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 L161— O-1096
 
 FRANK SINCLAIR'S WIFE. 
 
 ANB OTHER STORIES. 
 
 ME8. EIDDELL, 
 
 ArTHOE OF 
 
 GEOEGE GEITH," " TOO MrCH ALONE," " HOME, SWEET HOME, 
 "THE EAEL's PEOMISE," ETC. ETC. 
 
 IN THREE YOLUMES. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 TINSLEY BROTHERS, 8, CATHERINE STREET. STRAND. 
 
 1874. 
 
 \_All righU of Translation and Eeproduction are Reserved.
 
 PEINTED BY TATLOE AND CO., 
 LITTLE QUEEN STREET, LINCOLN'S INN EIELDS.
 
 8e3 ' 
 
 V. 1 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 THE PIEST VOLUME. 
 
 <i 
 
 XXI, 
 
 HOW THE STEP WAS TAKEN 
 GOING BACK . . , , 
 
 ON THE BRINK '. 
 
 " TO HAVE AND TO HOLD " 
 AFTER YEARS .... 
 COMING STRUGGLES . 
 FRANKS RESOLVE 
 "home, SWEET HOME." . 
 UPON OPPOSITE SIDES 
 RESIGNING THE HELM 
 PLAYING WITH EDGED TOOLS 
 
 MR. Sinclair's diary 
 
 FROM ANOTHER SIDE 
 
 AN INTERRUPTED SOIREE . 
 
 THE END OF THE SOIREE 
 
 THE PLEASURES OF HOUSEKEEPING 
 
 FROM MRS. SINCLAIR 
 
 MR. MCLEAN TO MR. VARHAM . 
 
 SANE OR INSANE ? , 
 
 MR. Sinclair's diary resumed 
 
 "a GENTLEMAN TO SEE YOU, SIR " 
 
 PAGB 
 1 
 
 18 
 
 32 
 
 46 
 
 60 
 
 75 
 
 83 
 
 96 
 
 108 
 
 123 
 
 138 
 
 158 
 
 175 
 
 192 
 
 204 
 
 217 
 
 231 
 
 243 
 
 255 
 
 260 
 
 268
 
 FEANK SINCLAIE'S WIFE.
 
 FRANK SINCLAIR'S WIFE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 HOW THE STEP WAS TAKEX. 
 
 When, in the face of the assembled popu- 
 lation of Mulford-in-the-Weald, Arabella 
 Constance Marion, daughter of the Eeverend 
 Fitzhugh St. Clair, Eector of Mulford afore- 
 said, promised to love, honour, and obey 
 Frank Sinclair, I do not think, spite of the 
 fact that her uncle, the Dean of Eingleton, 
 assisted her father to perform the ceremony ; 
 that her mother's second cousin. Sir Arthur 
 Landless, gave the bride away ; that the 
 Honourable Mrs. Clace, seated in her family 
 pew, surveyed the sacrifice through double 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 Frank Sinclair s Wife, 
 
 eye-glasses with gold rims, and subsequent- 
 ly partook, liberally, so it seemed to Frank 
 Sinclair, of lobster salad wHcli he had 
 made, and champagne which he had paid 
 for ; spite of all these causes for upliftment 
 and social exaltation, there is still every 
 reason to believe that Arabella Constance 
 Marion did not think she was conferring, 
 together with her heart and hand, a life- 
 long obligation on the man who had wooed 
 her successfully. 
 
 On the contrary, the great and the little 
 world of Mulford- in -the -Weald thought 
 Arabella Constance had taken some pains 
 to land her lover, and was proud when, 
 after bringing him to shore, she was able 
 to exhibit him to the critical gaze of friends 
 and neighbours in the character of her 
 affianced husband. The eldest but one of 
 eleven living children — seven of whom were 
 daughters undowered — her chances in the 
 matrimonial lottery could not have been 
 considered promising, when a far-away rela-
 
 How the Step was Taken. 
 
 tive going down to recruit his health at 
 Mulford remained at the Eectory the greater 
 part of the summer, and before the au- 
 tumnal fruits were over had proposed for 
 and married her. 
 
 Of course, the reader — already, I hope, a 
 little interested in the fortunes of bride and 
 bridegroom — must be anxious to know the 
 particular attraction Frank Sinclair found 
 in a lady aged twenty-five, already develop- 
 ing bones in unexpected and untoward 
 places ; already with a tendency to lines 
 across her forehead, and occasionally inclined 
 to be snappish towards her brothers and 
 sisters. And, as when a writer puts a man 
 into print he ought to keep nothing back 
 concerning him, it may be simply stated 
 that Mr. Sinclair was in the first instance 
 drawn to Bella — so her friends called her — 
 not by the beauty of her form or face — for 
 indeed his eyes had beheld many faii'er 
 women — not by the sweetness of her voice 
 or the grace of her movements, not by the 
 
 B 2
 
 Frank Sinclair^ Wife, 
 
 maimer in wMcli, skipping, and repeating, 
 and breaking down, and trying back, she 
 executed the '^ Invitation pour la Yalse," 
 not by the extent of her knowledge, which 
 was indeed limited, or by the brilliancy of 
 her conversational wit, that in the earlier 
 days of their acquaintance could only be 
 gathered from a discreet silence ; but rather 
 by the persistency with which she made 
 the family puddings, dusted the di'awing- 
 room knick-knacks of a morning, and the 
 quiet perseverance that she brought after- 
 noon after afternoon, together with a pile 
 of stockings, to one especial arbour in the 
 vicarage grounds, where Mr. Sinclair read 
 poetry to her, the meaning of which she 
 did not understand, and made that ^'honour- 
 able and manly" proposal (so Mrs. St. Clair 
 styled it), which converted him in due time 
 into the husband of Bella and the son-in- 
 law of Bella's mamma. 
 
 There were drawbacks to Mr. Sinclair. 
 I admit the fact on his behalf here, as he
 
 How the Step was Taken, 
 
 candidly admitted it to " mamma " then, 
 rirst he was not an earl — ^^ not even a 
 baronet," as a once popular song states — 
 indeed, as the same song proceeds to reason, 
 he "was " something much worse : " a man 
 with an office in the City, striving to push 
 his way, and possessed of only enough of 
 this world's goods to support a moderate 
 establishment and a wife. 
 
 Like most men, he wanted to marry, for 
 those who say men do not wish to marry if 
 they could only get what they want are 
 most utterly mistaken. In Mr. Sinclair's 
 own rank his experience was large, and 
 he always declared — and declared, I believe, 
 truly — that amongst the young fellows he 
 knew, the wish to settle was the rule, the 
 desire to remain unsettled the exception. 
 But till a man has tried, he would never 
 credit that it is almost as difficult a matter 
 to find a wife as to get rid of one — that is, 
 a suitable wife. Of course, a wife — a vague 
 woman whom he may lead off to his wig-
 
 Frank Sinclair's Wife, 
 
 warn and exalt into his squaw, and make 
 the lawful mother of yonng braves, who 
 shall throw stones at their neighbours' win- 
 dows, and torment their neighbours' cats — 
 any one could get for the asking. But 
 a suitable wife, an angel at once material 
 and celestial, who unites in her own person 
 the dream ideal of youth and the more 
 prosaic reality of manhood; who, though 
 his fairy queen, is still a wise and bene- 
 ficent one; who, though pretty, can add 
 up her house-keeping book ; who, though 
 tender and sensitive and sympathising, can 
 yet be strong enough to defy that wile of 
 the devil, ^^ What will people say?" who, 
 though amiable and confiding, can check 
 the tradesmen's accounts, and remonstrate 
 with them on the subject of overcharges ; 
 who can be at once the valued housewife 
 and the dear companion at the domestic 
 hearth ; where, oh ! where shall a young 
 man, or a middle-aged, or an elderly, lay 
 hands on this modern sphinx — where shall
 
 How the Step was Taken. 
 
 he find a woman both useful and orna- 
 mental, or useful without being ornamental, 
 or indeed useful at all ? 
 
 Country-bred Mr. Sinclair had a horror 
 of marrying a town miss — a creature, as he 
 then imagined her, who believed more in a 
 new bonnet than in Heaven, whose creed 
 was faith unbounded in the necessity of 
 following at the very heels of fashion and 
 wearing unexceptionable clothes, and who 
 only understood the necessity of obeying 
 one commandment,, omitted, as she consi- 
 dered, from the original decalogue — 
 
 ^'Thou shalt dress well and expensively, 
 no matter who pays and suffers for it." 
 
 Prejudiced by vivid memories of his 
 mother's old-fashioned gowns and familiar 
 shawls, reminiscences that brought back 
 many a thought of home comfort vanished, 
 of dear soft hands outstretched to greet 
 " her boy," of eyes full of loving light, now 
 closed till eternity, Mr. Sinclair fell into 
 the common error of forgetting there had
 
 8 Frank Sinclair's Wife. 
 
 been a time wlieii the old lady he remem- 
 bered only widowed, and with silvered hair 
 and furrowed cheeks, was a young and 
 pretty girl, and as fond, it may be, of a gay 
 flower and bright ribbon as the most frivo- 
 lous of her sex. 
 
 Time has taught him since those days that 
 well-fitting gloves may cover useful hands, 
 that feet encased in the most ravishing of 
 boots may yet be swift on errands of mercy, 
 that busy tongues may yet have their 
 moments of sympathetic silence, of tender 
 condolence, and that out of very unlikely 
 materials very good wives may occasionally 
 be moulded. 
 
 At the period, however, at which Mr. 
 Sinclair and his fortunes are introduced to 
 the reader, Mr. Sinclair considered London 
 "hollow, " audits women "make-believes." 
 He was not, above mixing in such few 
 gaieties as the fates sent him invitations 
 for, and he went to parties, and danced, and 
 flirted, and made a little love ; but all the
 
 How the Step was Taken. 
 
 time lie never seriously thought of marrying 
 one of the angelic girls with whom he 
 waltzed, or of mating with any but a country 
 maiden — ^' who will not be above attending 
 to her domestic concerns," he mentally added, 
 " and who will not think every man she sees 
 handsomer and cleverer than her husband ; " 
 for Mr. Sinclair did not then know quite 
 enough of female nature to understand that 
 the mere fact of having bestowed her prefer- 
 ence upon him, picked hiin out, so to speak, 
 from the hundreds and thousands she desires 
 the world to believe sought the honour of 
 her heart and hand, makes a woman — that 
 is, a non-exceptional woman — believe her 
 husband to be handsomer and cleverer than 
 the husband of any other of her sex. 
 
 But despite the prosaic and depreciating 
 character of his remarks, Mr. Sinclair's was 
 an Arcadian vision not unrelieved by the 
 contemplation of material comforts. For 
 years he had been footless as regarded socks, 
 and buttonless as concerned shirts. He had
 
 lo Fraiik Sinclair's Wife. 
 
 drunk flavourless tea, dined off greasy chops, 
 remonstrated in vain on the subject of coffee 
 thick with grounds, and been denied even 
 that best solace of a forlorn bachelor — a glass 
 of something comfortable the last thing at 
 night ; because, in the first place, there was 
 no boiling water ; and in the next, no water 
 could be boiled because the fire had just 
 been raked out. 
 
 The man had worked hard and saved some 
 money, but Comfort was a stranger unto him. 
 Men with large incomes may, no doubt, 
 compel her presence even in apartments ; 
 but she had not a smile for Frank Sinclair, 
 who used to return evening after evening to 
 to the same dull rooms where he was wont 
 to read the paper or some new novel, and 
 smoke his pipe till it was time to light his 
 bedroom candle and seek his pillow. 
 
 One young fellow whom he knew in those 
 bachelor times slept on fine linen and fared 
 sumptuously every day, because the elderly 
 widow lady to whom the fates sent him
 
 How the Step was Taken. ii 
 
 fancied she could trace a likeness between 
 his features and those of some dear departed 
 Thomas, her only child. But then Mr. 
 Frank Sinclair would not have liked land- 
 ladies of an uncertain age to occupy their 
 leisure in tracing likenesses in his features ; 
 and, after all, even muffins nicely buttered, 
 and tea hot and strong and aromatic, could 
 not quite have reconciled him to tender 
 entreaties that he would change his boots 
 immediately, and devout hopes that he went 
 to church regularly twice on Sundays. 
 
 He was in lodgings, and by no means 
 happy. He had dreams indeed — waking 
 dreams — of walks through winding lanes 
 across dewy fields. He had visions of an 
 arch, happy face smiling beneath the wealth 
 of wild roses with which he crowned her. 
 He thought of a pretty cottage he knew in 
 the suburbs, where clematis grew round the 
 hall door and honeysuckle climbed up the 
 trellis- work ; and pictured to himself, in the 
 dull winter evenings, while he sat alone in
 
 12 Frank Sinclair s Wife, 
 
 his room, lit only by the fire and two com- 
 posite candles — while the roar of the London 
 traffic came with a sort of subdued murmur 
 up from the main thoroughfare into the side- 
 street where he lodged — the nest furnished, 
 and the bird he had caught in the country 
 and brought to the town cage he had made 
 pretty for her, sitting with wings compla- 
 cently folded — his darling, his treasure, his 
 wife. 
 
 He did not then know any girl of sweet 
 seventeen whom he wanted to marry, there- 
 fore the wicked blue eyes, and the blooming 
 roses, and the merry laugh were all parts 
 and parcels of an illusion which time never 
 realised ; and when, his health being some- 
 what impaired by hard work and little relax- 
 ation, he went down, by earnest invitation, 
 to catch trout in the stream which meandered 
 through Mr. St. Clair's meadows, he was as 
 heart-whole as any man need desire. 
 
 He was heart-whole, but he wanted a wife 
 and a home ; and lo ! there were seven in-
 
 How the Step was Taken, 13 
 
 cipient wives imder the Eectory roof-tree, 
 and the home he beheld there was a happy 
 one ; and, without the necessity for much 
 allurement, he walked straight into the net 
 of the fowler. 
 
 In some distant way the St. Clairs and he 
 were connected by blood, but it was a far- 
 away cousin-ship, which had been kept up 
 chiefly because of the kindly feeling that 
 formerly existed between Frank's mother 
 and the Eector of Mulford. 
 
 Frank's family had always spelt their 
 name Sinclair, whilst the Eector's father 
 and grandfather had written theirs St. Clair ; 
 but as the St. Clairs pronounced their sur- 
 name precisely in the same manner as Mr. 
 Sinclair, it does not seem to me that the 
 matter was worth the endless discussion 
 which took place on the subject under the 
 Eectory roof. 
 
 It certainly, however, was a blow to Mrs. 
 St. Clairs' s maternal aspirations, that the 
 first of her daughters should marry not
 
 14 Frank Sinclair s Wife, 
 
 merely a man wlio was in trade, but also a 
 man who, with every right to spell his name 
 in an aristocratic manner, refused point- 
 blank to do anything of the kind — indeed, 
 proved so obstinate on the subject that, as 
 Mrs. St. Clair remarked to her husband with 
 a sigh — 
 
 ^'- We may as well give it up. He has 
 some old-fashioned prejudice on the subject, 
 and if we press the matter it will only 
 create unpleasantness." 
 
 ^^ I don't care what he signs himself so 
 long as he is kind to Bella," answered the 
 Eector, with a catholic sort of Liberalism 
 pleasant to notice in so staunch a Conser- 
 vative. 
 
 *^ We need not have any fears about 
 that," said Mrs. St. Clair thoughtfuUy ; '' he 
 will be a devoted husband." 
 
 And therein the lady chanced to be 
 right — indeed it was her absolute certainty 
 on that point which reconciled her to trade 
 and future years of commercial warfare.
 
 Hoi'o the Step zi'as Taken, 1 5 
 
 She was ^^ so sure'''' — that was the way she 
 put it in yocal italics — she was ^^ 50 sure " 
 of Frank Sinclair, she could have forgiven 
 him many a worse crime than that of being 
 partner in a profitable business. 
 
 Of course Mrs. St. Clair would have 
 preferred a different husband for her 
 daughter in some respects — as, for instance, 
 had Mr. Clace from Old Park ridden oyer 
 to lay his lands and money at the feet of 
 one of her girls, she would have preferred 
 him — but still, as mothers get on in life, 
 and girls begin to pass their first youth, 
 both are commonly wise enough to dispense 
 with much romance, and Mrs. St. Clair was 
 honestly glad one of her daughters was 
 about to make a fairly eligible match. 
 
 '^ It is not as if he were a stranger," she 
 remarked to the Honourable Mrs. Clace, 
 *'we have known him since he was a boy; 
 and his mother was quite the sweetest 
 creature, and the most perfect gentlewoman 
 I ever met."
 
 1 6 Fyank Sinclair s Wife. 
 
 ^^ And then it makes such an opening for 
 the younger girls," said Mrs. Clace, and 
 thus the feminine talk ran on ; the only- 
 noticeable thing in the interview being that 
 the two ladies went through an unwonted 
 ceremony at parting, for the Honourable 
 Mrs. Clace proffered the extreme verge of 
 her cheek to ^Irs. St. Clair, a piece of con- 
 descension to be accounted for only by the 
 fact that marriage, like death, seems to have 
 the remarkable faculty of causing women, 
 for the time at least, to be of one mind. 
 
 " Mrs. Clace was so kind about Bella, 
 dear," said Mi-s. St. Clair subsequently to 
 her husband; ''' she spoke so highly of 
 Frank, and wished Bella all happiness, and 
 kissed me at parting:" which was Mrs. St. 
 Clair's happy way of putting things, since 
 certainly Mrs. Clace had not kissed her — 
 only presented her cheek, as before stated, 
 for the Eector's wife to touch with her lips 
 if she liked; and, judging by the remark 
 made to Mr. St. Clair, presumably she had
 
 How the Step was Taken, 17 
 
 liked — which only proves that in this, as in 
 other matters, there is no accounting for 
 tastes. 
 
 Having got so far in advance of my story 
 as to talk of the wedding before the wooing, 
 I must now go back again to the beginning, 
 or at least to the day when Frank Sinclair 
 reached the pretty country station of Mul- 
 ford-in-the- Weald, where the Eector's old- 
 fashioned phaeton and fat brown pony, 
 driven by Miss Patty St. Clair, the romp 
 of the family, together with two noisy lads, 
 were awaiting his arrival. 
 
 VOL I.
 
 i8 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 GOING BACK. 
 
 " Are you cousin Frank ? " was the question 
 put to the traveller, while a porter gathered 
 his luggage together. 
 
 " I am Frank Sinclair, if he be your 
 cousin," said the other with a smile. 
 
 " All right, then," cried the boy ; " come 
 along ! The phaeton, and Patty, and Bob 
 are waiting for you. Pa could not come 
 because he's got a funeral." 
 
 ^^ An agreeable announcement within two 
 minutes of one's arrival," thought Mr. 
 Sinclair, but he held his peace ; and by the 
 time he had been a month with these boys.
 
 Going Back, 1 9 
 
 the ugly word seemed to have lost all its 
 significance to his ear, and lie attached just 
 as little meaning to the phrase as did Bob 
 and Charlie, who looked on deaths and 
 burials but as so many inevitable incidents 
 in the routine of their father's profession. 
 
 Meanwhile Charlie was shouting to his 
 brother and sister — 
 
 << IVe got him ! Here's cousin Frank ! " 
 
 And the rosy- cheeked girl jumped out of 
 the phaeton to greet him ; and Bob, after an 
 imperative order to the pony to '^ stand 
 still," left his head and rushed forward like- 
 wise to welcome their visitor. 
 
 Then what stowing-away of luggage en- 
 sued ! How willingly the porter helped to 
 place the portmanteau, and fishing-tackle, 
 and carpet-bag in the back part of the 
 phaeton, where Patty enjoined the boys not 
 to put their great feet on the leather ! How 
 good-tempered they all were — these cousins 
 of his, whom he had not seen for years! 
 What stories they told ! what things they 
 
 c2
 
 20 Frank Sinclair's Wife, 
 
 had heard of his doings from their father and 
 mother and elder sisters ! 
 
 ^'When you were a boy did not you do 
 this, and that, and the other, Frank ? " That 
 was the way they chatted to him, until 
 Patty would playfully threaten them with 
 her whip, and declare pathetically that the 
 house was a perfect Babel when her brothers 
 were at home. 
 
 These are trifling details, and yet, as trifles 
 make up most of the happiness or the 
 misery of existence, I am forced to dwell 
 on them, so that you, reader, may under- 
 stand how it came to pass that Frank Sin- 
 clair felt at once so utterly at ease with his 
 relatives. For inside the Eectory his wel- 
 come was just as cordial as it had been at 
 the railway station. 
 
 '' I am so glad you have come, Frank ! " 
 said Mrs. St. Clair. 
 
 And she put her arms round his neck and 
 kissed him, just as his mother used to do — 
 only it was not quite the same thing, though
 
 Going Back, 21 
 
 it was about the best substitute for the 
 old greeting that he was ever likely to 
 know in this world again — ^while the Eector 
 said — 
 
 '^ God bless you, my boy ! you are the 
 very image of your mother." 
 
 And when Frank stood silent for a 
 moment, unable to answer steadily when 
 he found himself amongst those who had 
 known her so well, they felt they liked 
 him all the better for it, and their hearts 
 were with his heart. 
 
