 
 pleasant a manner this brother of Millie's 
 had. 
 
 They came down upon a path which 
 rounded the lake. Trees arched above 
 them, and pushed their rough roots through 
 the shifting soil ; the lake rippled and 
 glimmered on their left, and the children 
 flitted to and fro between the lights and 
 shadows, like butterflies. The path sloped 
 slightly upwards, leaving an ever-heighten- 
 ing bank between itself and the lake. To 
 Orlando's fancy it took a momentary 
 parable-likeness to the whole of life. 
 
 '' I feel as if we were walking in an 
 allegory," he said to Elizabeth. 
 
 She scarcely understood ; her face asked 
 for clearer exposition.
 
 ANTIQUITIES. ']'^ 
 
 " Here is our path of life, leading we 
 can't quite see where ; on each side of us 
 we can't quite see what, and above us a 
 sky that we can only see bits of, between 
 the branches." 
 
 Elizabeth rather liked the simile, and 
 carried it on. 
 
 ''In the spring, before the leaves came, 
 we could have seen more of it — and that 
 was the time of flowers, too ; and in the 
 winter, when they are gone again, it will 
 be most plainly visible of all. And what 
 are we ? " 
 
 " The typical man and woman, perhaps," 
 Orlando ventured to su^Sfest. 
 
 ''No, now you are out of the line of 
 allegor}\ There should be three charac- 
 ters : the good spirit, the bad spirit, and 
 the soul between. The typical man and 
 woman belong to a different era alto- 
 gether." 
 
 Orlando kept his next fancy to himself.
 
 74 ORT.ANDO. 
 
 The children had momentarily disappeared 
 from sight, and it was as if he and his 
 companion were the only inhabitants of 
 this green island, cut off by the waters of 
 the lake from the rest of the world. Pre- 
 sently, a rustle and a white motion on the 
 water drew their eyes that way. Ida came 
 into sight, clapping her hands and crying, 
 ''Oh, the swans!" 
 
 She pushed her way through the bushes 
 to the lake's immediate edge. The others 
 followed. Here was a little space of grass, 
 treacherously thick and green. An old 
 willow, whose low-branching stems had left 
 a nest in their midst, offered a safer plat- 
 form. Among the slender, outgrowing 
 branches, dipped and floated a moored 
 boat ; and the leisurely swans sat, white, 
 upon the surface of the water, the sun 
 gleaming from their slowly stirring wings. 
 The children were among the willow stems 
 in a moment. Elizabeth, stepping lightly
 
 ANTIQUITIES. 75 
 
 to a level just below them, laid a hand on 
 each, and bade them take care. 
 
 " Oh. Elizabeth, the swans won't see us [ 
 Look, they don't come to the crumbs a bit. 
 It is these nasty little willows in the water. 
 We can't get to the real lake." 
 
 ** I wish we could eet into the boat." 
 
 "/ could, if somebody would hold me. 
 I could walk along the branch and drop. 
 Do, Elizabeth, let us." 
 
 " The boat would plop down when you 
 jumped in," said the sager Maudie. 
 
 '' Let me," said Orlando. '' I could reach 
 the cord of the boat from where you are 
 standing. I think that would be safe, Miss 
 Glendinning." 
 
 Ida scrambled back from her place 
 above the water, and Orlando, giving his 
 hat into her charge, went cautiously for- 
 ward, drew the boat nearer, and swung 
 himself into it. " Now, Miss Ida, if you 
 can walk along the branch, I can lift you 
 down."
 
 76 ORLANDO. 
 
 The manceuvre was accomplished, and 
 the children successfully handed from 
 Elizabeth in the tree to Orlando in the 
 boat. Elizabeth, being invited to follow, 
 declined to venture, and remained sitting 
 in the willow, looking like a modernized 
 tree- nymph. 
 
 " I wish I could paint," she said, pre- 
 sently, as she sat watching the group 
 below : Ida standing, steadied by Orlando's 
 hand, throwing her bread with an eager 
 sweep of the arm ; Maudie seated, and 
 making, with less demonstration, a longer 
 cast ; between them Orlando, bareheaded, 
 the sun falling full upon his pleasant, 
 dark- tinted face, and bringing brown lights 
 into his dark hair. 
 
 The swans had drawn doubtfully nearer, 
 and took the bread from as far off as they 
 could. Soon the supply was at end, but 
 the children were not yet tired of their 
 situation. They saw some forget-me-nots.
 
 ANTIQUITIES. 
 
 / / 
 
 Could not the boat be drawn towards 
 them ? How was it there were no sculls ? 
 Orlando, leaning out to reach a distant 
 boueh, Avith a full consciousness that he 
 would ver)^ possibly overbalance, drew the 
 boat's head towards the bank. Four eager 
 little hands thrust themselves among the 
 myosotis leaves, and drew back, startled 
 by the drop and plunge of a water-rat. 
 When their courage had returned, and all 
 the blue blossoms had fallen before them, 
 Orlando relaxed his hold, and the boat 
 swung slowly round, and lay oscillating in 
 its former place. But now Maudie com- 
 plained that the rocking made her giddy, 
 and Ida caught sight of a bush of black- 
 berries, as large and full as blackberries 
 are observed to become in marshy places. 
 A re-ascent was therefore made ; the chil- 
 dren gave their flowers to Elizabeth's care, 
 and scampered away to the new attraction 
 of the blackberries. Orlando swung him-
 
 yS ORLANDO. 
 
 self up, took back his hat, and seated 
 himself beside her, with a feeling that the 
 world could offer nothing pleasanter than 
 this. 
 
 Elizabeth, too, was quite satisfied. As 
 she sat thus, among these peaceful sur- 
 roundings, her own future seemed tranquil 
 too. She was not imaginative, nor deeply 
 introspective. She did not anxiously com- 
 pare her own nature and Captain Grove s ; 
 she accepted what had come to her, easily, 
 and felt a quiet, unanalyzed trust that the 
 future would be acceptable in the same 
 manner. Of Orlando, except, perhaps, as 
 a figure in the background, her thoughts 
 took no reckoning at all. How strange 
 a revelation would the heart of each have 
 been to the other ! For she, in his, was 
 not only the foremost, but the only figure. 
 He was at the sweetest point of life's 
 development — the first bloom of con- 
 sciously awaking love. The question of
 
 ANTIQUITIES. 79 
 
 his love's return had hardly as yet begun 
 to trouble him. Without making clear the 
 feeling to himself, he vaguely trusted that 
 a power which had been strong enough to 
 alter the whole aspect of his world would 
 be stronof enouo^h also to work out its own 
 completion. The notion of Elizabeth's 
 engagement to another man would have 
 seemed a monstrous dislocation of nature's 
 order. 
 
 They sat thus, side by side, nursing 
 each a thought whose utterance would 
 have fallen like a thunderbolt among the 
 thoughts of the other ; happy and un- 
 conscious, breathing a pleasant atmosphere 
 of ignorantly sympathetic liking. 
 
 The children came back from their 
 blackberry bush, and the four took their 
 way together to the place of luncheon. 
 Elizabeth was at once busy in the opening 
 and unpacking of baskets. Orlando found 
 himself in attendance on Lady Mary ;
 
 8o ORLANDO. 
 
 there was no time for intimate talk, or even 
 for sustained observation. The meal had 
 the pleasant individuality, the petty mis- 
 haps, and impromptu expedients which 
 give a charm to such occasions. Slight 
 witticisms, ready laughter, and happy- 
 sounding voices rose on the summer air, 
 and floated under the green arches of 
 softly stirring shade. 
 
 Orlando sat tranquilly by Elizabeth, 
 w^atchlng the serene beauty of her face, and 
 beginning to have hopes that his vicinity 
 was acceptable to her. As luncheon came 
 to an end, the plan of the afternoon was 
 discussed. The Roman remains. It ap- 
 peared, were situated about half-way be- 
 tween the park and the village of Selling- 
 ham. The key would have to be inquired 
 for in the village, which lay on a well-kept 
 carriage road ; but the villa was to be 
 reached more easily by a footpath. The 
 party therefore divided ; Lady Mary and
 
 ANTIQUITIES. 8 1 
 
 her brother-in-law driving to the village, 
 while the others went, on foot, in search 
 of the Roman villa. The field-way by 
 which they went was narrow, and often 
 rugged. Orlando could not have the joy 
 of walking at Miss Glendinning's side ; he 
 had to content himself with following her, 
 watching the grace of her motion, and 
 hearing, from time to time, the music of her 
 voice. Mr. Oakes walked just before her, 
 maintaining a botanical discussion, and, 
 every few minutes, quitting the path to 
 come and walk on the rousfh field at her 
 side, while he held up some fresh -gathered 
 specimen for inspection. The energy with 
 which he spoke when such subjects were 
 under debate, was to Orlando the opening 
 of a side-door into an unsuspected store- 
 house — a glimpse of the private study, 
 which, alone, in the conventionally well- 
 furnished house was allowed to retain a 
 character of its own. 
 
 VOL. I. " G
 
 82 ORLANDO. 
 
 When the path had left behind It three 
 or four fields and a due complement of 
 stiles, Mr. Oakes, turning, announced, 
 '' This must be the place ; we must go up 
 here, to the right." 
 
 Everybody looked that way. In a 
 sloping field stood a little group of flint 
 and brick built huts. A gate and path 
 gave access to them. At the gate they 
 paused, for Major Glendlnning and Lady- 
 Mary, with the key, w^ere not yet in sight. 
 Before them, as they rested against the 
 gate, stretched a wide landscape, rising' 
 softly to the far, blue hills. It was a fer- 
 tile land ; green pastures, and fields yellow 
 w^ith ripened corn, lay defined by lines 
 of dividing hedgerow. Scattered farms 
 showed white ao^ainst their encirclinof 
 orchards ; the sunshine twinkled on smooth 
 slopes of hayrick, and at one point the 
 eilded arrow on the stable of a dove-cote 
 caught and threw back a line of golden
 
 ANTIQUITIES. 83 
 
 light. In Orlando's memory rang, as they 
 had rung all the afternoon, the words of 
 that companion of Marmion, who, 
 
 ' Making demi-volte in air, 
 Cried, " Where's the coward would not dare 
 To fight for such a land ? " ' 
 
 Turning, and passing through the gate, 
 they had before them the four or five bare 
 huts, standing, mysterious, in the unculti- 
 vated patch of field. In bleak hill dis- 
 tricts you may come on many a barn or 
 storehouse standing up thus, bare from 
 the ground, unfenced, and built of flints 
 or bricks pressed into a groundwork of 
 plaster. Any one familiar with them will 
 remember the peculiar sense of desolation 
 belonging to such spots, and can understand 
 the faint reflex of it cast, now, upon the 
 beholders by this change of scene. They 
 walked on, slowly. From the wall of the 
 hut immediately before them nodded a 
 climbing rose tree — a rose tree which had
 
 84 ORLANDO. 
 
 been planted and partly trained, and which 
 retained the many-petalled blossom of the 
 cultivated stock, but was verging towards 
 the pale colour and the too rapid falling 
 of its wilder kindred. Arthur tried the 
 door, but found it locked. A longer hut 
 at the side of the footpath appeared to 
 possess no door, but had two or three 
 rough steps where grass grew up be- 
 tween the bricks. 
 
 '' We might as well sit down ; don't you 
 think so ? " said Elizabeth. 
 
 Her uncle seated himself at her side. 
 Orlando stood by, unwilling to take the 
 sole remaining place. But Miss Rendell, 
 accompanied by Mr. Wheelwright, , turned 
 towards a stile some few yards further on, 
 while the children, discovering, round the 
 corner of the hut, a second set of steps, 
 established themselves there with Arthur, 
 and bursts of laughter presently gave 
 evidence that they were well amused.
 
 ANTIQUITIES. 85 
 
 Orlando, therefore, was able, with a clear 
 conscience, to seat himself at Miss Glen- 
 dinning's side, and sat listening, with grave 
 attention, to her uncle's disquisition on the 
 flora of the neiQ:hbourhood. She had 
 fixed the bunch of forget-me-nots in the 
 front of her dress ; Orlando Avatched them 
 rise and fall at every breath. Years after- 
 wards, he could recall their outline, their 
 colour, the droop of the fading leaves. 
 
 Presently, the voice of Lady Mary was 
 heard. They rose to meet her. She was 
 in active conversation with a quiet, middle- 
 aged woman who had come to act as 
 guide. Major Glendinning followed, blow- 
 ing a blue cloud from his cigarette. The 
 children came up, curious and impatient. 
 Miss Rendell and Mr. Wheelwright more 
 slowly followed. 
 
 They were admitted to one of the 
 buildings, which was perhaps twenty feet 
 square. Compared with the sunshine
 
 86 ORLANDO. 
 
 without, the interior was dark and cool. 
 The walls were bare ; the roof showed its 
 dusty rafters and the under surface of its 
 thatch. But the floor was in odd contrast 
 with these rough surroundings. The 
 large central square, kept from incautious 
 feet by a wooden railing, was occupied by 
 a mosaic pavement, wrought in white and 
 black, pale red and bluish grey. The 
 colours, the design, and the even surface 
 were, in most parts, as well preserved as if 
 it had been the modern floor-cloth to which 
 Maudie likened it. They stood, bent over 
 the slight fence, looking down in silence. 
 A deep geometrical pattern made the 
 border ; within, were bands and divisions, 
 variously wrought with figures, flowers, 
 animals, or strangle, interlacincr devices. 
 
 " These are Cupids ; this is supposed to 
 be a dancing nymph ; these, you see, are 
 gladiators," said the show-woman. 
 
 Orlando stood with his eyes fixed on
 
 ANTIQUITIES. 8/ 
 
 the gladiators — little grotesque figures In 
 whom size and material forbade very strict 
 adherence to the lines of the human form, 
 yet endowed with a vitality and individu- 
 ality which brought the scene forcibly to 
 mind. Opposite, leaned i\IIss Rendell 
 with her lover, and their hands, hidden in 
 the folds of her dress, sought each other. 
 
 '' When was this discovered ? " inquired 
 Mr. Oakes. 
 
 ''In 1811, sir. It was always known 
 that there had been Roman buildings 
 hereabout ; they used to come on the walls 
 in ploughing, and, one day, the plough 
 struck on the pavement, and they dug- 
 down, and brought it all to light. You can 
 see the place where the plough struck." 
 
 She pointed to a gap, which looked like 
 a torn hole in a carpet. The scene rose 
 before the eyes of all : the men ploughing, 
 the autumn sky, the cornfield, the sudden 
 shock and jar, the straining horses, the
 
 88 ORLANDO. 
 
 rending earth, the Httle blocks of coloured 
 stone scattered up ; then the pause, the 
 horses standing, the dim wonder of the 
 men, the momentary touching of old and 
 new. Orlando, glancing round, saw that 
 the walls rested upon thicker, stone-built 
 remnants. Beneath the same roof was 
 enclosed a smaller square of pavement, 
 belonging, doubtless, to some antechamber 
 or vestibule. Between the two were 
 ranged short lengths of broken columns, 
 erect or lying, according to the extent of 
 their breakaofe. 
 
 " The whole villa covered four acres ; 
 they are always turning up bits of the 
 pipes, and bones, and what not. You see 
 those square pipes — flues like — run right 
 away under, and they are all in that kind 
 of half-baked clay, with that same pattern 
 scratched on." 
 
 They came out again into the sunshine, 
 crossed a patch of grass, and entered a
 
 ANTIQUITIES. 89 
 
 second building. This was larger ; the 
 designs, too, were on a more extensive 
 scale. At one end was an octangular basin, 
 with the hole still left in the centre whence 
 a fountain once had sprung. At the other 
 end, between two jDeacocks, was a circular 
 medallion, enclosing a more than life-sized 
 face. By some strange irony of chance, 
 its colours Avere as clear, its surface as 
 smooth, as if the mosaic had been laid but 
 yesterday. The fixed eyes gazed up at 
 them, one brow a little raised ; the mouth's 
 proud curve of half smile had a lifelike 
 inequality. It was impossible not to ima- 
 gine in it some weird, self-contemplative 
 existence. 
 
 '' This is supposed to be Juno," said the 
 woman. 
 
 ''Ah, of course ; there are the peacocks," 
 observed Orlando, turning to Miss Glen- 
 dinning. 
 
 Her eyes were fixed upon Juno's ; the
 
 90 ORLANDO. 
 
 involuntary imitation which grows of self- 
 forgetful attention had called into her face 
 a similar expression. He did not, then, or 
 soon afterwards, feel that the moment had 
 stamped itself ineffaceably, but after a 
 long interval its impression returned and 
 haunted him. 
 
 They came, next, to the long hut without 
 a door, on the steps of which they had 
 rested. Two feet or so above the topmost 
 step was a square window-hole, closed 
 by wooden shutters. These their guide 
 threw back, and, standing on the step, they 
 looked in by twos and threes. At first the 
 view within was very obscure. Only a 
 space beneath the opening was clearly 
 visible. Vague darkness shrouded the 
 main part of the hut, and lurked, thick, in 
 its distant corners. The opening of a 
 second similar window on the opposite 
 side, however, let in a broad stream of 
 light upon the soiled and defaced pave-
 
 ANTIQUITIES. 9 1 
 
 ment. Only fragments were here left 
 distinct, but they were the most artistic 
 and original of any. In one place lay a 
 little heap of worn-edged bones. Orlando 
 and Miss Glendinning were among the 
 last to take their turn. As they leaned, 
 side by side, on the ledge, looking down 
 upon an old man's head, white-haired and 
 muffled — a winter left alone of the four 
 seasons — the hut was darkened. Liftine 
 their eyes to the bright square opposite, 
 they saw it half filled by the faces of the 
 children. The golden light streamed 
 through their golden hair, the soft colour- 
 ing of their cheeks gained a finer delicacy 
 from the nearness of the rou^h-cast walls. 
 Beside them peeped and fluttered a spray 
 of pale, full-blossomed roses. Behind 
 them, a cloudless background, lay the sky, 
 and in front, the dark shed with the broken 
 Roman pavement and the heap of bones. 
 Never was sermon in stones more elo- 
 quently preached.
 
 92 ORLANDO. 
 
 " Look ! " said Orlando, sofdy. 
 
 Elizabeths eyes followed his, and his 
 thought reflected itself in hers. 
 
 Looking in, presently, from the other 
 side, they saw, among much that was irre- 
 coverably marred, one panel clean as if 
 newly washed. It bore no pattern, but 
 instead, the two irregularly placed initials 
 ^* R.' What was their meaning ? Were 
 they the artist's, or the owner s ? They 
 looked, and guessed in vain, taking back 
 their thoughts to the time when Rome 
 stood like a rabbit-burrowed bank, solid 
 to the eye, but crumbling away, within ; 
 to days when, perhaps, Lucretius was still 
 questioning the earth, and early Christians, 
 as they went serenely to their death, were 
 comforted by the nearness of a founder to 
 whose very voice ears yet alive had listened. 
 And now remained only the inarticulate 
 ' I- R.' hidden so long beneath an English 
 field, and brought to light, at last, for
 
 ANTIQUITIES. 93 
 
 English eyes to gaze down upon and 
 wonder at, for a few minutes, and turn 
 away from, and forget. Elizabeth, before 
 she turned away, lifted her face for an 
 instant to the sky. The surroundings, the 
 races of men, the very forms of the land, 
 had changed ; but the Roman, looking up 
 from the setting of his last block, had 
 looked to a sky like this which her mute 
 gaze claimed as a link between them. 
 Orlando observing, silent as she was 
 silent, felt the action as the very seal of 
 mental union, the assurance of a sympathy 
 only to be compared with that of two 
 instruments tuned to one pitch. Upon the 
 solemnity of his mood descended a mel- 
 lowing serenity — a calm, deep happiness, 
 too full for mirthfulness or many words. 
 There was but little more to see. A smaller 
 hut, lying apart, covered a singularly perfect 
 and beautiful Medusa, but the face had not 
 the lifelikeness of Juno's. The impres-
 
 94 ORLANDO. 
 
 slon which it produced was comparatively 
 pale. The objects already looked upon, 
 the contrast of living youth with the 
 dead past, the inscrutable ' ^- R.,' had 
 raised a train of thought into which the 
 Medusa merely fitted, filling up a corner. 
 Perhaps, if this had been the spot first 
 visited, the process might have been 
 reversed. 
 
 Again Orlando and Elizabeth, coming 
 last from the previous hut, were the last to 
 look In. The others were returning to the 
 first room. 
 
 '' Why are they going back ? " Orlando 
 asked, with a little surprise. 
 
 On following, the answer was easy to be 
 found. A rough table and chair, an open 
 book, pen and ink, waited for the names of 
 visitors. 
 
 From a solidly fashioned cupboard were 
 brought out a blackened dagger and a 
 broken vase or two. On a shelf below lay
 
 ANTIQUITIES. 95 
 
 some dozen of books whose register was 
 filled up ; lower still were some thigh and 
 arm bones, and the skull of an elk. Eliza- 
 beth, when she had viewed these relics, 
 went to the table. Orlando, presently, fol- 
 lowed. She tried the pen, looked at it 
 suspiciously, dried it on a scrap of blotting- 
 paper, dipped it and tried again ; then drew 
 the inkstand nearer, examined its depths, 
 and shook her head. 
 
 ** If these books are to be kept as speci- 
 mens, the next generation will not give us 
 a good character for handwriting." 
 
 She yielded her place and the pen to 
 Orlando, whose eyes fastened eagerly upon 
 the shining autograph. An unbiassed 
 judgment might have seen in it little 
 beyond the typical handwriting of the time, 
 disfigured by the influences of a pen that 
 was too thin, and ink that was too thick. 
 Orlando, however, discerned in it some- 
 thing of its writers peculiar charm. He
 
 96 ORLANDO. 
 
 set his own name beneath, rejoicing at the 
 proximity ; then, with a last look back at 
 the pavement, passed out into the sunny 
 outer world.
 
 ( 97 ) 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 IX A DRAWING-ROOM. 
 
 " Vous chantiez ? J 'en suis fort aise ; 
 Eh bien ! Dansez maintenant." 
 
 La Fontaine, 
 
 The waggonette had been temporarily 
 abandoned, for the sake of wandering 
 through a wood. Arthur, who had hitherto 
 been a Httle in the background, was now 
 making amends to himself by leading the 
 way with Miss Glendinning. Miss Rendell 
 and Mr. Wheelwright were out of sight, 
 exploring a narrow side-path which was 
 reported to come in again farther along. 
 The children were skipping hither and 
 thither, according to their wont, while the 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 gS ORLANDO. 
 
 remaining four walked sedately, two and 
 two, enjoying the pure air and the perfume 
 of the fir trees, with which, as in a fabric of 
 two colours, mingled the duller scent of the 
 bracken. Orlando walked at Lady Mary's 
 side, listening and answering, easily. His 
 eyes followed the motions of Elizabeth, 
 and he felt a serene, perfect content. At 
 the end of the wood, they reached a gate. 
 Beyond, lay a wide expanse of fields, their 
 gentle downward and stronger upward 
 slopes ending, against the sky, in a soft, 
 boldly sweeping line of hills. Here the 
 lovers reappeared, Arthur and Elizabeth 
 stopped, and the divided groups melted 
 into one. The lights of sunset were begin- 
 ning to spread across the sky. Miss 
 Rendell was saying something to her 
 brother of this being their nearest way 
 home. 
 