 Of all the sunny spots on earth, I think 
 that Rectory was the sunniest. Even in the 
 winter-time it looked bright and pleasant, 
 and now when, after many years, Frank 
 saw it in the golden summer-time, he could 
 not help owning to himself that it was about 
 the sweetest place he had ever seen in all 
 his life. 
 
 The rooms were hung with light paper; 
 the bed-chambers were miracles of pink and 
 white drapery ; the lower apartments Iwere
 
 22 Fraiik Sinclair's Wife. 
 
 always brilliant with flowers; while the 
 garden was full of stocks, and mignonette, 
 and sweet-peas, and convolvuli, and roses, 
 and honeysuckles, and everything pleasant 
 to the sight and grateful to the sense. 
 
 The St. Clairs were poor, but theirs was 
 not that griping, hand-to-mouth sort of 
 poverty, which is at once so miserable 
 and so pitiable, and which is not utterly 
 incompatible with even a fairly large in- 
 come. Theirs was a small income, but it 
 was certain. It was a mere question of 
 cutting the cloth, of buttering the bread; 
 and the cloth was cut to the best advantage, 
 and the butter spread over the greatest 
 possible surface. In marrying his wife, 
 the Eeverend Fitzhugh St. Clair had secured 
 two desirable things — a gentlewoman and a 
 capital manager. Wisely she ruled her 
 children, prudently she controlled her house- 
 hold. There was no idleness in that home, 
 no waste in that kitchen; yet there were 
 hours of pleasant relaxation, and there was
 
 Going Back. 2^ 
 
 no pmching at the table of either servant 
 or master. 
 
 The only favouritism, if so it could be 
 called, consisted in this, that when Mr. St. 
 Clair was absent the daintiest morsels were 
 set aside for him ; the tit-bits most likely to 
 tempt the appetite of a weary man were, by 
 one accord, left intact. The sunniest peach, 
 the finest apricot, the sweetest strawberries 
 were all gathered in love and left on his 
 writing-table for him. The very youngest 
 child the Rectory held would have run in 
 with the rosiest-cheeked apple " for papa, 
 mamma," jubilant at having found the 
 fruit, and satisfied at keeping for its 
 own share some smaller windfall, which 
 to the unspoiled palate tasted just as well 
 as the best in the land. 
 
 If there were one in the household who 
 fell into this arrangement grudgingly, and 
 with a certain ungracious assent, it was 
 Bella, the second giii; but perhaps this 
 might be because, having been a mere
 
 24 Frank S'mdair's Wife. 
 
 drudge all her later life and taken her 
 tasks unwillingly, she could see no beauty 
 in her mother's loving self-denial, in what 
 Bella sometimes rather bitterly called '' the 
 sacrifice of her children to her husband," 
 which Mrs. St. Clair practised. 
 
 But the mother was tender, and made all 
 allowance for the child, who had never been 
 quite so amiable as her brothers and sisters. 
 Only once she said to her — 
 
 ^^ Bella, dear, if you do not relinquish 
 willingly — if it be not more blessed to you 
 to give than to receive, I would rather that 
 you did not give at all. God loveth a 
 cheerful giver, remember ; and his creatures 
 do likewise ; not one who giveth grudgingly 
 or of necessity." 
 
 ^'But it is so hard, mamma; it is just the 
 same thing day after day, always doing for 
 and considering others, and never oneself." 
 
 '-'- The whole of life is the same thing day 
 after day," answered her mother gently. 
 ''Think of your father's life. Is there
 
 Going Back. 25 
 
 much variety in it? If lie did not find a 
 pleasure in his work he would be most 
 miserable." 
 
 '*0h! I do not know about that," said 
 Bella. ^-He is out and meets people." 
 
 "And do you not go out and meet 
 people?" asked Mrs. St. Clair. 
 
 "Yes, but it is not the same thing, and 
 you know it, mamma; but you have no 
 sympathy with me." 
 
 " My loye, it is precisely because I have 
 so much sympathy with you," answered 
 her mother, " that I do not want you to get 
 discontented. If you dislike the work you 
 have to do, leave it, and Patty or Milly 
 shall take your place." 
 
 "But you do not wish them to take it." 
 
 "No; I have always tried to make my 
 children's young days as happy as I could, 
 so that they might have something pleasant 
 to look back upon in after-life. For years I 
 did all you are doing now myself, so that 
 when you were not at your lessons you
 
 26 Frank Sinclair's Wife. 
 
 might have thorough holiday. However, 
 we will compromise the matter — Patty shall 
 help you." 
 
 But Bella would not have it. If Patty 
 assisted, Patty might take all the credit. 
 She, Bella, would continue to dust, and 
 make the puddings, and mend the stock- 
 ings, and her mother should never hear 
 her say another word on the subject. Lis- 
 tening to which resolution Mrs. St. Clair 
 walked away, a little hurt and saddened 
 perhaps, but still not surprised. She under- 
 stood Bella thoroughly, and knew that when 
 love such as had been lavished upon her 
 failed to make her tender and gentle, 
 nothing but the rough handling of the 
 world would take the taint of selfishness 
 and obstinacy out of her nature. 
 ' And so Bella continued to perform those 
 works which she detested ; and Prank 
 Sinclair, seeing how utter a di'udge she 
 made herself, grew to like and pity her. 
 Time went by, and Bella changed con-
 
 Going Back, 27 
 
 siderably. She grew brighter, she spoke 
 more cheerfully, she was more amiable, she 
 took a greater pride in her personal appear- 
 ance, she ceased to snap at the boys, and 
 only blushed when they asked if her ribbon 
 were cousin Frank's favourite colour ; if he 
 had not told her over-night that he liked to 
 see myrtle flowers in the hair. 
 
 She was not romantic, and yet she had 
 been garnering certain memories while wan- 
 dering on the river's brink with Frank, that 
 in the after-time were to her heart even as 
 the flowing water, making green where it 
 rippled by. 
 
 One afternoon she came in from the 
 summer-house rather late for tea, and 
 instead of going direct to the dining-room, 
 where that usually substantial meal was 
 laid, she went to her own apartment, and 
 asked one of the servants to tell her mother 
 she wanted to speak to her. Whereupon 
 Mrs. St. Clair, much troubled in spirit 
 because she feared this singular request
 
 28 Frank Sinclair's Wife, 
 
 implied sudden illness, repaired to her 
 daughter's chamber. 
 
 " What is the matter, Bella ?" asked her 
 mother, as the girl threw her arms about 
 her and burst into tears. 
 
 ^^Oh, mamma, mamma! I want you to 
 forgiye me everything I have ever done 
 wrong in my life." 
 
 ^^ Bella, you are crazy," said Mrs. St. 
 Clair. ^'You know I have nothing to 
 forgive, and if I ever had it was forgiven 
 at the time. A mother can retain no 
 other feeling than love for her child.'' 
 
 '^But, mamma darling, I am so happy, 
 and I cannot bear to think I have ever 
 made you unhappy. Frank wants to talk 
 to you. He has asked me to marry him, 
 and I said that I thought neither papa nor 
 you would object." 
 
 ^'No, dear; and I pray you and he may 
 be as happy as your father and I have 
 been," and Mrs. St. Clair gathered her 
 daughter to her heart and kissed her tenderly.
 
 Going Back. 29 
 
 And yet the motlier was just a little 
 disapjDointed. She had hoped the first girl 
 who married would marry well; but then 
 she had not expected Bella, the least 
 attractive of her flock, to marry at all. 
 She was ambitious for her children, and 
 yet this was the first at all eligible and 
 tangible off'er which had come to one of 
 them. It might not be much, but still it 
 was a first success. What Bismarck felt 
 when he heard of the first victory gained 
 by Prussian arms, Mrs. St. Clair felt when 
 Bella told her Frank had proposed. It was 
 not much possibly ; but in settling a family 
 of girls, as in other matters, '' it is the first 
 step which costs." 
 
 Mrs. St. Clair did not wish to see her 
 daughters governesses, and it was impossible 
 for each one of them to marry an earl; 
 besides which, she liked Frank Sinclair, 
 and was so sure he would be good to Bella. 
 
 Had she been his adviser she would have 
 counselled him to seek any other of her
 
 30 Frank Sinclair's Wife, 
 
 children than Bella — even the eldest, Eosina, 
 who detested all household occupations, and 
 devoted herself openly to Beethoven and 
 landscape painting; but, then, he had not 
 asked her advice, and Mrs. St. Clair was 
 honestly glad to think Bella was going to 
 be taken off her hands by a good man. 
 
 She would have liked even a barrister 
 better, it is true, not being above the class 
 prejudices of her rank about trade, but still 
 she was glad — honestly glad — to find her 
 least attractive daughter asked in marriage ; 
 and she told Frank, with tears in her eyes 
 and a little feminine exaggeration in her 
 sentence, that his proposal and conduct had 
 been " honourable and manly," and that she 
 should always look upon him as less her 
 son-in-law than her son. 
 
 And then Mr. St. Clair gave his consent ; 
 and the next day the whole of Mulford had 
 heard the news, and the unanimous opinion 
 of the population proved it be that ^^ Par- 
 son's daughter was uncommon lucky, to be
 
 Going Back, 31 
 
 sure." Consequent upon which Frank was 
 taken all round the parish, and formally 
 introduced to every old woman who had 
 ever received beef-tea or a bottle of wine 
 from those stores which the Eectory held 
 for the use of the sick and feeble only.
 
 32 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 ON THE BRINK. 
 
 Theee could be no doubt that Mr. Sinclair's 
 choice surprised the parishioners of Mulford- 
 in-the-Weald as much as it astonished Mrs. 
 St. Clair herself. The poor are wonderfully 
 sharp-sighted concerning the failings of 
 those who are better off than themselves ; 
 they have, as a rule, a wonderful instinct 
 about character; and all the old men and 
 women and young children in Mulford 
 knew, quite as well as did Arabella's mother, 
 that when Frank proposed he had not 
 selected, by any means, the flower of the 
 flock.
 
 On the Brink. 33 
 
 ;N"eyertlieless, in the genial atmosphere of 
 being engaged — in the delightful occupation 
 of being made love to by Frank, and of 
 carrying him round the village a willing 
 captive tied to her now triumphal car, 
 Bella improved marvellously. It must have 
 been pleasant for one of eleven to feel that 
 she, and she alone, was an object of para- 
 mount importance in the eyes of her lover. 
 It was a new sensation to know a person 
 was considering her and her alone, finding 
 his sole enjoyment in loving her — thinking 
 only how he could give her pleasure — and 
 talking, as they walked along, of those 
 happy times to come, when she would have 
 nothing to do except manage her own house, 
 which Frank intended to make a little fairy 
 home for his bride. 
 
 As for Frank himself, hundreds of men of 
 his stamp and appearance are to be seen every 
 week day morning between nine and ten 
 o'clock, walking briskly down Oxford Street, 
 or seated on the knife-boards of City omni- 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 34 Frank Sinclair's Wije. 
 
 buses — men wlio dress always well, and 
 often even fashionably — who are a little 
 fastidious about the cut of their coats and 
 the sit of their collars, who are given to 
 flowers in their button-holes, the newest 
 thing in neckties, and sometimes expensive 
 breast-pins — who carry themselves well, who 
 have a good address and a fail* knowledge 
 of the world — as the world is in London 
 — and who never show really of what 
 sort of stuff they are actually made until 
 they marry and turn out either good or 
 bad husbands and fathers — either selfish 
 and wasteful, or loving, tender, and 
 patient, unrecorded heroes in the battle 
 of life. 
 
 Given a man, accordingly, not bad -looking, 
 who always dressed well, and who was cer- 
 tainly much more gentlemanly in appear- 
 ance than young Mr. Clace of Old Park, 
 and any girl might have been naturally 
 proud of such a lover — for which reason, 
 and for others previously explained, Bella
 
 On the Brink, 35 
 
 was exceedingly proud of Frank Sinclair — 
 proud as well as fond. 
 
 Did Frank's glove require that proverbial 
 stitch in time, needle and silk were at once 
 produced. Did Frank think the walk 
 through the winding lane would be the 
 most pleasant, Bella declared that of all 
 routes she should like the winding lane best. 
 Did Frank ask if she should like him to read 
 to her while she was engaged with needle- 
 work, Bella said there was nothing she en- 
 joyed so much as being read to. 
 
 And please remember in all this, friends 
 and readers, the girl was no hypocrite. The 
 glamour of happiness was around her, the 
 sunbeams of love fell athwart her path. 
 Have you ever, when the world seems very 
 bright to a child, seen how he will skip 
 along to do your bidding, how he will jump 
 and shout and exult because you have given 
 him some task ? and have you ever seen the 
 same child vexed after a scolding, or sulky 
 
 D 2
 
 36 Fra?ik Sinclair's Wife, 
 
 because of some disappointmeiit, or dull by 
 reason of illness ? 
 
 Arrived at to years of discretion, you 
 have, of course, and having looked out over 
 the plains of life, and beheld the ways of 
 the men and women who pass to and fro across 
 them, you understand that adult persons are 
 but "children of a larger growth" — children 
 who in their whims and caprices are not 
 amenable to any human law, who are good- 
 tempered when they feel pleased, and dis- 
 agreeable when they are displeased, and 
 who can produce an enormous amount of 
 discomfort in life by the indulgence of those 
 "tempers," for wliich we rebuke a child, 
 but which we are compelled to endui'e at 
 the hands of the wife of our bosom, the rich 
 relative from whom we have expectations, 
 the principal who pays our salary, and the 
 valued servant whom we cannot exactly 
 afford to discharge. 
 
 Bella St. Clair — to cut the analogy short 
 — was very happy and very pleasant in those
 
 On the Brink. 37 
 
 bright sunshiny days when Frank asked her 
 hand in marriage, and she made herself 
 agreeable accordingly ; whilst for him, he 
 was the most devoted lover imaginable. 
 Following the ancient and barbaric fashion, 
 he gave her presents innumerable — brooches, 
 and rings, and chains, and bracelets followed 
 in quick succession — in such quick suc- 
 cession, indeed, that Mrs. St. Clair had to 
 raise her maternal voice in earnest expostu- 
 lation. 
 
 To a man who has all his life spent little 
 on himself, there is an exquisite pleasure in 
 spending on others, more especially when 
 those others have not been accustomed to be 
 so considered, and accordingly Frank Sin- 
 clair was "generosity itself' — so Mrs. St. 
 Clair said — towards Bella and her family. 
 
 As for Patty, she declared she " grudged 
 him to her sister — he was such a dear," and 
 indeed there were many older persons than 
 Patty who considered that in selecting Bella 
 he had chosen neither wisely nor well.
 
 38 Frank Sinclair s Wife. 
 
 But then these selections are inscrutable, 
 and Mr. Sinclair had chosen and was en- 
 gaged, and meant very shortly to be married. 
 
 There was no one to oppose his wishes in 
 this matter. Both the Rector and his wife 
 disapproved of long engagements. After the 
 protracted holiday he had taken, Frank 
 knew quite well his partner would not 
 agree to frequent absences for the future, 
 even though he pleaded in justification that 
 he desired to see his lady love ; further, he 
 had no consents to ask, no friends to consult, 
 no settlements to draw. As Eve came to 
 Adam, (only with a rather better wardrobe)^ 
 Bella was coming to him, utterly 'dowerless, 
 whilst on his side he had nothing to make 
 over to her. His money was all in his busi- 
 ness, and even had he desired to do so, he 
 could not have withdrawn any portion of it 
 — wherefore the whole affair proved as ut- 
 terly Arcadian as can well be imagined. 
 After the first general and necessary state- 
 ment of his affairs in Mr. St. Clair's library,.
 
 On the Brink. 39 
 
 the question of ways and means was never 
 mentioned, saye between Frank and his 
 fiancee^ and then only in that imaginative and 
 unpractical manner which obtains amongst 
 lovers, when they sit down like children to 
 tell fairy stories to each other, or to build 
 castles destined never to be inhabited, even 
 by themselves. 
 
 It was Mrs. St. Clair who first mooted the 
 idea of the newly -married pair going for a 
 time into lodgings, and on that occasion she 
 made a remark which surprised Frank not 
 a little. 
 
 ^' Bella does not know much about man- 
 agement," she hinted, " and it might be 
 quite as well for her not to begin with a 
 house of her own. But, of course, you 
 know best what will be most conducive to 
 your happiness." 
 
 *^Why, I thought all your daughters 
 were incomparable managers ! " exclaimed 
 Mr. Sinclair. '-'- Indeed, how could they be 
 otherwise ? "
 
 40 Frank Sinclair s Wife. 
 
 ^^When they have siich a mother/' fin- 
 ished Mrs. St. Claii', laughing. ^^ Why, that is 
 precisely the reason for which I should like 
 Bella not to take too high a flight at first. 
 I have managed for them, and they have 
 worked, how well you know, under me — 
 but still there is a difi'erence, which I could 
 perhaps scarcely make you understand." 
 
 '- ^ Yes, I do understand, ' ' he replied. ^ ^They 
 have been, after a fashion, clerks, and you 
 principal." 
 
 ^' Precisely so," Mrs. St. Clair said, and 
 Frank went away, a little thoughtful, to 
 sound Bella on the subject; for although 
 lodgings might prove more economical, 
 still the most imaginative individual could 
 scarcely, out of a ^' genteelly furnished first 
 floor, with attendance," have even mentally 
 realised the visionary home of this man's 
 constant dreams. 
 
 He was quite willing to put up with some 
 inconveniences, in order to have a home of 
 which he could lock the front door at night
 
 On the Brink. 41 
 
 and consider himself master. Eent and taxes, 
 butclier and baker, cook and housemaid had 
 no horrors for him, and he ignorantly ima- 
 gined that every woman liked to have a 
 house of which she could feel herself mis- 
 tress, which she might be at full liberty to 
 explore from garret to cellar at her own 
 sweet will. 
 
 For hours he and Bella had sat discours- 
 ing concerning the colour most desirable for 
 their drawing-room curtains — whether the 
 dining-room furniture should be oak or 
 maple ; and he therefore felt little doubt 
 that the idea of ^' apartments " would prove 
 as distasteful to her as it had done to him, 
 for which reason he went away and told 
 her just what Mrs. St. Clair had suggested, 
 confident that his charmer would at once 
 say—' 
 
 "!N"o, dear Frank, please do let us have 
 a house of our own — if it have but four 
 rooms." 
 
 To his disappointment, however, his
 
 42 FranJz Sinclair's Wife. 
 
 charmer said nothing of the kind. She remain- 
 ed silent for a minute, and then remarked — 
 
 ^' I am not sure but that mamma is right. 
 I do know very little about housekeeping, and 
 I certainly should prefer not being troubled 
 with servants, and all that sort of thing, at 
 first. I want to enjoy myself for a time — 
 that is, if I may." 
 
 ^^ Of course you may," he answered; '^ it 
 shall be all just as you wish," and he hoped 
 she did not notice the disappointment he 
 could scarcely conceal. "After all it is 
 only natural," he thought, ^'and soon she 
 will get as weary of being homeless as I 
 am ; " but still the disappointment remained 
 — the nest his fancy had built was never 
 to be tenanted by the sweet hopes of early 
 married life, by the tender memories of the 
 time when man and wife are scarcely more 
 than lover and betrothed, when all the road 
 they are to walk together is before them, 
 and they set out hand-in-hand to wander 
 amongst the roses that precede the briars.
 
 On the Brink, 43 
 
 '^ Perhaps it is better," he said to Mrs. 
 St. Clair a few days afterwards; ^'when 
 Bella has seen the London sights and got 
 tired of lodgings, we can then choose the 
 furniture together." 
 
 ^'You area dear, good fellow," answered 
 the lady, laying her hand on his, and to his 
 surprise Frank saw that her eyes were full 
 of tears ; for he never dreamed she liked him 
 so much that she would rather have seen 
 him choose any of her children than Bella. 
 
 '^ I hope and trust she will make him a 
 loving wife," she said, over and over again ;. 
 and her husband, who, unaccustomed to such 
 unusual interruptions, and irritated, perhaps, 
 by doubts which seemed to him unreason- 
 able, and an anxiety which was, to say the 
 least, premature, looked up from the sermon 
 that had been engaging his attention, and 
 answered — 
 
 ^^ Pooh ! my dear, the girl will be quite 
 loving enough. Why, she cannot bear him. 
 out of her sight ! "
 
 44 Frank Sinclair^ Wife. 
 
 "True; but they are not married yet," 
 Mrs. St. Clair replied.^ 
 
 " They very soon will be, at any rate," 
 returned the Eector, who felt that his grief 
 would not be overpowering when all the 
 fuss was over. 
 
 "Yes, and then we shall see," remarked 
 the mother — ^which only went to prove she 
 knew enough of the world to be aware that 
 the fair creature who mends gloves for her 
 lover one month, may be averse to sewing 
 on a button for her husband the next, and 
 that the doting bridegroom who will not 
 suffer his wife to pick up even a glove for 
 herself, may before the honeymoon have 
 passed behold with unmoved stoicism his 
 bride, utterly unassisted, wheel an arm-chair 
 forward to the fire. 
 
 Lovers ascend to a seventh heaven of 
 rapture and civility, but ultimately they 
 must return to earth ; and it depends a good 
 deal on the tempers they bring back with 
 them to the old prosaic business of existence.
 
 On the Brink, 45 
 
 what sort of an affair existence will prove — 
 whether snowy or sunshiny, prosperous or 
 the reverse. 
 
 Mrs. St. Clair evidently thought there 
 might be some rough weather on the voyage ; 
 but then mothers are not invariably the best 
 judges of their children's characters, and 
 Bella declared Patty was her parents' favour- 
 ite. "And I do not think parents ought to 
 have favourites amongst their children," she 
 finished, an opinion in which Erank entirely 
 agreed, for the very simple reason that in 
 those days he had not the remotest idea how 
 parents feel towards their children, and did 
 not know how impossible it is for the even 
 balance of love to be held between Hope and 
 Grace — between Alfred and Harry. 
 
 But the time was coming when he was to 
 know all about that, and a few other things, 
 the advent of which he could not very well 
 have foreseen when he walked with Bella 
 along the winding lanes, and across the 
 pleasant fields, of Mulford-in-the- Weald.
 
 46 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 *' TO HAVE AND TO HOLD." 
 
 It was the day of the wedding, and every 
 member of the St. Clair family had, when he 
 or she opened his or her eyes, opened like- 
 wise his or her mouth, in order to ask — 
 " What sort of a morning is it ? " 
 "Oh! lovely," other mouths answered, and 
 then there ensued a great stir and bustle in 
 the Eectory, for it was not every day that 
 seven sisters put on new dresses at onoe, and 
 a little excitement was natural, considering 
 the unwonted nature of the ceremony. 
 
 No human being, who was acquainted 
 with the Eectory, in its pristine state, could
 
 " To Have arid to HoldP 47 
 
 liave recognised the place as it appeared on 
 the morning in question. 
 
 In lieu of pens, and ink, and paper, and 
 books, and manuscripts, the library-table was 
 covered with glasses, plates, bottles, dishes, 
 and all sorts of edibles ready to replenish 
 the feast spread in the dining-room — 
 where half the parish had already come to 
 see the wedding breakfast laid out — which 
 the old women pronounced to be '^ beautiful, 
 beautiful, sure-ly." 
 
 And certainly the arrangement was taste- 
 ful and pretty in the extreme. Baskets, 
 edged with ferns, contained the pale pink 
 roses of autumn, the rich berries of the bar- 
 berry, the bright scarlet clusters of the 
 mountain ash, and all late-blooming flowers 
 that the Eectory garden could furnish ; whilst, 
 flanking on each side the wedding cake, 
 were china vases filled with rare and beauti- 
 ful exotics that had been furnished from the 
 gardens of Sir Arthur Landless and the 
 honourable Mrs. Clace. As for the draw-
 
 48 Frank Sinclair's Wife, 
 
 ing-room, Mrs. Clace had sent plants enough 
 to convert it into a perfect bower, where 
 were enshrined the wedding presents, which, 
 when inspected, turned out to be as unmean- 
 ing and as useless as wedding presents usually 
 are amongst those whom, for want of a bet- 
 ter phrase, one is compelled to term the up- 
 per middle-class. 
 
 The half-dozen teaspoons, the cut-glass 
 decanters with wine-glasses to match, the 
 electro-plated tea service, the butter-dish, 
 and two vases for the mantel -shelf, so 
 familiar to memory as furnishing some 
 of the bridal gifts of a different rank, 
 were conspicuous from their absence ; and 
 in their place appeared a Church Service, an 
 article with which, it might have been pre- 
 sumed, a clergyman's daughter was already 
 furnished ; a gold thimble that looked ex- 
 ceedingly like brass, the gift of Miss Land- 
 less ; a Lady's Companion; a sofa pillow, em- 
 broidered by the fair fingers of Miss Clace ; 
 a workbox, '^ with Patty's love ; " a framed
 
 '^ To Have and to Hold^ 49 
 
 water-colour drawing of the Eectory, ^^ from 
 Eosina" ; an inlaid writing-desk, containing 
 a note asking Bella's acceptance of the same, 
 from '^her affectionate little brothers and 
 sisters ; " a cedar- wood glove-box, contri- 
 buted by Sir Arthur Landless, who had 
 brought it with him from India many years 
 previously ; a handsomely bound edition of 
 ' Proverbial Philosophy,' in which appeared 
 Mrs. Clace's own autograph ; a chess-board ; 
 a paper knife ; a Parian ink-stand, admirably 
 adapted, of course, for the purpose for which 
 it was intended ; ^ Lalla Eookh,' in green and 
 gold ; a card-basket ; a papier-mache blotting 
 case ; a bog -oak Irish cross ; a diamond ring, 
 which Mrs. St. Clair had reset for the oc- 
 casion ; a pair of ear-rings, once the property 
 of Mr. St. Clair's mother ; and, from the 
 bridegroom, the sweetest gold chain and the 
 darlingest little watch (so said the young 
 ladies) that were ever beheld. 
 
 If in the foregoing catalogue any likely 
 or usual article has been omitted, the reader 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 50 Frank Sinclair's Wife, 
 
 may be quite certain it nevertheless formed 
 part of the collection, for all Bella's friends 
 and acquaintances had vied with one another 
 in doing honour to the occasion; even the 
 school-children presented her with half-a- 
 dozen anti-macassars, while the grand- 
 daughter of a rheumatic old parishioner 
 sent up a pair of crochet watch-pockets, 
 ^^with her duty;" and a young man, who 
 as a lad had enjoyed the advantage of hav- 
 ing repeated his Catechism to Miss Bella, 
 brought her, the evening before tlie wed- 
 ding, a fan large enough to have served for 
 a parasol, composed of white feathers, and 
 trimmed with the eyes from a peacock's 
 tail, which fan he had, together with other 
 curiosities, brought with him from foreign 
 parts. 
 
 Altogether, indeed, the Eectory wore an 
 unwonted air of excitement — not to say 
 dissipation — ^which might well be, consider- 
 ing a girl was going out of it that very 
 morning to be married, accompanied by no
 
 '^ To Have and to HoldP 
 
 51 
 
 less tlian eight bridesmaids, all arrayed in 
 sky-blue dresses. 
 
 From the glass door at the back of the 
 hall which led into a shrubbery path, that 
 in turn conducted to a gate affording ingress 
 to the village graveyard," red cloth was laid 
 to the very church-door. 
 
 Provision had indeed, been made for rain, 
 in the shape of two carriages — one belong- 
 ing to Mrs. Clace, and the other to Sir 
 Arthur Landless ; but it was felt by the St. 
 Clairs that a walking wedding was most 
 suitable under the circumstances, and a very 
 pretty sight it was to see the bridal party 
 pass along the path, lined with school- 
 children and the parishioners, each one of 
 whom Bella knew so well. 
 
 Before them in the church were Mr. Sin- 
 clair and his best man. The group was 
 soon arranged, and it was then the Honour- 
 able Mrs. Clace surveyed the bride and bride- 
 groom through her double eye-glasses, and 
 Sir Arthur gave the bride away, and the 
 
 E 2 
 
 u...vu.'.SITY {if 
 ILLINOIS library:
 
 52 Frank Sinclair'' s Wife. 
 
 Eeverend Fitzhugh St. Clair, assisted by the 
 Dean of Kingleton, performed that ceremony 
 which converted Miss Arabella Constance 
 Marion St. Clair into Frank Sinclair's wife ; 
 all of which facts have been duly recorded 
 in the first paragraph of this story. 
 
 Altogether it was a very happy wedding 
 and wedding breakfast ; and when after the 
 breakfast and changing her dress, Bella 
 came down to go out into the world and 
 commence her new life, Frank, seeing how 
 she wept at bidding farewell to her friends, 
 how she stopped on her way to the carriage 
 to shake hands with this old parishioner and 
 that favourite school-child, felt he had in- 
 deed secured a treasure, and thanked God 
 for the blessing vouchsafed. 
 
 *' My darling," he said, as they drove off, 
 *' do not fret so much : we must have them 
 all to stay with us." 
 
 '' Oh ! Frank, you are so good," Bella 
 answered. 
 
 *' Who could help being good to you ? " 
 he replied.
 
 '^ To Have mid to HoldP 53 
 
 And then Bella laughed through her 
 tears, and said, '^Many people :" and so their 
 courtship ended, and their married life 
 began. 
 
 Meanwhile, at the Eectory, the festivities 
 were continued throughout the day, for the 
 poorer parishioners had been invited to par- 
 take, at five o'clock, of a feast consisting of 
 strong tea well-sugared, and immense slices 
 of cake, which were duly dispensed and 
 distributed by the bridesmaids, the grooms- 
 man, the boys, and such of the wedding 
 guests as kindly remained for the purpose. 
 
 Amongst the latter was young Mr. Clace, 
 just returned from college, who, disregarding 
 his mother's signs, and nods, and hints, per- 
 sisted in staying behind, captivated clearly 
 by Patty's pretty face, and Patty's natural 
 manners. 
 
 " Now, Harry, remember, I will have no 
 nonsense, I will never have anything of the 
 sort ! " said the somewhat arbitrary lady, 
 when her son handed her to her carriage.
 
 54 Frank Smclair'^s Wife. 
 
 after promising to return to Old Park in 
 time for dinner. 
 
 "Surely, mother," lie answered ^'it will 
 be time enough for you to withhold your 
 consent when I ask it," which caused Mrs. 
 Clace inwardly to wish that clergymen were 
 forbidden by law to marry, or, at least, to 
 have marriageable daughters. 
 
 " Oh, dear ! " said Mrs. St. Clair, as she 
 laid her head on her pillow that night ; "I 
 am so thankful it is all over; and I hope 
 and trust they will be happy ! " 
 
 " The proof of the pudding is in the 
 eating," answered Mr. St. Clair, philoso- 
 phically, for he was sleepy, and unac- 
 customed as he was to wine, champagne 
 had caused him to take more cheerful views 
 of life than those in which his better-half 
 seemed disposed to indulge. 
 
 " Yes, and what I want to know," said 
 Mrs. St. Clair, '^ is how it is going to eat." 
 
 *'I cannot imagine why you think they 
 are going to be wretched," Mr. St. Clair
 
 '^ To Have and to HoldJ^^ 55 
 
 roused himself sufficiently to remark ; ^^ it 
 seems to me they have every reasonable 
 chance of happiness." 
 
 And, indeed, as time went by, it appeared 
 as if the Eector were right, and his wife 
 wrong. Letters arrived from both bride and 
 bridegroom — chappy, pleasant letters, which 
 it rejoiced the mother's heart to receive — 
 letters written during the honeymoon, and 
 after their return to London ; filled first 
 with descriptions of foreign travel, and sub- 
 sequently with accounts of the wonders of 
 London. 
 
 ^^ Frank is coming home early to take me 
 out," so the text of most of these epistles 
 ran ; ^^ we went last night to the Olympic ; we 
 are going next week to Drury Lane. Frank 
 wants to know when you can spare one of 
 the girls to come up. He fancies I must be 
 often lonely when he is away, and, indeed, 
 dear mamma, I do miss you all dreadfully. 
 Could not Patty spend the winter with us ? 
 Frank would be delighted!" Which was
 
 56 Frank Sinclair'* s Wife, 
 
 indeed true, for already Frank found it 
 might not be always possible for bim to 
 return home early, in order to take his wife 
 out ; whilst, on the other hand, he knew she 
 must often lack occupation, and amusement, 
 and companionship in his absence. 
 
 " When we have a house of our own, she 
 will find plenty to do," he considered, and 
 meantime he was honestly glad to hear that 
 Mrs. St. Clair intended to let Patty come. 
 
 ^^She will be out of the way of young 
 Clace," explained Mrs. St. Clair to her 
 husband — for since the day of the wedding 
 Mr. Clace's visits had grown frequent, and 
 those of Mrs. Clace infrequent — '-'• and I do 
 not want any child of mine to marry into a 
 family where she would not be properly re- 
 ceived," finished the lady, with a proper 
 spirit, to which the Eector replied — 
 
 " You may be very sure she never would 
 be welcome at Old Park, so you had better 
 send her for a couple of months to Bella." 
 
 Accordingly Patty went to London, but
 
 " To Have and to Hold:' 57 
 
 returned at the expiration of six weeks on 
 the plea of ill-health, strangely silent con- 
 cerning her visit. 
 
 "Did you not enjoy your visit, Patty?" 
 asked her mother, marvelling both at her 
 changed face and her singular reticence. 
 
 ^^Oh! London is a wonderful place," 
 Patty answered; '^and Bella wished me 
 to see everything, and Frank was very 
 kind about taking me out, but I got tired of 
 it, mamma. After all, London is not like 
 the country, and Bella's house is not like 
 home ; but that is not her fault, for how can 
 any lodgings be like one's own home ? I 
 do hope if ever I marry I shall have some 
 quiet little cottage in the country." 
 
 " I hope, love, you have never wished to 
 be at Old Park," said her mother gently. 
 
 "No, indeed, mamma. Mr. Clace called 
 at Frank's while I was in London, and I told 
 him it could not be, even if I cared for him, 
 which I did not ; and I hope you and papa 
 will not be vexed with me for refusing him."
 
 58 Frank Smclair'^s Wife, 
 
 ^'My dear, I would not have had you 
 accept him for any consideration." 
 
 '•'- Well, I thought you would not, after 
 the way Mrs. Clace has behaved towards us 
 all ever since Bella's marriage; but Bella 
 used to scold me about it, and yet I do 
 not think she liked his asking me. Lat- 
 terly she was always cross and irritable, 
 more especially when Frank's partner began 
 calling in the evenings. She used to be 
 pleasant enough before him, but the next 
 day she would say I flirted, and ask me how 
 many more lovers I wanted; and then I 
 sometimes grew cross, and altogether I 
 thought it better to come home." 
 
 ^^ Patty," said her mother, ^' I do not 
 wish you to go into a house, and then talk 
 about what happens in it; but I should 
 just like to know if Bella and Frank are 
 happy." 
 
 '•'' I think so," Patty answered ; " but it is 
 only because Frank has the temper of an 
 angel. If I were a man," she added
 
 ^^ To Have and to HoldP 59 
 
 vehemently, " and married to Bella, I would 
 not endure her nasty temper and dis- 
 contented ways for five minutes — that I 
 would not ! " 
 
 Which must have proved very consolatory 
 to Mrs. St. Clair.
 
 6o 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 AFTER YK\RS. 
 
 It takes a man or woman a long time to 
 acknowledge that he or she has matrimo- 
 nially made a mistake — mentally, I mean ; 
 since no person who is not a simple idiot, or 
 who is not seeking to deceive him or her self 
 in the pursuit of an unlawful attachment, will 
 ever make such an acknowledgment other- 
 wise — and thus it chanced that many a year 
 passed away before Prank Sinclair fairly 
 and fully acknowledged, in the depths of his 
 own heart, that the Bella who had now the 
 making or marring of his happiness was not
 
 After Years, 6i 
 
 exactly the Eella he had idealised to him- 
 self in the sunshiny days at Mulford. 
 
 At first, when he found his wife peevish 
 and discontented, resentful concerning his 
 slightest shortcoming, blind to the personal 
 sacrifices he made in order that she might 
 be happy, he framed excuses for her — as 
 loving men and women will frame excuses 
 for those dear to them, till all their patience 
 and most part of their affection is ex- 
 hausted. 
 
 Much sooner than women perhaps — be- 
 cause they more fully imderstand this wicked 
 world and the ways thereof — men grasp 
 the fact that the only real friends they 
 are ever likely to possess are those of their 
 own household ; and Frank Sinclair, who 
 longed with an intense yearning for utter 
 sympathy, and entire one-mindedness be- 
 tween himself and his wife, left no stone 
 unturned to try and bring about a perfect 
 understanding. 
 
 There was nothing in the earlier days of
 
 62 Frank Sinclair's Wife, 
 
 his married life that he did not confide to 
 her ; his hopes, his fears, his anxieties, his 
 successes ; but when, as time went by, he 
 found that the things which perforce inter- 
 ested him were considered tiresome by his 
 wife, he gradually curtailed his confidences, 
 and ended, as so many husbands do, by 
 closing his lips concerning business when he 
 locked his office door. 
 
 And yet the pair were happy enough — 
 very happy, perhaps, as times and wedded 
 experience go ; but the reason for this hap- 
 piness certainly was that Frank had — as 
 Patty expressed it — the temper of an angel, 
 which caused him to try to make excuses 
 when there were actually none to be found, 
 and to meet selfishness and iiTitability with 
 that soft answe;- which, if it did not exactly 
 in his case turn away wrath, prevented an 
 unseemly exhibition of it. 
 
 They had long left the ^' comfortably fur- 
 nished apartments " — where, as Bella said, 
 ^4t was so horrid to sit all alone from
 
 After Years. 63 
 
 morning till night" — and taken up their 
 abode in a house, which was a very good 
 house of its kind, though certainly as dis- 
 tant from Frank's ideal of a home as Bella 
 proved to be from his ideal of a wife ; but 
 still, people who have any contentment in 
 their natures learn to be satisfied in time 
 with what they can get ; and in lieu of roses 
 and honeysuckle, of a modest cottage and 
 homely rooms, Frank accepted a stuccoed 
 dwelling in a pretentious terrace, with a 
 long strip of garden groimd at the back 
 and a short strip of garden ground at the 
 front. 
 
 It was a long way from his business — 
 so long, indeed, as to necessitate a weary 
 journey morning and evening; but then, 
 as Bella truly said, when the question 
 of locality was first mooted, ^^ We ought to 
 live in some place where our friends can 
 come to see us" — meaning that if any un- 
 fashionable suburb were selected, it was 
 not to be expected that those notables of
 
 64 Frank Si?iclair^s Wife, 
 
 Mulford-in-the-Wealcl, who spent the season 
 in London, would call once during its con- 
 tinuance on Mrs. Sinclair. 
 
 There was a certain amount of reason in 
 this observation, and Frank acknowledged 
 it. A time comes in all married lives when 
 the man and the woman have for many- 
 hours in each day to seek their occupations 
 and amusements separately, and certainly 
 Mr. Sinclair had no desire that his wife 
 should live in entire seclusion, or that she 
 should be debarred in any way from the 
 social advantages to which she was clearly 
 entitled by virtue of Sir Arthur Landless 
 and the Dean of Eingleton. 
 
 But still, admitting all this, he thought 
 there was no necessity for her to have based 
 the argument upon the entirely suppositi- 
 tious statement that he had his friends in 
 the City, and plenty of excitement to amuse 
 and interest him. 
 
 ^' I do not know much about the amuse- 
 ment, dear,'' he answered; "the happiest
 
 After Years, 65 
 
 hour of my life is when I leave the office 
 and turn my face homeward." 
 
 To which Bella replied, with a certain 
 gratification in her tone, despite the ungra- 
 ciousness of her words, "Men always say 
 that." 
 
 " And mean it too, very often, I hope," 
 added her husband; " at least, I can speak 
 for myself; whatever else you may doubt 
 in the future, never doubt my love for 
 home and you." 
 
 His tone was earnest — so ea*mest, indeed, 
 that Bella, remembering the days of their 
 sweet love-making, rose, and, brushing the 
 hair back from his forehead, kissed him 
 more affectionately than was her wont. 
 
 "I never have doubted it," she said, 
 " and I never shall." 
 
 And so the twilight deepened, and the 
 husband and wife sat silent, hand locked in 
 hand. 
 
 IS'evertheless, Bella Sinclair was not one 
 to believe very implicitly in anything ex- 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 66 Frank Sinclair's Wife. 
 
 cepting herself, and she had never yet 
 breasted any trouble high enough and strong 
 enough to shake her confidence in her own 
 infallibility. 
 
 To a different man she might have made, 
 perhaps, a different wife ; but if devotion 
 and unselfidiness cannot win both in return, 
 what are we to think of our humanity? 
 And when the evil days came and division 
 ensued, it was the thought of all Frank's 
 love, of all his unappreciated tenderness, 
 that touched the woman's heart and pricked 
 the woman's conscience, and brought such 
 peace to the household as it had never 
 before known. 
 
 So long as he is prosperous, a man's 
 domestic gods may be propitiated. These 
 gods are fond of votive offerings, they 
 like the worshipper who returns with his 
 hands full of the spoils of the enemy; 
 but once let the tide of battle turn, once let 
 the man, hunted and exhausted, run into 
 the sanctuary for comfort and rest, and the
 
 After Years. 67 
 
 domestic gods, as a rule, fail, and the van- 
 quished finds he has been worshipping all 
 the time vain idols, who have no power of 
 consolation in the hour of need ! 
 
 For years worldly matters went smoothly 
 enough with the Sinclairs ; true, Frank 
 thought his wife might have managed 
 better on the allowance he made for house- 
 keeping; but he was not a man to brew 
 misery out of pence, or even pounds, and so 
 he never worried Bella's soul with com- 
 plaints concerning underdone mutton or 
 weak tea. 
 
 He honestly believed she did her best for 
 him, and if the best was bad, why, he knew 
 it was all he was ever likely to get. Women 
 are not to blame because Heaven has not 
 made them clever housekeepers, any more 
 than men are to blame because they cannot 
 act, or sing, or paint. 
 
 For my own part, I believe it requires 
 just as much true genius to manage a house- 
 hold properly as to take the command of an 
 
 F 2
 
 68 Frank Sinclair'^ s Wife, 
 
 army. The strategetical part is, of course, 
 rarely required, save when arranging the 
 rival pretensions of nurse and cook, house- 
 keeper and lady's-maid ; but the organisation 
 is precisely similar. Bella Sinclair, however, 
 did not organise ; she spent — and spent 
 uselessly — and -Frank perforce had to be 
 satisfied. 
 