 •' But, my dear, you don't want to go 
 home," interposed Lady Mary. '' Of co7trsc
 
 IN A DRAWING-ROOM. 99 
 
 you are all coming back with us. I counted 
 upon it. Oh yes, I quite took it for granted. 
 We are s^oine to have an unceremonious 
 dinner-tea at half-past seven. I don't know 
 what hours you London people keep, but 
 six is our dinner-time here in Willingshurst, 
 Mr. Sherborne. And then I thought we 
 might have a little music. Oh, you really 
 must." 
 
 Everybody said, " Oh, thank you ; " and 
 the thanks of Orlando, at least, were sincere. 
 
 " That is settled, then," said Mr. Oakes. 
 " The next question is — shall we go along 
 the fields here to the waofo^onette, or shall 
 we turn back through the wood ? " 
 
 " The Avood we know : what are the 
 merits of the fields ? " inquired his brother- 
 in-law. 
 
 " Well, you escape going back the same 
 way." 
 
 " I don't quite know that that is an 
 advantage when the first way was so
 
 lOO ORLANDO. 
 
 pleasant," Mr. Wheelwright remarked, 
 looking across the open fields with some 
 disparagement. 
 
 "Are there not stiles by the field-way, 
 George ? " asked Lady Mary, solemnly. 
 
 '* I think it very likely. But the thing 
 is, Zostera 7iana has been found not far 
 from the stepping-stones in the brook." 
 
 *' Stepping-stones ! My dear George, 
 you don't expect me to cross stepping- 
 stones ? " 
 
 '' I remember once carrying you across 
 some," her husband began ; but she, reso- 
 lutely shaking her head, interrupted — 
 
 ** Yes, when I was seventeen, and 
 weighed seven stone. (I did indeed, Eliza- 
 beth.) I should not like you to try, now. 
 But you go down that way, if you want to 
 find your Zostera. Only I know you will 
 get your feet wet, and have rheumatism." 
 
 " So you will, papa," said Maudie, with 
 the drollest echo of her mother.
 
 IN A DRAWING-ROOM. lOI 
 
 *' You monkey ! you want to come with 
 
 me. 
 
 " Well, papa," put In Ida, '' you know that 
 it would make you go much more carefully 
 if we were with you. You see, if you got 
 your own feet wet, you could not scold us." 
 
 " And either consummation Is equally 
 devoutly to be wished — eh ? Well, well ! 
 Come, then, you children, and we will keep 
 the feet dry if we can." 
 
 The others turned slowly from the gate, 
 and Orlando found an opportunity of 
 joining Arthur and Miss Glendinning. 
 
 They were speaking of Ida and Maudie. 
 Miss Glendinning was saying, in answer to 
 some remark of his, " Yes ; a natural com- 
 panionship like that is a great advantage 
 — and sometimes a great trouble. I used 
 to wonder, at school, how some of the girls 
 who had sisters seemed to value each other 
 so little. It was quite a proverb that 
 nobody quarrelled except sisters."
 
 102 ORLANDO. 
 
 ** It takes a certain degree of friendship 
 even to quarrel/' suggested Orlando. 
 
 "Yes, perhaps. I never thought of it 
 in that way." 
 
 "And you don't like people a bit the 
 worse for quarrelling with them, you 
 know," added Arthur. 
 
 " I think that / should," said Miss Glen- 
 dinning. " But It was not only that they 
 quarrelled. So often they seemed to think 
 that a sister was a kind of natural enemy, 
 a person whom you had to hold your own 
 against very jealously, and towards whom 
 you had no need to be polite or con- 
 siderate." 
 
 " I have seen that with brothers at 
 school," remarked Orlando. 
 
 "And we, who had no sister, should have 
 been so glad of one. I suppose children 
 who have not one always think that." 
 
 " I don't think you would have quar- 
 relled with your sister," said Arthur.
 
 IN A DRAWING-ROOM. 103 
 
 *' I hope not. Ida and jMaudle don't 
 quarrel." 
 
 " Did Millie at all fill the place to you ? " 
 asked Orlando, looking up. 
 
 " ^lore nearly than any one else," Eliza- 
 beth answered, gently. She would not say 
 to Alillle's brother that Millie had rather 
 required the offices of a sister than been 
 willing to fulfil them. 
 
 " She was solitary too, wasn't she ? " 
 
 ''Yes ; only Millie had a brother. But, 
 then, I had my cousin, who has been as 
 much to me as many girls' brothers are. 
 I wonder whether boys feel the same 
 solitariness when they have not a brother?" 
 
 " I think it is a much o-reater loss to a 
 
 o 
 
 man, you know, to be without sisters," said 
 Arthur, preparing the way for a compli- 
 ment. 
 
 " I suppose it depends," said Orlando, 
 answering Elizabeth. " I know I never 
 did. But, then, my father filled up every 
 gap."
 
 I04 ORLANDO. 
 
 " Ah ! " said Elizabeth, almost enviously. 
 Her thoughts rested upon the happy re- 
 lation of such a father and son. His tone 
 suggested complete unity and mutual trust. 
 She wished it could be so with her. Thus 
 far, It had been her lot, in all her friendships, 
 to be the stronger. Only from Gilbert had 
 she known anything of the comfort of 
 equal companionship, and Gilbert was In 
 Norway. There was not in her mind any 
 hope of gaining such friendship from 
 Orlando. He was the brother of Millie, 
 ranked upon the same level as one younger 
 — more likely to need than to render aid. 
 Then she thought of a secret and cherished 
 wish of Gilbert's, and her glance alighted 
 upon her companion with a questioning 
 expression difficult to define exactly. 
 
 Orlando, feeling her eyes upon him, 
 raised his own. Their looks met ; hers 
 scrutinizing, his inquiring mutely the cause 
 of this scrutiny.
 
 IX A DRAWING-ROOM. IO5 
 
 *' I wish you and Gilbert knew each 
 other." 
 
 Orlando, musing afterwards upon the 
 words, found in them some ground of en- 
 couragement. Her next words, too, might, 
 he thought, bear a hopeful interpretation. 
 
 " How soon are you going away ? " 
 
 " On Friday, unfortunately." 
 
 "Ah! I am sorry." 
 
 "So am I," Orlando answered, in a 
 heartfelt tone. 
 
 Arthur, during this short interchange 
 of look and speech, had fallen behind 
 to answer a question of Major Glen- 
 dinnings. He now rejoined them, hum- 
 ming a bar or two of an opera melody. 
 Elizabeth's step set itself to the time. 
 Turning to Orlando, she asked, suddenly — 
 
 " By-the-by, do you sing ? " 
 
 " A little. Why ? " 
 
 " I thought, by the way you listened, the 
 other night, that you must be musical ; and
 
 I06 ORLANDO. 
 
 your voice, in speaking, sounds as if you 
 might." 
 
 It was true : Orlando's voice was that 
 of a finely strung instrument, clear and full 
 — a voice that would have been priceless to 
 him as an actor or an orator. 
 
 '' He sings awfully well. Miss Glen- 
 dinning," said Arthur, in an aside. 
 
 " Do you sing ? " asked Orlando, in part 
 overhearing, and anxious to divert Arthur s 
 commendations. 
 
 '' No ; I never could. I have wished it 
 more than anything ; but it is no use — I 
 can't." 
 
 "You mustn't expect to do everything 
 better than everybody else, you know," 
 said Arthur, with a frank, boyish smile that 
 disarmed annoyance at the openness of his 
 compliment. 
 
 " ' A few can touch the magic string. 
 
 And noisy fame is proud to win them ; 
 Alas, for those who never sing, 
 
 But die with all their music in them ! ' " 
 
 quoted Orlando, from her other side.
 
 IN A DRAWING-ROOM. lO/ 
 
 i\nd he had the satisfaction of seeing 
 that Miss Glendinning was struck by the 
 lines. She asked w^here they came from. 
 
 Orlando referred her to ' The Autocrat 
 of the Breakfast Table ; ' and Arthur in- 
 quired whether that was not the book 
 which contained the wondrous history of 
 the deacon's 'one-hoss shay.' 
 
 From the ' one-hoss shay ' they diverged 
 to American anecdotes in general ; and 
 Arthur s store was still unexhausted when 
 they reached the waggonette. Mr. Oakes 
 and the children reappeared. It could not 
 be denied that the boots of all three were 
 wet ; and indeed, Mr. Oakes did not alto- 
 gether repudiate the charge of having 
 waded down the stream. 
 
 '' But, then, look at my grass-wrack, 
 Mary." 
 
 And he exhibited to his wife's inspection 
 a straggling piece of vegetation, which 
 looked not unlike an old . and very limp
 
 io8 
 
 ORLANDO. 
 
 green ribbon whose edges had been torn 
 into strips at various points. 
 
 Lady Mary restrained herself from say- 
 ing more than "Ah, indeed," for she was 
 a tolerant wife, but it can hardly be 
 doubted that she thought within herself, 
 '' A pair of boots spoiled, and a fit of rheu- 
 matism incurred, for the sake of that 
 thin^ ! " 
 
 They rolled along, rapidly, through the 
 quickly falling twilight. Soft clouds settled 
 down upon the edges of the world; the 
 shadows of the hedges lengthened into 
 distinctness under the rising moon ; the 
 incessant click of the grasshoppers sounded 
 from the fields on each side, and the per- 
 fume of the later hay hung, doubly strong 
 in the soft air. 
 
 In crossing a pasture sadly overgrown 
 with thistles, Miss Glendinning had paused 
 to collect a large handful of their downy, 
 seeding heads. Orlando ventured to in- 
 quire why she had gathered them.
 
 IN A DRAWING-ROOM. IO9 
 
 She laughed and repHed, " For an ex- 
 periment." 
 
 " Miss Glendinning is going to grow 
 them on flannel in saucers;'' said Arthur. 
 
 She smiled, mysteriously, and shook her 
 head. 
 
 " I should be afraid to ^'row thistles. I 
 should think I ought to be condemned by 
 some saying just opposite to that about 
 making two blades of grass grow, if I did." 
 
 When they reached the house, she went 
 at once to the conservatory, her thistle-tops 
 still in her hands, and added to them a 
 little bunch of fern before she went up- 
 stairs with Miss Rendell. 
 
 Orlando thought them long in reappear- 
 ing ; he had arrived at a point when every 
 moment seemed long, in which Elizabeth 
 was out of sight. When at last the two 
 girls came in, the purpose of the thistle- 
 tops was clear enough. They wore each 
 a crown made of the soft, white balls,
 
 no ORLANDO. 
 
 divided by tremulous ends of fern. Miss 
 Rendell, who wore earrings, had even a 
 downy globelet at each ear. 
 
 " How pretty ! " exclaimed with one 
 voice Lady Mary and the children. 
 
 " I think the experiment may be called 
 a decided success, Miss Glendinning," said 
 Arthur, admiring. 
 
 Orlando did not find it necessary to say 
 anything, but his eyes returned to the 
 white wreath again and again, as flies 
 driven off return to honey. 
 
 " I thought, when I saw them, that they 
 would be effective and inexpensive. How 
 should you like a ball-dress trimmed with 
 them, auntie ? " 
 
 Before Orlando's eyes rose at once the 
 image of a white-robed figure whose dress 
 was looped with summer snow, and it 
 appeared to him that a painter might well 
 depict an angel in such a guise. Again 
 it was his good fortune to sit by her at
 
 IN A DRAWING-ROOM. Ill' 
 
 table, for Lady Mary, having insisted so 
 strongly upon the unceremonious character 
 of the meal, would not permit any formal 
 order of eoine to it, but took Miss Ren- 
 dell by the hand, and led the way herself. 
 Elizabeth had whispered to her aunt that 
 Mr. Sherborne would sing if he were 
 asked, and as soon as they had returned 
 to the other room, Lady Mary obeyed the 
 hint. 
 
 Orlando hoped that some one else would 
 begin. 
 
 Lady Mary looked across towards Miss 
 Rendell. But Miss [Rendell was deep in 
 a conversation Avith the devoted Mr. 
 Wheelwright. 
 
 " Elizabeth ! " 
 
 Elizabeth went to the piano, and 
 Orlando, naturally, went to turn her pages. 
 She played, however, without notes, and 
 Orlando sat in a corner, listening, with his 
 eyes upon her, entranced. She suffered the
 
 112 ORLANDO. 
 
 last note fully to die away, then, turning a 
 little upon the music-stool, asked whether 
 he played his own accompaniments. 
 
 Alas, no ; that was beyond him. 
 
 She showed him a pile of music be- 
 longing to her uncle and her cousin, and 
 stood by while he made his choice. It 
 appeared that the taste of Gilbert Oakes 
 inclined towards ballads of the cavalier 
 and restoration periods. Orlando wished, 
 now, that his own studies had been more 
 particularly directed to those of a lover- 
 like turn. That w^hich he perforce selected 
 was by no means appropriate to his feel- 
 ings. He reluctantly drew forth ' Shall I, 
 wasting in despair ' 
 
 " This is the only one I know. That's 
 the worst of singing from another man's 
 music. The song that is familiar to your- 
 self is sure to be familiar to everybody 
 else." 
 
 " That's rather an advantage to your
 
 IN A DRAWING-ROOM. II 3 
 
 accompanyist," said Elizabeth, as she sat 
 down. 
 
 The song was sung, and received with 
 much applause. 
 
 Elizabeth, to whom the clear, full voice 
 ringing beside her was a deep enjoyment, 
 wished him to try again. 
 
 '' Are you sure there isn't another you 
 know ? " she asked, wistfully. " Coitld not 
 you try one that you don't know ? " 
 
 Again Gilbert's songs were passed in 
 review. At such a request, Orlando would 
 have attempted all the music of an opera. 
 And here was something which surely he 
 would delight to sing — ' You meaner 
 beauties of the night . . . What are you 
 when the moon shall rise ? ' 
 
 Would Elizabeth play the air through to 
 him ? She played, and he leaned upon the 
 piano, listening. Then they tried together. 
 How 'delicious was it to follow the sounds 
 from her fingers, to find her ready with 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 TI4 ORLANDO. 
 
 a helping note when he wavered, and to 
 stand, of necessity, so close to her that 
 her crown of thistle-down, more than once, 
 touched his cheek ! And when the song 
 was at an end, she drew a long breath and 
 said, '' Thank you. You need not have 
 been afraid to sing at sight." 
 
 Arthur had drawn near, and Lady Mary 
 was entreating him to sing and to make 
 his sister sing. 
 
 " Your French duets are so sweet. 
 Everybody in Willingshurst talks about 
 them." 
 
 " Do you know, I think sometimes that 
 everybody in Willingshurst must be rather 
 sick of them." 
 
 " Oh no ! How can you think of such 
 a thing ? And that dear little refrain 
 that runs in one's head so — how does it 
 go ? * Rions, rions toujours.' " 
 
 So the French duets were sung, and the 
 little refrain ' that runs in one's head so
 
 IN A DRAWING-ROOM. II5 
 
 ran in Orlando's all night. Then Ida and 
 Maudie, who had been standing silently by 
 the piano, began with one accord, "Oh, 
 Miss Rendell." 
 
 "Well, Maudie?" 
 
 " Don't you want us to show you that 
 dance that the Swedish gentleman taught 
 to Gilbert ? " 
 
 " Oh yes, please, I do. They say it is 
 going to be fashionable. I have heard two 
 or three people talking of it." 
 
 " May this table be put back, mamma ? 
 And would you mind playing the tune for 
 us ? You know how it goes— like this." 
 — A simple and monotonous air beaten out 
 with one finger. 
 
 Ida, meanwhile, was arranging the 
 dancers. 
 
 " Look, Miss Rendell ; would you dance 
 with papa ? — because he knows it. Are you 
 going to try, Mr. Sherborne ? " This a 
 little shyly ; for Orlando was still some-
 
 I I 6 ORLANDO. 
 
 what of a stranger, and Ida had an opuiion 
 that he was * rather errand.' 
 
 '* If I may, please." 
 
 "Then will you dance with Cousin Lizzie? 
 - — and she will show you. And, Mr. Ren- 
 dell, will you have me, please ? And then 
 Maudle can take Mr. Wheelwright, and 
 so there will be one in each couple who 
 knows it." 
 
 " Do you mind accepting Ida's arrange- 
 ment ? " Orlando asked of Elizabeth. 
 
 " I shall be pleased." 
 
 They stood up, and came to take their 
 places at the end of the line. Lady Mary 
 took up the monotonous air at a brisk 
 pace. 
 
 " You are the top, Lizzie," cried Maudle. 
 
 *' Oh, are we ? I didn't mean to be. But, 
 come, Mr. Sherborne, we will do our best." 
 
 She held out her hand, and rather led 
 him than was led by him down the figure, 
 explaining the next procedure as they
 
 IN A DRAWING-ROOM. II7 
 
 went. The quick motion, the need of 
 watchfulness upon her partner, gave her an 
 alertness and promptitude which formed a 
 new charm. For as a rule, her bearing was 
 rather stately, her prevailing expression 
 serious, and even her smile a little grave. 
 But now she showed a simple joyousness, 
 an unreflecting acceptance of a pleasant 
 passing moment. Orlando almost dared 
 to hope that she was happy as he was. 
 The frank and easy friendliness of her tone 
 to himself awakened no dread. How 
 should he, seeming to himself to stand in 
 the full summer of manhood, guess that he 
 appeared to her a boy ? 
 
 The dance was kept up until Lady 
 Mary declared that she could bear the 
 repetition of one short musical phrase no 
 longer. It was suddenly discovered to be 
 growing late. An interchange of 'good- 
 nights ' began. 
 
 '' I am afraid this must be good-bye as
 
 I 1 8 ORLANDO. 
 
 well as orood-nlorht," said Orlando ; '' for 
 I am going on Friday morning." 
 
 '' And you have not seen Gilbert," said 
 Lady Mary. 
 
 His farewell of Elizabeth was not 
 taken In the room, but by the door of 
 the house. She had gone to fetch an 
 additional wrap for Miss Rendell, and came 
 running downstairs with a cloudily white 
 shawl In her hands. 
 
 " Good-bye, then," she said, heartily. '' I 
 am so glad to have met you. You'll give 
 my love to Millie ?" 
 
 " Oh yes. Good-bye." 
 
 His hand lingered a moment under hers. 
 He followed the others down the path, and 
 gflanced back in time to catch a last view of 
 her as she stood on the doorstep, looking 
 out with a smile at the moonlit beauty of 
 the world. The thistle-down wreath looked 
 like a halo of cloud, encircling a goddess of 
 the moon.
 
 IN A DRAWING-ROOM. II9 
 
 At the gate Mr. Wheelwright parted 
 from them, and Miss Rendell came to walk 
 between her brother and Orlando. 
 
 '' A very pleasant day," said she. 
 
 '' Just a trifle slow," said Arthur. 
 
 Orlando expressed no opinion. 
 
 " How pretty Elizabeth Glendinning 
 really is!" Miss Rendell observed, presently. 
 
 " She's more than pretty," said her 
 brother ; " she's regularly beautiful. I 
 wonder whether she had tried that thistle- 
 down stuff, before, and knew how well it 
 suited her ? " 
 
 At the first part of this speech Orlando 
 smiled, remembering how nearly it coin- 
 cided with his own words, uttered after 
 seeing her in Shrubb's Wood ; the second 
 aroused his contemptuous but silent indig- 
 nation. 
 
 " That little Ida will be awfully pretty 
 when she grows up, and she'll just have
 
 1 20 ORLANDO. 
 
 the liveliness that Miss Glendinning wants. 
 Don't you think so, Sherborne ? " 
 
 Orlando would not confess that anything 
 which was wanting in Miss Glendinning 
 could be desirable, but it did not suit him 
 exactly to proclaim this belief in her per- 
 fection. 
 
 He said evasively, therefore, " She will 
 be very much like Miss Glendinning." 
 
 His mind dropped into the consideration 
 of when he might see her again. Perhaps 
 Millie might ask her to come and stay. 
 How glorious if she could spend Christmas 
 at Sherborne ! She was exactly the woman 
 whom his father would prize highly. 
 
 And almost unawares, the French refrain 
 sprang up again, and he heard his own 
 voice singing, " Rions, rions toujours."
 
 ( 121 ) 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 BETWEEN FATHER AND SON. 
 
 " Chaque familie est une histoire et meme un poeme 
 pour qui sait la feuilleter." — Lamat-tinc. 
 
 The house towards which Orlando, two 
 days later, was swiftly travelling, lay half 
 a mile or so apart from the village of 
 Sherborne. The surrounding country was 
 flat, fertile, wooded ; a lazy stream — the 
 Sherril — lay in loops, like an unrolled 
 ribbon, across the damply green marsh 
 pastures. The village sloped up a mild 
 ascent to the church, and faded gently 
 away from it on the other side. This 
 church was large and old ; it was a little 
 dilapidated, but had, at that time, still
 
 122 ORLANDO. 
 
 escaped restoration. It possessed two 
 stained windows of a mellow harmony of 
 colouring which denies itself to modern 
 emulation, and some quaintly sculptured 
 tombs described in the county history as 
 ' monuments belonging to the Sherborne, 
 Lynn, and D'Aintrey families.' From the 
 village the ground continued gradually to 
 descend towards the dwelling of Orlando's 
 father, known, rather indiscriminately, as 
 * The Lodge,' ' Sherborne Lodge,' or ' The 
 Park.' Its owners, proudly careful to avoid 
 pretension, used the first name. The thickly 
 wooded hollow about the house was too 
 small to be fitly called a park, but the 
 name lingered from days when its extent 
 had been greater. The house itself stood 
 close among trees, and could only be 
 viewed clearly from the front. Here it 
 was open, divided, by a terrace and a strip 
 of lawn, from the public footpath which 
 ran across its grounds. The building was
 
 BETWEEN FATHER AND SON. I23 
 
 Elizabethan, but among the stables and 
 outhouses were relics of an older time. 
 The entrance to the kitchen-garden, for 
 instance, was through a stone archway 
 which had once spanned a priory window. 
 Behind ran, or rather lingered, the Sherril, 
 and beyond that, rose a hill which was 
 thought to be of partly artificial construc- 
 tion, and which, though of no great height, 
 was looked on, in this flat country, with 
 respect. It was clothed about half-way up 
 with wood, and near its summit were the 
 ruined fragments of Sherborne Castle. 
 As the train brought him in sight of this 
 hill, Orlando leaned forward and looked 
 out eagerly. The midland scenery, rather 
 homely than beautiful, had for him the 
 charm of familiarity. Every field had a 
 recollection belonging either to himself or 
 to his ancestors. His very name was a 
 growth of the place. He was quick to 
 step forth when the train stopped. The
 
 1 24 ORLANDO. 
 
 porter who got out his luggage knew him, 
 and said, " Glad to see you back, sir." 
 
 As he stood, a hand came upon his arm. 
 Turning quickly, he saw his father. A 
 light came into both faces. The fathers 
 words were the same as the porters had 
 been, " Glad to see you back, my boy." 
 