 The man's first real pecuniary trial came 
 about in this wise : — 
 
 His partner — his senior partner, re- 
 member — who had exhibited a little tendresse 
 for Patty, which attachment Bella nipped in 
 the bud, married, and from that hour there 
 was greater dissatisfaction than ever in 
 Briant View Terrace ; and the result pro- 
 duced by the dissatisfaction will be best ex- 
 plained by a conversation which took place 
 some four years subsequently in the City 
 oflBce. 
 
 "Sinclair," said his partner, Mr. Yarham, 
 one afternoon, when the clerks had gone and 
 the managing man was putting on his top-
 
 After Years, 69 
 
 coat, ^* if you are not in a hurry I should 
 like to speak to you for five minutes." 
 
 Whereupon, greatly wondering, Frank 
 repaired to his senior's private oflS.ce. 
 
 " We have worked together for a good 
 many years," began Mr. Yarham, affcer 
 closing the door, ^^and we have never, so 
 far as I remember, disagreed during the 
 time ; hut I think it better we should now 
 dissolve partnership, and I want to know how 
 it shall be — shall I leave or you ? " 
 
 '^ What have I done ? what have I left 
 undone?" Frank gasped, for he had not 
 been prepared for this blow, and it took 
 away his breath. 
 
 '^ You have done nothing, left nothing 
 undone," answered Mr. Yarham ; ^' but we 
 had better separate. I suppose I may speak 
 freely to you, and say our wives cannot 
 stable their horses together, and never will. 
 Your wife thinks we have too much out of 
 the concern ; my wife thinks your wife has 
 no right to inquire into her pin-money, since
 
 7© Frank Sinclair s Wife, 
 
 she had a fortune of her own. Now, you 
 understand, all this has nothing to do with 
 you and me individually, only we must 
 separate. I cannot stand the home indigna- 
 tion ; you, possibly, go through the same 
 business. For myself, I cannot see what 
 legislation could do in such a matter, and at 
 all events, for the present legislation has not 
 attempted to interfere. Parliament cannot 
 forbid marriage ; it cannot ordain that one's 
 wife shall live two hundred miles away from 
 her husband's office, and even if it could, 
 she would still know the price per yard 
 another woman paid for her dress. I am 
 not blaming you, remember, or Mrs. Sinclair, 
 or Mrs. Yarham ; all I say is, my life shall 
 not be made a burden to me by reason of 
 women's quarrels. So, now, how is it to be ? 
 "Will you leave, or shall I ? Will you take 
 a sum, or give a sum ? " 
 
 At which direct question Frank stood 
 aghast. He could not contradict the truth 
 of a single word his partner said, and yet
 
 After Years. 71 
 
 until that moment, as he told him, a thought 
 of their parting company had never crossed 
 his mind. 
 
 ^^But, then, you are long-suffering," 
 remarked Mr. Yarham, " and I am not." 
 
 ^' I am not aware that I have anything 
 to suffer," said Frank, a little stiffly, 
 although at the moment memory recalled 
 many a mauvais quart d'heure he had endured, 
 hearkening to how " those Yarhams are rob- 
 bing you ! " 
 
 " I did not say that you had to suffer, but 
 I have," retorted Mr. Yarham, who, believ- 
 ing his wife could do no wrong, had no 
 objection to making himself out a martyr. 
 "I have suffered for a long time in fact; I 
 have waited in hopes of things mending ; 
 but things do not mend, and as our children 
 grow older matters will get worse. There 
 will be jealousies and heart-burnings, and 
 Heaven knows what, between our woman- 
 kind ; so now, Sinclair, without any ill-will
 
 72 Frank Sinclair s Wife 
 
 or disagreeable feeling, let us face the diffi- 
 culty and see what is best to be done." 
 
 ^' I would not for anything it should ever 
 have come to this," said Frank vehemently. 
 ^' Think of the years we have worked to- 
 gether ! " 
 
 '^ Ay, my boy ; but we have taken to our- 
 selves wives, and that makes all the differ- 
 ence. It is natural for us to marry, and it 
 is natural for the ladies — God bless them ! — 
 to quarrel. Shall we interfere with the 
 arrangements of Nature ? Heaven forefend ! 
 So now, Sinclair, we have arrived at a 
 point where our roads must diverge ; shall it 
 be you to branch off, or shall it be myself?" 
 and Mr. Varham leaned back in his chair, 
 and put one leg across the other, and looked 
 at Mr. Sinclair not without a certain em- 
 barrassment as he spoke. 
 
 "You are the senior," Frank answered, 
 *' and it should therefore be for you to state 
 your wishes." 
 
 " I have none," was the reply. ^^ I can
 
 After Years. 73 
 
 go, or I can stay ; I will pay you out, or be 
 paid out, making the terms as easy for you 
 as I can. My wife, as you are aware, lias 
 some private means and very rich relations, 
 so it shall be just as you like. Either you 
 stay and I go, or I stay and you go, without 
 prejudice ; that is to say, each having as high 
 an opinion of the other as formerly — higher, 
 perhaps." 
 
 ''Is it unavoidable?" Frank asked, after 
 the manner of one who gropes about to find 
 some help he is unable to grasp. 
 
 '' Quite, and I am sorry for it," Mr. 
 Varham answered. 
 
 And then the pair shook hands. 
 
 "Which was the best for him to accept ? — 
 All the way to Kensington Mr. Sinclair 
 debated this question. Should he give or 
 take, buy or sell ? He would have liked to 
 ask his wife, but he knew she could not 
 refrain from digressing into tirades concern- 
 ing theexpensiveness of Mrs.Yarham's dress, 
 the luxuriousness of Mrs. Yarham's habits.
 
 74 Frank Sinclair's Wife, 
 
 ^^ Never rises till noon," was one of Bella's 
 accusations. 
 
 ^^But, my dear," suggested Frank '^yon 
 are not generally down for breakfast." 
 
 " She has only one boy," urged Bella. 
 
 ^* As years go by she will probably have 
 more," Frank was wont to answer ; and 
 this was just one of those conversations he 
 felt he could not in his then mood endure 
 with equanimity.
 
 75 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 COMING STRUGGLES. 
 
 There are some persons whose ordinary talk 
 has just the same effect upon a mental wound 
 that a medical plaster has upon a physical. 
 It keeps the place raw, it irritates beyond 
 all reason. A man shrinks from it as he 
 might from a charge of cavalry or discharge 
 of musketry. Since, look you, men can 
 endure the cannon's mouth sometimes better 
 than a woman's tongue. 
 
 Frank Sinclair could, at all events, and 
 for this reason he said nothing to his wife 
 concerning Mr. Yarham's proposition ; but 
 lay awake all night, considering which path 
 he had better decide to take.
 
 76 Frank Sinclair'' s Wife. 
 
 If he took the one he should, to be sure, 
 have a certain sum of money ; but, then, it 
 would be needful for him almost to com- 
 mence again to rear a business edifice there- 
 upon. A man, if he have a certain family 
 of four, and an uncertain family of fourteen 
 possibly to follow, cannot easily afford to sit 
 down for life on a small fixed income ; and 
 Mr. Sinclair knew quite well that if he let 
 himself be paid out, he should have at once 
 to find some other commercial investment 
 for his money likely to yield a large per- 
 centage. 
 
 Looking at the matter from a different 
 point of view, if he paid out Mr. Yarham he 
 should for a long time find himself, pecu- 
 niarily, most seriously crippled; and yet, 
 after much thought and deliberation, this 
 was the course he decided to adopt. Not 
 for one instant did he contemplate taking in 
 another partner ; better any harass in the 
 City, welcome any struggle rather than the 
 trouble of hearing his wife's complaints of
 
 Coming Struggles. 77 
 
 unfairiiess, of listening to her recital of petty 
 annoyances — of petty feminine jealousies. 
 
 No ; he would pay as much as he could, 
 and borrow as much as possible, and owe as 
 much as Mr. Yarham could conveniently 
 allow. It was a mere question of time and 
 work, he comforted himself by saying. The 
 business was a good busines, and in time, no 
 doubt, it would all turn out for the best. 
 And so the affair was concluded, and the 
 partnership hitherto subsisting between 
 Alfred Yarham and Francis Sinclair was 
 dissolved, by mutual consent, and duly 
 gazetted. 
 
 ^'lam so thankful!" exclaimed Mrs. 
 Sinclair, when sh e heard of it . ^ ^ IS'o w you will 
 be able to keep what you make for yourself." 
 
 ^^ I shall not be one sixpence better off, 
 probably, for years," answered Frank, a little 
 bitterly, '^ and shall have to work twice as 
 hard." 
 
 " Oh, that is all nonsense ! " remarked 
 Mrs. Sinclair. ^' I do not believe ]\Ir. Yar- 
 ham ever did any work."
 
 78 Frank Sinclair'' s Wife. 
 
 '' My dear, you were not at the office to 
 know," Frank mildly expostulated. 
 
 '* [N'o, but I am quite certain of it, notwith- 
 standing," was the peculiarly feminirie, and 
 therefore utterly unanswerable, reply. 
 
 From that time Frank Sinclair's troubles 
 commenced ; but they gathered about him 
 slowly. It was not any one great loss, or 
 any particular panic, that made him a poor 
 man ; but the constant drag of interest to 
 pay, of larger salaries to give, of more work 
 to do, that made his life about that period 
 one long anxiety. 
 
 Never before in his memory had every- 
 thing rested entirely on his own shoulders, 
 depended altogether on his own health and 
 exertions. As a very young man he had, 
 indeed, assisted his mother's modest income ; 
 but she was not wholly dependent upon him, 
 as the pregnant hampers, laden with good 
 things, that arrived from her little cottage, 
 and gladdened the hearts of those landladies 
 who kindly took charge of their contents
 
 Coming Struggles, 79 
 
 for Frank — levying large tolls by the way — 
 went to testify. After her death he had no 
 one to be anxious for. He worked himself 
 into a partnership in a moderately successful 
 business, where an older and more expe- 
 rienced man took the principal lead, and 
 whilst he and Mr. Yarham continued 
 together he had never really known the 
 actual meaning of an hour's uneasiness. 
 
 Now the case was altogether different : 
 with an increasing family, a wife who seemed 
 to grow daily less and less capable of making 
 the best of their means, and an establishment 
 the expenses of which were certainly rather 
 beyond than within his means, he soon found 
 anxieties for the present and the future 
 crowding into his City office, following him 
 through the streets, mounting with him to 
 the knife-boards of West-end omnibuses, 
 and rousing him at night from the sleep he 
 so much needed after the labours and troubles 
 of the day. 
 
 Frank Sinclair gi^ew older visibly, and
 
 8o Frank Sinclair s Wife. 
 
 more irritable certainly. For his temper 
 was angelic no longer. Even Patty — still 
 unmarried — who came at rare intervals to 
 pass a few days with them, could not help 
 noticing that, and the reason for the change 
 was not, perhaps, far to seek. 
 
 He had an anxious time of it in the City, 
 and when he returned at night it was to a 
 miserable, untidy home, ^^ where there is 
 never a comfortable meal ready for him, 
 mamma," Patty declared. ^^ Bella says he is 
 so uncertain in his time that it is of no use 
 having anything prepared. I assure you, 
 one day when Bella was off visiting some new 
 friends she has made (horrid people, I call 
 them) I got the cook to have late dinner — a 
 nice little dinner — and Prank seemed quite 
 surprised and grateful. I spoke to Bella 
 about the way she neglects him and her 
 children, and we quarrelled, and I never 
 intend to enter her doors again." 
 
 " My dear Patty," expostulated her 
 mother, ^^ you cannot wonder at Bella's re- 
 senting your interference."
 
 Coming Struggles, 
 
 '^ Well, it would be impossible for me to 
 be there and not interfere," Patty retorted. 
 '' She has got into a clique who seem to 
 beKeve all men are little better than either 
 monsters or fools. I do not really, stupid 
 as Bella is, think she would be so bad if it 
 were not for the set of people she has about 
 her. I am sure it used to go to my very 
 heart to see Frank come home tired and 
 jaded at night, and Bella generally off to 
 some party ; and whether she was at home 
 or not, nothing comfortable or pleasant. As 
 for the children — and darlings they are, 
 the very sweetest pets I ever beheld — she 
 takes no pride in them at all : theii* dresses 
 are torn, and they have no nice, pretty 
 clothes ; and if it were not for their nurse, 
 who *is only a girl, I believe they would 
 never be washed, for Bella is far above 
 looking after her children. I used to mend 
 their things till I saw she did not like it ; 
 and, oh ! mamma, it is completely wretched. 
 I cannot think how Frank bears it even as he 
 
 VOL. I. Gf
 
 82 Frank Sinclair^ Wife, 
 
 does. I am sure I should leave her. There, 
 I never saw such a house ! Often when I 
 was in London I thought about the evening 
 before she was married, when she collected 
 all the unmended stockings and piled them 
 in her basket, and put the lid on, and said, 
 * I have done with you, and I hope I shall 
 never have to darn another pair.' And I 
 do not believe she has. I think she wears 
 them till they will hold together no longer, 
 and then buys new." 
 
 ^^Did Bella say so?" asked Mrs. St. 
 Clair. 
 
 ^' Yes, indeed. I thought I told you at 
 the time." 
 
 "!N'o," her mother answered; ^^ and I 
 wish you had not told me now." 
 
 And she turned away with tears in her 
 eyes, sick at heart to find how much stronger, 
 in some persons, nature is than training, 
 selfishness than duty.
 
 S3 
 
 CHAPTEE VII. 
 
 feai^k's resolve. 
 
 One summer's evening, ten years after bis 
 marriage, Frank Sinclair left his office with 
 the intention of walking home. It was plea- 
 santly cool after the heat of the clay, and as 
 he had scarcely moved from his desk since 
 early in the morning when he came into the 
 City, the prospect of a walk, even through 
 familiar thoroughfares, between endless rows 
 of houses, seemed pleasant to him. 
 
 'No person who has not been in a strug- 
 gling business, can imagine the relief of 
 mind it is to a man to feel that even for one 
 hour the pressure is relaxed, that toward 
 
 G 2
 
 84 Fraiik Sinclair's Wife, 
 
 to-morrow lie need not look forward with 
 dread ; and after years of anxiety, after days 
 and nights of hard thought and painful 
 work, Frank Sinclair was able at last to say, 
 ^^ The battle is over, and I have won." 
 
 For the battle was over, and the fight 
 won so far as this, that in pecuniary matters 
 he was the day forward instead of the day 
 behind ; that he had the typical five-pound 
 note in hand without which no City man 
 can be pronounced happy ; that he was, still 
 to speak allegorically, able to hatch his 
 chickens before going through the process 
 of counting them. Consequently, so far as 
 a tranquil mind concerning business could 
 tend to make him happy, Frank Sinclair 
 might that summer's evening have been 
 so called. 
 
 But he had other and nearer causes for 
 anxiety than any mere pecuniary affair ; and 
 now that the strain of business pressure was 
 relaxed, that the entangled skein of com- 
 mercial matters had been made compara-
 
 Frank! s Resolve. 85 
 
 tively smoothj the man could not help 
 thinking abont home and home sorrows ; 
 about his wife who was no helpmate ; about 
 his children who were neglected ; about his 
 house which was wretched ; about domestic 
 extravagance which had added in no small 
 degree to increase the troubles he had been 
 daily called upon to endure, in that modem 
 pandemonium where men pant out their 
 lives and peril their souls, not for wealth, 
 not even for competence, but just for the 
 sake of a mere subsistence, the bread of 
 which is bitter to the palate, and the waters 
 whereof are briny to the taste. 
 
 It takes a man or woman a long time to 
 confess that he or she has made just that 
 one mistake which is utterly irrevocable. 
 Old recollections, the fond memories of 
 tender words whispered when the dusty 
 roads of life were still untraversed, when it 
 was all greensward under-foot, and blossom- 
 ing roses over-head ; the very dread, it may 
 be, of the thought of the way still to be
 
 86 Frank Sinclair's Wife, 
 
 traversed with an uncongenial companion : 
 all these things conspire to induce human 
 beings to make the best of their bargain, 
 and to lay the fault of domestic unhappiness, 
 as long as possible, on any cause save that of 
 utter unsuitability. 
 
 Frank Sinclair had striven to do this, at 
 any rate, and even as he walked home that 
 evening he made excuses for the woman 
 who was his wife, and vowed, if it lay in 
 his power to make a better thing of the 
 future, the future should be better than 
 the past had proved. 
 
 Only, how was he to set about it ? Be- 
 tween them there had grown up insensibly 
 a barrier, strong in precise proportion as it 
 was indescribable. 
 
 Arabella had indeed, as Patty stated, 
 fallen amongst people whose friendship (save 
 the mark !) and sympathy (that a good word 
 should ever come to be so misapplied !) were 
 effecting infinite harm. 
 
 These were persons who, never having
 
 Frankh Resolve. 87 
 
 done a day's real work in their lives, had 
 no faith in the real work of others ; who, 
 just as every man thinks he can drive a gig 
 through London, believed there was nothing 
 difficult in conducting a business ; who had 
 a general contempt for men, their useless- 
 ness, their selfishness, their exacting ideas. 
 Even the males amongst that clique had a 
 way of saying, " If you want a thing done 
 well, get a woman to do it," whilst all the 
 time the women did nothing except complain 
 about the shortcomings of the rival sex. 
 
 Those were the days before '' Women's 
 Eights " was discussed either privately or 
 publicly. ^^ Women's Wrongs," a much 
 more prolific and dangerous subject, was 
 then the popular question in certain circles. 
 Ladies who were married, and ladies who 
 were single, alike agreed in condemning the 
 arrangements of Providence as regarded 
 mankind. 
 
 People may object to the institution of 
 women's rights, and the open discussion of
 
 Frank Si7iclair's WifeP 
 
 their fitness for this or that trade and pro- 
 fession, but there can be no question that 
 an open sore is better than one falsely 
 healed ; and that if women think themselves 
 unfairly treated, it is better they should say 
 so in the market-place than beside the do- 
 mestic hearth ; that the question should be 
 decided by the experience of the world, 
 rather than sulked over between husband 
 and wife, father and daughter. 
 
 If it give the smallest pleasure to a gentle- 
 woman to go out and earn her own bread 
 instead of letting some one more competent 
 earn it for her, there cannot, I apprehend, 
 be any reason why she should be prevented 
 from doing so. England is a free country, 
 which means that we reside in a land where 
 one human being has full liberty to annoy 
 another to his heart's content, and why 
 should woman be an exception to this rule ? 
 The times in which a father could exercise 
 a certain control over his son's career have 
 had their day, and are gone ; and if modern
 
 Frankh Resolve, 89 
 
 daughters develope a taste for '' cutting their 
 own grass," to use an inelegant but expres- 
 sive phrase, paterfamilias may be quite 
 certain it is much more to his interest 
 they should do so, than sit at home in that 
 fearful state of idleness which obtains in 
 modern English homes — thinking of the 
 author of their being as a surly creature, 
 who delights not in the latest costume dress, 
 in the sweetest hat that ever came out of a 
 milliner's shop, or in the heaviest plaits of 
 hair that ever were bought ^^ cheaper than 
 cheap," through the kind offices of a friend 
 in Germany. 
 
 For my own part, if women choose to go 
 out and work with and like men, it seems 
 to me that it is simple folly to raise any 
 objection. 
 
 Years ago, a widower, burying his second 
 wife, loudly expressed his intention of fling- 
 ing himself into the grave after her coffin, 
 and was, indeed, only restrained from doing 
 so by the strong arms of his friends, who
 
 90 Frank Sinclair's Wife, 
 
 with difficulty prevented the execution of 
 his project. 
 
 The scene was a suburban bui'ial-ground, 
 where people were buried daily by the score ; 
 and as familiarity breeds contempt, or at 
 least indifference, the officiating clergyman 
 proceeded with the service, unmoved alike 
 by the man's grief and the bystanders' ex- 
 postulations. 
 
 Suddenly, however, his noisy lamentations 
 becoming quite unendurable, the curate very 
 mildly remarked, " If the gentleman wishes 
 to get into the grave, there is nothing to 
 prevent his doing so," which unexpected 
 permission at once ended the scene. 
 
 The gentleman did not jump in after his 
 wife, any more than a certain other gentle- 
 man died on the floor of the House of Com- 
 mons ; and it is the firm belief of the present 
 writer that if women's rights had never met 
 with the smallest opposition — had a wise 
 public said, " You shall take men's work if 
 you desire it ; you shall hedge and ditch ;
 
 Fratikh Resolve. gi 
 
 you shall walk four miles to your work in 
 the winter mornings; you shall go down 
 into the sewers ; you shall drive dust carts ; 
 you shall have businesses, and leave your 
 homes every morning at eight o'clock, so as 
 to reach office by nine ; you shall have full 
 liberty to go out, no matter how ill you feel ; 
 you shall forget your sex, and let men for- 
 get it too, and treat you as they would men, 
 peremptorily and roughly; you shall have 
 households to keep, and incompetent hus- 
 bands if you like, boring you when you 
 come home for money ; you shall go out in 
 all weathers, and face all difficulties, and 
 take all responsibilities, since such is your 
 pleasure " — we should never have had 
 another word of women doing men's work,, 
 or wanting to do it either. 
 
 It was the gross ignorance of women 
 concerning the battle of life that made them 
 ever wish to go out into it ; and I hope and 
 trust the day may come, though writer or 
 reader may not live to see it, when, for the
 
 92 Frank Sinclair's Wife. 
 
 «ake of England's honour and England's 
 glory, her daughters, wearied of the world's 
 clamour and the world's unkindness, may 
 thankfully creep back home, and tell to their 
 grandchildren and their great-grandchildren 
 how much better and happier a thing it is to 
 rule a household aright, and to make bright 
 a fireside for a man's return, than to go 
 forth through the mud and the rain, the melt- 
 ing heat and the suffocating dust, without a 
 dear face and kindly smile looking forth from 
 the open door to welcome one's return. 
 
 It is dangerous to preach an old religion 
 when a new is abroad ; and, therefore, to 
 moderate the fury of the storm with which 
 these remarks are certain to be assailed, I 
 will just add in all honesty, that I believe 
 the last state of English society to be far 
 more healthy than that which preceded it. 
 The sore long concealed has been exhibited 
 at last. Instead of women saying over their 
 tea, ^^ Men do no real work," they are crying 
 aloud in the streets, " Give us work ! " and
 
 Frank's Resolve, 93 
 
 the only matter for real regret in the whole 
 business is that there cannot be found work 
 enough to give them, since it would prove 
 better for women to learn sympathy with 
 men from actual experience than for them 
 to refrain from sympathy altogether. 
 
 But, as has been said, on that especial 
 summer evening when Frank Sinclair left 
 the City in order to walk home, women's 
 rights had not been thought of — not in 
 England, at least, save vaguely. 
 
 The preliminary notes of war had sounded, 
 it is true, and were carried to human 
 ears like voices from a far distance ; but 
 what had actually come to pass was this — 
 that wives were looking distastefully on 
 former occupations, without having taken 
 courage to lay hold on new ; that daughters 
 were taking part with their mothers against 
 the stinginess which refused them unlimited 
 credit, and insisted that a ten-pound note 
 should last them, oh ! for ever so long ; 
 that the willing service, the loving thought-
 
 94 Frank Sinclair'' s Wife, 
 
 fulness of a previous generation had become 
 a mere memory of the past, and that 
 women had left their own especial sphere 
 without actually aspiring to shine in that of 
 man. 
 
 It was an uncomfortable transition state, 
 that, in which it fared very hardly with 
 many a man who had really very few sins 
 of his own to answer for, and who was 
 merely made the unhappy scapegoat, des- 
 tined to bear the real or fancied transgres- 
 sions of previous generations of husbands, 
 forth into the wilderness. 
 
 The result to each male who chanced to 
 be selected for this purpose was uncomfort- 
 able, and for a long time previously Frank 
 had found his domestic situation unpleasant ; 
 and as he walked along, thankful at heart 
 for the pecuniary ease time had brought, 
 his thoughts recurred over and over again 
 to home troubles, and he began marvelling 
 if the fault lay at all with him, and if so, 
 Jiow he could remedy it.
 
 Frank's Resolve. 95 
 
 Once more lie recalled the past, carefully 
 TN^eigliing each step, and asking himself how 
 matters would have been had he acted in this 
 way, or in that. Had he been too reserved ? 
 had he been moody, irritable, apparently un- 
 generous? Might his wife not have mis- 
 taken his ill-concealed anxiety, for temper, 
 his desire for economy, for meanness, his 
 abstraction, for want of love ? Putting 
 aside the memory of that bright sunshiny 
 time at Mulford, before they twain became 
 one, he could not, even for the children's 
 sake, endure that the mother of his girls 
 and his boys should drift any further away 
 from his affection. 
 
 He would make an effort to come to a 
 thorough understanding with her. Sitting 
 in the soft evening light, he would make 
 the experiment of taking her fully into his 
 confidence, and trying to make her under- 
 stand the precise nature and extent of the 
 difficulties which he had encountered and 
 overcome.
 
 96 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 "HOME, SWEET HOME." 
 
 In one of Miss Ingelow's most charming 
 poems, there is an exquisite description of 
 two who started on their way with the 
 merest trifle of a dancing rivulet dividing 
 them, and the author — I repeat the story, 
 after years, from memory — goes on to tell 
 how the stream grew and widened ; how they 
 first were compelled to loosen hands, once 
 clasped together ; how by degrees the voice 
 of one failed to reach the ear of the other ; 
 how the figures of each grew dim by reason 
 of the waste of waters intervening; and 
 how, finally, they who had commenced
 
 ''''Home Sweet Home,^"^ 97 
 
 to walk tbTough life together were divided 
 for ever, unless, indeed, they might per- 
 chance meet in eternity on the shores of the 
 great sea. 
 
 It was just with the same sort of horror 
 with which one might contemplate the 
 possibility of such an end coming to 
 passionate love, to tender friendship, that 
 Frank Sinclair looked forward to the chance 
 of himself and his wife becoming yet further 
 estranged. 
 
 He could not tell when or where it had 
 begun; he had no idea when or how it 
 might end. He overlooked the fact that 
 when people whose interests should be 
 identical separate thus, there must have 
 been some tiny stream, so slight as to be 
 scarcely noticeable, dividing them at first; 
 for Frank Sinclair was not yet prepared to 
 say even to himself, ^^It has been an error 
 all through. The sunshine, and the peace, 
 and the love, and the comfort of that 
 country rectory threw a glamour over me, 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 98 JFrank Sinclair's Wife. 
 
 from which I have been emerging ever 
 since." 
 
 He felt this, but he would not have liked 
 to shape the thought into words, for he was 
 loyal and loving, this man who could not 
 rule his wife, and he would have been 
 content — so the lofty ideal fades, and the 
 dream- castle vanishes — if she would only 
 have looked after their house, and seen to 
 their children, and given him a kindly word 
 of welcome when he came home, and seen 
 that a servant was up in the mornings to 
 get his breakfast ready, and that some sort 
 of repast was prepared for his return at 
 night. 
 
 No such utterly prosaic ending of all 
 romance had he pictured to himself when he 
 read poetry to --Arabella in the Eectory 
 garden. Now he had neither prose nor 
 verse, and there was the hardship. 
 
 It is a sad case when a man cannot at 
 home hope for a repast of any kind, either 
 mental or physical; and with the memory
 
 ^' Home^ Sweet Ho?ney 99 
 
 of breakfasts at tlie various City hotels, of 
 dinners at Becky's, and Tom's, and Sam's, 
 and Betty's, and of cold weak tea at home, 
 Mr. Sinclair could not delude himself into 
 the idea that matrimony, as he had found 
 it, was very different in point of comfort, 
 though it proved decidedly more expensive, 
 than a first floor furnished at so much a 
 week for a single gentleman, with attend- 
 ance included. 
 
 Well, well ! now that he had time — alas ! 
 how many of us have used that sentence ! 
 sometimes, however, commencing it with 
 '^when" instead — now that he had time, he 
 would try to put it right ; he would talk to 
 Bella and see if, for his sake — the sake of 
 the former lover who he knew had once 
 seemed to her Kke the Fairy Prince — she 
 would not try to make a better thing of life 
 for both of th,em. 
 
 It is but a poor little story, this — about 
 common worldly doings — about people the 
 like of whom we meet every day, who kept 
 
 H 2
 
 lOO Frank Sinclair's Wife, 
 
 all the commandments, or at least, those of 
 them which the heroes and heroines of 
 ordinary novels most usually transgress; 
 and yet, if I could but convey to my reader 
 even the faintest idea of how utterly piteous 
 and pitiable a thing it seems to me, for a 
 man to trudge homeward over the stony- 
 hearted pavements, carrying such thoughts 
 as these in his heart, I might hope to 
 interest him more in my tale than is the 
 least likely to prove the case. 
 
 And here it may be at once confessed that 
 when, long ago, this story of events which fell 
 under my own observation was first planned, 
 my intention was rather to sketch the 
 purely grotesque side of the subject, than 
 to depict troubles that had to be encoun- 
 tered, and very deep sorrows which had to 
 be endured, by reason of Erank Sinclair's 
 folly, and the greater folly, shall we call it, 
 of his wife ? But all absurdity has its grave 
 side, all humour its tears ; and there may be 
 as much cause for sadness in the fact of a
 
 ^'' Ho7ne^ Sweet HovieP loi 
 
 husband being utterly neglected, as there 
 was — spite of the dictum of the older 
 playwrights — in the fact of a wife's un- 
 faithfulness. 
 
 Slowly the man paced along, planning. 
 In one way he was happy himself, and he 
 wanted to see whether he could not induce 
 Bella to be happier too. He knew enough 
 of life to be well aware that husband and 
 wife ought to be true staunch friends to 
 each other — he to her, she to him. He 
 could not believe in any woman feeling 
 satisfied with the life Bella was leading; 
 and he thought if he talked to her tenderly 
 and lovingly, they might '^come together," 
 so he put it, ^^ again." As though they had 
 ever really come together yet ! 
 
 If a man makes up his mind to be 
 conciliatory, it is somewhat irritating to be 
 thrown back upon his good intentions. 
 Frank found it to be so, at all events, when 
 on entering the drawing-room he found 
 several persons there before him, and those
 
 I02 Frank Si7iclair's Wife, 
 
 the very persons lie most cordially hated to 
 see in the house. 
 
 There was a little simpering major, who 
 had a trick of shaking him by the hand for 
 about five minutes at a time, murmuring 
 during the performance unmeaning plati- 
 tudes about his ^^ dear friend," his ^^good 
 friend." There was a young lady who 
 painted pictures, and parted her hair con- 
 siderably on one side, and clothed herself in 
 a loose sort of blouse. There was a lacka- 
 daisical woman, with long ringlets, who had 
 worried her husband into a lunatic asylum, 
 and who was now, having lost her occupa- 
 tion, killing time as best she could. There 
 was a young gentleman supposed to have 
 intentions towards the young lady who 
 painted pictures — which however, he kept 
 carefully locked up in the recesses of his own 
 bosom — who was wont to read idiotic verses, 
 chiefly in praise of woman's superiority, to 
 a credulous and admiring audience. There 
 was a middle-aged widow who had taken up
 
 ^^ Hovie^ Sweet HomeP 103 
 
 Mendelssohn vehemently, and scoffed at 
 Handel, and who had achieved quite a 
 reputation in certain circles for her ren- 
 dering of the ' Lieder ohne Worte.' And 
 last, but by no means least, there was Mr. 
 Sinclair's especial abhorrence, a Miss 
 Myrton, who was to him as thistles and sour 
 grapes — as the bitterness of wormwood. 
 
 Frank Sinclair had conceived an aversion 
 for Miss Myrton, in comparison to which 
 the Franco- German feud that Englishmen 
 may expect to see raging for the next few 
 centuries will be mildness itself. He de- 
 tested the woman, who in personal appear- 
 ance was by no means the sort of woman 
 who is ordinarily detested. 
 
 She was not lean; she did not arrange 
 her hair sausage fashion on each side of a 
 high forehead; she had not high cheek- 
 bones and a hollow chest ; nay, rather, for 
 her years she was comely and well developed. 
 She had fair hair just streaked with grey, 
 and blue eyes, and a still good complexion ;
 
 I04 Frank Sinclair's Wife, 
 
 site dressed well, and not too youthfully ; 
 she was courteous enough in her manner, 
 and yet Frank hated the woman, for to her 
 influence he ascribed most of the discomfort 
 of his home. 
 
 '^0 tares, though, will grow even if the 
 devil sow them, unless the soil make their 
 seed welcome ; but Bella, discontented and 
 selfish, had welcomed the tares, and behold 
 they bore abundantly. 
 
 After the first interchange of civilities 
 between her husband and her guests, Mrs. 
 Sinclair (more, perhaps, by way of hazarding 
 a question than because she felt interested 
 in the matter) inquired — 
 
 " Have you dined ? " 
 
 ^'^N'o," Frank answered, turning from the 
 window out of which he was looking at 
 vacancy. 
 
 "Dear me, how unfortunate !" his wife 
 exclaimed. '' I waited for you until half- 
 past five, and then thought it was useless 
 doing so any longer.''
 
 ^' Home J Sweet Homer 105 
 
 ^^ Of course, for I am generally home at 
 half-past five," Frank answered, with a ring 
 of sarcasm in his voice, only intelligible to 
 those who knew he rarely returned from 
 the city so early. 
 
 ^^But never mLad," he went on, glancing 
 at the equipage which then prefigured the 
 kettledrum of more modern times ; ^^ I will 
 have a cup of tea." 
 
 ^^ Catherine shall make more directly," 
 Mrs. Sinclair declared, and Major Clements 
 was moving to the bell-pull, when Mr. 
 Sinclair stopped him. 
 
 ''' Thank you, no," he said ; ^^ I will go 
 down into the dining-room, and have some 
 tea and cold meat there." 
 
 Whereupon Mrs. Sinclair and Miss Myrton 
 exchanged glances, as who should say — 
 
 ^' A man all over ! Scarcely in the house 
 before he is thinking what he should ike 
 to eat and drink." 
 
 Certainly if there were anything Frank 
 thought he should like, he did not usually
 
 io6 Frank Sinclair s Wife. 
 
 get it; but that ^was a yiew of tlie ques- 
 tion which neyer came within the range of 
 Miss Myrton's theoretic observation. Not 
 utterly indifferent was that lady to gastro- 
 nomic considerations, but then she made 
 them subsidiary to the charms of friendship, 
 or at least professed to do so. 
 
 Now, if Frank had taken that role ! 
 but, unhappily for his own comfort's sake, 
 Frank did nothing of the kind. He only 
 walked down-stairs, and meeting the house- 
 maid, desired her to bring up tea, and some 
 cold beef if there were any. Eeferring to 
 that latter item, the housemaid presently 
 returned to say there was none. 
 
 ^' It is of no consequence," Mr. Sinclair 
 replied — and for a fasting man the answer 
 could not be considered unreasonable — 
 *^ bring me some tea and bread and butter," 
 and he took up a book and began to read. 
 
 At the end of half an hour he rang the 
 bell. 
 
 '^ Is that tea soon coming ? "
 
 ''^ Home^ Sweet Ho77iey 107 
 
 ^^ Oh ! if you please, sir, the fii-e was out, 
 and cook had no wood, and she has sent 
 Jemima out for some." 
 
 Then Mr. Sinclair arose and delivered 
 himself of a Commination Seryice over the 
 head of that " treasure of a housemaid," Ca- 
 tharine Holmes, who dressed Mrs. Sinclair's 
 hair so beautifully. He went on ^^ dread- 
 ful," so Catharine subsequently stated in the 
 kitchen ; he declared he would get servants 
 who understood their duties, and should 
 perform them ; and then, to quote Catharine 
 Holmes' succinct narrative of the interview, 
 '^ he clapped on his hat and went out of the 
 front door like a whirlwind, banging it after 
 him." 
 
 Mrs. Sinclair and Miss Myrton heard the 
 bang in the drawing-room, and correctly 
 interpreted its cause.
 
 io8 
 
 CHAPTEE IX. 
 
 UPON OPPOSITE SIDES. 
 
 As a rule, when a man has a disagreement 
 or cause of disagreement with his wife, it 
 is usually — in books at least — considered 
 the inevitable consequence that he shall 
 rush off to the gaming-table, the tavern, the 
 boudoir of some more gracious fair, or to 
 that other resort of suffering humanity, his 
 club. As one scale flies up, the other 
 appears — in fiction at all events — to go 
 down. It is now wife and struggling virtue, 
 it is next day no wife to speak of, and utter 
 recklessness. Eemove the loadstone from 
 a husband's existence and he drifts — accord-
 
 • upon Opposite Sides. 109 
 
 ing to novelists — as hopelessly as the needle 
 hunting after a lost north pole. The first 
 qnarrel is the first step in a downward 
 descent, man being, according to this new 
 doctrine, the weaker vessel and prone to 
 sink. Following which train of argument, 
 had Frank Sinclair adopted the conventional 
 course, he would, on that night when he 
 banged the hall-door of his dwelling-house 
 after him, have returned home excited with 
 wine, and a hundred pounds out of pocket, 
 or perhaps, indeed, never have returned 
 home at all. 
 
 But this unheroic hero of mine was 
 really, spite of his good looks and his ener- 
 getic temperament, only a very common- 
 place sort of individual, who would as soon 
 have thought of plunging wildly into dissi- 
 pation because he and his wife were not of 
 one mind, as he would of cutting his throat 
 because he never could get hot water for 
 shaving in the morning; and, accordingly, 
 when after a long, solitary walk he re-
 
 no Frank Siyulairs Wife. 
 
 appeared in Briant View Terrace, he was, 
 to all outward appearance, precisely the 
 same individual in every respect who had 
 come home from the City a few hours 
 before. 
 
 To outward appearance only, however, 
 for during his ramble he had certainly 
 undergone a change. He left the house 
 angry, and he returned to it calm, it is 
 true ; but he also returned sad and almost 
 hopeless. What was to become of his home 
 and his children, if this sort of thing went 
 on ? if day by day Bella became less a wife, 
 less a helpmate, less a mother, less a com- 
 panion, even than at present. 
 
 The establishment was in a state of 
 anarchy, the children were neglected, he 
 was miserable. Had the destruction of his 
 day-dream only involved his own comfort, 
 his own happiness, Frank would not so 
 much have cared ; he would have let things 
 drift ; but he who has given hostages to 
 Fortune may not dare to flee from any
 
 upon Opposite Sides. 
 
 Ill 
 
 battle, no matter how distasteful the war 
 may prove. 
 
 There is nothing so difficult, I imagine, 
 as for a man to reform a bad manager; 
 indeed, it is so difficult that, taking men 
 round, as a rule, they never attempt the 
 task. They sulk, they are angry, they de- 
 clare things must be altered, they grumble 
 about the household expenditure, they lay 
 the blame on the servants, and then they 
 decide that endurance is the better part of 
 valour, and that what cannot be mended it 
 were wisest to ignore. But Frank could 
 not as yet contemplate with equanimity the 
 possibility of such a life stretching away 
 before him, and he therefore spoke to his 
 wife that night on the subject of her short- 
 comings, as he had never spoken before. 
 
 He pointed out to her, quietly and tempe- 
 rately as he imagined, that even as a bread- 
 winner he was entitled to more consideration 
 than he received. That although it was quite 
 certain a man could put up with a great deal
 
 112 Frank Sinclair^ Wife, 
 
 of annoyance, still it was equally certain 
 whilst he remained in the flesh he could not 
 live without food ; that it was unpleasant, to 
 say the least of it, not even to be able to rely 
 upon having a cup of tea in his own house ; 
 and he finished by saying that if Bella could 
 not get servants who understood their 
 business and would do it, he must himself 
 try whether he might not prove more 
 fortunate. 
 
 Whereupon Mrs. Sinclair declared that of 
 course she had long been aware nothing she 
 could do was right. 
 
 * '*I did not say nothing you could do 
 would be right; I merely expressed my 
 opinion that nothing in the house has been 
 right for a long time," he replied. 
 
 ^^ Then you had better manage the house 
 yourself,'' she said. ^^ You would soon tire of 
 it, I can tell you. Men never can enter into 
 the troubles and anxieties of a woman's life. 
 You think it something wonderful to be able 
 to earn a little money after your way has been
 
 upon Opposite Sides. 113 
 
 made smooth for you ; but if you had to look 
 after your children, and nurse them through 
 all their illnesses, and were pestered with ser- 
 vants, and received nothing from your hus- 
 band in return but black looks and cross 
 words, you would be very soon glad to be 
 a man again." 
 
 ^^ I do not think, Bella, you can complain 
 of black looks and cross words from me," 
 Frank said gently. 
 
 *^Yes, you are always grumbling if 
 everything is not in apple-pie order; but 
 how can things be always in order where 
 there are children, I should like to know ? 
 And then, if I want a little money you are 
 so disagreeable, that I am sure I have often 
 prayed to be shown some way in which I 
 could earn it for myself. You have always 
 quantities of gold and silver in your pockets, 
 and yet when I require a sovereign, it is 
 given to me as though it were a thousand- 
 pound note. You are not so stingy where 
 your own fancies are concerned." 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 114 Frank Sinclair'' s Wife. 
 
 He did not answer her for a moment ; he 
 rose and walked up and down the room, 
 then he stopped suddenly and said — 
 
 ^^ Bella, what is it that has come between 
 US? why is it that we cannot be of one 
 mind ? that you will not understand I want 
 nothing, ask nothing, except what would, I 
 honestly believe, be for the good and happi- 
 ness of ourselves and our children ? Where 
 have I failed in my duty ? Is it a sin for a 
 man to ask that the money he earns hardly 
 shall be spent prudently — to complain, when 
 after the day's labour he returns to find his 
 home wretched, his servants idle, his wife 
 engaged with visitors ? " 
 
 *^Am I to have no visitors, then?" she 
 asked sharply. '^ Am I to live mewed up 
 here without a soul to speak to, whilst you 
 are amusing yourself in the City ? If I had 
 only known what you expected from a wife, 
 I would never have married you ; and as it is, 
 it seems to me that the best thing for both of 
 us would be never to see each other again ;
 
 upon Opposite Sides, 1 1 5 
 
 we should then be able to live without 
 quarrelling, at all events." And having 
 pictured this cheerful connubial future, she 
 burst into tears. 
 