 '' How are you, father ? I didn't think 
 you would have come to meet me." 
 
 " I thought I might as well look in and 
 see if you had come. Leave your traps 
 here, and we will walk together. Thomas 
 can come up in the evening." 
 
 They went off, arm-in-arm. The station- 
 master, whose occupation had gone with 
 the departing train, looked after them, and 
 said to the master of the Station Hotel, 
 ** The old gentleman looks happy again 
 now ; he seems quite lost always when his 
 son is away." 
 
 The father and son walked homeward 
 between the familiar fields, talking the
 
 BETWEEN FATHER AND SOX. 1 25 
 
 pleasant, unimportant talk of local politics, 
 of the year's successful harvest, of a new 
 cow bought, and a hay-rick accidentally 
 fired on a neighbour's land. Millie was at 
 the vicarage, helping in the arrangements 
 for a Sunday-school treat. She would be 
 in soon. 
 
 They went into the house, and an inter- 
 mediate meal was provided for Orlando. 
 While this was in course of consumption 
 Millie appeared. In cast of feature she 
 resembled her father and brother, but she 
 had a fairer tone of colouring, and a pre- 
 vailing expression of dissatisfaction. The 
 expression melted away as she welcomed 
 her brother, and, laughing, drew her finger 
 across a dark moustache, which had 
 decidedly thickened since she saw him 
 last. 
 
 " So you met Elizabeth Glendinning ? " 
 said she. " What did you think of her ? " 
 
 " I thought her," Orlando cautiously
 
 126 ORLANDO. 
 
 replied, ''very handsome and very agree- 
 able." 
 
 "Very handsome ! That Is mild praise." 
 
 " Very beautiful, then," said Orlando. 
 
 ''And you saw her cousins too, I sup- 
 pose ? Nice people, are they not ? " 
 
 " I saw two cousins — little girls. There 
 is another, but he Is away. Yes, I thought 
 they were a nice family. Lady Mary is 
 rather conversational, that's all." 
 
 " Lady Mary Oakes is that ? " asked 
 Mr. Sherborne. " I remember her before 
 she was married. There were three sisters : 
 Lady Ellen, Lady Mary, and Lady Eliza- 
 beth. The younger two were extremely 
 pretty. Lady Elizabeth especially ; I think 
 I never saw a prettier woman. She and 
 her husband used to be called Cupid and 
 Psyche." 
 
 Orlando smiled quietly ; the arrogance 
 of youth was amused by the idea of such a 
 mickname for the grey-whiskered Major,
 
 BETWEEN FATHER AND SON. 12/ 
 
 whose one claim to Interest consisted in 
 being the father of Elizabeth. 
 
 Millie sat absently twisting the elastic 
 of her hat, which she held In her hands ; 
 the dissatisfied look had come Into her 
 face again. 
 
 Mr. Sherborne was sitting, the day after 
 this. In the library, sorting out various papers 
 upon his writing-table. The drawer from 
 which he had taken them stood half open ; 
 Avithin were visible two miniatures, one en- 
 closed in a morocco case, the other merely 
 framed, and showing a likeness of Orlando 
 as a boy. Another portrait, belonging to an 
 earlier epoch, hung in the room, and drew 
 the eyes of every new-comer. Those of its 
 owner filled with a proud pleasure when- 
 ever they turned that way, for the picture 
 proclaimed at once Its twofold value — as 
 a veritable Vandyke, and as the likeness of 
 one of Orlando's kindred. 
 
 Presently a sound of hoofs came through
 
 128 ORLANDO. 
 
 the open window. Mr. Sherborne deserted 
 his papers, and went to look out. Orlando 
 and Millie had been riding, and Orlando 
 was at his sister's side, helping her to dis- 
 mount. A bright September sun shone 
 upon their fresh young faces. The light of 
 exercise was In Millie's eyes ; her fair hair 
 was blown up, cloudily, round the edges of 
 her hat ; she laughed as she sprang down. 
 The horses were led away, and the brother 
 and sister came along the terrace to the 
 entrance of the house. The father re- 
 turned, smiling, to his papers. Steps and 
 voices sounded within the house, Millie's 
 light footfall, and the heavy trailing of her 
 riding-habit, passed up the uncarpeted oak 
 stairs. Orlando, after pausing to hang up 
 his hat, came to the library. Mr. Sherborne 
 looked up with an expectant smile on his 
 careworn, gentle face. The lingering of 
 the expectant expression until his son was 
 close at hand mieht have sufficed alone to
 
 BETWEEN FATHER AND SON. 1 29 
 
 show him short-sighted ; a nervous trick of 
 feehng after his double eyeglass, and twist- 
 ine his fineers in its cord q^ave further con- 
 firmation. 
 
 Orlando came to the table. A few words 
 were spoken of the ride ; then his father, 
 pulling a chair towards him, bade him sit 
 down. 
 
 *' If you have time, Orlando, I want to 
 talk a little to you about business matters." 
 
 " Yes, father," said the young man, sit- 
 ting down and becoming gravely attentive. 
 
 The Vandyke portrait looked out over 
 his head from the wall behind. His father 
 noted that the likeness was streno^theninof 
 year by year. Just so would Orlando have 
 looked if he had worn his hair in lonof 
 locks, encased himself in a breastplate, and 
 carried a flag wrapped round one arm. 
 
 He paused a moment, considering at 
 which end he should bes^in his tale. A 
 deeply unassuming quality in his nature 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 130 ORLANDO. 
 
 made him shy of laying bare, even to his 
 son, the careful self-denial of his life. 
 
 '' In the first place," he began, "there is 
 your mother's money. We put off the dis- 
 cussion of that, you remember ; but it is 
 four months now since you came of age, 
 and your uncle ought not to be troubled 
 about it any more. Some of it Is in 
 shares in the North-Western ; the rest is 
 income from the Capton lands. I have 
 written out the full particulars. There is 
 the extract from your grandfather's will, 
 too. It is about five hundred a year, at 
 present, but if they take the line to Capton,. 
 the land will rise in value. Then there are 
 the arrears of the three years since your 
 grandfather's death. The two mortgages, of 
 five hundred each, to Walslngham have just 
 been paid off, so that the whole sum is 
 intact. Of course, there is Walsingham's 
 interest as well, for the two years, and the 
 one year. The last five hundred, 3'ou see.
 
 BETWEEN FATHER AND SON. 131 
 
 has been on deposit since January. Well, 
 that is for that." 
 
 Orlando looked through the paper, and 
 said, '' Thank you. It seems all very clear 
 and very satisfactory. The Capton lease is 
 up next June, I see. I suppose Ripley will 
 want to renew." 
 
 " I should not wonder if he wants to 
 purchase. It would be a good thing to 
 consult your uncle before doing anything 
 decided there. He knows more about the 
 place and its opportunities than we do. 
 And, now, about other points which relate 
 to Sherborne. I don't want you, Orlando, 
 to be the typical crown-prince in opposi- 
 tion." This, with a little nervous, yet 
 genuine smile, and a glance upward of 
 appeal. 
 
 Quick came Orlando's warm reply, " No 
 fear of that." 
 
 Mr. Sherborne, satisfied, continued. '*' My 
 father was a better man of business than I
 
 132 ORLANDO. 
 
 am. He did a great deal In many ways 
 that I have never been equal to following. 
 It was his ambition to make up for any 
 losses and falling off that there may have 
 been since the time when the Sherbornes 
 were ' monarchs of all they surveyed.' " 
 
 Orlando's thoughts went to his grand- 
 father's portrait, hanging In the dining- 
 room. 
 
 '' And In a great measure he might, 
 perhaps, have succeeded, but for one un- 
 fortunate speculation. He fancied that 
 there was a great opening on the Suffolk 
 coast for a watering-place, at a place called 
 Batterlngbury Bay. A man of the name 
 of Dale contrived to get Into his confidence 
 — a builder, who turned out, afterwards, to 
 have been on the very verge of bankruptcy. 
 He bought up a lot of land down there, 
 and spent more money in building sea- 
 defences, and having the whole town 
 planned out, and then he began to build.
 
 BETWEEN FATHER AND SON. 1 33 
 
 As he went on, he was obliged to borrow 
 money on the land here. Before half the 
 work was done, Dale came to grief, and 
 nobody showed any inclination to try and 
 finish the houses, or to live in those that 
 were finished already. My father could 
 not go on with it, and nobody else would ; 
 and there it stands. He never got over 
 it." 
 
 He turned his eyes, sadly, upon a plan 
 which he had partly unrolled, and which 
 he held open before Orlando by the 
 corners. It was marked, ' Plans of Sher- 
 borne-by-the-Sea, Suffolk, 1853.' Beneath 
 stood written, In a shaken handwriting and 
 faded ink, 'Sherborne's folly.' Orlando 
 felt as if it were almost an irreverence in 
 him, the descendant, to look upon the 
 words of self-condemnation. 
 
 ''All this," Mr. Sherborne pursued, let- 
 ting the plan roll itself together again, 
 " left us in a very straitened condition.
 
 1 34 ORLANDO. 
 
 I thought it best when I came into posses- 
 sion here to sell the brook lands. I really 
 had not the money to keep them on. It 
 was a grief to me, but it could not well be 
 helped. It was my great wish to leave 
 everything unencumbered for you, when 
 your time should come. And now there is 
 not a penny owing ; I paid the last off in 
 June." 
 
 In June, when Orlando had come of age. 
 
 " And so, my dear boy, we really may 
 feel that we are free upon our own land 
 again, and for the future, you will not need 
 to be bound down to so quiet a life as we 
 have been living, hitherto. I could not 
 bear to think of your marriage being ham- 
 pered by considerations of money." 
 
 A quick heat of gratitude stirred at 
 Orlando's heart, as he recognized how 
 much his father's care had smoothed his 
 path towards Elizabeth. He looked up, 
 but did not speak.
 
 BETWEEN FATHER AND SON. 135 
 
 " It is rather early to look to that yet, 
 but I am glad to think that you will be 
 able to marry as soon as you choose." 
 . (" If she chooses," thought Orlando.) 
 
 "I should like to see your children about 
 me before I die." 
 
 '' Indeed, I hope you will," Orlando re- 
 turned, heartily, his mind going to a 
 momentary picture, in vague outline, of his 
 future home. 
 
 " You would never leave this place, 
 Orlando, would you ? " 
 
 '' Father ! " 
 
 " I don't want you to bind yourself not 
 to give it up, but I should like to think 
 of there being Sherbornes here always." 
 
 Orlando looked affectionately round the 
 room, and shook his head. " You don't 
 think I would, do you ? After three hun- 
 dred years ! " 
 
 " That's right. I was pretty sure you 
 felt so. But it is a dull home, Orlando,
 
 136 ORLANDO. 
 
 for you and Millie ; and I think, sometimes, 
 that Millie would be glad to be away 
 from it." 
 
 " Perhaps we are not as good companions 
 for Millie as we ought to be. Perhaps she 
 feels having no woman about her/' said 
 Orlando. And he thought of the plea- 
 sure and comfort which it would be to 
 Millie if Elizabeth were here as his wife. 
 Once more, his mind saw her spending her 
 Christmas here as a guest. " To me it 
 is the dearest place in the world," he 
 declared, waking out of his meditations 
 with a smile. " I don't say that I may 
 not wish to be In London sometimes — but 
 that's different." Different, indeed, since 
 did not Elizabeth live there ? 
 
 '' There's one thing," said Mr. Sher- 
 borne, looking down, and turning back- 
 wards and forwards the key of his drawer 
 in the lock, " which I wished for very much, 
 when I was a younger man, but it had to
 
 BETWEEN FATHER AND SON. 1 37 
 
 be put aside. I should have Hked to be 
 in Parliament." 
 
 "It is not too late. Why not now?" 
 said Orlando, his face lightening at the 
 thought of a pleasure to be given to his 
 father. 
 
 The father, smiling sadly, shook his 
 head. " Not now, Orlando. Perhaps you 
 may fulfil that dream, as well as a good 
 many others." 
 
 Then, drawing together such papers as 
 were not to pass to Orlando's keeping, he 
 laid them again in the drawer, and closing 
 it, finally turned the key. He looked up 
 with a sigh, like one who locks aw^ay a 
 half of his life. The cares and anxieties 
 which these represented had worn away all 
 youthfulness from him, had robbed his 
 nights of sleep and his days of pleasure, 
 but now that they were dead and buried, 
 his occupation had gone with them, and 
 he felt a blank — a displeasing sense of
 
 1^8 ORLANDO. 
 
 o 
 
 void, an unnatural lightness, succeeding to 
 the weight of an accustomed burden. 
 
 The eyes of father and son met. Neither 
 spoke a word to indicate affection, but if 
 Elizabeth had been there, she would have 
 understood the truth of Orlando's declara- 
 tion, that he had never felt the want of a 
 brother.
 
 ( 139 ) 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 A CHAPTER OF INTRODUCTIONS. 
 
 " Yesterday a student and to-day a lover. " 
 
 Longfellow^ '■ The Spanish Student.^ 
 
 September and the long vacation closed 
 together. Orlando went back to Cam- 
 bridge, resolved to read none the less 
 steadily on account of his love for Eliza- 
 beth. To say that he kept literally to 
 such a resolution would be to say that his 
 affection had died. There can be no doubt 
 that the face of Miss Glendinning did 
 obtrude itself even upon the hours which 
 he meant to devote to work, and that it 
 filled up almost entirely those other hours 
 of leisure in which some thoughts of study
 
 140 ORLANDO. 
 
 might, under ordinary circumstances, have 
 lingered. On the other hand, her re- 
 membrance acted as a spur to the desire, 
 hitherto rather kept lukewarm by duty 
 than fired by zeal, of attaining a high place. 
 And with how sweet a charm it filled those 
 times of repose, in which he floated easily 
 down the river, or loitered in the autumnal- 
 tinted fields. He grew to reckon almost 
 as a certainty the chance of seeing her at 
 Christmas. His mind pleased itself with 
 the idea of seeing her and his father 
 together. But all these hopes were dashed 
 by a letter from Millie, early in the term. 
 It contained, among other gossip, this 
 passage : — 
 
 '' The Glendinnings are going to the 
 south of France for the winter. Major 
 Glendinning has been rather seriously ill, 
 and they think the change may do him 
 o-ood. I saw Elizabeth for a few minutes 
 the other day in the park." (Millie was
 
 A CHAPTER OF INTRODUCTIONS. I4I 
 
 Staying in London.) *' She looked as 
 beautiful as ever. Her cousin was with 
 her. I can't quite make out their attitude 
 to one another — whether just growing up 
 together could make a man indifferent to 
 such looks as hers. What do you think? 
 Elizabeth desired to be remembered to 
 you. So did Lady Mary Oakes, who 
 seems to have been very much taken with 
 you. What a nice, kind woman she is ! " 
 
 Poor Orlando ! Ccfuld any letter have 
 been devised more cunningly full of nettle- 
 stings ? He pondered each word, labour- 
 ing, with the zeal of a commentator, to 
 assign its exact share of significance to 
 each. Yet it failed to strike him that 
 Millie's interest in the question was rather 
 correlative than co-ordinate to his own, 
 and that for her the point to be deter- 
 mined was not Elizabeth's, but Gilbert's 
 feeling. 
 
 For some days after the receipt of this
 
 142 ORLANDO. 
 
 letter, he found himself a prey to the most 
 unwonted despondency. The months were 
 so many until the spring. And who could 
 tell what chances they might hold con- 
 cealed ? But by slow degrees, the months 
 wore themselves away. The urgent 
 question of examinations threw all else, for 
 a time, into the background. As Easter 
 approached, however, and he found himself 
 occupying a place — not a very high one — 
 on a classical honours list, there remained 
 nothing further to distract his thoughts. 
 The Glendinnings, he had heard, were 
 coming back to town in the end of ApriL 
 He was fully resolved not to be long 
 behind them. The last six months had 
 developed in him an affection for London, 
 not previously observed. His father and 
 sister supposed it a natural growth. 
 Neither of them had remarked its coinci- 
 dence with his first sight of Miss Glen- 
 dinning. Nor could they know with what
 
 A CHAPTER OF INTRODUCTIONS. 1 43 
 
 invariable regularity his London walks 
 included a quiet West-end street of small 
 intrinsic interest, where his pace would 
 slacken, and his eyes iix themselves upon 
 certain first-floor windows. 
 
 Now, when he was released from colles^e, 
 and when the season was about beginning, 
 what more natural than that he should 
 desire relaxation and change? His father 
 was glad of the wish. The two steps 
 which he next hoped for his son would 
 both be best advanced by his mixing in 
 wider circles of society than Sherborne 
 could afford. In Sherborne there was no 
 young woman whom he thought good 
 enough to become Orlando's wife. His idea 
 of that ' not impossible she ' was almost 
 as exalted as the young man's own had 
 been, when he fashioned her imaee in 
 Shrubb's Wood, before he had yet seen 
 Elizabeth Glendinning. And now he was 
 to see Elizabeth again — to meet her.
 
 144 ORLANDO. 
 
 perhaps, often — to win her, his thoughts 
 whispered. 
 
 He had a lodging In Jermyn Street. 
 His tastes would have inclined to the more 
 classic and memory-haunted region of the 
 Temple ; but, then, the street in which he 
 liked to wander would have been a good 
 mile farther away, and he could not have 
 suggested to himself that it made his 
 nearest way home from anywhere. 
 
 Major Glendlnnlng and his daughter 
 occupied the upper part of a house 
 in Burlington Street. Its lower rooms 
 were tenanted by a firm of music-pub- 
 lishers, and a neat, gilded effigy of a harp 
 was placed between the front windows. 
 Orlando had looked at this harp, some 
 scores of times, from the opposite side of 
 the street; to-day he viewed it in profile, 
 from the uppermost step of that flight 
 which led to Major Glendlnning's door. 
 The door was opened to him by a grey- 
 haired man of soldierly bearing.
 
 A CHAPTER OF INTRODUCTIONS. I45 
 
 The Major was gone out. 
 Was Miss Glendinning out, too ? 
 He believed not. Would Orlando walk 
 this way ? 
 
 Orlando followed, and was ushered into 
 a little room on a half-landing. It had no 
 door, and was divided from the staircase 
 by a curtain — a fashion less common at 
 that time than now. The window was 
 painted, probably to hide a view of blank 
 wall. Orlando felt as if he were the 
 Sleeping Beauty's prince, standing in an 
 antechamber of her castle. An oval 
 mirror, in a carved frame, hung against 
 the wall. He glanced at his reflection, 
 pleased to look where she had looked. 
 
 The man, reappearing, repeated his 
 formula, '* Will you walk this way, sir, if 
 you please ? " 
 
 They went up a few stairs; a door which 
 faced them was thrown open, and Orlando 
 went into the room, at whose windows he 
 
 VOL. I. I'
 
 146 ORLANDO. 
 
 had so often looked with longing, from out- 
 side. Miss Glendinning was here, and was 
 alone. She had been writing. Her wet 
 pen lay against the open Inkstand of her 
 Davenport, but she had drawn a sheet of 
 blotting-paper over her letter. 
 
 She met him with a smile, saying, " Mr. 
 Sherborne ! This Is quite a surprise. I 
 had no Idea you were In town." 
 
 " I came up yesterday," said Orlando. 
 
 She received the Idea that he was going 
 home almost Immediately. 
 
 *' It was very kind of you to come and 
 see us. I am so sorry that papa Is out. 
 How long do you stay ? " 
 
 " I hardly know ; there is no time fixed. 
 Some weeks." 
 
 " Oh ; then you must let us see a good 
 deal of you. Is Millie with you ?" 
 
 Her mind had gone to Gilbert. Orlando, 
 dimly perceiving that something lay behind 
 the question, had a momentary thrill of
 
 A CHAPTER OF INTRODUCTIONS. 1 47 
 
 hope that she thought of MilHe as a link 
 between herself and him. 
 
 " No, she is at home." 
 
 '' I should like to have seen her. I 
 caught just a glimpse of her in the autumn. 
 How is she ? I didn't think her looking 
 very well." 
 
 " I don't think she seems very well. 
 She says she is, but she looks pale, and 
 she always seems to start when you speak 
 to her. I think she rather mopes." 
 
 Elizabeth was looking down. It seemed 
 improbable that she should smile at this 
 description of her friend's state, yet the lines 
 of her face certainly looked like those of 
 a suppressed smile. 
 
 " She has not much society at Sherborne, 
 you see," Orlando went on. Then, with 
 a slight trembling of the voice, very per- 
 ceptible to himself, but unobserved by her, 
 and with a tinofe of colour flutterinof on his 
 face, '' It would be a real kindness if you
 
 1 48 ORLANDO. 
 
 would come and keep her company for a 
 little while — some time." 
 
 '' I should like to come very much," said 
 Elizabeth, speakln^^ cordially, and looking 
 at him with straightforward, friendly eyes. 
 
 Orlando, In this clear afternoon light, 
 solved the question concerning their colour 
 which he had been putting vainly to him- 
 self through all these months. They were 
 grey — a clear, dark grey, equally deep and 
 transparent. Calling himself back from 
 this discovery, he found her remarking 
 that she and her father had only been 
 home about a fortnight from abroad. He 
 hastened to hope that her father was the 
 better for having been away. 
 
 " Oh yes, much better. I am so glad 
 we persuaded him to go." 
 
 " You have been at Nice, have you 
 not ? " 
 
 '' Yes, and at Cannes. It has been very 
 enjoyable; but one Is glad to get home 
 again."
 
 A CHAPTER OF INTRODUCTIONS. 1 49 
 
 He noticed that she was looking ver}^ 
 well. Her cheek had a slightly deeper tint, 
 a slightly fuller curve. Her seriousness 
 seemed to border upon cheerful equability. 
 
 " Is Lady Mary very well, and your 
 cousins ? " 
 
 " Oh yes ; — the children are going to 
 school. I am afraid aunt will miss them 
 very much. They are all at home, at 
 Willingshurst. But my cousin Gilbert is 
 up here, staying with another aunt. I 
 hope you will see him this time. I want 
 you to like him — very particularly." 
 
 She uttered the last words a little 
 doubtfully, and then looked up inquir- 
 ingly ; but Orlando did not meet her eyes. 
 She saw a look of displeasure in his face. 
 Was he so selfish a brother, she asked 
 herself, that he was jealous of his sister's 
 lover ? She had heard that brothers not 
 rarely were so. 
 
 '' Disagreeable lad," was her mental com-
 
 1 50 ORLANDO. 
 
 ment. In the next moment, she began to 
 be sorry for him. After all, it might well 
 be something of a shock, when a man had 
 but one sister, to think of losing her. 
 For marriage was, in a certain sense, a 
 division. It would have been unbrotherly, 
 perhaps, to feel nothing. And as she 
 really desired to think well of Orlando,, 
 she was glad to be able to take this view. 
 She resolved to change the subject, but 
 circumstance, intervening, did it for her. 
 The door of the room was thrown open, 
 and the soldierly man admitted, without 
 announcing, a tall and stately old lady. 
 She bestowed a rapid but searching glance 
 upon Orlando as she crossed the room. 
 Elizabeth rose and went to her. 
 