 *^ Shall I ever speak again, or shall I 
 never?" thought the man. And then he 
 gravely kissed his wife and bade her not 
 talk nonsense ; and, lighting a candle, went 
 sorrowfully up to bed. 
 
 Next morning, the servants having over- 
 slept themselves, he left without his break- 
 fast; and as fasting does not generally 
 induce cheerful views of life, Frank Sin- 
 clair decided that he was not to have 
 much comfort in his domestic relations, 
 and that the sooner he made up his mind 
 to that fact, the better for all parties con- 
 cerned. 
 
 But during the day he came to a different 
 conclusion. Like most men, he inclined to 
 lay the blame of his home unhappiness on 
 others rather than on his wife. She was 
 badly advised. She had fallen amongst a 
 
 I 2
 
 ii6 Frank Sinclair s Wife, 
 
 set of people who could not understand the 
 difficulties of her position, and who would 
 not let Bella understand them either. He 
 felt quite satisfied^ if he could only once 
 make her comprehend that he had not 
 a thought in life beyond her and the chil- 
 dren, things might be different. He had 
 made a mistake in taking a house in Briant 
 View Terrace ; one in a less pretentious 
 locality, nearer to his business, and further 
 away from her undesirable acquaintances, 
 might change everything. 
 
 He would move ; he would speak to Bella 
 about it that very night. 
 
 But when he returned he found his wife 
 out of temper. She had waited dinner for 
 him, and cook, who liked to have ^'her 
 evenings clear," was sulky, and everything 
 was spoiled. 
 
 ^*It is always the way," said Mrs 
 Sinclair ; ^' I have tried waiting for you over 
 and over and over again, and then you come 
 in with the same story about being detained,
 
 upon Opposite Sides. 117 
 
 or haying an appointment, or something of 
 the sort." > 
 
 ^^ Do yon think I tell you what is not the 
 truth ? " he asked. He then, without wait- 
 ing for a reply, added, ''However, it does not 
 matter ; you need never wait for me again." 
 
 ''But if I do not wait you are out of 
 temper." 
 
 "l^ot if I can get anything to eat; and 
 besides, it is better for me to be out of tem- 
 per than you." 
 
 " And why, pray ?" 
 
 "Because I can keep silence and you 
 can not." 
 
 " Oh, indeed ! this is the first time I was 
 aware of your possessing so valuable an 
 accomplishment." 
 
 " Do not let us quarrel, Bella," he en- 
 treated. If there were one thing he dread- 
 ed more than another it was that, perhaps, 
 because he felt if once he quarrelled with 
 her the breach on his part might be 
 difficult to repair.
 
 ii8 Frank Sinclair'' s Wife. 
 
 ** I have no desire to quarrel," she answer- 
 ed. " No one can say I ever was the first 
 to commence even an argument." 
 
 Hearing which astounding assertion, Frank 
 looked in his wife's face and remained mute, 
 marvelling to himself. 
 
 " Can I be as much self-deceived as she ? 
 Is the whole or any portion of this miserable 
 wrangling my fault ? " And till he had 
 thought the matter over a little longer, 
 he decided not to moot the idea of removing 
 from Briant Yiew Terrace. 
 
 That evening, however, he mentioned the 
 desirability of such a plan. He told his wife 
 he considered the house and the neighbour- 
 hood too expensive for their means, and he 
 hinted that, for the sake of the children, it 
 would be well to commence laying some- 
 thing aside for that rainy day which, even 
 in a bright noontide in June, it is always 
 prudent to remember must come before 
 Christmas. 
 
 Further he explained he found the long
 
 upon Opposite Sides, 1 1 9 
 
 journey night and morning, in all sorts of 
 weather, telling upon his health. 
 
 ^^ There are plenty of good houses much 
 nearer the City," he went on ^^ to be had at 
 comparatively low rentals, and — " 
 
 *^You want to take me into some low 
 neighbourhood out of reach of all my 
 friends," finished Mrs. Sinclair ; ^^ but I tell 
 you, once for all, I will not move. It is quite 
 bad enough to be left alone the whole day 
 where we are ; but it would be worse if I 
 had not a soul to come in and speak to me. 
 If you were so fond of your business as to 
 wish always to be near it, you should not 
 have married at all." 
 
 "You are quite right, Bella," he answer- 
 ed, '^ I ought not to have married ; but as 
 we can neither of us rectify that mistake 
 now, I am determined to do what I think 
 best for you and the children. It is per- 
 fectly ridiculous labouring on year after 
 year, and not being even twenty pounds 
 the richer. Supposing sickness were to
 
 I20 Frank Sinclair'' s Wife. 
 
 come, that T were to be laid aside for 
 awhile — " 
 
 " What is the use of supposing what may 
 never come?" she interrupted. "At all 
 events, moving into a different neighbour- 
 hood could not secure good health for ever, 
 and it would make me wretched to leave the 
 few friends who have been so kind to me in 
 my loneliness." 
 
 " I am afraid,'' said Frank, "' those friends 
 have done mucli to alienate us." 
 
 " No," she replied ; " if we are alienated, 
 it is your own fault ; for many a day you 
 have brought nothing but black looks and 
 utter silence into your own house. The City 
 people you are so fond of have all the 
 pleasant talk, I suppose; at all events, I 
 have not the benefit of it." 
 
 "If I have been dull at home I am 
 sorry," he began. "I did not wish to 
 cause you anxiety by talking to you of my 
 troubles ; but the last few years have proved 
 hard, struggling ones for me, and it is
 
 Up07i Opposite Sides. 1 2 i 
 
 because I dread a recurrence of such a fight 
 that I want to retrench and curtail our 
 expenditure, so as to have some njoney 
 before us in case of losses, or bad trade — " 
 
 '''" Oh, I am sick of trade ! " Mrs. Sin- 
 clair exclaimed impatiently. 
 
 ^^ Well, but, my dear, it at all events pays 
 rent and taxes, butcher, baker, and milliner," 
 he ventured to suggest. * 
 
 ^^ What is it that pays butcher, baker, and 
 milliner, Mr Sinclair?" at this juncture 
 inquired a visitor who, having entered the 
 drawing-room unannounced, had heard the 
 conclusion of Frank's sentence. ^^ I am sure 
 I wish I could do something to make money, 
 if it were only that I might give it away in 
 charity. How do you do, dear?" — this to 
 Bella ; -and then the ladies kissed each other 
 tenderly. '^Mayl really remain?" Miss 
 Myrton continued. ^^ Are you certain I am 
 not de trop ? I am always so dreadfully 
 afraid of interrupting a conjugal tete-a-tete ^ 
 The husband bit his lip as he threw him-
 
 122 Frank Sinclair'* s Wife. 
 
 self back in his chair, annoyance mastering 
 politeness ; but Mrs Sinclaii* evidently wel- 
 comed the interruption, even as an out- 
 matched general would gladly greet the com- 
 ing of a strong ally.
 
 123 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 RESIGNING THE HELM. 
 
 " When you have the misfortune to be a 
 wife," said Frank drily, to Miss Myrton, 
 " you will find that the conjugal Ute-d4Ue 
 generally has reference to ways and means." 
 
 " YeSj on the man's side," observed his wife. 
 
 " And on the woman's too, I think," he 
 replied. " At all events, I would venture a 
 considerable bet that out of every hundred 
 married men who leave home in the morning 
 for business, ninety -nine have been asked for 
 money by their wives." 
 
 ^^ But why cannot they give it without 
 being asked ? " inquired Miss Myrton.
 
 124 Frank Siriclairh Wife. 
 
 " Because they are men ;" and Mrs. Sin- 
 clair threw a tone into her explanation 
 which implied that in one word she had 
 summed up the whole case against the sex. 
 
 '^ That certainly is a misfortune/' her 
 husband replied ; ^^ but still, the business 
 of life could scarcely, I imagine, go on 
 without men to conduct it." 
 
 " I can not allow that to pass without con- 
 tradiction," said Miss Myrton. '^ I have 
 always held the opinion that there is nothing 
 a man does which a woman could not do 
 better — that is, supposing she has the same 
 social and educational advantages.'' 
 
 " I am not certain that I quite grasp 
 what you mean by social and educational ad- 
 vantages," he answered; "and with regard 
 to the other question, since it has never been 
 practically tried, it must be considered, as 
 you suggest, a matter of opinion. Even 
 you, I presume, would not wish it to become 
 other than a matter of opinion. It is all 
 very well to talk about doing men's work,
 
 Resigning the Hebji, 123 
 
 but actually performing it would prove 
 quite a different matter." 
 
 ^' If I could not do men's work better 
 than they, I should feel ashamed of myself," 
 remarked Mrs. Sinclair. ^^They make such 
 a fuss over every little trouble — over every 
 slight annoyance. If they had the constant 
 anxieties women have, they would learn to 
 be more patient and more amiable." 
 
 '-'- Well, I do not know," said her husband. 
 '' I must say I have never found anxiety im- 
 prove my temper, nor make me more patient." 
 
 *' That is because you are a man," ex- 
 plained Miss Myrton, repeating Mrs. Sin- 
 clair's former statement; ''it is only wo- 
 man's nature which is perfected through 
 suffering." 
 
 For a moment Frank looked at the speaker 
 to see if she were jesting. It had certainly 
 never occurred to him before that she 
 possessed the slightest sense of humour, but 
 it seemed incredible that any rational being 
 could make such a speech in good faith.
 
 126 Frank Sinclair'^ s Wife. 
 
 One glance at Miss Myrton's face assured 
 him, however, that she was thoroughly ia 
 earnest — that her estimate of female cha- 
 racter was as high as her opinion of male 
 perfectibility was low, and he therefore 
 asked quietly — 
 
 '^ Pray, have you known many women 
 who, through suJffering, have grown more 
 patient and amiable ? " 
 
 " Yes, numbers," was the reply. '^ Oh, 
 I could tell you such tales of passionate 
 natures becoming subdued — of devotedness 
 taking the place of selfishness — of lives 
 passed only in ministeriag to others, as 
 would, I am certain, convert you to my 
 opinion." 
 
 " And have you never come in contact 
 with unselfishness and amiability in men ? " 
 he inquired. 
 
 ^* IS'ever in the domestic circle," said the 
 lady sadly. 
 
 ^' I must compliment you on your frank- 
 ness," he replied, amused almost in spite of 
 himself.
 
 Resigning the Helm, 127 
 
 ^^ Of course the present company is al- 
 ways excepted," Miss Myrton suggested. 
 
 *' Unless it chance to be masculine," 
 Frank answered. At which point Mrs. 
 Sinclair declared it was of no use losing his 
 temper ; that any one knew all men were 
 selfish ; they could not be men unless they 
 were — they could not help it any more than 
 they could help having beards ; and the 
 way women gave in to them, and flattered 
 and petted their very weaknesses, increased 
 the evil. 
 
 ^' "Why, there is my own father " she 
 
 was proceeding, whenTrank interrupted her 
 with — 
 
 ^' Than whom a more thorough gentle- 
 man never existed." 
 
 " Yes, but the manner in which mamma 
 insists on every thing and person giving way 
 to him is perfectly ridiculous," persisted 
 Mrs. Sinclair. 
 
 ^^ I cannot think so," her husband an- 
 swered. " I never saw anything more
 
 128 Frank Sinclair'' s Wife. 
 
 beautiful thau your mother's love for and 
 devotion towards liim. And, Bella, is it not 
 reciprocal ? Is not your father's life spent 
 in labouring for his wife, his family, and 
 his parishioners ? Does he ever spare him- 
 self ? does he ever rest when he ought to be 
 at work ? Miss Myrton," Frank added, turn- 
 ing towards that lady, '^ when I am weary 
 of London and London ways, when my very 
 heart seems to grow sick of the selfishness 
 and the frivolity of town life, I think of 
 that quiet country/ parsonage, and the peace 
 and affection which dwell there, and feel for 
 the time happy." 
 
 ^^ And yet gentlemen are not, as a rule, 
 satisfied to lead quiet lives," said Miss 
 Myrton. 
 
 " I fancy you are mistaken on that point," 
 was the reply. ^' Boys may weary of mono- 
 tony, but when men have experienced the 
 cares of existence they are content, more 
 than content, to step aside into retirement. 
 Of course there are exceptions to all rules, 
 and speculative men, who lead feverish
 
 Resig7ii7ig the Helm, 129 
 
 lives, Kke to continue doing so to the 
 end. Taking the world round, however, 
 I beKeve there is a charm to the bulk 
 of men in even the idea of sitting 
 down at peace under the shadow of their 
 own viae and their own fig-tree, which 
 women entii-ely fail to understand." 
 
 " "We have no chance of getting tired of 
 action, certainly," remarked Miss Myrton. 
 
 " That is precisely the evil of a woman's 
 position," chimed in Mrs. Sinclair. 
 
 ^'Well, I do not know why you should 
 consider it an evil," Frank replied. '"For 
 my part, I think a little inaction would suit 
 me remarkably well. It is possible for a 
 soldier to have too much of fighting, and 
 though no man ought to grumble at his 
 business or profession, still it seems inex- 
 plicable to me, who have not found my fight 
 easy, how it is that those who can sit at 
 home at ease should find fault with any 
 dispensation of Providence which enables 
 
 them to do so." And having plainly stated 
 VOL. I. e:
 
 130 Frank Sinclair's Wife. 
 
 this opinion, and given his wife what she 
 figuratively called a slap in the face with it, 
 Mr. Sinclair bade Miss Myrton '"'- Good-bye," 
 and went out for his customary evening 
 stroll, in which pleasant thoughts did not 
 always bear him company. 
 
 Once again he had failed in carrying his 
 point. What the end of it all was to be he 
 could not even imagine. 
 
 Had he not shrunk from laying bare his 
 domestic concerns to the gaze of other 
 people, he would have spoken on the sub- 
 ject to his father-in-law, and requested his 
 advice ; but Frank was too loyal and too 
 chivalrous to make complaints about the 
 woman he had married; and besides, he 
 argued, if he could not manage his own wife, 
 who should be able to manage her for him ? 
 
 Unrestrained, however, by any such deli- 
 cate scruples, Mrs. Sinclair, the moment the 
 door closed behind her husband, commenced 
 pouring her grievances into her friend's sym- 
 pathetic ear ; and the ladies talked the matter
 
 Resigning the Helm, 131 
 
 over, and then turned it and talked it again, 
 till it was proved more conclusively than ever 
 that poor Bella was most miserably united 
 to an inconsiderate and possibly profligate 
 male, '' who, very probably, my dear," 
 finished Miss Myrton, ^^ spends nearly all 
 the money he makes in gambling, or worse 
 — for men are all alike." 
 
 "And then their wives and families suffer," 
 argued Bella ; and yet even as she spoke her 
 conscience, though not over-sensitive, ex- 
 perienced a twinge. Memory and sense 
 could not always be lulled into forgetfulness 
 of patient kindness — of tender forbearance 
 — of slights borne patiently — of a life 
 which might have been happier and more 
 profitable, but for her. 
 
 " It is a great pity," went on Miss Myrton, 
 " you have no male relation in London, who 
 could look a little after the interests of you 
 and your children. A wife is so completely 
 in her husband's power that he may waste 
 -all his money, and leave her and his family
 
 132 Frank Sinclair's Wife. 
 
 paupers ; " and so the wretched woman ran 
 on, inculcating the modern doctrine — which 
 had not in those days become an acknow- 
 ledged religion — that the interests of man 
 and wife can ever be, except in most ex- 
 ceptional cases, dissimilar ; that it is needful 
 for the law, or for friends, or for male or 
 female relatives, to intervene between the 
 woman and the guardian she voluntarily 
 selected for herself. 
 
 And Bella Sinclair listened and believed, 
 and pictured to herself an hour when possibly 
 she and her children might have to return 
 penniless to the paternal roof, because of" 
 Frank's incompetence to manage his busi- 
 ness, or recklessness in spending the profits 
 he derived from it. 
 
 But this particular vision Mrs. Sinclair 
 refrained from confiding to her husband 
 immediately. Perhaps she had a doubt as 
 to how it might be received by him, and it is 
 possible she would never have revealed the 
 spirit of prophecy with which she had been.
 
 Resigning the Helm. 133 
 
 suddenly gifted, had Frank agreed to her 
 . going out of town in August for the second 
 time in one season, and provided money for 
 capacious lodgings at an expensive sea-side 
 resort. 
 
 ^' No," he said; "if you want country 
 air you can go to Mulford ; you know your 
 mother has written over and over again, 
 asking you and the children to spend a 
 month at the Eectory ; and I think you 
 ought to accept the invitation, as it is two 
 years since you have been there. However, 
 if you do not wish to see your parents, 
 please yourself; only I am determined not 
 to spend another hundred pounds merely for 
 the food of sea-side leeches." 
 
 Then the storm broke, and that un- 
 happily in Miss Myrton's presence. '' He 
 could spend fast enough if he wanted it for 
 his own extravagance. Yes — she was not 
 the only person who suspected how the 
 profits of the business went — other people 
 could not avoid seeing how he grudged
 
 134 Fra7ik Sinclair's Wife, 
 
 every sixpence which Tras needful for wife 
 or child. It was all nonsense talking about 
 short of money. Every one knew that per- 
 sons in business could get as much as they 
 desired." 
 
 According to Mrs. Sinclair, that was 
 the counterbalance against the vulgarity 
 of trade, and the reason why girls of good, 
 family were induced to accept City suitors. 
 
 Honestly she believed the City to be a 
 sort of bank, with stores of gold, into which 
 a man had but to dip his hand and take out 
 what he wanted. 
 
 " It must be one thing or another," 
 finished Mrs. Sinclair. '^You are either 
 incompetent to manage your business, or 
 else the money goes into other channels. 
 You will never make me believe that there 
 is any necessity for this , constant pinching, 
 and grudging, and cheese-paring." 
 
 " If that be your opinion, then," said her 
 husband, ^'for the future you and your 
 friends had better take the conduct of affairs ;
 
 Resigning the Hebn. 135 
 
 for it is not right that, if I be either such a 
 fool or such a scoundrel as they and you 
 make me out, I should retain the reins. 
 There," he added, producing out a bunch of 
 keys and flinging them passionately on the 
 table, '-'- you had better go to the office to- 
 morrow, and make all future arrangements 
 for yourself. As for me, if it had not been 
 for the children I should have gone right 
 away to Australia years ago. It is enough 
 for a man to bear the worry of business 
 during the day, without coming back to such 
 a wretched apology for a home as this.'' 
 
 ^^ What a funny idea ! " said Miss Myrton, 
 who, having raised the storm, was somewhat 
 alarmed at its violence, and thought it good 
 policy to treat the quarrel as a jest. ^' I 
 think it would be rather amusing to play at 
 business for a day." 
 
 ^' It shall be for more than a day," Mr. 
 Sinclair replied, ^^ or else the whole concern 
 shall go to the dogs. As my wife is so 
 clever, she shall have an opportunity of
 
 136 Frank Sinclair's Wife. 
 
 exercising her particular gift, or else of starv- 
 ing ; for I swear I will never voluntarily go 
 into the City again until she tells me she 
 finds she has made a mistake, and done me 
 the most gross injustice a woman can put 
 upon a man." 
 
 "You attach too much importance to 
 what Mrs. Sinclair said,'' observed Miss 
 Myrton in her new character of peace maker. 
 
 " No, he does not," interposed that lady 
 sharply. "I meant it, every word. I 
 would not have married had I thought it 
 ever could have come to this." 
 
 "I will not recriminate," her husband 
 answered; "but neither will I draw back. 
 Keep the keys, go down to the office, and 
 do what you like. You can rummage my 
 papers as much as you please, but you will 
 find no love-letters or betting-books amongst 
 them. It is high time there was some 
 change, and if you think you and your 
 friends can do better for yourself and the 
 children than I have done, in God's name
 
 Resigning the Helm. 137 
 
 take the helm. Only remember that what 
 I have said I mean. I will never resume 
 the conduct of affairs, until you tell me 
 you are as sick of responsibility as I have 
 been for this many and many a day ; " having 
 announced which agreeable resolution, Mr. 
 Sinclair walked out of the room and the 
 house. 
 
 " My dear, you have gone too far," said 
 Miss Myrton. 
 
 Perhaps for the moment Mrs. Sinclair 
 thought so also, for her face was very white 
 as she arose and, taking up the keys, put 
 them in her pocket.
 
 I3S 
 
 CHAPTEE XI. 
 
 PLAYING WITH EDGED TOOLS. 
 
 When, next morning, Frank Sinclair awoke,, 
 it was with the impression that something 
 disagreeable had occurred, which would 
 have immediately to be faced ; but directly 
 after he decided it must be Sunday morning, . 
 and the reason which caused him to arrive at 
 this conclusion was that he heard a stir and* 
 rustle in his wife's dressing-room, sugges- 
 tive of the donning of gorgeous apparel. 
 
 Not given to early rising when it might, 
 perhaps, have proved a satisfaction to her 
 husband, Eella always on Sundays displayed 
 a fearful activity, and therefore for a 
 moment Frank decided it must be that
 
 Playing with Edged Tools. 139 
 
 one morning in the week when he and his 
 wife walked forth together. Such pleasant 
 experiences as a companion for a couple of 
 miles on his way to the office, or a familiar 
 face meeting him on his return from the 
 City and taking his arm as a matter of right 
 and love whilst they strolled back together, 
 were things of the past and long ago. Even 
 that Arcadian sun had shone but for a very 
 brief period, and after the first few weeks 
 had set altogether. 
 
 It was only for a moment, however, 
 that Frank imagined Sunday had come 
 round again. Almost as he heard the rustle 
 of his wife's skirts the events of the previous 
 evening recurred to his memory. He re- 
 membered Bella's words, he recalled his 
 own ; the moment when, like a gauntlet of 
 old, he flung down his keys, was reproduced 
 for his benefit; he recollected telling his 
 wife to take the management of afiairs, and 
 behold — ^but it never could be — she had 
 determined to keep him to his word.
 
 140 Frank Sinclair's Wife, 
 
 Frank pulled down his watch, and looked 
 at the hands. It was precisely half-past 
 :seven. He held the watch to his ear. It 
 was going, and his eyes had not deceived 
 Tiim. He raised himself on his elbow and 
 looked through the half-open door of the 
 dressing-room. There he beheld a vision as 
 of a woman arrayed in purple and fine 
 linen. At this point Frank Sinclair lay 
 down again and thought. 
 
 She had taken a burst of passion for the 
 -declaration of a settled opinion, and elected 
 to abide by it. She had done a marvellous 
 thing, at least so he considered — risen in 
 the morning in the same mind as she closed 
 her eyes at night. She really believed him 
 to be incompetent, herself capable of man- 
 aging a business ; and, not out of any undue 
 feeling of vanity, but merely because he 
 ■could not understand such utter non-com- 
 prehension of life's difficulties, Frank almost 
 laughed aloud at the idea. 
 
 Could such insanity really exist? the man
 
 Playing zvith Edged Tools. 141 
 
 asked himself; for, after all, his experiences 
 of the humours of humanity were limited, 
 and he did not then quite grasp the fact 
 that if there are a hundred men preaching 
 sermons, doing their best to keep businesses 
 together, wi'iting books, painting pictures, 
 designing new inventions, there are a thou- 
 sand men who honestly believe they could 
 preach better sermons, make larger sums 
 out of business, write more successful books,, 
 paint finer pictures than those who have 
 made such things the employment of their 
 lives. 
 
 It is so easy, theoretically, friend, to 
 manage your neighbour's affairs better than 
 he does ; there is nothing at all difficult in 
 driving mentally through crowded streets 
 whilst another man holds the reins, which of 
 course you could manipulate better. If only 
 you had the editorship of some one of our 
 magazines, you would speedily raise the cir- 
 culation from thousands to tens of thousands ; 
 and if Smythe would kindly give you his
 
 14-2 Frank Sinclair's Wife, 
 
 chance — let you, in effect, step into the 
 business he has made in the sweat of his 
 Lrow — ^you could retire on a quarter of a 
 million within five years. 
 
 Which is all very well ; only, perhaps, if 
 you had the management of your friend's 
 affairs, you would land him in the Gazette 
 hefore many months were over, as certainly 
 as you would come to grief in the City, if 
 you were to undertake to charioteer your- 
 self through it. 
 
 Hitherto Frank Sinclair had scarcely 
 viewed his wife's opinions from a serious 
 point of view. Her temper, her manage- 
 ment — or rather want of management — 
 her selfishness, her unreasonableness, had 
 annoyed him sorely ; but he had never 
 realised until now that his wife considered 
 him a mere cumberer of the ground — a 
 mere obstacle between herself and opu- 
 leiice. 
 
 ^^ It is because she knows no better," he 
 thought. " One day will sicken her : let
 
 Playing with Edged Tools. 143 
 
 lier go. If such, be her opinion, it is well 
 she should prove its fallacy." And straight- 
 ivay he rose and dressed, and descended to 
 the dining-room, where Mrs. Sinclair was 
 partaking of hot tea and toast, ham, eggs, 
 and other edibles. 
 
 ^^This is a change," said the master of 
 the household, seating himself opposite his 
 wife. ''My dear Bella, how did you get 
 the servants up? " 
 
 '' Oh ! I told them it was necessary I 
 should be away early," answered his wife ; 
 to which he retorted mentally — 
 
 '' Was it not a pity you never told them 
 I must be away early ? " — forgetful, or per- 
 haps unconscious, of the fact that women 
 work by fits and starts; for which reason 
 it may be that their labour is ''never done," 
 while " men's work is from sun to sun." 
 
 " What a lovely morning ! " Mrs. Sinclair 
 remarked. She was in quite a conversa- 
 tional mood. 
 
 " Exquisite," answered Frank ; but still,
 
 144 Frank Sinclair's Wife, 
 
 the beauty of the morning did not strike 
 him with any sense of novelty, for he had 
 been able to admire many such whilst his 
 wife's eyes were closed in slumber. 
 
 *^ I must run away and put on my bon- 
 net," she suggested, standing in the door- 
 way. 
 
 Many a time afterwards he saw her stand- 
 ing thus, with just a shadow of expectancy 
 — ^just a trace of fear in her face. Did she 
 wish him to remonstrate ? Frank could not 
 tell. The game had begun : how would it 
 end? 
 
 He walked to the window, and looked 
 out, thinking the while whether he should 
 permit this folly to continue, or tell his 
 wife there had already been too much of it. 
 If she really thought he were incompetent, 
 or a rogue, was not it better she should have 
 an opportunity of proving or disproving her 
 suspicions ? 
 
 Let her go for the one day, at all events. 
 Let her take his keys, and read his letters,
 
 Playing with Edged Tools, 145 
 
 and look over his papers, and ransack his 
 drawers. Let her see, for once, what life 
 in an office was like. Perhaps there might 
 be peace between them after such an expe- 
 rience. At all events, her temper was already 
 improved. Yes, he mentally, in cool blood, 
 repeated the resolution he had made in his 
 anger the preceding night. She would not 
 be inclined, he felt confident, to rise at such 
 an unwonted hour a second time; but before 
 he resumed the reins she should confess the 
 extent of her injustice, and some clear under- 
 standing should also be arrived at concern- 
 ing their future life. 
 
 He would take advantage of this oppor- 
 tunity, and, after letting her weary of her 
 own way, endeavour to put matters on a 
 more satisfactory footing than had yet been 
 established between them. 
 
 Clearly enough he now saw where his mis- 
 take had been from the first. He had given 
 in to his wife's fancies, petted, humoured, 
 pampered her till, like a spoiled child, she 
 
 VOL. T. L
 
 146 Frank Sinclair's Wife. 
 
 did not know what she wanted, and could 
 find no better amusement than quarrelling 
 with a man who had for so long a time 
 refused to quarrel with her in return. 
 
 Yes, she should go. '^ She will return at 
 night," he said to himself, ^^ weary and 
 humble enough. She will give me back 
 my keys, and say she does not think a 
 man's life so pleasant a one after all." 
 
 Thus Frank reasoned, forgetting that none 
 of the annoyance of business would be at 
 all likely to cross her path. She would be 
 exempt from anxiety, from care, from fear, 
 because utterly ignorant of there being 
 cause for any one of the three. Tired she 
 might return, but enlightened certainly not. 
 But the man could not foresee all this, and 
 perhaps if he had foreseen he would still 
 have permitted her to continue in the road 
 she seemed to desire to travel. 
 
 It was with a sense of satisfaction that 
 Mr. Sinclair noticed the utter unsuitability 
 of his wife's dress for the role she intended
 
 Playing with Edged Tools, 147 
 
 to adopt. Had she been about to pay a 
 morning visit at the town house of the Dean 
 of Eingleton, or to join a pic-nic organised 
 by the Honourable Mrs. Clace, she could 
 scarcely have arrayed herself with greater 
 magnificence. 
 
 " You will get your dress into a mess, I 
 am afraid, in my dusty office," said Frank, 
 as he walked with her to the outer gate. 
 
 '^ Oh ! no," answered Bella, smiling gra- 
 ciously ; " I shall have all that put to rights, 
 now." 
 
 ^^ Good Heavens ! " thought her husband ; 
 but he held his peace, and just then the 
 omnibus appearing, he put her into it. 
 
 ^^ Good-bye," she said, and held out her 
 hand almost affectionately. 
 
 " Good-bye," he answered, and clasped 
 her fingers in his. 
 
 After that the conductor banged the door, 
 and Frank, having watched the omnibus out 
 of sight, walked slowly back into the house 
 and sat down in the dining-room to thmk, 
 
 L 2
 
 148 Fra7ik Sinclair's Wife. 
 
 until interrupted by the entrance of his 
 eldest child, who came to ask — 
 
 ^' Is it really, really true, papa, you are 
 going to stay at home for a whole day ? " 
 
 " Yes, Minnie, I intend doing so." 
 
 ^' And please, dear papa, may we have a 
 holiday ? " 
 
 " I imagined it was always holiday with 
 you," he said. 
 
 " Not quite," she answered ; ^^ I have to 
 practice my scales, and draw blocks, and 
 teach the little ones to spell — Patty is in 
 two syllables." 
 
 " And what are you but a little one ? " 
 he asked. 
 
 " Oh, papa ! " Miss Minnie exclaimed 
 reproachfully, and then she flung her arms 
 round his neck and asked him again for the 
 coveted holiday. 
 
 ^^ It shall be as you like, dear," he replied. 
 
 " And will you take us for a walk ? " 
 
 ^' What, all of you ? " her father remon- 
 strated.
 
 Playing with Edged Tools, 149 
 
 ^^ I do not mean, of course, the baby," she 
 explained, ^'for he would soon get tired, 
 or even Harry; but me, and Tom, and 
 Susie." 
 
 '''- And where shall we go ? " 
 
 '^ Go ? oh, anywhere ! " and she ran away 
 clapping her hands, and calling out at the 
 top of her voice, '' Tom, Susie, we are going 
 out with papa I " 
 
 '^ Surely," considered Mr. Sinclair, ^^ this 
 is not such a miserable sort of existence, 
 after all, that Bella should declare it insup- 
 portable, and envy me the drudgery of my 
 City life. However, she will not, I fancy, 
 care to repeat to-day's experiment, and I 
 then really must talk to her seriously. 
 Poor Bella! I wish we could understand 
 each other better. Now the pecuniary anx- 
 ieties are at rest, how happy we might be ! " 
 
 And so, never doubting but that the day 
 would end Mrs. Sinclair's aspirations after 
 a business career, Frank set himself 
 thoroughly to enjoy his holiday. He took
 
 150 Frank Sinclair's Wife, 
 
 the three children to Eichmond, where they 
 all ate '^ maids of honour," and roamed 
 about for hours. 
 
 Had it not been for thoughts of his wife, 
 and a certain pity he could not help feeling 
 for the mortification he believed she was 
 preparing for herself, he would have been 
 perfectly happy, and even as it was he 
 could answer Minnie's question, whether he 
 did not feel ever so much better for his 
 holiday, in the affirmative. 
 
 For he did feel better and younger for 
 the change, slight though it had been ; 
 and it was not until he came again within 
 sight of his own house that the old dull, 
 gloomy feeling crept over him once more. 
 Life in Briant View Terrace did not seem 
 so cheerful an ajffair as it had done amongst 
 the pleasant Eichmond meadows — existence, 
 with the prospect of his wife returning 
 home tired and cross after her self-imposed 
 task, was not exactly the same thing as it 
 appeared while listening to his children's
 
 Playing with Edged Tools. 151 
 
 prattle as they walked beside the ^' silvery 
 Thames." 
 
 But when Mrs. Sinclair returned, a first 
 glance at her face dispelled Frank's appre- 
 hensions with regard to a stormy evening. 
 She had a great deal to say, and said it. 
 She asked Frank how he had amused him- 
 self; and when, in tui'n, he inquired if she 
 were not very tired, she said cheerfully — 
 
 " Xo ; I have done nothing to tire me. 
 I only looked over some of your papers, 
 to put them in order, and answered a whole 
 tribe of letters I found you had left with- 
 out reply. It seems to me that you cannot 
 have been a very regular correspondent." 
 
 At which assertion Frank smiled. He 
 could have told of reams of letters written, 
 and copied, and posted. He could have 
 told stories of that last hour before six 
 o'clock, which might have appalled any 
 person less fond of pen and ink than his 
 wife ; but her passion was correspondence. 
 She wrote and crossed and recrossed epistles ;
 
 152 Frank Si7iclair^s Wife. 
 
 filled quire after quire of note paper with, 
 details of events not worth recording, of 
 gossip not worth repeating; and Mr. Sin- 
 clair knew it was in vain to tell her that 
 perhaps the hardest work of a business 
 man's life is replying in wiiting to the 
 mass of inquires which each morning's post, 
 ay, and each succeeding post, brings with it. 
 
 '^ Did you keep copies of your letters ? " 
 he asked. 
 
 "No. Your head clerk there — what is 
 his name ? — said something about copying 
 them ; but I had used the wrong ink, and 
 of course it was not worth while writing 
 the whole of them over again." 
 
 "I do not suppose it will signify," said 
 Frank, with a little unconscious irony. 
 
 '^ There was nothing in them of the slight- 
 est consequence," she replied, which made 
 her husband laugh in spite of himself, as 
 he answered — 
 
 '^Perhaps that may have been the reason 
 they were left without reply."
 
 Playing zmth Edged Tools. 153 
 
 To wtLich '' sarcasm," as Miss Myrton 
 would have called it, Mrs. Sinclair deigned 
 no answer. ' 
 
 '^ You have had enough of the City, I 
 should think, Bella,'' her husband remarked, 
 after a pause. 
 
 '^Enough of the City!" she repeated; 
 " why, I have but just begun to go to it." 
 
 ' ' And of course you never wish to go 
 there again ; that is what all ladies say." 
 
 *' That may be what the ladies you know 
 say ; but I say, having once received your 
 authority, I intend to go to the City till I 
 have got things a little into order." 
 
 ''Till you have got what?" 
 
 " Till I. — have — got — things — a — little 
 into — order," she said, laying a distinct 
 emphasis on each word. 
 
 For a moment Frank paused, then he 
 began — 
 
 "It is quite time, Bella, that you and I 
 came to a thorough understanding. I have 
 tried to consider to-day's escapade a joke — "
 
 154 Frank Sinclair's Wife, 
 
 ^' Oh ! you have," she interrupted. 
 
 ^* But now," he went on, unheeding, ^^I 
 want to know whether all this be a matter 
 of conviction or of temper." 
 
 ^^ It may be a matter of temper on your 
 part ; it is one of conviction on mine," said 
 Mrs. Sinclair. 
 
 '^ That is to state in plain English," he 
 replied, '^you consider I am unable to 
 manage my own business, and that you 
 are able to manage it." 
 
 " If you like to word it so — yes." 
 
 '^ And that you — a woman, a wife, a 
 mother — really desire to take my place be- 
 cause of my supposed incapacity." 
 
 '^ I want anything which shall make our 
 home happier," she answered. 
 
 '' And God knows so do I," he argued. 
 ^^ Then it comes to this— that you are to be 
 the man, and I the woman ; that you are 
 to do my work — for I swear we shall not 
 both do it ; that you are willing to turn 
 out in all weathers, to meet all sorts of
 
 Playing with Edged Tools. 
 
 people, to endure all sorts of unpleasant- 
 ness; and I am to remain at home, to 
 manage the cook and the housemaid, to see 
 that the children learn their lessons, and 
 that the doctor is duly sent for if one of 
 them eyince any signs of feverishness." 
 
 " That is the work to which you would 
 doom us women," she said. 
 
 '' Then in Heaven's name take men's 
 work, and see how you like it," he retorted. 
 '^ I will never try to baulk your fancy 
 again. Do you know, Bella," he went on, 
 with a forced laugh, " all this folly of ours 
 reminds me of a story I once heard about a 
 Mr. and Mrs. Gourley, who could not agree. 
 She always — figuratively, of course — desired 
 to wear a portion of his garments, to which 
 he naturally enough objected. Well, to 
 cut a long story short, one morning he got 
 up, and, putting on her clothes, said, ' Now, 
 Mrs. Gourley, before sunset we must decide 
 whether I am to be you or myself ; ' and 
 while the controversy waxed warm, a knock
 
 156 Frank Sinclair's Wife, 
 
 oame, which was answered by the master of 
 the house himself. 
 
 ^'^Can I see Mr. Gourley?' asked the 
 visitor. 
 
 '^ ^ No, I do not think you can at present,' 
 was the reply. 
 
 << ^ Why, surely you are Mr. Gourley ? ' 
 said the other. 
 
 ^' ' I am not certain for the moment who 
 I am,' answered Mr. Gourley, * but if you 
 come back this afternoon I may be able 
 to answer youi' question.' 
 
 ^^ He came back in the afternoon — " 
 
 ''And?" questioned Mrs. Sincliar. 
 
 ''Mr. Gourley was Mr. Gourley once 
 again ; and Mrs. Gourley, Mrs. Gourley 
 stiU." 
 
 " What a foolish story ! " said the 
 lady. 
 
 "Yes, my dear," was the answer; '* there 
 are a great many foolish stories, and foolish 
 people, about in the world still." 
 
 " That there certainly are, particularly
 
 Playing with Edged Tools. 157 
 
 the latter," said Mrs. Sinclair, as she rose 
 to light a chamber candle. 
 
 '^ Then you are quite determined to con- 
 tinue going to the office ? " said Mr. Sin- 
 clair. 
 
 ^^ Quite, as you have goaded me on to 
 this point — unless you wish to withdraw 
 your permission." 
 
 ^' Oh ! no," he answered. ^^When I go 
 to the City again you shall ask me to do 
 so — be quite satisfied on that point, Bella." 
 
 And yet ten minutes after he was anathe- 
 matising his own obstinacy and his own 
 folly. " She will tire," he comforted him- 
 self by thinking, " in a day or two, and 
 be very glad for me to take her place." 
 
 But the days went by, and still she did 
 not ask him to take her place, and showed 
 no sign of either weariness or distrust.
 
 158 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 MR. SINCLAIE's DIAEY. 
 
 Aeout this time a very remarkable thing 
 occurred. Mr. Sinclair commenced keeping 
 a diary, and from it for the future extracts 
 shall be given. The opening paragraphs 
 reveal its raison d?etre, Mr. Sinclair's 
 volume commenced as follows : — 
 
 '^ A month ago, had any one told me I 
 should ever write a journal, I should have 
 laughed the idea to scorn. I always thought 
 it was an occupation only fit for girls, child- 
 less wives, and hopeless spinsters ; and 
 yet, here am I, strong in body, sound in
 
 Mr. Sinclair's Diary. 159 
 
 limb, who ought to be in the City looking 
 after the interests of myself and family, 
 sitting in this cool room like a Sybarite, 
 with flowers near, and sunshine all around 
 me, inditing just for want of something to 
 do and some one to talk to — not indeed a 
 goodly matter, but a chronicle of such small 
 beer as is brewed in the course of my daily 
 life. 
 
 ^^It is not a bad life as times go. If I 
 could get over the absurdity of my anoma- 
 lous position, and feel assured that things in 
 the City were not going to the dogs, I 
 should rather like it. Suppose some decent 
 fellow, now, somebody whom I do not know 
 — for in the first place decent fellows are 
 rare, and decent fellows blessed with 
 fortunes are still rarer — were to give or 
 leave me ten thousand pounds on condition 
 of my leading so purely simple an existence, 
 I could do it without grumbling ; but, then, 
 not having the ten thousand pounds makes 
 all the difference.
 
 l6o Frank Sinclair's Wife. 
 
 ^^This is not much like a diary, I am 
 afraid ; at least it is not at all like the thing 
 I kept in the City. In that I know there 
 is: 13th— See Jones 12 o'clock. 14th— 
 Meeting of Creditors re Eobinson. 15th — 
 Smith's promissory note. 16th — Own ac- 
 ceptance, and so forth. But that is not a 
 diary exactly ; it is a series of memoranda 
 of disagreeable events which are to be — not 
 a chronicle of events that have occurred. A 
 man I know in the City could tell me where 
 he dined any day for the last twenty years, 
 and he has preserved the menu of every 
 grand banquet of which he has partaken for 
 a similar period ; but that is not keeping a 
 diary. A lady who used to visit me has a 
 record of how she spent each evening since 
 she was eighteen, we wiU say; and, according 
 to her dates, she must now be three-and- 
 thirty. If one may believe that diary, she 
 has met or seen every person worth meeting 
 or seeing, and can tell one what they wore 
 and what they said. But that is not a diary
 
 Mr. Sinclair's Diary. i6i 
 
 precisely — at least, it is a diary only of the 
 thoughts, speeches, and feelings of other 
 persons, not of one's own. A true diary, it 
 seems to me, would be that of a fellow who 
 commenced keeping it when he could speak, 
 and got some one else to write it for him 
 till he learned to make pot-hooks for himself. 
 I wish babies could keep diaries ; I should 
 like to know what they think about. 
 
 ^' Well, here am I, as I have said, writing 
 a history, which I mean to read some day to 
 Bella, when she has come to her senses. By 
 that time, possibly, it will be the only article 
 of property left to us. If I could go back 
 and prevent her making such an incredible 
 idiot of herself, should I prevent it ? No, I 
 think not. It was, perhaps, quite time she 
 went to the City and I stayed at home. 
 The place where ruin is wrought signifies 
 but little. If she do not ruin me at the 
 office, she would certainly have done so 
 here. 
 ' '^ I have been at home, now, for six days. 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 1 62 Frank Sinclair^ s Wife. 
 