 '' How are you to-day, auntie ? " she- 
 asked, in a louder and higher key than 
 seemed altogether respectful. 
 
 '' Very well, child, thank you ; but I am 
 always that, I am thankful to say. It is
 
 A CHAPTER OF INTRODUCTIONS. 1 5 T 
 
 the young people, nowadays, who don't 
 know what it is to be well." 
 
 She spoke in the low, too evenly running 
 speech of one who failed to distinguish 
 clearly her own tones. 
 
 '' Where's your father ? " she next asked. 
 ''He is gone out, auntie — to his tailor s, 
 I believe." 
 
 " Ah— m ! " said the old lady. 
 The meaning of this utterance was not 
 precisely determinable, but it did not ap- 
 pear to denote entire approval. 
 
 Elizabeth introduced Orlando. The 
 lady was, as he had already concluded, 
 her aunt, Lady Ellen Darling. 
 
 She had a moment's difficulty in catch- 
 ing his name. His card was lying on the 
 table, and he quickly turned it towards 
 her. 
 
 '' Orlando Sherborne. Why, surely ! 
 One of the Sherbornes of Sherborne ? " 
 Orlando said "Yes," and accompanied
 
 152 ORLANDO. 
 
 the word by a slight motion of the head, 
 which should make his assent visible as 
 well as audible. 
 
 She motioned him to sit down near 
 her. 
 
 '' I remember your father, and your 
 grandfather. Was it not your grandfather 
 who thought he could turn Batterlngbury 
 Bay Into a fashionable bathing-place ? " 
 
 Orlando acknowledged his grandfathers 
 folly. 
 
 The old lady gazed at him critically 
 and remarked, '' You are very much like 
 your father." (*' But a finer face," she 
 added, in repeating this observation to 
 Elizabeth when he was gone). '' And are 
 you staying here for long ? " 
 
 He replied as before. 
 
 '' I hope I shall have the pleasure of 
 seeing you sometimes. I am 'at home' 
 every alternate Tuesday. Will you 
 kindly give me your address, and I will
 
 A CHAPTER OF INTRODUCTIONS. T53 
 
 send you a card, so that you can have no 
 excuse for forgetting." 
 
 Orlando wrote down his address, and 
 Elizabeth, while he did so, asked, " What 
 have you done with Gilbert, auntie ? " 
 
 ''He was to meet me here. I was going 
 to take you for a drive. Thank you, Mr. 
 Sherborne. Will you take charge of that, 
 Elizabeth, and send Mr. Sherborne a card ?" 
 Then, turning to Orlando, '* I always make 
 my nephews and nieces write my invita- 
 tions. You see, I am too deaf to save my 
 eyes by making them read to me, and I 
 must take care of my eyes to fill the place 
 of my ears — though I hear a good deal 
 more than many people think." 
 
 Orlando, taking note of her quick eyes 
 and general air of alert watchfulness, 
 thought it extremely probable. 
 
 " Here is Gilbert," said Elizabeth, from 
 the window. 
 
 Orlando's eyes turned, curiously, towards
 
 154 ORLANDO. 
 
 the opening door. The young man to 
 whom it gave admittance was buih, Hke 
 his father, upon a rather large scale, and, 
 like him, had no point of special individu- 
 ality in his appearance. He was of the 
 stuff of which a good man of business, a 
 good country gentleman, or a good county 
 member, might be made. If it had been 
 necessary to describe him by three adjec- 
 tives, they might have stood thus : manly, 
 gentlemanly, sensible. The two young- 
 men were made known to each other, and 
 each looked at the other with a specially 
 interested underthought, while Elizabeth, 
 who thought she understood their thoughts, 
 kept a specially interested watch upon both 
 of them. 
 
 The first glance of Inquiry left Orlando' 
 still suspicious that in Gilbert he had a 
 rival, but unable to seize any point upon 
 which to hang a personal dislike. All the 
 more was he likely to be a rival. But
 
 A CHAPTER OF INTRODUCTIONS. 1 55 
 
 Gilbert, finding in Orlando's face a reminder 
 of his sister's, and hearing in his words a 
 deeper echo of her voice, felt at once that 
 disposition towards friendship with which 
 brothers of the beloved object may be 
 observed to inspire a lover still uncertain 
 of her own favour. 
 
 '' I am glad we have met at last," he said 
 in a cordial way. ''It seemed as if we 
 were always to play the parts of the little 
 man and woman in a child's weather- 
 glass. I left Trinity your first term, you 
 know, and then, when you came to Wil- 
 li ngshurst, I was in Norway.'' 
 
 "And when you were here, in the 
 autumn, Mr. Sherborne had gone back to 
 Cambridge," said Elizabeth. 
 
 " By-the-by, Mr. Sherborne, is your 
 sister here with you ? " asked Lady Ellen, 
 abruptly. 
 
 If Orlando's observing faculties had not 
 been engaged in hunting on a false track,
 
 156 ORLANDO. 
 
 he could scarcely have failed to see with 
 what eagerness Gilbert awaited his reply. 
 But the doctrine, so readily acknowledged 
 In theory, of the Impossibility of under- 
 standing our neighbour's thoughts except 
 by putting ourself at his point of view, is 
 too often translated, In practice. Into setting 
 him at ours. A child cannot believe that 
 its elders are in their hearts Indifferent to 
 toys, and its elders often enough, In spite 
 of memory, evince an equal unbelief in 
 their value to the child. A kindred blind- 
 ness closes the eyes of a brother to the 
 likelihood that his sister may be fallen In 
 love with. 
 
 Orlando, as he answered *' No," had no 
 suspicion that he was destroying a whole 
 fabric of Gilbert's hopes, or that Elizabeth's 
 gentle " It Is a pity," covered more than a 
 polite surface meaning. Lady Ellen, deaf 
 as she was, or perhaps because she was deaf, 
 had a far clearer notion of their game of
 
 A CHAPTER OF INTRODUCTIONS. 1 5/ 
 
 cross-purposes, and was inclined to watch 
 out its continuation. Turning to Orlando, 
 she invited him to join their drive. He 
 declined, reluctantly, on the ground that he 
 was engaged to see his uncle, who was a 
 busy barrister, and had with difficulty set 
 apart an hour for him. 
 
 He rose to go, and both ladies repeated 
 their hopes of seeing more of him, Eliza- 
 beth adding that her father would be 
 sorry to have missed him. And when he 
 was gone. Lady Ellen expressed her 
 opinion that he was an extremely well 
 mannered and unassuming young gentle- 
 man. Elizabeth, smiling, nodded, and said 
 that was exactly her opinion too. 
 
 Not only does one man at various times 
 of life play many parts, but he plays, at 
 the same time, many parts upon many 
 different stages. The multifarious worlds 
 of a great town are not divided by any 
 strict boundaries. We may pass from one
 
 158 ORLANDO. 
 
 to another three or four times in a day. 
 Nothing is stranger to ourselves than the 
 knowledge that we have breathed different 
 atmospheres, the sense of altered indica- 
 tions taking place in the soul's barometer. 
 This is the explanation of the widely 
 differing judgments pronounced on the 
 same man. In one atmosphere, the 
 mercury of his soul shrinks back upon 
 itself, and the hand which follows its guid- 
 ance gives a warning of ungenial weather. 
 But the barometer is not, therefore, a 
 mere aueur of storm. It has its 'Set fair' 
 too, but its nature forbids it to rise here. 
 Carry it into another room, and you shall 
 find it cordial enough. 
 
 Orlando, in passing from Burlington 
 Street to his uncle's chambers, felt like an 
 actor whose part was changed from Romeo 
 to Laertes. His uncle, Mr. Pelham, was 
 a lean and sallow-visaged man, having that 
 external likeness to an elderly bird of prey
 
 A CHAPTER OF INTRODUCTIONS. 1 59 
 
 which, by some mysterious affinity, often 
 associates itself to legal eminence. Uncle 
 and nephew consulted together in great 
 detail concerning the Capton leases and 
 the investment of certain moneys, and as 
 they talked, each kept a little reserve of 
 attention busy upon the other. Orlando, 
 on the former principle of judging his 
 neighbour by himself, bestowed a good 
 deal of uncalled-for commiseration upon 
 his uncle's lonely lot. Mr. Pelham himself 
 considered his lot an enviable one, seeing 
 that he held a distinguished position in a 
 profession whose excitements and emolu- 
 ments were very dear to him, and that he 
 had every prospect of by-and-by becoming 
 a judge. He, on his side, watched Orlando 
 quietly, and confirmed the opinions which 
 he had long held of him. When the 
 business discussion had been brought to an 
 end, he entered upon advice of a more 
 general and personal character — '' encour-
 
 1 60 ORLANDO. 
 
 aged," as he expressed it, ''by the recollec- 
 tion that Orlando, having no other uncle 
 and no aunt, could not have been called 
 upon to submit to it from any other 
 quarter." 
 
 This prelude was, perhaps, hardly required 
 in addressing Orlando, of whom an old 
 groom had once said, with justice, that he 
 was a ''very advisable young gentleman." 
 
 His uncle proceeded to say that he 
 was glad to see him in London. " There 
 are two extremes, Orlando, which I should 
 particularly warn you to avoid. The one 
 is that of confining yourself exclusively to 
 Sherborne. A country gentleman who has 
 no interests beyond the circle of half a 
 county may be a very useful member of 
 society, but he hardly retains that intel- 
 lectual level upon which one would desire to 
 stand. Your father, I admit, is an excep- 
 tion, but I am sure you must feel with me 
 that his knowledge and powers have been
 
 A CHAPTER OF INTRODUCTIONS. l6l 
 
 somewhat wasted in so retired a sphere. 
 But, putting your father out of court, what 
 Is the ordinary standard of country cultiva- 
 tion ? Can anything be more depressing 
 than the conversation to be met with at 
 the dinner-tables of what is called county 
 society ? " 
 
 '' But " began Orlando. 
 
 His uncle lifted his hand in a depre- 
 cating way, as who should say, " I have not 
 finished my address to the jury." 
 
 " On the other hand, the owner, or 
 prospective owner, of estates and position 
 in the country, does ill to live among 
 interests entirely removed from those of 
 the local sphere to which his possessions 
 belong. And then, one other point. It is, 
 I know, quite in vain to advise any man, 
 and especially a young man, upon the 
 subject of marriage. Still, one may take 
 precautions beforehand, by choice of society. 
 You would do well, Orlando, to frequent as 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 1 62 ORLANDO. 
 
 far as possible the society of women of 
 wide and cultivated interests, such as you 
 would be more likely to meet in London 
 than at Sherborne. You may think that 
 an old bachelor like myself is not the best 
 judge of such matters; but it is an old 
 remark, that inaction is often the result of 
 too keen a judgment. Moreover, a know- 
 ledge founded upon many observations, 
 though each by itself may be shallow, is of 
 more general reliability than that which is 
 derived from a single Instance of personal 
 experience. A married man cannot judge 
 of matrimony ; he can only judge of his 
 own marriage. Your temper, Orlando, 
 appears to me particularly affectionate, and 
 you have not a wide range of relations or 
 of friends, in whom you might find com- 
 pensation for uncongeniality in a wife. I 
 suspect that your happiness w^ould be 
 almost as much dependent as a woman's 
 upon the harmony of your relations in
 
 A CHAPTER OF INTRODUCTIONS. 1 63 
 
 marriage. I will say no more upon that 
 point, except, indeed, this : that the option 
 of not marrying at all, which you might 
 propose to me, and perhaps justify by my 
 own example, is inappropriate to your case, 
 as the last representative of an old name 
 which you would not, I think, be willing to 
 let die." 
 
 He ceased, and an expression came into 
 his face of awaiting a similar speech in 
 reply. 
 
 " No, indeed," Orlando answered, fer 
 vently. "And I hope, uncle, when I do 
 marry, that it will be exactly such a woman 
 as you describe." 
 
 The happy, boyish manner and mellow, 
 eager voice were in odd contrast with the 
 dry, literary precision of the uncle, who 
 spoke as one mindful of shorthand 
 reporters, and studious to consult their 
 convenience by careful and measured utter- 
 ance. How far Elizabeth Glendinning did
 
 164 ORLANDO. 
 
 indeed fulfil the ideal existing in Mr. 
 Pelham s mind might, perhaps, be open to 
 question, but Orlando's affection had not 
 reached the stage in which doubts begin to 
 arise of the loved one's perfection. 
 
 He left his uncle's chambers, and returned 
 through the busy streets in a condition of 
 happy vision, which made them as golden 
 as ever they were to the hopes of Dick 
 Whittington. The April sunshine was at 
 its brightest ; green specks tipped the black 
 twigs of the trees in the Temple Gardens ; 
 and Orlando, lingering to glance at them, 
 thought of all the love tales which clustered 
 round this place, and of his own boyish 
 fancy that the Tower had been the prison 
 of Palamon and Arcite, whence, in days 
 when London was less built over, they had 
 looked upon Emelie walking in this 
 garden.
 
 ( i65 ) 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 CHIEFLY IN DIALOGUE. 
 
 " Life has its May, and all is mirthful then." 
 
 Scott. 
 
 Orlando's next meeting with Elizabeth 
 was at a dance. He had thought It likely 
 he might see her here, and watched the 
 door till she appeared. She was with 
 Lady Ellen. Gilbert was following, and 
 a second young lady was of the party. 
 Again her beauty, seen, he thought, to 
 greater advantage than ever In this dress, 
 came home to him with something like a 
 shock. He made his way at once towards 
 her ; but before he could reach her, a 
 young man was at her side, and her little
 
 1 66 ORLANDO. 
 
 motion of the head and smile made him 
 sure that she had promised to dance with 
 him. As Orlando came up, the pair moved 
 off, and in another moment were among 
 the dancers. Lady Ellen smiled upon 
 him, and introduced him to ''my young 
 friend. Miss Tenby." 
 
 Miss Tenby was a fair, shy little girl, 
 who, when he asked her to dance, replied 
 with a mingling of bashfulness and grati- 
 tude. She danced, however, very well, 
 though a little over-precisely, as if she 
 were still new from school dancing-lessons. 
 Her shyness was not very deeply rooted. 
 The air of quiet dignity — quite uncon- 
 sciously worn and natural — which, even 
 in these younger days, belonged to Or- 
 lando, soon lost its awfulness, and when 
 once she understood that her partner was 
 rather inclined to be deferential than 
 condescending, she became decidedly talk- 
 ative.
 
 CHIEFLY IN DIALOGUE. 167 
 
 Orlando asked her whether she was 
 staying- with Lady Ellen Darling. 
 
 " Oh no ; only I live next door to her 
 In Portland Place, and she was kind enough 
 to bring me. Mamma is an invalid, and 
 she can hardly go out at all. Lady Ellen 
 is so kind ; isn't she } " 
 
 '' I am sure she is, though I hardly know 
 her enough to have a right to say so." 
 
 "Oh, don't you?" said ]Miss Tenby; 
 and for a moment she was silent, as if her 
 faith in him had been shaken. 
 
 " I don't live in London, you see," said 
 Orlando. 
 
 '' Oh, don't you ? " said she again ; and 
 then, " Don't you like London ? " 
 
 " Very much indeed." 
 
 " So do L I am so sorry to think the 
 season should ever be over." 
 
 " You have a good deal of it still to look 
 forward to," said Orlando, by way of con- 
 solation.
 
 I 68 ORLANDO. 
 
 " Oh yes ; and I hope I shall go out a 
 great deal. A cousin of mine went to fifty 
 dances in one season." 
 
 "Really?" 
 
 ''Yes; besides other things, you know. 
 Do you know Miss Glendinning ? " 
 
 " Yes, I know her a little." 
 
 "■ Oh, isn't she beautiful ! I always 
 think she looks so very nice when she is 
 dancincr with Mr. O'Brien." 
 
 o 
 
 '' Is that Mr. O'Brien, then ?" 
 
 " Yes ; Mr. Lawrence O'Brien, you 
 know. Don't you know him ? " 
 
 '' No, I don't." 
 
 " Oh, you are sure to, if you stay in 
 London long, and if you go to Lady 
 Ellen's 'at homes.' Shall you, do you 
 think?" 
 
 '' I hope so." 
 
 " I don't care much about ' at homes.' 
 They are not half as good as dances, I 
 think ; but I like Lady Ellen's better than
 
 CHIEFLY IN DIALOGUE. 1 69 
 
 Other people's. For one thing, I am so 
 near home. I always feel that I could go 
 home just whenever I felt tired. Isn't it 
 funny ? you know, Miss Glendinning is our 
 landlord." 
 
 " Your landlord ! " 
 
 " Yes ; the house we live in belongs 
 to her. It was her mothers, just as the 
 next house is Lady Ellen's ; only she and 
 her father don't live in it. I suppose it 
 would be too large for them." 
 
 The dance came to an end ; Orlando 
 took back his jDartner to Lady Ellen. By 
 her was standing Elizabeth, who met him 
 with a smile of unmistakable welcome. 
 
 " I am so pleased to see you here, Mr. 
 Sherborne. I wondered whether I should. 
 By-the-by, is it possible that I saw Mr. 
 Arthur Rendell in Regent Street, or was 
 it only some one very much like him ? " 
 
 Orlando hardly knew how he answered, 
 tiiat Arthur had gone back to college.
 
 1 70 ORLANDO. 
 
 The evident eagerness with which she 
 turned to him was intoxicating. The 
 young Irishman perceived it as clearly 
 as himself ; Orlando could see the angry 
 reddening of his face as he stood by. Her 
 consent to dance with him was given, too, 
 with surely an almost eager readiness. 
 
 In this interval a man of peculiarly 
 smooth and self-possessed manner added 
 himself to the group, and quietly wished 
 Elizabeth '' Good evening." 
 
 She answered in the same tone, and he 
 went on to speak to Lady Ellen, then to 
 Miss Tenby, and afterwards to Mr. 
 O'Brien. A little later in the evening 
 he was made known to Orlando as Captain 
 Grove. 
 
 He observed that while Elizabeth was 
 dancing with himself, both Gilbert and 
 O'Brien were standing lonely, and doubt- 
 less envying his better fortune. 
 
 " This is not the first time we have
 
 CHIEFLY IN DIALOGUE. 171 
 
 danced together, is it ? " said Elizabeth. 
 '' I wonder whether you remember the 
 fio^ures of that Swedish dance ? " 
 
 " I wish you would try me, under the 
 same conditions as before." 
 
 '' That would include Willingshurst, and 
 a picnic beforehand. You know Miss Ren- 
 dell is married ? " 
 
 *' Oh yes. Arthur brought down wed- 
 ding cake to Trinity, and half the men 
 dreamed upon it." 
 
 " Dear me ! I thought that was quite 
 a school-girl's trick. I should not have 
 expected to find it indulged in by what 
 Maudie calls ' collywegians.' I hope the 
 dreams were satisfactory." 
 
 '' Mine were." 
 
 Elizabeth did not inquire into further 
 details, but said, after a moment, '' I was 
 glad to see you dancing with Miss Tenby. 
 It would be kind if you would ask her 
 again, for she does not know many people,
 
 1^2 ORLANDO. 
 
 and It feels horrid to a young girl like that 
 to have to sit out. I would not say that to 
 everybody, because most young men are so 
 frightfully conceited ; but I don't think 
 you will imagine yourself very magnificent 
 because you are asked to do a small kind- 
 ness." 
 
 " Thank you," said Orlando, very fer- 
 vently, and in his inexperience he thought 
 her open praise encouraging. 
 
 This was not the only dance in which he 
 was fortunate enough to be her partner ; 
 and the evening was recorded in his 
 memory as a golden time. Yet there 
 were shadows on the gold. The frank, 
 easy — in truth, sisterly — footing on which 
 she stood to Gilbert, caused him very 
 uneasy doubts. So did the unmistakable 
 devotion of the young Irishman, to whom 
 Miss Tenby had called his attention. On 
 the other hand, Elizabeth did certainly 
 treat himself with especial favour. Her
 
 CHIEFLY IN DIALOGUE. 1 73 
 
 aunt and cousin, also, seemed to single 
 him out for particular friendliness. 
 
 The next point upon which his anticipa- 
 tion rested was that ' at home ' of Lady- 
 Ellen's. He had the good fortune to meet 
 Elizabeth several times in the few days 
 which divided it from this dance. He 
 called, and this time saw her father also. 
 Major Glendinning was — as he always was 
 — rather an elegant addition to the furni- 
 ture of the room than an enlivening mem- 
 ber of its society, but he smiled amiably 
 and seemed mildly pleased. On this occa- 
 sion Captain Grove was present. Orlando 
 learned incidentally, and without paying 
 much attention to the matter, that he was 
 in the War Office, but that, this being Satur- 
 day afternoon, he was free from his duties. 
 The foreground of Orlando's fears was so 
 much filled up by the figures of Gilbert 
 and Lawrence, that Captain Grove — a later 
 appearance and an elder man — was almost
 
 1 74 ORLANDO. 
 
 entirely eclipsed. His smooth manner, 
 too, which was alike to every one, was by 
 no means that of a lover. Orlando went 
 home on that Saturday afternoon with 
 more sober certainty of hope than he had 
 ever before dared to allow himself How, 
 if he could have heard the conversation 
 which took place between Elizabeth and 
 Captain Grove, within half an hour of his 
 leaving ? 
 
 *'You have not seen your uncle yet, 
 Edward ? " 
 
 '' No ; I hope to do so very soon. Are 
 you so anxious to have our engagement 
 known ? " 
 
 " I am, rather. It sounds vain, perhaps, 
 but I should like to let Mr. O'Brien know 
 that it is no use to go on thinking about 
 me." 
 
 " For Heaven's sake, Elizabeth, don't tell 
 /iz7n. You might as well advertise in the 
 Times,"
 
 CHIEFLY IN DIALOGUE. 175. 
 
 " Is he that kind of man ? I should not 
 have thought it." 
 
 " He is an Irishman," said Captain 
 Grove, evasively. As Elizabeth did not 
 speak, he went on. '' It is no use to give 
 him a hint. He will never be satisfied till 
 you have said ' no ' to him in plain 
 words." 
 
 " Oh, do you think so ? How ver)^ dis- 
 agreeable ! " 
 
 " I thought women rather liked the 
 triumph." 
 
 " Perhaps some of them do, as some 
 men like to kill things. I don't. I wish 
 people would understand. I don't encour- 
 age him ; now, do I ? " 
 
 " A man of that kind doesn't need en- 
 couragement, and won't understand dis- 
 couragement. It is not your fault ; you 
 can't help being the prettiest woman in 
 London." 
 
 '' I suppose I can't help it ; " and, as he
 
 I "jd ORLANDO. 
 
 laughed, '' I don't mean being the prettiest 
 woman in London^ — of course, I know I'm 
 not — I mean, I can't help Mr. O'Brien 
 caring about me, if he will." 
 
 " Of course you can't ; you must just 
 submit to your fate, and be satisfied to 
 know that ninety-nine women In a hundred 
 would give their souls to change places. 
 The only alternative is to spoil your good 
 looks, and that / say ' no ' to." 
 
 The society of this, her favoured lover, 
 always brought a look of doubt and ques- 
 tion into Elizabeth's eyes, at other times so 
 calm and clear. 
 
 " I wonder," she said, '' how much you 
 will care for me when I am old and grey, 
 and my good looks are gone ?" 
 
 There was a pause, too short to be 
 measured. Captain Grove could not help 
 feeling that the question struck home. But 
 to her, he answered, '* Why, I shall be old 
 too, and grey, long before you are ; and, as 
 to good looks, I have none to lose."
 
 CHIEFLY IX DIALOGUE. I 77 
 
 She looked at him, and felt sure that no 
 age could destroy his air of distinction. 
 Then, returning to the old point, somewhat 
 in Lady Mary's fashion, " And you will 
 really see your uncle soon ? " 
 
 " Yes; I think he will be up in town, and 
 then he will see you. Half an hour in 
 your company would do more than weeks 
 of description. And now, good-bye. I am 
 afraid I shall not see you again till Tues- 
 day, for I am going to dinner to-morrow at 
 Ellison's." 
 
 '' You won't fail at Aunt Ellen's on Tues- 
 day, will you ? " 
 
 " No, indeed. I believe you suspect it 
 is not a pleasure to me to be where you 
 are." 
 
 " No, I don't. And oh, Edward, one 
 thing : I want you to be very nice to Mr. 
 Sherborne, for Gilbert's sake, and because 
 he really is nice, himself, besides." 
 
 '' I hope I am always 'very nice.' I'll do 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 1 78 ORLANDO. 
 
 what I can, but I have not much taste for 
 boys. I would advise you, if you really 
 like him, not to be too friendly with him, 
 yourself It is rather false kindness from 
 a woman as attractive as you." 
 
 '' Oh, you think that everybody sees me 
 with your eyes. Why, I am ever so much 
 older than he is ; he really is not much more 
 than a boy." 
 
 " I should fancy you were born in about 
 the same year. Well, I dare say you know 
 best, and at the worst, a man soon gets 
 over that sort of thing. Good-bye, Lily-of- 
 the-valley." 
 
 '' H'm. I don't know that I quite like 
 that name. It is very appropriate, just 
 now ; but, as the year goes on, there won't 
 be any more lilies-of-the-valley, and then 
 very likely you'll call me Tiger-lily instead." 
 
 " Elizabeth is the prettiest name of all ; 
 and so good-bye, my very own Elizabeth." 
 
 Thus amicably the lovers parted, and
 
 CHIEFLY IN DIALOGUE. I 79 
 
 'Captain Grove walked home, the better 
 pleased with his engagement that he be- 
 lieved two men would have envied him 
 if they had known it.
 
 1 80 ORLANDO. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 ACADEMICAL. 
 
 " Oh, years may come, and years may bring 
 The truth that is not bliss; 
 But will they bring another thing 
 That can compare with this ? " 
 
 A. H. Cloiigh. 
 
 On the afternoon of Lady Ellen's 'at 
 home,' Orlando, running upstairs at his 
 lodgings, was met by a young man coming 
 down. He stepped hastily aside, for the 
 new-comer's rate of progress and the many 
 articles with which he was laden made 
 collision very undesirable. 
 
 '* Hallo ! " cried the stranger, pausing, 
 but not until the impetus of his descent 
 had carried him to a step or two below. 
 '' Why, it's Sherborne ! "
 
 ACADEMICAL. 1 8 I 
 
 Orlando, looking at him with more 
 attention, exclaimed, " Duncannon ! " and 
 they shook hands, Mr. Duncannon shifting 
 a paint-box from his right hand to his left 
 to enable him to do so. 
 
 He was a fair young man, taller than 
 Orlando, and of that loosely hung and 
 large-jointed construction which makes up 
 in strength for what is wanting in grace. 
 His clothes partook of the same character, 
 and rather hung upon him than fitted him. 
 At a cursory glance he looked almost 
 boyish, In spite of a short, curling beard 
 just circling his chin. A pair of peculiarly 
 bright and quick eyes scarcely left you 
 leisure to remark the other components of 
 the face. But when — which was not often 
 —the face was at rest, a horizontal line 
 might be observed, marking itself with 
 growing distinctness across his forehead, 
 and his hair, worn rather long behind, was 
 beginning to withdraw itself a little from 
 the temples.
 
 1 82 ORLANDO. 
 
 " Are you living here ? " asked Orlando, 
 with a pleased smile. Indeed, the meeting 
 seemed to give satisfaction to both. 
 
 " Rather not ; I am getting on, but I 
 have not quite come to that yet. Remem- 
 ber, I have to keep up a studio. Newman 
 Street is my shop." 
 
 ''Well, I do live here for the present. 
 Come in, if you are not in a hurry, will 
 you ? " 
 
 '' Thanks, just for five minutes." 
 
 They went into Orlando's room. 
 
 " Rather different surroundings these, 
 from those in which we saw each other 
 last," said Mr. Duncannon. 
 
 "Jermyn Street instead of Snowdon — 
 though, to be very particular, our last 
 parting was at Paddington. And how 
 have you been ever since ? " 
 
 '' Oh, ' as the indifferent children of 
 the earth.' By-the-by, I congratulate 
 you."
 
 ACADEMICAL. 1 8 
 
 o 
 
 Orlando started and turned red. '' What 
 upon ? " 
 
 '' Didn't I see your name half-way up a 
 column of university intelligence ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes. Thank you. And didn't I 
 see yours in the Academy catalogue ? " 
 
 '' I dare say you did. I had a thing — 
 hung in a very decent place, too. I have 
 a full conviction that it was only because 
 my frame happened to fit the hole." 
 
 " Have you anything, this year ? " 
 
 " Two portraits, and a little Welsh land- 
 scape that I did that summer when I was 
 with you. I am painting an old man in 
 the room above this, now ; that is how I 
 came to be here. I never knew such a 
 wandering, restless fellow as he is. He 
 has been going to sit to me any time these 
 two years, but he has never had a long- 
 enough time disengaged until now, when 
 he is held fast by an attack of rheumatism 
 in the leg. I said to him it was not a
 
 1 84 ORLANDO. 
 
 good time to have his portrait painted, but 
 he advised me to take him while I could, 
 and I thought, perhaps, I had better. He 
 is first-rate company, except that he howls 
 out now and then when the pain seizes 
 him. I wish I had seen all the forels^n 
 places that he has." 
 
 " That is the old cry. Your heart is as 
 much set upon Rome as ever, then ? " 
 
 '' Oh yes ; what is an artist worth that 
 hasn't been there ? And I am beginning 
 to see my way to it, too." 
 
 " I am very glad to hear it. I always 
 told you you would succeed." 
 
 " I can pay my way comfortably, with 
 out too much calculation ; that's as much 
 as I look for yet, and as m.uch as a single 
 man ought to want." 
 
 " Unless, indeed, he wants a wife," said 
 Orlando. 
 
 " He mustn't want what he can't afford," 
 Duncannon answered. " And now about
 
 ACADEMICAL. 1 85 
 
 you ; you are not here for good and all, 
 are you ? " 
 
 '' Oh no ; only till I get tired of It, or 
 take a fancy for green fields again." 
 
 " Enjoying the world, I take It, as a 
 gentleman at large ? " 
 
 " SomethinQ: of that kind." 
 
 " A very useless, dangerous, and unpro- 
 ductive employment." 
 
 Orlando broke into a smile. 
 
 ''What ,are you going to do this 
 evening ? " 
 
 " Going to an ' at home ' at Lady Ellen 
 Darling's." 
 
 '' There's a waste of time ! You'll stand 
 two or three hours In a suffocating atmo- 
 sphere, and say things, not worth saying, to 
 people you never saw before, and don't 
 ever wish to see again." 
 
 Orlando laughed quietly. 
 
 " And if you do find a seat by a pleasant 
 companion you will have to give It up to
 
 1 86 ORLANDO. 
 
 some old woman who won't say ' thank 
 you.' If you were a rising artist, now, 
 and had to make yourself known, there 
 would be some sense in it. But as it 
 
 is But I suppose you do it because 
 
 you like it." 
 
 " That is exactly the reason. Every- 
 body has not your taste for a hermitage, 
 you know. I suppose you will retire to 
 an artistic solitude, where you will meditate 
 and smoke, with your feet on the hob, and 
 your collar off ? " 
 
 '' Neat — but you're mistaken. There 
 never was a more sociably disposed person 
 than I am. That's why I hate what you 
 call society, so much. As it happens, I 
 am going to the theatre with two particu- 
 larly charming girls and their mother ; and 
 I shall walk home with them, and there 
 will be a very quiet supper, and a very 
 intelligent discussion of the play, and per- 
 haps the prettiest of the sisters will sing
 
 ACADEMICAL. 1 8/ 
 
 over the tunes of the songs. And now I 
 must go, for I must get something to eat 
 at home, and wash ni}- brushes ; and it is 
 not so very early. Don't you envy me ? " 
 
 " Not a bit. When are you coming to 
 paint this old man again ? " 
 
 "Thursday, at three." 
 
 " Look in upon me when you come away. 
 Share my lonely dinner, will you ? " 
 
 " Thanks, I will. Don't come out ; I 
 know my way down by this time." 
 
 They shook hands, cordially, and Dun- 
 cannon added, '' On the whole, you know, 
 it IS pleasant to see you again." 
 
 " I am glad you think so, and I quite 
 agree." 
 
 They nodded to each other, and Dun- 
 cannon resumed the hurried descent w4iich 
 his recognition had interrupted. 
 
 Orlando, left alone, ate his solitary meal, 
 and, soon after, proceeded, with much time 
 and care, to dress for the evening^. His
 
 iSS ORLANDO. 
 
 thoughts, which had travelled back to the 
 Welsh wanderlno^s In which he had first met 
 Duncannon, turned again to the future — 
 the immediate future, which was so full 
 of promise. The Invitation, filled up with 
 his name by the hand of Elizabeth, lay 
 before him, and roused fresh gladness every 
 time it met his eyes. A nearer and sweeter 
 past than that In Wales awoke his memo- 
 ries. Softly at first, but with a gradual 
 unintentional crescendo, he began to sing 
 the song which he had sung to her accom- 
 paniment. Linked to that arose the little 
 French duet, with its 'RIons, rions toujours,' 
 which, once stirred from oblivion, never 
 failed to linger for days in the recollection. 
 Well might Duncannon's rheumatic sitter 
 on the second floor, finding himself pos- 
 sessed by a little French spirit which 
 exhorted him to laugh, inquire whether 
 the gentleman below was a professional 
 singer, and whether his practislngs were
 
 ACADEMICAL. 1 89 
 
 likely to continue. At- last the full-toned 
 voice was silent, and the singer went away 
 to Portland Place. 
 
 Orlando enjoyed, perhaps, less of Miss 
 Glendinning's immediate society during 
 that eveninor at her aunt's house than at 
 any of his previous meetings with her, yet 
 at no previous meeting had his love made 
 so great and rapid an advance. He watched 
 her reception of Lady Ellen's guests, and 
 imagined her In the position of hostess at 
 Sherborne. Her manner, he' thought, was 
 altogether perfect. She had none of the 
 Intolerable pretension of condescension, 
 but a sweet, natural graclousness which 
 never failed. To him, her charm was a 
 thing Individual, part of herself, as the 
 perfume is part of the rose. 
 
 Captain Grove, who also was observing 
 her, could have told precisely wherein It 
 consisted. The peculiarity, he would have 
 explained, lay simply in the fact that, being
 
 I go ORLANDO. 
 
 a most beautiful woman, she never behaved 
 as if her beauty counted for anything- in 
 her relations towards other people. Such 
 a bearing, it appeared to Orlando, would 
 be in complete harmony with the 'state and 
 ancientry ' of his own home. He set her 
 figure in the framework of the dark 
 wainscoting, and fancied her portrait, 
 hanging as the crowning glory, in the 
 family collection. He even knew the 
 place where it should hang. From these 
 pleasing dreams he was recalled by seeing 
 Lawrence O'Brien at Elizabeth's elbow. 
 He looked round for that other object of 
 his suspicion, Gilbert. But Gilbert was 
 not paying any attention to Elizabeth. It 
 rather seemed his desire to cultivate the 
 society of Orlando, to whom he presently 
 came. And there was something so manly, 
 simple, and straightforward about him — to 
 say nothing of his having what our Eliza- 
 bethan writers would call ' a peculiar gift in
 
 ACADEMICAL. I9I 
 
 a smile ' — that Orlando found it quite im- 
 possible to keep up his prejudice against 
 him. One hint of Millie would have 
 sufficed to make them friends for ever; but 
 Gilbert gave no such hint, and Orlando's 
 mind was too full to receive it unless it 
 was directly presented to him. 
 
 While they were still together, Lady 
 Ellen came to bid her nephew sing. He 
 went away obediently to the piano. Lady 
 Ellen, taking his place, asked Orlando 
 whether he had yet seen the Academy. 
 (It was the first week in May, and picture 
 gossip was going on all about them.) 
 
 He answered, *' No, not yet." 
 
 ''Will you come with us to-morrow 
 morning ? I always go early in the day — 
 to see the pictures, not the bonnets. We 
 shall be there soon after ten, if you care 
 to meet us." 
 
 Orlando said " Thank you," and re- 
 solved to be at the entrance from the
 
 192 ORLANDO. 
 
 moment that the hour of ten should strike. 
 An old lady drawing near, he stood up to 
 give her his place — not without an amused 
 recollection of Duncannon's prophecy — and 
 went towards the piano to be near Eliza- 
 beth when she rose from it. When she 
 did so, O'Brien was still beside her. She 
 turned from him to Orlando. There was 
 a slight increase of colour on her cheek. 
 Orlando was sure that this marked atten- 
 tion was annoying to her. When Lawrence 
 struck Into their talk she gave a quiet, 
 polite reply, and, a moment after, begged 
 him to warn Miss Tenby, who had a cold, 
 that she was sitting in a draught. He 
 went, reluctantly, and did not soon return. 
 
 " Such an evening as this must be very 
 tiring for you," said Orlando. 
 
 ''A little — but I like it. And the people 
 are mixing very well, to-night. Captain 
 Grove's being here makes a great differ- 
 ence."
 
 ACADEMICAL. 1 93 
 
 Orlando, after that, observed Captain 
 Grove with rather more attention, and saw 
 that it did make a difference. The first 
 principle of that polished gentleman's con- 
 duct was to leave a good Impression of 
 himself upon every person to whom he 
 spoke. Long and careful pursuance of 
 this principle had given him a kind of 
 sovereignty in the circle to which he 
 belonged. Many another girl besides 
 Elizabeth would have accepted his wooing 
 in the same spirit. Yet Captain Grove 
 was by no means a very clever man, nor 
 had he that stamp of goodness which may 
 give personal Influence to even a dull man. 
 He was merely a living Instance of Bacon's 
 truism, that ' every man profiteth In that 
 he most intendeth.' Captain Grove's in- 
 tentions aimed no higher than a certain 
 low ideal of society success. The winning 
 of a woman Infinitely more noble than him- 
 self was something by the way, and some- 
 
 VOL. I. o
 
 1 94 ORLANDO. 
 
 thing which might possibly become, after a 
 while, rather a weariness than a joy. 
 
 Naturally, these ideas did not present 
 themselves to Orlando's mind. His 
 thoughts but rested a moment upon 
 Captain Grove, and then returned to Eliza- 
 beth. 
 
 " I wish we shone a little more in the 
 musical line," said she. '' I won't ask you 
 to sing to-night, because, of course, you 
 have no music ; but if you would bring in 
 something and try over, some morning 
 before next time, it would be really kind." 
 
 " Oh, I should be pleased." 
 
 " Thank you very much. Gilbert is so 
 lazy ; he doesn't practise, though I offer 
 to play as many accompaniments as he 
 pleases." 
 
 " What a casting," thought Orlando, '' of 
 pearls before swine ! " 
 
 This was about the limit of their con- 
 versation, for she espied a lady sitting
 
 ACADEMICAL. 1 95 
 
 solitary in a corner, and went away to 
 talk to her. 
 
 The next morning Orlando posted him- 
 self punctually near the top of the wide, 
 Burlington House staircase. Before long 
 he saw the group for which he was watch- 
 ing : Lady Ellen, tall and dignified, wearing 
 a very impressive bonnet ; Elizabeth, calm 
 and graceful, simply dressed, rather adorn- 
 ing than adorned by what she wore ; and 
 Gilbert, whose manly form and face made 
 a contrast to the slender beauty of his 
 cousin, which was very becoming to both. 
 Orlando met them as they passed through 
 the turnstile, d.nd was complimented on his 
 punctuality. Lady Ellen, without any 
 secondary motive, attached Gilbert to her- 
 self; it suited her to have a catalogue- 
 bearer whom she miorht bid be silent, and 
 who would not look for polite remarks from 
 her. Thus Orlando was left to bliss and 
 ]\Iiss Glendinning. His attention was so
 
 196 ORLANDO. 
 
 much absorbed that he quite forgot to look 
 out for Duncannon's pictures. But, pre- 
 sently, circumstances reminded him of his 
 duty In this respect. They had joined 
 company with Lady Ellen and Gilbert, 
 and were sitting In the large room, resting 
 and observing the swaying crowd of gazers. 
 
 "Do you see those two girls ? " said 
 Elizabeth. '' I have been watching them 
 for a long time. They look so nice, and 
 seem so quiet and Interested. I suppose 
 that Is their mother with them." 
 
 Orlando looked critically at the young 
 ladies so pointed out. They were slim, 
 graceful girls. One, the fairer, was de- 
 cidedly pretty, with a sweet, rather me- 
 lancholy face — a model for Ophelia or 
 Margarete. The other, with less beauty, 
 had a keener glance, a swifter play of 
 feature, a promise of more humour lurking 
 in eye and lip. The mother resembled 
 both daughters, but her face had more
 
 ACADEMICAL. 
 
 197 
 
 of settled meaning, and expressed a very 
 pleasant combination of intelligence, be- 
 nevolence, and good sense. While they 
 were still under observation, a young man 
 and a young woman joined them. The 
 young woman was manifestly another and 
 •older sister ; the man was Duncannon. 
 
 " Here comes a third sister, Lizzie," said 
 Gilbert; "and, I should say, a lover." 
 
 " Why, I know him," said Orlando ; '' he 
 is an artist. We travelled together in 
 Wales, and I met him up here, yesterday, 
 quite by chance. I must go and speak 
 to him." 
 
 '' Oh, do," said Elizabeth ; " and find 
 out, if you can, who those nice-looking 
 ^irls are." 
 
 Orlando rose, and Duncannon at the 
 same moment saw him and came towards 
 him. 
 
 " You here ? Well, what do you think 
 ■of it ? "
 
 198 ORLANDO. 
 
 *'Oh, I call It a good year," answered 
 Orlando, to whom any pictures seen In 
 such company would have appeared beau- 
 tiful, but who would have been hard 
 pushed to give a reasonable account of 
 any one of them. 
 
 " Are you alone ? That Is the proper 
 way to see pictures." 
 
 Orlando could not help laughing. " And 
 you are with three ladies ! " 
 
 '' I ? Oh, I am different. I have been 
 here, more or less, ever since it opened. 
 I can very well afford to act as guide 
 to my friends for once. And there are 
 people, though they are rare, with whom 
 it is advantageous to go round a picture- 
 gallery. My companions are of that 
 kind." 
 
 *' May I ask, are they the same young 
 ladles with whom you were going to the 
 theatre last night ? " 
 
 '' Yes, they are ; and if you want to hear
 
 ACADEMICAL. 1 99 
 
 more about them, I'll tell you when I see 
 you to-morrow. But now I must go after 
 them, for they are going into the next 
 room where my two portraits are, and I 
 would not miss their first remarks on any 
 account." 
 
 He walked away quickly, and Orlando 
 returned to his companions, smiling. 
 
 " Well, Mr. Sherborne, who are they ? " 
 
 " I don't know, except that they are the 
 same whom he spoke very highly of, yes- 
 terday, and that he values their art- 
 criticism so highly that he would on no 
 account lose their remarks upon his own 
 work." 
 
 '' I should say," said Gilbert, " that your 
 friend, Mr. " 
 
 " Duncannon.'* 
 
 '' Had an attachment to one of those 
 young ladies." 
 
 ''Now, that is so like a man!" exclaimed 
 Elizabeth. " You never can think people
 
 200 ORLANDO. 
 
 can be friends without something of that 
 sort." 
 
 **Well, Lizzie, and, as a general rule, 
 they can't." 
 
 " I call it horrid to think like that. And 
 you yourself are just a proof to the con- 
 trary. At least, I trust, Gilbert, that you 
 dont suppose I have been nourishing a 
 romantic passion for you, all these years ? " 
 
 '' Indeed I don't ; but that is different." 
 
 ''And how do you know that it isn't 
 different with Mr. Duncannon, too ? Very 
 likely these girls are artists. They look 
 as if they might be." 
 
 ''And what do you know of the looks 
 of lady-artists ? If they are at all like 
 male artists of the same age, they would 
 not be half so neat and trimly got up. 
 Just look at Mr. Sherborne's friend. I 
 don't want to say anything rude about any 
 friend of yours, Sherborne, but I could 
 have told that he was an artist by his
 
 ACADEMICAL. 20I 
 
 boots, alone. Now, the boots of those 
 ladies were as neat as your own, Lizzie." 
 
 " Of course ladies' boots are neat, and 
 would be if they were fifty times artists. 
 But come, let us go into the next room 
 and look at Mr. Duncannon's pictures. 
 Auntie is always talking of having my 
 portrait painted ; perhaps Mr. DuncannOn 
 may be an unappreciated genius, whom 
 it would be a triumph to be painted by." 
 
 They went on, and Mr. Duncannon's 
 portraits were found worthy of all praise, 
 but not exactly suggestive of unappreciated 
 genius. Later, in another room, they came 
 upon a little Welsh landscape, which was 
 more interesting, because Orlando knew 
 the place, and could tell how and when 
 it was sketched. They sat down before it. 
 It was hung high, so that the crowd did 
 not much impede their view ; and Orlando 
 began to talk of his days with the painter 
 in Wales, and of Snowdon in a mist so
 
 202 ORLANDO. 
 
 thick that they dared neither go forward 
 nor back, but lay down in the shelter of 
 a rock, and there waited half a day and 
 a night, until the next sun rose clear over 
 an endless outlook of valleys. 
 
 " A time spent together in that way, with 
 the doubt whether we should live to come 
 down again, was enough to make friends 
 of us." 
 
 "Yes, indeed." 
 
 " We each promised to go to the other s 
 people, if either should be lost, and we 
 wrote upon a letter, in case neither should 
 get away. It read so strangely after- 
 wards." 
 
 ''Yes, it must have done. Did you 
 keep it ? " 
 
 " I showed it to my father, and he kept 
 it, because, as he said, it was meant for 
 him. And then we talked. We told each 
 other all about our plans and hopes. The 
 night seemed long enough to have remem-
 
 ACADEMICAL. 
 
 bered and repeated every thought we ever 
 had." 
 
 " I can fancy you did not sleep." 
 " Indeed, we did. We slept a good 
 many hours, and we both dreamed that we 
 were at home. But you can think what 
 a joy it was to see the sun coming up 
 at last. I think I never was so cold as 
 in that half-hour before the dawn. After- 
 wards, when we got down into the valley 
 again, we could not help feeling that there 
 was something absurd in the whole affair. 
 Of course we were intensely thankful ; but, 
 somehow, it seemed such an anti-climax 
 to come down and get dry clothes, and 
 a hot breakfast, by an Inn fire. And what 
 a breakfast we ate ! I heard the women 
 of the house exclaiming over us in Welsh, 
 and every one of them found a different 
 excuse to come in and look at us." 
 
 " I don't wonder you like Mr. Dun- 
 cannon s picture. Did he do it before 
 that, or after ? "
 
 :204 ORLANDO. 
 
 " Two days after. I caught a frightful 
 cold, and wasn't up to walking. So he did 
 that from a window, while I lay upon the 
 hearthrug, wretched." 
 
 '' I am glad to have seen it," said Eliza- 
 beth. 
 
 She lifted her eyes to It again, and 
 Orlando had a wild hope that her interest 
 In it might be a sign of love. 
 
 '' It is not sold," said she ; for this was 
 in the days when a red star of honour still 
 adorned the frames of favoured pictures. 
 
 And, in making this commonplace 
 remark, she had no other than the 
 commonplace thought which it directly 
 expresses. 
 
 But to Orlando, her words at once sug- 
 gested the scheme of buying the little 
 picture and keeping his purchase secret 
 until such time as she herself might see it 
 hanging at Sherborne. 
 
 Gilbert, at this point, appeared with a
 
 ACADEMICAL. 205. 
 
 message from Lady Ellen that she thought 
 it time to go home to luncheon, and hoped 
 Mr. Sherborne would come with them. 
 
 Mr. Sherborne was naturally extremely 
 willing. And after luncheon the four went 
 into the shady Park Crescent Gardens, 
 where they found Miss Tenby, reading 
 under a tree, and where they sat, gossip- 
 ping pleasantly, for nearly an hour. Then 
 Elizabeth declared that she must eo home, 
 and Orlando asked leave to accompany her. 
 As they walked together, the subject of 
 songs arose, and she was earnest in desiring 
 that he would fix a day to come and try 
 some, to her aunt's piano, and to her own 
 accompaniment. When he left her, at her 
 own door, it was just past four ; and they 
 had been together since ten. What a day 
 of memories ! 
 
 In Bond Street, he passed Captain Grove, 
 on his way from the War Office. It did 
 not enter Orlando's mind to associate his 
 return with Elizabeth's.
 
 206 ORLANDO. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 IN FRIENDLY CONVERSATION. 
 
 " Two friends, and at that happy time of hfe 
 When every bird sings prophecies." 
 
 M. 0. a 
 
 Orlando and Duncannon were sitting 
 together, the next evening, in Orlando's 
 room. A pleasant aroma of newly smoked 
 tobacco encircled them. Their talk was 
 the talk of youth — personal, egotistical, 
 fresh, frank, and flavoured with a delight- 
 fully unconscious arrogance. The subject 
 of the three young ladies who had been 
 with Duncannon at the Academy had not 
 as yet been touched. At last, after a little 
 interval of silence, he made a speech, which 
 Orlando took to be a prelude.
 
 IN FRIENDLY CONVERSATION. 207 
 
 "If ever I do any good in this world," 
 he said, flinging away, with energetic 
 emphasis, the end of his cigar, " it will be 
 owing to a woman." 
 
 " ' Et tu Brute ? '/' murmured Orlando. 
 '' I do believe," he continued, aloud, with 
 the gravity of mature conviction, "that 
 there is nothinor like the love of a o^ood 
 woman for brin^inof out the best of a man." 
 
 Duncannon chuckled. " I didn't say she 
 loved me. She didn't. She was full of a 
 beneficent, large-hearted benevolence, and 
 she bestowed some of it on me, who 
 wanted it badly enough, Heaven knows." 
 
 Orlando continued to smoke, and awaited 
 further communications. 
 
 " Should you like to know who it was ? " 
 
 " I am a little curious." 
 
 "It was Mrs. Cash, then, the mother of 
 those girls you saw yesterday ; a widow 
 with children almost as old as I am. She 
 had known something — not very much —
 
 208 ORLANDO. 
 
 of my people, and she happened to hear 
 I was all alone up here in town, and pretty- 
 ill off, and — well, I zvas getting mixed up 
 with rather a rowdy lot of fellows. What 
 can a man do ? You can't live altogether 
 solitary. It gets to be like a bodily pain 
 upon you to have some company, and 
 laughing, and talking, about you. And a 
 shabby, poor artist of a fellow isn't able to 
 choose his own society. You must take 
 what you can get. And oh, if you knew 
 how I used to long for some place that was 
 bright and clean, and just to be spoken to 
 by a nice woman ! And one day — I know 
 I had been awfully wretched, thinking : 
 what was the good of trying to do anything, 
 when there was nobody to care whether I 
 succeeded ? — the girl came up, and said 
 there was a lady waiting to see me, down- 
 stairs. Didn't I make haste to brush my 
 hair straight and wash my hands ? — and I 
 flung a whole drawerful of things on the
 
 IX FRIENDLY CONVERSATION. 209 
 
 fioor, trying to find a clean collar. And in 
 Mrs. Barton's old front parlour, there she 
 was. Not pretty, you know, or grand ; just 
 a quietly dressed, middle-aged widow. But 
 a lady, you know. And she said how she 
 had heard I was here, and she knew how 
 dull it was for a young man alone in 
 London. She had come on purpose to ask 
 me to come in, often, of an evening, to see 
 her and her daughters. And she gave me 
 her card with her address upon it, and 
 made me promise to come in the next 
 evening. I don't know what I said — I 
 don't believe I half thanked her properly, 
 and it was all so soon over — but when I 
 got upstairs again, and had the card in my 
 hand, I can't tell you the change that had 
 come over everything. I set to work, and 
 painted, and sang over my work like any- 
 thing." 
 
 '' And of course you went ? " 
 
 " You may be very sure of that. They 
 
 VOL. I. P
 
 2IO ORLANDO. 
 
 live In Gower Street. I used always to 
 think, till I knew them, that it was the 
 dreariest street in London. It was a nasty, 
 damp, November night, just the night to 
 be wretched, if you had not something 
 pleasant to look forward to. I was shown 
 into the room where they were all sitting, 
 Mrs. Cash and the four girls." 
 
 " Four ? " 
 
 " Yes ; there's a little one — Viola. It 
 seemed quite a roomful to me, and I was 
 awfully shy of them at first." 
 
 Orlando smiled to himself at the incon- 
 gruous image of Duncannon overcome by 
 bashfulness. 
 
 " But, in five minutes, they had set me 
 at my ease. They were so simple, and 
 friendly, and seemed so really glad to have 
 me. And it wasn't as if I was as success- 
 ful even as I am now. I had not done 
 anything. If ever there was a 'detrimental,' 
 I was one. And then they sang — two of
 
 IN FRIENDLY CONVERSATION. 211 
 
 them sing together deHghtfully — and they 
 talked about pictures ; not just senseless 
 gossip, but real intelligent appreciation. 
 And they asked, but so nicely, whether 
 I would let them see some of my work ; 
 just as if it was I that was to do them a 
 kindness. But the thing that touched me 
 most of all was this. They had some tickets 
 for the next ' Saturday Popular,' and Silvia 
 — that's the second — was going, but the 
 others could neither of them go with her ; 
 they were invited somewhere, I think. So 
 Mrs. Cash — not one of the girls — asked me 
 if I would go. I did feel honoured, I can tell 
 you. I felt like the man in ' Les Miser- 
 ables ' when the bishop gives him the can- 
 dlesticks. And, on the Saturday, we went. 
 You must have lived in the way that I had, 
 for six months, to know how I felt. It was 
 like an exaltation in my own eyes to walk 
 down Regent Street with a girl like that, 
 and to sit there with her in the concert-
 
 212 ORLANDO. 
 
 room, and see her smile when I spoke to 
 her. There's something about all those 
 girls that I never saw so fully in any 
 others ; they are so genuine and kindly, so 
 simple and yet so clever." 
 
 Orlando thought how Elizabeth's wo- 
 manly instinct had detected their virtues at 
 first sight. 
 
 '' And I had never heard such music, 
 either. It was all like a new world. Well, 
 that was the beginning, and since that, I 
 have been there often, and they are the 
 best friends I have. I am painting Silvia's 
 portrait, now that my Academy work is 
 done." 
 
 " She seems to be your favourite." 
 
 " Oh no ; it is not because of that. I 
 rather think I like Julia best. It is be- 
 cause she is to be married some time next 
 year. She is engaged to a sailor, and they 
 will like to have her portrait. I don't 
 deny," he added, smiling, " that she is the
 
 TN FRIENDLY CONVERSATION. 213 
 
 prettiest of the three, and that that, per- 
 haps, may have made a difference." 
 
 " I call such a woman as that an angel, 
 in the old, original meaning of the word," 
 Orlando remarked. 
 
 " So she is," said Duncannon. '' Should 
 you like to know her ? " 
 
 He put the question with a magpie-like, 
 upturned eye.. 
 
 " Indeed I should." 
 
 " They are women's rights reformers ; 
 Mrs. Cash lectures," Duncannon proceeded, 
 in an easy voice. 
 
 '' Oh-h ! " said Orlando ; and his face 
 decidedly fell. 
 
 Duncannon laughed, shortly. 
 
 There was an interval, short in actual 
 time, but long in its sense of division. 
 
 " You disapprove of that kind of thing ? " 
 said Duncannon. 
 
 " I must say I do," Orlando answered, 
 apologetically. "It seems to me so — so 
 unwomanly."
 
 2 1 4 ORLANDO. 
 
 Duncannon sprang up, and stood kick- 
 ing one heel against his chair ; a spot of 
 red had risen on each of his cheek-bones. 
 " There, that's it ! " he said, with his abrupt 
 laugh. *' Unwomanly ! Who is to do it 
 for them, if they don't ? No man will." 
 
 Orlando said nothing, but it is perhaps 
 needless to remark that his views were not 
 materially altered by these rather interjec- 
 tional observations. He asked himself 
 what would be the attitude of Elizabeth 
 towards such a question, and was confirmed 
 in his opinion that it was decidedly unwo- 
 manly for a woman to lecture. 
 
 " Why, she might as well preach," he 
 said. 
 
 ** Well, and / don't see why she shouldn't, 
 if she has talent enough ; it wasn't given 
 her for nothing, I suppose." 
 
 To this Orlando had no answer. The 
 opposition of sentiment to argument is 
 unsatisfactory, and leads to loss of temper
 
 IN FRIENDLY CONVERSATION. 21 5 
 
 on both sides. Duncannon, too, felt that 
 it was better not to push the discussion 
 further. 
 
 ''You don't know many working women, 
 I suspect," he said, as if seeking excuses to 
 himself for Orlando's prejudices. " And I 
 dare say you never read Clough's ' Bothie 
 of Tober-na-Vuolich.'" 
 
 " Oh, but I have, though. I am bound 
 to say I don't quite see how it applies." 
 
 Duncannon laughed, a good, sunny laugh 
 this time, that was allowed to run out to 
 completeness, and quoted, merrily — 
 
 " ' Ah, you have much to learn ; we can't know all 
 things at twenty.' " 
 
 More soberly, he went on, " You do know 
 
 Clough, then ? " 
 
 " I have read the poems ; I can't say I 
 
 know them well.'' 
 
 " What do you think of them ? " 
 
 "It is a difficult question to answer in 
 
 that ' stand-and-deliver ' sort of way. To
 
 2 1 6 ORLANDO. 
 
 tell the truth, they rather annoyed me. 
 They were like the writing of a man who 
 isn't master of his trade — just as college 
 verses are ; as if a sculptor should chip out 
 his marble with a spade." 
 
 '' Stop. That's a couplet. Not a bad 
 one. 
 
 He isn't master of his trade ; 
 
 He hacks his marble with a spade. 
 
 Perhaps that is rather true of the form. 
 You see, I don't read much poetry myself, 
 and I am not so sensitive to that. And 
 yet, Sherborne, think of the songs, how 
 musical they are — 
 
 * How smooth we ghde, how softly ! Ah ! 
 Were life but like the gondola ! ' 
 
 And, then, those songs of the ship." 
 
 " Yes, it is true ; but would they have 
 
 been so smooth if Clough had not read 
 
 Tennyson ? " 
 
 ''Would you and I have been what we 
 
 are, if we had been born last century ?
 
 IX FRIENDLY COXVERSATIOX. 21 J 
 
 Upon my word, I think you might ; you 
 remind me a little of Sir Charles Grandi- 
 son." 
 
 *' Allow me to point out one difference, 
 at least. Sir Charles Grandison always 
 had the most of the conversation, and the 
 best of the ars^ument." 
 
 '' Ah, yes ! He didn't know me," the 
 irrepressible Duncannon returned. " But 
 don't you really like Clough ? Putting 
 aside the form, don't you think the thoughts 
 are fine ? Don't you think they express 
 just the thoughts of the age — what every 
 one must have felt, at some time or 
 another ? " 
 
 " Honestly, I can't say that I do. Is 
 there that dissatisfaction, that constant self- 
 inquir}' to know what it is one really 
 wants ? I don't find it." 
 
 '' Lucky you, that's all," Duncannon in- 
 terjected. 
 
 '' And then when he talks of love ; why,
 
 2l8 ORLANDO. 
 
 his men are never quite sure whether they 
 are in love with one woman, or another,, 
 or either of the two. That is not natural." 
 
 " I don't know," said Duncannon, slowly 
 and impersonally. 
 
 Quick came Orlando's counter-blow.. 
 - Well, I do." 
 
 The colour rose in his face as quickly. 
 He said no more. Neither did Dun- 
 cannon, but presently repeated, gently, 
 caressingly — ■ 
 
 " ' He has a life small happiness that gives 
 Who, friendless, in a London lodging lives, 
 Dines in a dingy chop-house, and returns 
 To a lone room ; while all within him yearns 
 For sympathy, and his whole nature burns 
 With a fierce thirst for some one — is there none ? — 
 To expend his human tenderness upon. 
 So blank, and hard, and stony is the way 
 To walk, — I wonder not men go astray.' 
 
 There, those are the lines I loved Clough 
 for, first ; and that is the state of things 
 from which Mrs. Cash saved me, and so I 
 stick up for both of them. And if you
 
 IN FRIENDLY CONVERSATION. 219 
 
 will read your Clough diligently, and come 
 with me to call in Gower Street, you will 
 go some way to learning a little of the 
 much you have to learn. And if you 
 won't, why you'll have it to pray for 
 among your negligences and ignorances, 
 that's all. You may laugh, but I'm in 
 earnest." 
 
 " I did not laugh ; and I will go with 
 you to call on Mrs. Cash whenever you 
 please — if I may."
 
 2 20 ORLANDO. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 IN GOWER STREET. 
 
 " They found Lucretia spinning, with all her maidens 
 about her." 
 
 Orlando found himself standing with 
 Duncannon, an afternoon or two later, 
 upon the doorstep of Mrs. Cash's house, in 
 Gower Street. The door was opened, and 
 their ears were at once saluted by a peal 
 of girlish laughter from some upper part of 
 the house. The room Into which they were 
 shown looked with two windows on the 
 street, and had by nature a rather gloomy 
 appearance. The character of the in- 
 habitants had, however, gone far to modify 
 that of the room. A piano stood open
 
 IN GOWER STREET. 221 
 
 with music on it, and the pretty Silvia was 
 busy at the dining-table, putting out wild- 
 flowers from a large heap before her, into 
 vases, and into soup-plates filled with sand. 
 The delicate perfume of the many prim- 
 roses met them as they came in. Mrs. 
 Cash was sitting near one of the windows, 
 taking notes from a book, open on a read- 
 ing-stand, by her. She rose, and came 
 towards them with a kindly smile of wel- 
 come. Standing thus, face to face with 
 her, Orlando was struck by the full, open- 
 eyed and kindly gaze which she turned 
 upon him. Her voice, also, was full and 
 clear, and her words had no mincing- 
 utterance. 
 
 '' I am glad to see you, Mr. Sherborne. 
 We have heard of you so very often from 
 Mr. Duncannon. This is my second 
 daughter — Silvia." 
 
 Silvia bowed to both of them, and said, 
 in a pretty, flute-like voice, *' I won't ofler
 
 22 2 ORLANDO. 
 
 to shake hands with anybody ; my fingers 
 are all wet and sandy." 
 
 "What a heap of flowers!" said Dun- 
 cannon, taking up an anemone or two from 
 the pile. 
 
 ''Cecily brought them from HIghgate. 
 She has just come home." 
 
 '' I thought I heard her laugh, as we 
 came in." 
 
 " Oh, that was at Viola's letter. Julia 
 got one this morning." 
 
 " And how is Viola ? Pretty lively, I 
 suppose, from that." 
 
 " The youngest of my daughters is 
 spending her holidays in the country," 
 Mrs. Cash explained to Orlando. 
 
 While she was speaking, the other 
 two sisters came in, looking very much 
 alike, and Orlando was introduced to them. 
 Julia had her little sisters open letter in 
 her hand ; Cecily's face was bright with 
 amusement. Orlando observed a slight
 
 IN GOWER STREET. 2 23 
 
 difference between their manner of speech 
 and that of the society to be met at Lady 
 Ellen's. They spoke with something more 
 of precision, and with a completer utter- 
 ance, using more and deeper notes of voice. 
 The little Viola's letter was adorned 
 with illustrations, which were handed round, 
 and fully accounted for Cecily's laughter. 
 They were little sketches, in pencil, of 
 people and of animals, childishly executed 
 enough, but showing a quick eye for 
 character and a perception of the comic 
 which could only have belonged to a child 
 in a quick-witted home. Orlando was a 
 good deal amazed at them, and thought 
 that the household which could produce 
 so precocious a little person must be a 
 quaint one. His wonder was further in- 
 creased by an extract or two from the 
 letter, written in a self-possessed and con- 
 nected style which appeared to him most 
 unchildlike.
 
 2 24 ORLANDO. 
 
 Cecily had taken a work-basket as she 
 sat down, and busied herself upon some 
 embroidery of a fashion new to Orlando, 
 working upon dark-blue satin in pale-blue 
 and white silks, not from a pattern, but 
 from a black and white drawing of an 
 antique medallion. Julia selected three or 
 four flowers from Silvia's pile, and arrang- 
 ing them carefully in a slender little vase, 
 took them to a side-table, and began to 
 sketch their outline. 
 
 " Was it your first visit to the Academy 
 the other day ? " Mrs. Cash began. 
 
 *' Yes ; but I am afraid I didn't profit 
 as much as I ought to have done. I found 
 the people so much more interesting than 
 the pictures." 
 
 " Then I suppose we must not ask what 
 you thought of them, nor which you liked 
 the best ? " 
 
 *' Oh, I know which I liked best ; but 
 that was on personal grounds ; it was — — "
 
 IN GOWER STREET. 225 
 
 '' Now, don't," interrupted Duncannon, 
 from the table where he was helping Silvia 
 with her flowers — " dont tell us that you 
 liked a picture because some one else did." 
 
 '' No, I wasn't going to say that. It 
 was that little Welsh thing of yours." 
 
 '' You are not a fair critic of that," said 
 Duncannon. 
 
 '' Ah, you were with Mr. Duncannon 
 when he painted it, were you not ? " said 
 Julia. 
 
 Cecily looked up with an amused little 
 smile, and Orlando felt convinced that 
 Duncannon had given an account of the 
 painting, and of his own desolate con- 
 dition on the hearthrug. He laid up the 
 point for future inquiry. 
 
 '' I think that — associations apart — Mr. 
 Duncannon's portraits are better than his 
 landscapes," said Mrs. Cash, looking kindly 
 at the young painter as she spoke. He, 
 on his part, turned round at once to listen 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 2 26 ORLANDO. 
 
 to her. " You have so marked a gift for 
 Hkeness. I know very few portraits that 
 catch the trick of expression better than 
 those two of yours." 
 
 " That I could not judge of, you see, 
 not knowing the originals," said Orlando. 
 
 " Oh, we have a photograph of one of 
 them— Mrs. Lisle," said Silvia. "Would 
 you mind passing that album, Mr. Dun- 
 cannon ? I don't like to touch it." 
 
 The album was handed, and Cecily 
 showed the portrait. From that, Orlando 
 turned to the others in the book. The 
 large proportion represented women or 
 girls. To most of them Cecily added 
 some little explanatory comment, and many 
 of these were rather surprising to Orlando 
 — as, for instance, '' She writes leading 
 articles for one of the newspapers, and the 
 same paper cries out against female suffrage 
 and the influence of women in politics;" or, 
 '' She is a student of the Academy ; "
 
 IN GOWER STREET. 22/ 
 
 ^' That is a lady whom Julia met at the 
 British Museum ; " '' That is Miss Owen, 
 who had Silvia's district before she took 
 it — but she went to South Africa as a 
 missionary." 
 
 Orlando glanced at Silvia amongst her 
 flowers, and thought that she was the 
 sweetest sister of the three. She was 
 just gathering up her last blossoms, and 
 Duncannon had gone to look over and 
 counsel Julia. 
 
 " Mamma," said Silvia, " I think I will 
 just go down and take some of these to 
 Jimmy Williams while they are fresh. A 
 few flowers are a perfect blessing there." 
 
 " Very well, my dear, do. And ask 
 Anne to stand that plateful in a cool place, 
 that they may go into the hospital, to- 
 morrow morning." 
 
 Silvia bore away the plate and the bunch 
 of flowers, Duncannon flying to open the 
 door for her.
 
 2 28 ORLANDO. 
 
 " And that's my little sister," said Cecily, 
 as Orlando reached the first page of the 
 album. 
 
 He looked with some curiosity at the 
 photograph. It showed a serious little 
 girl, who looked out with a fixed gaze at 
 the spectator. 
 
 '' It is not very good," said Mrs. Cash,, 
 glancing at the book and smiling. 
 
 The likeness might be unsatisfactory, but 
 the memory it recalled was evidently sweet. 
 Duncannon also, whose bad habit it was 
 to roam the room with his hands in his 
 pockets, instead of sitting still in an un- 
 obtrusive manner, approached, and looked 
 over Orlando's shoulder. 
 
 " No, it doesn't do her justice a bit. No 
 photographs ever do, to a face that's worth 
 painting. They give an intelligent person 
 the stolid expression of dumb attendants 
 on the stage." 
 
 '' Oh, that reminds me," said Julia.
 
 IX GOWER STREET. 229 
 
 "' We want some of your assistance, please. 
 The Millers are going to get up some 
 tableaux vivants. Can you give us an idea 
 for a subject ? They thought of Cin- 
 derella, but I am sure none of our feet are 
 small enough ; and it is not very original. 
 We have made up our minds to Macbeth 
 and the witches. That is very easily and 
 effectively done : a deep pan, with a saucer 
 of burning spirit and salt (you can't 
 imagine the ghastly effect that gives), and 
 sheets and table-cloths for drapery." 
 " That might be worth sketching." 
 " Oh, you shall sketch us as much as 
 you will, if you will only help us to some- 
 thing new and striking. I think I can 
 promise that." 
 
 "And are you going to be a witch ? " 
 ''I? No, indeed; I am only general 
 aid and manager. Fancy my pupils in- 
 viting me to act a witch, with my hair 
 down, and my shoes and stockings off!"
 
 230 ' ORLANDO. 
 
 "Oh, I didn't know. I thought it 
 might be part of the newer and more 
 liberal system of education. I met you 
 once, remember, riding on a donkey, in 
 company with your pupils, on Hampstead 
 Heath." 
 
 There was a general laugh, in which 
 Julia took her full share. 
 
 Cecily asked Orlando whether he could 
 help Julia with a suggestion. Duncannon, 
 however, anxious to make his peace, 
 began, '* Did you ever see a picture called, 
 I think, ' The Game of Life,' — a man 
 playing at chess with an evil spirit for 
 his soul, while an angel hangs over him 
 on the other side ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 "The greatest light falls on the angel, 
 white ; the greatest dark on the evil spirit, 
 black, hooded — only a claw-like hand 
 stretched out to move a piece. The 
 man is in a half-light ; the whole com-
 
 IN GOWER STREET. 23 1 
 
 position oval, the angel being the highest 
 point. The difficulty would be in sending 
 a stream of lio^ht on her. A lantern would 
 do it." 
 
 •'Willie Miller has a bull's-eye lantern 
 for his moth-hunting." ; 
 
 '' The very thing." 
 
 •'Silvia must be the angel. You must 
 show us the exact positions when she 
 comes in." 
 
 •' But she may be gone a long time, 
 perhaps." 
 
 •• Oh no ; she won't stay, because it is 
 not her day. And it is not far off; it 
 is just this side of the Seven Dials." 
 
 •• Seven Dials ! " exclaimed Orlando, in- 
 voluntarily, and with all the exaggerated 
 horror of a countryman's ignorance of 
 London. •' Surely Miss Cash is not gone 
 there alone ? " 
 
 " Oh yes. It is her district," said 
 Cecily.
 
 232 ORLANDO. 
 
 And Mrs. Cash added, " Silvia is as safe 
 among the people there as she is in this 
 room — except, Indeed, from the chance of 
 fever, and that, companionship could not 
 save her from." 
 
 Yet Orlando could not be quite easy 
 until he saw Silvia come in. 
 
 She looked a little pale, and sat down 
 without speaking. 
 
 " Well, dear ? " said her mother. 
 
 " I am glad I went. Poor little fellow ! 
 I don't think he will be alive for any, 
 next time Cecily brings them." 
 
 " So bad as that ? " said Julia. 
 
 Silvia nodded. " One can't be sorry. 
 The poor child's life is one suffering. But 
 it seems 'a piece of childhood thrown 
 away. 
 
 As she sat, looking before her with a 
 wistful sadness in her tender, blue eyes, 
 Orlando understood why Julia had said 
 at once, '' Silvia must be the angel."
 
 IN GOWER STREET. 233 
 
 " And are you coming to me, in 
 Newman Street, to-morrow ? " Duncannon 
 asked her. He, like the rest of the 
 world, had a softer tone In his voice for 
 Silvia. 
 
 '' Oh yes, please. After ^next week, my 
 holidays will be over, and I shall only 
 have Saturday mornings free. I had 
 better come as often now as you can 
 have me." 
 
 " And the three attendant Graces," said 
 Duncannon, with a comprehensive bow, 
 '* will bring their book, and read." 
 
 " I hope you appreciate the Implied 
 compliment, Silvia," said Mrs. Cash. " I 
 may, perhaps, be obliged to break off a little 
 sooner If I don't get time to prepare my 
 notes for Monday, but I dare say some one 
 will go on reading In my place." 
 
 ''Very well, then, to-morrow," said 
 Duncannon ; and Orlando, feeling that he 
 had already somewhat prolonged his visit
 
 234 ORLANDO. 
 
 in his desire to see Silvia safely return, 
 now rose to take his leave. 
 
 " Well ? " said Duncannon, inquiringly, 
 as they passed into Great Russell Street. 
 
 '' Well, if those are women's rights 
 reformers, they don't seem so very 
 terrible." 
 
 ''Silvia, for instance," said Duncannon. 
 " Don't you think her a little ' un- 
 womanly ' ?" 
 
 " How pretty she is ! " said Orlando. 
 '' But has she always that little melancholy 
 air f 
 
 " Generally. I fancy she thinks upon 
 ' the perils of the seas.' " 
 
 '' I should like to see your portrait 
 of her." 
 
 '' Oh, it is on view in Newman Street 
 daily, until dusk. Admission free." 
 
 *' By-the-by, what is your number in 
 Newman Street ? " asked Orlando. 
 
 Duncannon told him, and then, standinq-
 
 IN GOWER STREET. 235 
 
 Still, added, ** I have to call here about a 
 frame, so good-bye for the present." 
 
 They parted, and Orlando walked 
 homeward, considering whether it would 
 be permissible to go this afternoon and 
 try songs to Elizabeth's accompaniment.
 
 236 ORLANDO. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 IN A STUDIO. 
 
 " books, we know, 
 
 Are a substantial world both pure and good : 
 Round these, with tendrils strong as flesh and blood, 
 Our pastime and our happiness will grow. 
 There find I personal themes, a plenteous store : 
 Matter wherein right voluble I am : 
 To which I listen with a ready ear." 
 
 A DAY or two later, Orlando fulfilled his 
 intention of visiting Duncannon's studio. 
 He was admitted to a large, light room, 
 where he found not only the artist, but also 
 Mrs. Cash and her three daughters. Silvia 
 was seated in a high chair, placed on a 
 slightly raised platform. Behind her was a 
 screen of dingy baize, making a background 
 from which her fair hair and delicately 
 tinted profile stood out like a fine cameo.
 
 IX A STUDIO. 237 
 
 On an easel, planted at the other end of the 
 room, stood the unfinished portrait, ghastly 
 in its pale resemblance. Mrs. Cash, Julia, 
 and Cecily were sitting together on one 
 side. The two girls occupied a wide, 
 carved oak bench, Mrs. Cash a common 
 Windsor chair of red-stained deal. She 
 had a book in her hands, from which, as 
 he came in, he heard her reading, in a 
 measured beat of verse. 
 
 '' Ah, Sherborne," said Duncannon, look- 
 ing up ; " come in." 
 
 '' Oh, but I am disturbing you," said 
 Orlando. '' I thought I should find you 
 alone." 
 
 '' Not at all," Duncannon answered — in 
 reference, it must be supposed, to the first 
 clause ; " we shall come to a rest in a few 
 minutes. Sit down." 
 
 Orlando looked round him dubiously, 
 and finding no chair, took his place on 
 the edge of the platform, almost at Mrs. 
 Cash's feet.
 
 238 ORLANDO. 
 
 '' You were reading," said he ; '' don't let 
 me Interrupt you. I am so sorry to have 
 disturbed you." 
 
 Mrs. Cash seemed at first Indisposed to 
 continue, but seeing his entreaties to be 
 earnest, yielded. She was reading ' The 
 Spanish Gypsy,' and had reached the point 
 of Don Sllva's hurried ride homeward to 
 find his betrothed gone. She read well, 
 with a liquid flow of rhythm and a delicate 
 fulness of expression, that yet never strove 
 to go beyond the province of recital into 
 that of the stage. There was no other 
 sound except the soft touch of Duncannon's 
 brush upon canvas or palette, and the clink 
 of his colour-tubes when they touched the 
 paint-box or one another. Once or twice 
 Cecily, bending to Julia's ear, whispered a 
 comment, as, for Instance, at the description 
 of the priest who rode 
 
 ' Firm in his saddle, stalwart and broad-backed, 
 Crisp-curled, and comfortably secular ; '
 
 IN A STUDIO. 239 
 
 when It was evident that she suggested a 
 modern representative. The tale went on. 
 The picture rose before them of the hall, 
 with its many and motley tenants. 
 
 " Good to paint," murmured Duncannon. 
 
 At the close of that scene, Mrs. Cash 
 
 paused, and Silvia came down from her 
 
 pedestal, to inspect her own likeness and 
 
 her sisters' work. 
 
 " I should like to see Spain," sighed 
 Duncannon, whose desire for travel was 
 easily aroused. 
 
 " How about the Spanish cookery ? " 
 asked Cecily. 
 
 " Oh, I am not so particular, Miss Cecily, 
 as you. I should go in the time of fruit, 
 and trouble myself for little else than bread 
 and wine. It is not good policy to accept 
 ill-cooked dinners from one's landlady in 
 London, but abroad, the case is different. 
 If you go 
 
 ' Leaving home and ease, 
 A stubborn will to please,'
 
 240 ORLANDO. 
 
 you must be content to please the stubborn 
 will and nothing else." 
 
 Orlando stood looking at the gradually 
 growing portrait. 
 
 " What do you think ? " asked Dun- 
 cannon, turninof to him. 
 
 " I am not artist enough to know. I 
 can see the likeness, of course ; but I 
 don't know whether the parts that seem 
 wrong are really faults or only incomplete- 
 nesses." 
 
 " ' O wise young judge,' " said Dun- 
 cannon, laying a hand on his shoulder. 
 " I do perceive in you the germs of a good 
 critic ; that is to say, of a critic who knows 
 the limits of his own knowledge. To you 
 I will show other things, finished and un- 
 finished, and pay attention to what you say 
 of them." 
 
 *' Is not that rather a punishment for 
 speaking the truth, Mr. Duncannon ? " said 
 Julia, who also had drawn near.
 
 IN A STUDIO. 241 
 
 Duncannon looked up quickly, to catch 
 her smile, and made no other answer. 
 
 " May I stay and hear some more ? " 
 asked Orlando, fancying that they were 
 w^aiting to continue the sitting, in expecta- 
 tion that he would go. 
 
 " May he, Mrs. Cash ? " asked Dun- 
 cannon. 
 
 " With very much pleasure, as far as I 
 am concerned," Mrs. Cash answered, giving 
 to Orlando that sincere, kindly smile which 
 made everyday w^ords from her full of 
 reality. 
 
 Orlando sat, and listened, with increasing 
 interest, to the love-sorrows of the duke. 
 Julia, who had something of the artist's 
 observant eye, noted the gradually deepen- 
 ing intensity of his face, as he became 
 more and more self-forgetful. All were 
 sorry when the second book of the poem 
 was finished, and the sitting came to an 
 
 VOL. I. R
 
 242 ORLANDO. 
 
 end. Orlando was surprised to find how 
 late It was. 
 
 '' You will come, next time, and hear the 
 rest, won't you ? " said Julia. 
 
 Orlando only awaited confirmation of the 
 invitation to give a glad acceptance. Julia 
 and Cecily rolled together their work, 
 Silvia resumed her hat and mantle, and 
 mother and daughters took their departure, 
 while Orlando lingered for another half- 
 hour looking over Duncannon's sketches. 
 
 On arriving at home, he found Gilbert 
 waiting for him with a proposal to row up 
 the river. They went accordingly, and 
 Orlando was by no means too love-sick to 
 enjoy the perfect afternoon, the delicious 
 motion, and the invigorating sense of power, 
 as the boat swung forward to his strokes. 
 They dined at Richmond, and pulled back, 
 under a darkening sky, to Putney. The 
 tide was against them, but the struggle 
 was an extra enjoyment. Both were
 
 IN A STUDIO. 243 
 
 good oarsmen : Gilbert had, in his day, 
 rowed in a winning eight ; and a boat 
 upon the Sherril was among Orlando's 
 earliest and most continuous memories. 
 They landed at Putney, far advanced in 
 friendship, and resolving to repeat the 
 excursion. 
 
 That chance which, after neglecting the 
 introduction through all our previous years, 
 is hasty in presenting to us for the second 
 time a new acquaintance in the world of 
 words or thoughts, is sometimes equally 
 busy in regard to our human acquaintances. 
 Thus Orlando, o^oinof within the same week 
 to a dance at the house of a college friend, 
 met Julia and Silvia Cash. His first im- 
 pression was of incongruity. It seemed 
 strange to him that these work-devoted 
 young women should be at a dance. Yet 
 they did not, as far as he could judge, seem 
 at all out of their element, but appeared to 
 enjoy their evening very fully indeed. He
 
 244 ORLANDO. 
 
 danced with both of them — with Silvia 
 twice — and found them unusually pleasant 
 partners, simple and cheerful, and ready 
 with bright talk. He observed that others 
 seemed to share his opinion of them, for 
 they were seldom sitting out. More than 
 once he was reminded of Elizabeth's sum- 
 ming up : " They look so nice, and seem 
 so quiet and interested." 
 
 Of Elizabeth herself he saw very little 
 during these few days. Once, however, 
 he met her in Rotten Row. She was 
 pale, and he thought looked anxious and 
 troubled." She was among a group of 
 acquaintances, of whom O'Brien was one. 
 She turned from him to Orlando, with a 
 look of escape on her face, and for some 
 few yards they walked side by side. She 
 had shaken hands with him in silence, and 
 as she walked she said not a word. He 
 respected her silence, and felt it a mark of 
 confidence for which to be grateful. At
 
 IN A STUDIO. 245 
 
 parting, she gave him her hand, and said, 
 in an undertone, and with a quick smile 
 that failed to mount as high as to her eyes, 
 " If you knew how thankful I am to you 
 for ten minutes of peace ! " 
 
 Orlando reflected a good deal upon that 
 utterance, and came to the conclusion 
 that O'Brien was the cause of her trouble. 
 
 This remembrance was in his mind when, 
 a few days later, he sat listening in the 
 studio, while Mrs. Cash read the closing- 
 scenes of ' The Spanish Gypsy ; ' and it 
 served rather to intensify than to weaken 
 his interest in the tale. His original shade 
 of mistrust towards Mrs. Cash had, by this 
 time, quite faded away. He would have 
 been as prompt as Duncannon himself to 
 repudiate the application of the name un 
 womanly to any proceeding of hers, and it 
 Avas his full intention to attend the next 
 lecture that she should deliver. The 
 growing passion and sadness of the story,
 
 246 ORLANDO. 
 
 losing nothing In the interpretation, went 
 home, with fullest accord, to Orlando's 
 heart. Like Claude Melnotte, he desired, 
 just now, to read no books that were not 
 tales of love. When Mrs. Cash's voice 
 ceased, leaving In his ears, during the 
 few minutes of rest, Fedalma's words — 
 
 ' The bonds Fedalma may not break for you 
 I cannot joy that you should break for her ; ' 
 
 and of Sllva's — 
 
 ^ This seems a valley in some strange, new world 
 Where we have found each other, my Fedalma ; ' 
 
 the scene continued before him : he saw 
 the wide southern plain, the falling dark- 
 ness, the forms of the two lovers. But 
 Fedalma was Elizabeth. Just so would 
 Fedalma have spoken and have acted ; of 
 that he felt sure. 
 
 And now arose a debate as to Fedalma's 
 conduct. 
 
 " Did she do right, do you think ? " said 
 Cecily. '' Ought she to have sacrificed 
 her lover to her father ? What do you
 
 IN A STUDIO. 247 
 
 say, Silvia? Would you have given up 
 Charlie ? " 
 
 Silvia slightly blushed, and shook her 
 head. '' I don't think she did right," said 
 Silvia, breathing softly on that reed instru- 
 ment, her voice. " It is not what the Bible 
 says, is it — the leaving of father and 
 mother for that f " 
 
 She looked across to her mother, and 
 look and tone made the words express, 
 not the abridgment of love to father and 
 mother, but the exaltation of that other 
 love which was still greater. 
 
 Julia took up the question. 
 
 " I rather agree with the young man in 
 the French play that Willie Miller is doing 
 for his examination. The girl says, when 
 her father wants her to give up her lover 
 because he is poor, and to marry a rich 
 man instead — 
 
 ' Un pere a des droits ; ' 
 
 and he answers — 
 
 ' Et n'ai-je pas les miens ? '
 
 24B ORLANDO. 
 
 I think Fedalma's duties were quite as 
 strong towards Don Silva as towards 
 Zarca. I must say I don't sympathize 
 very much with Zarca." 
 
 '' Common sense is the best guide in 
 those matters," began Duncannon, slowly ; 
 and then, seeing Mrs. Cash's eyes fixed 
 upon him in considerable astonishment, 
 corrected himself. " I don't mean exactly 
 that. What I mean is rather this : the 
 really right way, in justice to everybody 
 concerned, is generally the common-sense 
 way as well. There's a sort of instinct to 
 take the way that is the most unpleasant — 
 and showy — without any consideration 
 that other people are involved too." 
 
 " As Max says to Thekla, in ' Wallen- 
 stein ; ' only I can't recollect the words," 
 said Cecily. 
 
 " But where would the story have been 
 if Fedalma had stayed ? " said her mother, 
 smiling. " I suspect one might parody
 
 IN A STUDIO. 249 
 
 Bacon's words, and say of such problems, 
 as he says of love altogether, that they 
 have a larger part in plays and stories than 
 in real life." 
 
 " Do you think that is true, in Bacon ? " 
 asked Orlando, looking suddenly up. 
 
 Mrs. Cash deliberated a moment, and 
 replied, " Yes, I do think so. And so will 
 you, Mr. Sherborne, when you are as old 
 as I am ; that is, if your life is at all after 
 the ordinary pattern." 
 
 '' Oh, but it won't be," said Duncannon. 
 '' He is fated beforehand. Have you not 
 observed his likeness to Sir Charles 
 Grandison ? " 
 
 '' I should consider that high praise, Mr. 
 Sherborne, if I were you. It would be a 
 great improvement if more modern young 
 men were a little like him." 
 
 *' Length of speech and all?" asked 
 Duncannon. 
 
 "Yes, Mr. Duncannon; length of sjoeech
 
 250 ORLANDO. 
 
 and all, If the politeness were to come with 
 It. I don't admire the saving of words, 
 when a young man says to me at supper, 
 ' Chicken ? ' ' Tongue ? ' I would much 
 rather wait the extra minute while he 
 took time to say, * May I give you ? ' 
 And now let me leave off preaching, and 
 go on with George Eliot." This with a 
 smile that took out any sting from her 
 strictures. 
 
 As the full tragedy worked Itself out, 
 her listeners became more and more atten- 
 tive. The hope of some loophole of 
 escape, the desire, so unwillingly aban- 
 doned, even at the last page, of some 
 happy final compromise, lent them Its 
 delusive light. But, page by page, It 
 dwindled until all was over. Mrs. Cash 
 softly closed the book, found Orlando's 
 eyes fixed upon her with a steady, far- 
 away gaze. The story had waked In him 
 a new feeling of possible loss and division
 
 IX A STUDIO. 251 
 
 coming between Elizabeth and himself — a 
 new haste to make all sure. To-day or 
 to-morrow he would see her. Why linger 
 any more ? 
 
 Cecily, in a voice that had a trembling 
 pulse in it, said, " Oh, but I think she did 
 do right, after all." 
 
 Orlando started, and was recalled to a 
 knowledge of where he was. 
 
 '' What shall we read, next time ? " said 
 Duncannon. 
 
 '' And when will next time be ? " said 
 Julia. '' Silvie is going to Tottenham 
 until Monday, and after that, she will have 
 her lessons again." 
 
 " I suppose, then, Saturday week. Shall 
 we see you, Sherborne, or is your interest 
 at an end with the story ? " 
 
 '' I think I must look out for some fancy 
 work ; I feel so idle — a perfect drone in 
 the hive." 
 
 '' Oh, I'll give you a canvas to prepare
 
 252 ORLANDO. 
 
 In coats of grey. Why didn't you mention 
 it before ? I have been wanting to try a 
 new plan that Allan told me of, but haven't 
 had time to prepare my canvas." 
 
 '' I shall be delighted to assist, however 
 humbly, in the service of art." 
 
 Duncannon called him *SIr Charles 
 Grandlson,' and Julia reproved Duncannon 
 for Ingratitude. 
 
 '' Then I'll say good-bye for the present, 
 Mr. Sherborne," said Mrs. Cash. '' But 
 I hope you won't feel that that present 
 need extend as far as to Saturday week." 
 
 ''Thank you," said Orlando, with a 
 grateful smile. 
 
 They shook hands and parted " for the 
 present," as she had said, little dreaming 
 how long an Interval the words were to 
 cover.
 
 ( 253 ) 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 IN THE BOTANICAL GARDENS. 
 
 " ' O lassie, I maun love thee.' 
 ' O laddie, love na me.' 
 ' O lassie, I maun love thee.' 
 ' O laddie, love na me. 
 Love them wha has their hearts at home : 
 Mine's lang been far frae mc.' " 
 
 Calling, on the morrow, in Burlington 
 Street, Orlando was informed that Major 
 Glendinning had gone into the country, 
 and that Miss Glendinning was staying 
 with Lady Ellen Darling. Upon this he 
 discovered that it certainly was his duty 
 to visit Lady Ellen, and proceeded at once 
 to Portland Place. A carriage was waiting 
 before the door. On going in, he found 
 Elizabeth, her aunt, and Miss Tenby, just
 
 2 54 ORLANDO. 
 
 prepared to go out, and began to think 
 that fortune had deserted his cause. 
 
 "We were going to the Botanical 
 Gardens," said Lady Ellen. " Miss Tenby 
 has never seen them, and my brother-in- 
 law, who is a Fellow, can give us admission 
 on any of the off-days. Of course you 
 have seen the gardens, Mr. Sherborne ? " 
 
 " No, never." 
 
 '' Oh, then, perhaps you would be in- 
 clined to come with us ? Our tickets admit 
 a fourth." 
 
 The invitation was joyfully accepted, 
 and the carriage proceeded on its way with 
 four occupants instead of three. 
 
 The Botanical Gardens, in their tran- 
 quillity, present an aspect very different 
 from that by which they are more widely 
 known. Instead of serving merely as a 
 stage and scenery for a show of flowers 
 and fashions, they were now a sleepy 
 haunt of solitude and greenness. The main
 
 IN THE BOTANICAL GARDENS. 255 
 
 walks had a peculiar character of their 
 own, from being bordered by long lines 
 of wooden posts and bars, the skeleton 
 framework of absent awnings. The party 
 went to the great glass-houses, looked at 
 a collection of hideously grotesque little 
 cactuses, whose names were as thorny as 
 themselves, and endured for a few moments 
 the damp heat in which flourished bananas, 
 palms, and other tropical wonders of sur- 
 prising shape and size. Then, coming out 
 into the cooler air (at which Miss Tenby 
 shivered and coughed), they went to look 
 at a little unbeautiful patch of ground, 
 which was a botanical garden in very 
 truth. For here, divided into tiny beds, 
 and each bed supplied with earth of a 
 suitable sort, grew, languidly, the various 
 families of English wild-flowers. Here 
 were stone-crops blooming more success- 
 fully than the most, In a neat little crescent 
 of broken brickbats, sparsely sprinkled with
 
 256 ORLANDO. 
 
 dust. Here were carefully encouraged 
 duckweeds, looking perversely inferior to 
 those that float, uninvited, on farm-ponds ; 
 and grasses that looked far more weedy and 
 seedy than those of an ordinary hayfield. 
 In this part of the garden were congregated 
 little knots of youths, who appeared to be 
 students. They carried books with bits 
 of paper hanging out of them, and wrote 
 ardently in note-books. They also shouted 
 to one another from distant corners, and 
 carried their chairs from point to point 
 in a very restless manner. In prettier, 
 but less scientific nooks, they had seen 
 scattered artists, male and female, sketch- 
 ing. A few nursemaids with children were 
 also visible, and in the glass-houses, they 
 had seen two Sisters of Charity. 
 
 Leaving the field-flowers, they came to 
 the lake, with its swans, its mock-rustic 
 bridges, and shady walks. 
 
 Elizabeth, all this time, had been un-
 
 IX THE BOTANICAL GARDENS. 257 
 
 usually silent. She looked pale, and 
 Orlando, mindful of her thanks for having 
 been left in peace, scarcely addressed her. 
 His heart sank as he thought that he 
 should have no opportunity, to-day, of 
 private speech vv^th her. Miss Tenby, 
 unobservant, and quite happy in being 
 under her dear Lady Ellen's wing, chat- 
 tered on, making little, unoriginal ob- 
 servations at every fresh object, and 
 constantly calling upon Elizabeth to look 
 at this or that. 
 
 Lady Ellen was a little tired. They sat 
 down on one of the seats by the water. 
 
 " There is a very fine view from the 
 tower," said she to Orlando. " On a clear 
 day you can see all London. I don't feel 
 inclined to go up ; but, if you young 
 people would like to see it, I will sit here 
 and wait for you." 
 
 " Oh, I would rather wait, too," said 
 Miss Tenby; "I would, indeed. I don't 
 
 VOL. I. s
 
 258 ORLANDO. 
 
 like going up so many stairs ; it takes 
 away one's breath so. I would rather stay 
 with you, Lady Ellen." 
 
 Orlando looked at Elizabeth. The 
 sudden delight in his face might have 
 warned her to remain, but she was too 
 much preoccupied to notice it. She 
 rejoiced in the thought of a few minutes 
 of comparative solitude. Orlando, she 
 felt sure, would not persecute her with 
 small chatter when she longed to be quiet. 
 
 They ascended. At the top was a little 
 square platform with a low, embattled wall, 
 a flagstaff, an anemometer, and a few 
 chairs. Below them lay, indeed, all 
 London, wrapped in a pale-blue veil of 
 smoke. They looked southward, standing 
 side by side for a time without speaking. 
 
 "What a relief to get up so high !" said 
 Elizabeth. She spoke with a sigh, looking 
 out over the wall, unsuspicious of any 
 emotion on her companion's part.
 
 IN THE BOTANICAL GARDENS. 259 
 
 " I wish I might stand so for ever — with 
 you," said Orlando, speaking as she had 
 spoken, in a rather lowered voice, but with 
 all his story vibrating in it. 
 
 Elizabeth's face changed suddenly from 
 the white rose to the red. She turned 
 upon him with startled and alarmed in- 
 quiry in her looks. The decision was 
 shown beforehand — the question and 
 answer given and received in that moment. 
 Orlando knew it, and refused to know it. 
 
 '' Ah ! I do wish it. To be with you 
 has been my one wish since the day you 
 passed me first in Shrubb's Wood. You 
 didn't remember." 
 
 "Oh, that day— that day!" said Eliza- 
 beth, almost with a cry. " Don't — don't ! 
 you mustn't go on. It is no use. Oh, 
 I am so sorry!" She paused, quite pale 
 again. ''And I was engaged, then, that 
 day, before you ever saw me." 
 
 He fell back a step, unsteadily.
 
 26o ORLANDO. 
 
 *' To your cousin ? " 
 
 " No — oh no. To Captain Grove." 
 
 There was a moment's interval. She 
 moved a little towards him, her face full 
 of the tenderest pity. 
 
 *'Oh, but I am so sorry! I never 
 thought of this. If I had only guessed ! " 
 Tears were in her eyes. 
 
 " Don't ! " said Orlando. " I suppose it 
 can t be helped." 
 
 He broke off, and, turning away, leaned 
 on the wall. In this first shock, it seemed 
 to him as if he had got his death-wound. 
 
 For a little there was complete silence. 
 Then the strokes of the hour from a 
 church clock at the bottom of Albany 
 Street came floating up on the cool wind. 
 Both were warned that their time here 
 must be short, and that all was not yet 
 said. 
 
 Orlando turned. The change in his 
 face smote her with bitter self-reproach.
 
 IN THE BOTANICAL GARDENS. 26 1 
 
 It was not merely pale ; a kind of haggard- 
 ness, a look of utter desolation and defeat, 
 had come upon It. But, through the 
 wretchedness, he managed to call up a 
 smile as he said — 
 
 " Yoit^ will never have to suffer this, at 
 least. It was my own stupidity. I never 
 thought it possible that you could care 
 for any one else. It never came into my 
 mind." 
 
 Elizabeth understood now the ea-me 
 of cross-purposes in which she had blindly 
 taken part. It had been all her fault. 
 Why had she not insisted upon having 
 her engagement made known ? 
 
 '' I am afraid that I have been doing very 
 wrong," said she. '' Was it my behaviour 
 (but it must have been) that made you 
 think " 
 
 Orlando could not bear the ashamed and 
 sorrowful tone of self-accusation. 
 
 '' No, no ; It was my fault — my horrible
 
 262 . ORLANDO. 
 
 presumption. I never would have troubled 
 you, if I had only guessed. It was all my 
 own blindness." 
 
 *' No, not all." (How the light leaped 
 into his face !) " For I did, and I do, like 
 you very, very much. I feel honoured that 
 you should care for me. But I blame my- 
 self — oh, I blame myself ! But, indeed, I 
 thought you understood that it was for 
 Gilbert's sake that I was so particularly 
 friendly towards you." 
 
 " For Gilbert's sake ? " 
 
 " Yes. Did you really never guess ? I 
 ought not, perhaps, to tell you his secret, 
 but now I must. I thought you knew he 
 cared for Millie." 
 
 "Millie!" 
 
 The shock was so great and so sudden,, 
 that, for a moment, he could say no more. 
 
 Then, "And Millie ? Does she know ? 
 Do you think she cares ? " 
 
 '' I don't know ; I can't tell."
 
 IN THE BOTANICAL GARDENS. 26 
 
 " Millie," repeated Orlando, slowly and 
 softly, looking before him at the sandy 
 stones of the floor. And in an instant had 
 risen up before him the happiness of Millie 
 and Gilbert, and his own long, lonely life. 
 He lifted his eyes and looked at Miss 
 Glendinning silently, taking a long, mute 
 farewell. Then, seeing the sadness of her 
 face, he added, in the same low voice, all 
 the more pathetic for being held in re- 
 straint, " You mustn't be unhappy because 
 of me. I shall bear it somehow." 
 
 " But it would have been better for you 
 if you had never seen me," said she, in a 
 voice full of pain. 
 
 " No, no ; I shall never think so. If I 
 have suffered, it has been my own fault. 
 I hope you may be very happy." 
 
 '' Thank you," said Elizabeth. The 
 fruitless pain at her heart checked her 
 with a kind of sob. '' No one shall ever 
 know of this from me — no one."
 
 264 ORLANDO. 
 
 Below them came a sound of steps and 
 voices. 
 
 '' They have come to look for us," said 
 Orlando. 
 
 They went down, and met Lady Ellen ^, 
 and Miss Tenby at the foot of the tower. \. 
 
 They had been away from them not quite 
 ten minutes. 
 
 '' Could you see the view well ? " asked 
 Lady Ellen, cheerfully. 
 
 '' Yes ; it was very fine," Elizabeth an- 
 swered. " But I found it a little cold ; " 
 and she shivered. 
 
 *' Cold, mv dear, this warm afternoon ! 
 You must have caught cold, Lizzie. You 
 have not looked well for the last day or 
 two, and now you are as pale as possible." 
 
 She looked at her niece with a keen-eyed 
 anxiety, that brought the red colour in a 
 flood to Elizabeth's cheeks. 
 
 "And now you are quite fiushed. It 
 must be a feverish cold. Perhaps you
 
 IN THE BOTANICAL GARDENS. 265 
 
 would rather go home. And we have 
 seen nearly all there is to see." 
 
 They turned towards the gates. As 
 they went they caught a glimpse of the 
 lake and its two swans. Orlando's mind 
 went back to the lake at Sellingham, and 
 to that day whose happiness showed now 
 with so bitter an irony. He walked on, 
 silent ; he would have been glad to speak, 
 but knew that his voice would betray him. 
 
 " You look tired, Mr. Sherborne, too," 
 said Lady Ellen. " You and Gilbert did 
 too much, yesterday. Gilbert forgets that 
 every one is not as inexhaustible as him- 
 self." 
 
 At another time Orlando would probably 
 have been eager to repudiate such a sug- 
 gestion ; to-day he was glad to accept it. 
 
 And Miss Tenby added, "The heat of 
 those glass-houses was very tiring, you 
 know." 
 
 The short drive to Portland Place was
 
 266 ORLANDO. 
 
 uncomfortable enough. Orlando and Eliza- 
 beth sat side by side, conscious of their 
 own and each other s emotion, and of the 
 kindly anxious, but too keen eyes of Lady 
 Ellen. 
 
 Orlando declined to come in with them. 
 He took his farewell at the door — of the 
 other two, and then of Elizabeth. As 
 their hands met, their eyes met too. He 
 turned away, carrying with him the memory 
 of her sad face and deeply pitiful eyes.
 
 ( 267 ) 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 IN LOVE-LONGING. 
 
 " The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year,' 
 
 JV. C. Bryant. 
 
 Orlando turned away, feeling half stunned. 
 He turned again up Portland Place. He 
 could not 2:0 home ; the restlessness of 
 heart could be appeased, if by anything,, 
 only by wandering. He crossed Euston 
 Road and went along the line of terraces 
 on the east border of Regent's Park. 
 He went in and out of their labyrinthine 
 windings, avoiding the main road when 
 he could. Even here, there were few 
 people, but the sight of any hurt him. The
 
 2 68 ORLANDO. 
 
 terraces which stood more backward were 
 almost completely empty. There would be 
 a short line of houses, then a flight of steps 
 or a slope : in front, narrow strips of 
 garden ; behind, stables and carriage-yards. 
 He leaned upon abalustraded wall, looking 
 doAvn into one of these gardens. Two 
 little o^irls came out from amone the 
 bushes ; they had been playing ball, and 
 the ball had flown into the thick under- 
 growth. They flung it again ; their shrill 
 laughter came up to Orlando. He 
 turned away and wandered on. Among 
 these turnings he came at last to one 
 which differed from the rest — an open 
 gravelled space, houses standing round, 
 a sun-dial, a monastic stillness, a little, 
 quaintly built church. The door was 
 partly open, and from within sounded 
 the notes of an organ. The music 
 soothed like the touch of an anodyne. 
 He crept in. The church was small, old,
 
 " IX LOVE-LOXGIXG." 269 
 
 and dark. It looked like a minor chapel 
 of some great cathedral. There was a 
 mingled suggestion of the Westminster 
 chapter-house and Henry VII. 's chapel. 
 Its old, painted windows and dark, carved 
 work recalled a thought of Sherborne. 
 Rags of banners still hung about the walls ; 
 below were carved stalls, each with an 
 emblazoned shield above. No one was to 
 be seen. Orlando sat down in a corner, 
 leaned his face on his hands, and let his 
 spirit float upon the sounds. The vibra- 
 tion of the loner oro^an notes ran throuQ^h 
 him as he sat. A soft, dreamy, summer- 
 rivulet of sound flowed and rippled from 
 wall to wall. Below throbbed a deeper 
 melody. Orlando felt it like a human 
 sympathy, sweet as the relief of tears. He 
 sat, tasting comfort among his grief, until 
 the last wave of sound throbbed upward, 
 rose in a shower of drops, and, sinking, 
 died into silence drop by drop. There
 
 270 ORLANDO. 
 
 came a momentary break. The musician 
 ' checked his hand and changed his note.' 
 The slow beat of the ' Dead March in 
 Saul ' rose, lamenting. To Orlando, sensi- 
 tive as he was to music, this was as the 
 outcry of his own soul ; his own griefs 
 seemed the strings from which the melody 
 was stirred. Each note was a pain, dis- 
 tinct as a physical thrill of touch. 
 
 " Oh, if I could only die ! " he cried 
 within himself 
 
 And the march passed into a slow, 
 weeping pulsation, sad as the voices in a 
 battle-field by night. He longed to call 
 aloud for silence — to rise and go away. 
 Yet it seemed impossible to begone and 
 leave behind, that wailing, crying to the 
 empty walls. He sat motionless, making 
 no sign or sound. The march gave way 
 to a fugue of Bach's ; a flight and a pur- 
 suit — a dragon-fiy passing to and fro 
 among the buzz of bees. But the quiver-
 
 '* IN LOVE-LONGING." 2/1 
 
 Ing nerves, stung by music to acuter 
 sensibility, were no longer to be soothed 
 by music. The sounds were now but an 
 outer trouble, which kept time to the 
 trouble within. 
 
 They ceased, and silence was a glad 
 relief. He sat, eased for the moment, in 
 the entire stillness. There came a jingling 
 of keys. The organist and a boy came 
 down. Orlando was startled back into 
 the world. He rose up, and passed out 
 into the daylight again. And now where 
 should he go? He did not know, and 
 scarcely thought. Mechanically, he turned 
 his steps southward. It was nearly two 
 hours since he had parted from Elizabeth, 
 at the door of her aunt's house. He passed 
 along, between the park and the houses. 
 The scanty number of people walking to 
 and fro had increased ; men and women 
 were coming from their day's work, and 
 lingered, drinking In the warm spring air.
 
 272 ORLANDO. 
 
 The first beginning of twilight was 
 thickening the air ; the sky was faintly 
 reddened in the west with the promise of 
 a coming sunset ; on the faces of the white 
 houses the light lay bright and pink. At 
 first It rested, too, on Orlando's face, re- 
 calling the colour of youth to its dark 
 paleness. But presently, as if feeling the 
 attempt but vain, it sank behind the trees 
 of the park, and Orlando walked on with 
 his face as little lightened as his heart. 
 
 He came down through the noisy crowds 
 of Regent Street, feeling himself as solitary 
 as a man In a foreign country, walking in 
 the midst of a foreign tongue. He reached 
 his lodmno^ and went In. A letter was 
 waiting for him — an invitation to a house at 
 which he would be sure to meet Elizabeth. 
 He wrote an answer, declining, on the 
 ground that he would be leaving London. 
 The Invitation had but caused him to put 
 Into words a resolution which it now ap-
 
 "IN LOVE-LONGING. 273 
 
 peared to him that he must have framed 
 in the first moment. Yes, he must go — but 
 whither ? The thought of going home was 
 scarcely less bitter than that of staying 
 here. 
 
 For a moment, his mind turned towards 
 Cambridge, but it quickly shrank away. 
 No, he was known there. He could go 
 nowhere where he was known, where he 
 would have to meet familiar faces, and 
 answer torturing inquiries. There seemed 
 no place for him in the world. 
 
 A name floated up, a remembrance con- 
 nected with failure and sadness, a place of 
 disappointed hopes — Sherborne-by-the-Sea. 
 He lifted his face. Yes, he would go there. 
 Alone by the sea, in that blank place of 
 desolation, he would face his trouble. 
 Here, in this noisy world of unsympathetic 
 goers and comers, its weight was crushing 
 him to death. For Orlando was country 
 born, and in his sorrow his heart turned 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 2 74 ORLANDO. 
 
 to the fields. To a true Londoner, their 
 emptiness would have made his own pain 
 the larger. And then came his dinner, 
 accompanied by a message of apology for 
 its condition, half-way between hot and 
 cold, in consequence of having been kept 
 waiting. His landlady was a good deal 
 . distressed, when it was sent down again, 
 because he had neither eaten it nor com- 
 plained, which was an illogical position. 
 Nor did he light his gas, but sat alone in 
 the dark, weighed down by such a misery 
 as he could never know again, because no 
 other pain would be the first. He had not 
 been conscious that he had held his grief 
 in restraint, hitherto ; but as he sat alone, 
 unseen in the stillness of his own room, he 
 knew that the flood-gates were now for the 
 first time fully opened. 
 
 And how long, how never-ending was 
 the night that followed, with its every 
 quarter of an hour beaten out remorselessly
 
 ''in love-longing." 275 
 
 from a neighbouring clock. For there is 
 no medicine so infallible in producing 
 wakefulness as a love trouble. At last, 
 however, a merciful slumber of complete 
 exhaustion, heavy and dreamless, fell upon 
 him. 
 
 It was well on into the hours of daylight 
 when he awoke. Lines of early sunlight 
 edged the darkened window; sparrows 
 were chirping outside, and the street was 
 still. His eyes opened calmly ; the peace- 
 fulness of sleep lingered through the first 
 moments of awaking. Then came remem- 
 brance — the sick pain at heart, the recurring 
 desire to get away, the longing by some 
 means to kill thought. And then came 
 upon him, mingled contradictorily with the 
 terror of meeting any familiar face, a very 
 hunger and thirst for human sympathy. 
 " If I had but a mother ! " he thought. 
 But it may be doubted whether, if he 
 had had a mother, the thought of her pain
 
 276 ORLANDO. 
 
 and disappointment would not have ef- 
 fectually sealed his lips. For when, in our 
 thoughts, we frame a wish of this kind, the 
 imagined being whom we call up is made 
 in precise accordance with that moment's 
 need in ourselves, and the question of 
 responding emotions on the other side 
 does not present itself ; whereas, in real 
 life, one human being is not found to be 
 thus merely and expressly adapted to the 
 solace of another, and that which the child 
 would share with its imaginary twin brother 
 or sister, the orphan with its father or 
 mother, comes, in daily experience, to be 
 endured alone. Orlando's mind turned to 
 the woman with whom of late the idea of 
 motherhood had associated itself — Mrs. 
 Cash. For the first time his troubled soul 
 found something upon which it could rest. 
 He resolved, not to tell his troubles to Mrs. 
 Cash — no, indeed ! — but to go and say good-
 
 ** IN LOVE-LONGING." 277 
 
 bye to her, since he was leaving London. 
 It would do him good only to see her and 
 hear her voice. She would forgive him, 
 he was sure, for coming at an unconven- 
 tionally early hour. With this resolve, he 
 felt some slight easing of pain. Besides 
 this, some slight preparation must be made 
 if he meant to go into Suffolk; he would 
 force his mind to occupy itself with these 
 trivial details. But, after all, should he go ? 
 Of what avail would it be to go ? And 
 he murmured a Horatian allusion to black 
 care. 
 
 The day was cruelly bright. He 
 looked gloomily at the blue sky as he ate 
 his breakfast. The servant, instructed to 
 observe his demeanour, reported that his 
 newspaper lay by him, unopened, and that 
 she was sure he had no idea what he was 
 eating. The landlady, out of a long ex- 
 perience of gentlemen-lodgers, opined that
 
 278 ORLANDO. 
 
 it was money troubles. A blue, legal- 
 looking letter, brought by the post a few 
 minutes later, confirmed this suspicion. It 
 could not, however, be added that Mr. 
 Sherborne showed either emotion on its 
 receipt or impatience to open it. It was, 
 in fact, a curt note from his uncle, asking 
 him to meet his Capton tenant that 
 morning at Mr. Pelham's chambers, and 
 discuss the renewal of a lease. Then he 
 could not go to Mrs. Cash's this morning, 
 nor to Sherborne-by-the-Sea to-day. But, 
 at least, here was something to be done. 
 He finished his breakfast with the better 
 appetite, and started off, steadfastly re- 
 solved to betray no sign of emotion be- 
 neath the keen eyes of his uncle. But 
 pallor and darkened eyes are traces not 
 so easy to be suppressed of a sleepless and 
 thought-tormented night. Mr. Pelham did 
 not fail to tell him that he looked ill, and
 
 ''IN LOVE-LONGING. 279 
 
 to suggest in a dry tone, most irritating, 
 but impossible to be resented, that he 
 miofht be the better for returninof home. 
 Orlando would not make any answer 
 which could indicate that such an opinion 
 was gaining strength in his own mind, too. 
 He gave all his energies of thought and 
 attention to the business in hand. Mr. 
 Pelham, recasting his former estimate of 
 his nephew's character, began, with some 
 surprise, to entertain the pleasing thought 
 that he had inherited something of his 
 own clear insight and quick grasp of detail. 
 He smiled a wintry smile, recollecting that 
 Orlando was his heir. It certainly was 
 pleasanter to think of his accumulations 
 passing to a man who showed promise of 
 using them with intelligence and without 
 meanness, '' though, indeed," as he phrased 
 it, even in his thouo^hts, " the terms are 
 interchangeable." He looked at Orlando
 
 28o ORLANDO. 
 
 with more solicitude, and trusted that 
 he had not inherited, with other Pelham 
 pecuharities, his mother's deHcacy of 
 health. 
 
 Orlando, when he left his uncle's, felt his 
 spirits a little raised, but the bustle and 
 roar of Fleet Street soon depressed them 
 to their former level. He thought again 
 of Mrs. Cash. Just now would be their 
 early dinner-time. He could not possibly 
 go now. Turning northward, he wan- 
 dered in the unknown squares and streets 
 of the dreary land between Holborn and 
 Euston Road. Surely, not abject poverty 
 itself is so depressing as the shabbiness of 
 a gradually decaying district. Orlando 
 came to the north end of Gower Street an 
 hour later, paler, darker-eyed, more hope- 
 less than ever. As he came in sight of 
 the house, the door opened, and a little 
 girl came running out. She carried a pile
 
 "IN LOVE-LOXGIXG. 251 
 
 of books In a strap. Her brown hair flew 
 behind her, and her Httle hands were bare. 
 Her face was that of JuHa or Cecily, trans- 
 lated back into childhood and freshened by 
 the roses of a country holiday. A smile 
 came into her face as she ran, and she 
 glanced up at Orlando, in passing, with the 
 bright, unabashed gaze that belongs only 
 to happy childhood. Her frank, childish 
 face, so clear, so full of life and health, 
 might have brought a smile to the lips of a 
 misanthrope. But to Orlando, it brought a 
 revulsion of soul. What place had he and 
 his sorrows in the home of this blithe 
 May-blossom ? Viola's glance — for Viola, 
 of course, it was — had called up again all 
 his former shrinking from human observa- 
 tion. No, he could not face Mrs. Cash, 
 with her clear eyes like that child's. No, 
 he must go away. Nobody could help him ; 
 he must bear his enef alone. The first
 
 282 ORLANDO. 
 
 impulse had been the truest ; let him get 
 away to Sherborne-by-the-Sea — it was the 
 fittest place. A fear came upon him of 
 meeting Duncannon. He turned quickly 
 away, resolving to get away from London 
 with as much speed as possible. 
 
 END OF VOL. T. 
 
 PRINTED AT THE CAXTON PRESS, BECCLES.
 
 ^