 Speaking correctly, this is the sixth — Tues- 
 day. The first day I took the children to 
 Eichmond. The second, I went with them 
 to Greenwich. Saturday, in order to place 
 myself in funds to sustain the siege my wife 
 evidently intends to maintain, I went to 
 a broker in Broad Street, and directed him 
 to sell out a few shares I held in a certain 
 unprofitable little company, that has never 
 yet paid anybody connected with it three 
 per cent. The result of that sale I saw in 
 yesterday's Times (I treat myself now to the 
 Times^ at a penny an hour). The shares are 
 down a quarter; so at this juncture I am 
 glad it was I who sold, and not somebody 
 else. I mean, when I get the proceeds, to 
 open a fresh banking account — perhaps at 
 the savings bank — and so place myself in 
 an independent position as regards house- 
 keeping. 
 
 '' I hope I never made housekeeping or 
 pocket or pin money unpleasant to Bella. I 
 do not think I should like to have to ask her
 
 Mr. Sinclair's Diary. 163 
 
 for daily supplies ; and yet I am aware my 
 omitting to do so is filling her mind with the 
 darkest suspicions as to my former probity. 
 
 '^ ^ People cannot go to Eichmond and 
 Greenwich for nothing,' she argues, I have 
 no doubt, ^ and he must, therefore, have had 
 a large amount stored away, of which I 
 knew nothing.' "Well, Bella, the day may 
 come when you will know me better — the 
 day has come in which I know you better, 
 and the knowledge is not quite agreeable. 
 
 ^' Being left in charge of an establishment, 
 I had an idea — possibly erroneous — that I 
 ought to look after it a little, and conse- 
 quently inquired yesterday for the trades- 
 men's weekly bills. 
 
 '' 'Missus don't have any,' answered the 
 housemaid. 
 
 " ' Well, but there must be some bills 
 this week, because I have paid for nothing,' 
 I said, my conscience accusing me the 
 while that I had been less careful than my 
 wife. 
 
 M 'I
 
 164 Frank Sinclair's Wife, 
 
 '^ ^ If you please, sir, I think they run to 
 the end of the quarter,' was the woman's 
 reply. 
 
 '^ Hearing which, I ascertained the names 
 of the tradespeople, and sallied out to ask 
 for a statement of our general indebtedness. 
 
 " "When a woman has a certain sum per 
 week entrusted to her in order to pay 
 butcher, and baker, and candlestick maker, 
 I think she ought to pay them ; but that is, 
 I am aware, a mere matter of opinion. This 
 is one of the many advantages of being a 
 wife. Had Arabella been my housekeeper, 
 I certainly should have been entitled to give 
 her in charge for misappropriation. 
 
 ^^ But I must not condemn her unheard. 
 Here are the bills — not pleasant to look 
 upon. The butcher's, a series of hiero- 
 glyphics, the only intelligible thing in the 
 business being the sum total; the milk- 
 man's, which he ekes out with halfpennies 
 as largely as he does his milk with water ; 
 the baker, who out of quarterns has con-
 
 Mr. Sinclair's Diary. 165 
 
 structed an edifice of debt almost as big as 
 the Pyramids; the greengrocer, who deals 
 likewise in oranges and nuts, fresh straw- 
 berries, and fruit for preserving, and who 
 seems, if his statement be correct, not yet to 
 have received remuneration for the mistletoe 
 under which I kissed nobody last Christmas 
 Day, and the holly which adorned our 
 drawing-room mirror, to the serious detri- 
 ment of a new satin paper. 
 
 ^^ There are others likewise. Here is a 
 very dirty envelope, the seal of which is wet 
 and clammy, and as I draw forth the paper 
 it seems to be redolent of shrimps. Gracious 
 Heaven ! "When could we — when did we — 
 eat all this fish? Whilst as for the coal 
 merchant, it is a simple impossibility that 
 our modest household ever consumed this 
 amount of fuel. 
 
 ^^Poor Bella! If she had such a series 
 of Damocles' swords hanging over her head, 
 I do not wonder at her temper being a trifle 
 sour.
 
 1 66 Frank Sinclair's Wife, 
 
 " "WTiat ought I to do ? Accept the bills 
 as correct and pay them, or ask her about 
 them ? Certainly not the latter. She must 
 never be able to say I could not manage the 
 house as well as she can manage the office, 
 and so far she has not condescended to ask 
 me a question. I informed her, indeed, that 
 no money ought to be paid to any one until 
 after the fifth, when a heavy bill would have 
 to be provided for ; but she has treated my 
 suggestion with indifference — at least so 
 McLean, whom I have requested to call or 
 write no more on business, informed me. 
 
 '' Perhaps she may have had as cogent 
 reasons for not paying these gentry, as I for 
 not heeding the smaller fry of duns till the 
 great wolf was satisfied ; but of course her 
 reasons cannot affect me. Better clear all off, 
 and begin de novo^ on a strictly cash system. 
 Then I shall see what a style of living by 
 no means princely or luxurious really costs. 
 At present it strikes me that, by comparison, 
 lodging-house life is economy itself.
 
 Mr, Sinclair'' s Diary, i6 
 
 ^' As for Bella, emphatically the City suits 
 her admirably. Her temper is diyine ; her 
 appetite excellent. The way in which she 
 rises morning after morning at the first tap of 
 Catharine's knuckles fills me with a terrible 
 surprise, not to say envy ; and what amazes 
 me still more is the way in which Catharine 
 and Anna Maria arise also. To be sure, I have 
 ascertained that they take it in turn to pre- 
 pare breakfast, and that when Catharine comes 
 down Anna Maria returns to her couch — 
 which is an admirable arrangement, though 
 one, I should have imagined, scarcely con- 
 templated by Mrs. Sinclair when they were 
 engaged. Purther, Elizabeth, the nursery- 
 maid, has the kitchen fire always lighted 
 for them, and the kettle on, by the time 
 they come down, and they lay the breakfast 
 things over-night, so the hardship is reduced 
 to a minimum. 
 
 " However, that early rising is a hardship 
 no one can deny. Even Arabella has, I 
 fancy, some idea of the kind. She yawns
 
 1 68 Frank Sinclair's Wife, 
 
 frequently now at breakfast, and does not 
 say much about the beauty of the morning. 
 
 "I wonder when she will tire of it — or 
 rather confess she is tired of it. One thing 
 I do know, however : even when she is 
 heartily disgusted with the City — as I would 
 to Heaven she were now — I will interfere a 
 little more in the expenditure here than I 
 have ever done. I will not have such 
 another array as this marshalled before me. 
 I thought we might have been extravagant ; 
 but imagined we had, at least, paid our way. 
 It seems in this I was mistaken. Moral: 
 In how many things may one be mistaken ? 
 
 " Wednesday. — Before paying the accounts 
 referred to in yesterday's chronicle, I ex- 
 amined a few of the items — notably those 
 charged on Thursday, Friday, Saturday — 
 and have come to the conclusion that if the 
 goods so charged ever arrived on the pre- 
 mises, they were not consumed there. What 
 confirms me in the latter opinion is, that 
 when a sirloin of beef which did duty on
 
 Mr, Sinclair^ Diary. 169 
 
 Sunday hot, re-appeared on Monday cold, it 
 was but a wreck of its former self. 
 
 ^^ So far I have made no observations ; but 
 observations concerning the children's din- 
 ner have been made to me, and yet of my 
 own personal knowledge I can state that 
 their mid-day repast consisted on Monday of 
 boiled mutton and a huge plum pie, of both 
 of which dishes I partook, not without 
 relish. Fui'ther, there have been dark allu- 
 sions to a cat, which I generally see either 
 in the embrace of Susie, or else fast asleep 
 on a mat in the conservatory. Cats, I be- 
 lieve, are addicted to thieving, but I never 
 yet heard of one that had a penchant for 
 brandy and water, or even a glass of wine, 
 and yet these articles diminish unaccountably. 
 
 '•'• Perhaf)S our cat is an abnormal creature, 
 and tipples when no one is by. If this be 
 the case all I can say is, spite of her demure 
 looks, she must be the most deceitful of her 
 sex. However, time proves most things, 
 and supposing I ever detect puss sipping
 
 lyo Franh Sinclair s Wife. 
 
 intoxicating liquor from a decanter, having 
 previously taken out the stopper to facilitate 
 arrangements, I shall certainly set up a 
 show in the front garden, and invite the 
 superfluous sixpences of all passers-by. . 
 
 *' Meanwhile, Bella still goes to the City. 
 She does not like, I fancy, being remarked 
 as a ^ regular passenger,' so now we walk 
 down the road till we strike a fresh line of 
 omnibuses, by one of which she proceeds to 
 her destination. !N'ot a sentence about busi- 
 ness have I heard for a whole week, I have 
 not opened a letter, I have not asked a 
 question, I have not had any confidence re- 
 posed in me. McLean came up to tell me 
 there would not be enough money to meet 
 AUington's bill, as Mrs. Sinclair was paying 
 every one who asked for cash the?' most per- 
 sistently ; but I informed him I had left 
 everything to her management, and did not 
 want to be troubled about business again at 
 present. 
 
 '' The look of pity on the fellow's face
 
 Mr. Sinclair s Diary, 171 
 
 would have been absurd had it not been so 
 genuine. Clearly he thinks I have lost my 
 senses. The neighbours imagine I am ill ; 
 seeing me lounging about the garden, and 
 walking with the children at unwonted 
 hours, they have arrived at the conclusion 
 that something is the matter with my 
 health, and some half-a-dozen have sent 
 cards and kind inquiries, and even gone the 
 length of stopping Minnie in the street to 
 ask whether her papa be ill, and what is the 
 matter with him. 
 
 *^Here, likewise, is a letter I have just 
 received — 
 
 " 'Southampton, August 18tli. 
 " * Dear Sinclair, — I cannot tell you how dis- 
 tressed I was to hear of your illness from McLean. 
 What is wrong ? I fear it must be something serious 
 to necessitate your staying at home for so long a time. 
 Had I not been compelled to leave for Guernsey to- 
 night, I should have run up to see you. I heard 
 Mrs. Sinclair was in town, and called at the officer- 
 but she was out, and I could not wait for her return. 
 If I can be of any service, pray command me. 
 " * Tours faithfully, 
 
 "*E. Vaeham.'
 
 172 Frank Sinclair s Wife, 
 
 ^^I wonder what he thinks is the matter 
 with me. Softening of the brain, possibly. 
 Hardening of the heart would be nearer the 
 mark. Oh ! to think of all I hoped, of all 
 I expected, of the happy home-picture I 
 drew for myself in the garden at Mulford ! 
 
 *^And yet, perhaps, I am scarcely right 
 io think myself a fool ; for if I am one, I am 
 only one in company with the wisest and 
 strongest of men. Was not Adam but as a 
 reed in the hands of Eve ? And why should 
 I blame myself for not being cleverer than 
 the greatest historical characters since the 
 Creation ? 
 
 " Why indeed ? But I am placed in a 
 more difficult position than any of them — at 
 least, so it seems to me — and that makes me, 
 perhaps, too severe on my own want of 
 moral courage. Adam had no house to 
 manage. Samson pulled one about the ears 
 of his persecutors. Solomon took to berail- 
 ing men, women, and circumstances; but 
 no man with whom I am acquainted, in the
 
 Mr, Sinclair s Diary, 173 
 
 whole range of sacred or profane story, was 
 ever left at home with a house and servants 
 and five small children on his hands, whilst 
 his wife, who had never managed her own 
 establishment, undertook to manage his 
 ajffairs. 
 
 '' Heaven send me safe through it ! To- 
 morrow I think I shall make a trial trip to 
 the basement, and see what is going on in 
 the kitchen. It will not be a nice expedi- 
 tion, but it may be necessary for all that. 
 
 '^ * Papa,' says Susie, climbing on my 
 knee at this juncture, ^what is a Molly 
 Coddle, and who is Mr. Paul Pry ? ' 
 
 ^' "With a dreadful prevision of what was 
 to follow, I answered, ^ A Molly Coddle, my 
 dear, is a philanthropist towards himself and 
 his own wants ; and Mr. Paul Pry is a 
 kindly sort of person, who takes a great in- 
 terest in the welfare of his friends and 
 neighbours.' 
 
 *^ '- Then that is what Catharine says you 
 are,' said my candid darling, laying her rosy
 
 174 Frank Sinclair s Wife, 
 
 cheek on my shoulder, and looking up into 
 my face with her great blue eyes. 
 
 ^' Clearly, the fact that children should be 
 taught to honour their father and mother 
 has formed no part of Catharine's educa- 
 tion."
 
 ^75 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 FROM ANOTHER SIDE. 
 
 ''My dearest Millicext (thus Mrs. Sin- 
 xilair, who wrote long letters instead of a 
 diary — there are some women who do so, 
 just as there are some women happily who 
 do neither), you will be anxious to hear all 
 about my proceedings, and I therefore, 
 having finished my morning's work, devote 
 the remainder of this lovely forenoon to you, 
 
 '^ How I envy you, dear independent 
 creature, who can go here and there without 
 being controlled by either circumstances or 
 home ties ! Take my advice, and never 
 marry. I say this, although Frank has been
 
 176 Fra7ik Sinclairh Wife, 
 
 amiability itself since I have put my 
 shoulder to the wheel. IN'o doubt he felt 
 himself unequal for the work — entre nous^ he 
 ought to have been the woman, I the man. 
 He has just the quality of mind which 
 delights in looking after small details. I 
 have heard of persons who could do anything, 
 from tying a shoe-string to calculating the 
 coming of a comet ; but for my part, I do 
 not believe such legends. It must be shoe- 
 string or comet, of that I am quite certain. 
 
 *' Well, my dear, but this is digressing, 
 and I have so much to say, and so little space 
 to say it in. Whilst you are luxuriating 
 beside the glorious sea, here am I writing to 
 you from a City office, to which I have 
 come regularly every day (Sunday, of course, 
 excepted) for a whole week. Thank you 
 for your kind answer to my little note 
 telling you I had got into harness. 
 
 " The office is not at all dingy — indeed, it 
 is much more cheerful than many a sitting- 
 room ; and I have had it thoroughly cleaned 
 and put to rights.
 
 From Allot her Side. 177 
 
 '' How Frank ever was able to find his 
 papers, I cannot imagine — bnt then, what 
 would a man's shelves and drawers be like 
 at home, if a woman were not always at 
 hand to make things tidy ? 
 
 ^^ From where T sit there is a glimpse of 
 the Thames, looking bright and silvery in 
 the sunshine, and there is nothing in all 
 this City life which seems dull and dreary, 
 as men try to make it out. Indeed, could I 
 walk into oijier offices, and make and do 
 business like a man, I think a commercial 
 career must be very exciting and pleasant • 
 but in the ipresent imperfect state of society, 
 a woman can do nothing b'd bear the burdens 
 man places on her shoulders. I hope I am 
 effecting a little good here, however. The 
 clerks, particularly one McLean, seem to 
 be most industrious and anxious. You can 
 easily understand that until I came to the 
 office they never comprehended the import- 
 ance of constant and devoted attention. 
 
 ^^Mr. McLean, indeed, rather bores me 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 178 FranJz Sinclair'* s Wife. 
 
 with advice, but I make allowances for over- 
 zeal. 
 
 '^ Do you know, I rise now quite early, and 
 feel the better for it ? Whilst you, luxu- 
 rious creature, are sipping the cup of coffee 
 Finette brings you or reading pleasant letters 
 from friends, I am travelling by omnibus to 
 the City. 
 
 '* I do not now come by what I used to 
 call Frank's omnibus, as I found the gentle- 
 men were beginning to regard me as a 
 'regular passenger,' and wished to establish 
 a speaking acquaintance on the strength of 
 the fact. I very much dislike the omnibus 
 journey, however, by any route. I meet 
 many girls and women going to City ware- 
 houses and workrooms, and I cannot say 
 they have confirmed my idea concerning the 
 glorious future in store for our sex. 
 
 '^ Ah, my dear, how sadly has female 
 education been neglected ! I assure you 
 these poor creatures have not an idea beyond 
 dress, admiration, and amusement. When
 
 From Another Side. 179 
 
 a gentleman gets into the omnibus it is quite 
 pitiable to see the conscious looks of even 
 very plain girls, who giggle and bite their 
 lips, and whisper to each other, as if a 
 husband were the one tiling needful, 
 
 ^' I am afraid many of them think he is. 
 How will it be ten years after marriage ? 
 How indeed ! 
 
 ^' Every morning Frank walks with me to 
 the omnibus. At first he made some little 
 opposition to my taking his place, but that 
 has now quite ceased. The children and he 
 seem perfectly happy together, but the ser- 
 vants naturally do not like my absence or 
 his interference. 
 
 "They have been much more attentive 
 lately, however. I think it touches them 
 seeing how hard / have to work : at all 
 events, I never am obliged to wait one 
 second for my breakfast, and you remember 
 how poor Frank used to complain of having 
 to go without any — hut then men are so im- 
 patient, 
 
 N 2
 
 i8o Frank Sinclair's Wife. 
 
 ^' Do you know, dear, since I came here I 
 have paid away nearly one thousand pounds. 
 It seems a great deal of money, does it not ? 
 The interest would be fifty pounds a year 
 for life, so you see I must have been right, 
 and that the business is a good one if only 
 properly managed. 
 
 '' There was one poor man to whom I 
 paid two hundred and fifty pounds. He 
 assured me with tears in his eyes that he 
 had been trying to get that amount from Mr. 
 Sinclair for six months without avail, and 
 that the payment would preserve him from 
 bankruptcy. 
 
 ^' He took my hand in both of his and 
 blessed me. And now, just to show you what 
 men are, even the best of them, when Mr. 
 McLean came in he was quite put out at 
 the poor man having been paid. He said he 
 was a swindler and a hypocrite, and told 
 me in so many words that I shoujd bring 
 destruction on the business. 
 
 ^'He is always talking about some stupid
 
 From Another Side, i8i 
 
 payment on the fifth, as thougli, when a 
 thousand pounds has been raised in so short 
 a time, there would not be plenty to meet a 
 dozen payments between this and the fifth. 
 If it were not that Erank is now so kind 
 and good, and devotes himself so completely 
 to my amusement and comfort, I could 
 shriek aloud when I think of the manner in 
 which he used grudgingly to give me five 
 pounds. 
 
 " Why, fifty times ^^^ would be nothing 
 out of such a business, properly managed. 
 Yesterday I bought the sweetest dress you 
 ever beheld, and a wonderful bargain in 
 checked silk for the girls; but do you 
 know, I have not yet had courage to take 
 the parcel home. Last week I ordered a 
 new bonnet, and Frank said — 
 
 " * Ah ! I thought the City would soon 
 take the gloss off that splendid lilac affair.' 
 
 " Of course he meant it for a sneer — 
 because men never can understand how 
 unsuitable a woman's dress is, if she be
 
 1 82 Frank Sinclair's Wife, 
 
 intended to do actual work ; and in con- 
 sequence I do not like to send home the 
 dresses. I have locked them up in a cup- 
 board, for when Mr. McLean saw the label 
 he groaned — actually groaned, my dear ! 
 
 "You will laugh when I tell you the 
 part of City life I dislike most — having to 
 live on sandwiches. The first day I had 
 nothing but a Bath bun and a strawberry 
 ice ; the next, a biscuit and a little lemon- 
 ade ; the third, I took Mr. McLean into my 
 confidence, told him I was a very poor 
 breakfast-eater, and had always been accus- 
 tomed to take luncheon when my children 
 had their dinner in the middle of the day. 
 I think that touched him — men are so stupid 
 about children, although they will not sacri- 
 fice anything for them — and he actually 
 undertook to get me a chop. 
 
 " Shall I ever forget that chop ? It was 
 brought in on a hot- water dish, and stoam in 
 grease, which had saturated the potatoes. 
 There were besides a thick lump of bread^
 
 From Another Side, 183 
 
 a salt-cellar without a spoon, a japanned 
 pepper-castor, a knife "with a black handle, 
 and a steel fork. 
 
 " If I add that the tray was covered with 
 a soiled cloth, you may imagine the appe- 
 tising nature of the repast. 
 
 "This is the direct effect of man's pre- 
 sence. Each day I see Mr, McLean par- 
 taking with relish of just such a meal, so 
 served. 
 
 '-'- Of course, I could not touch the dainty 
 repast, and have ever since brought some 
 sandwiches with me. But sandwiches are 
 apt to grow monotonous. 
 
 "Since I wrote the first part of this 
 letter, there has been a great upset at home. 
 Frank, like all men hasty, discharged the 
 cook, and the housemaid discharged herself. 
 
 ''''Imagine my feelings when I entered one 
 evening to find both servants gone, and no 
 one save an ignorant girl in charge of the 
 establishment. I remonstrated, but of
 
 184 F'rank Sinclair's Wife, 
 
 course imavailingly. I proposed to make 
 peace, T whose household was always peace- 
 ful, but was met with the assurance that I 
 could not do two things. I could not 
 manage a business in the City and my 
 servants at home as well. 
 
 ^^I said ^I thought I could,' but Frank, 
 with almost a sneer, said, ' l^o, the thing 
 is impossible. Either you must be Mrs. 
 Gourley,' he remarked, referring to that 
 horrid story, '- or I must ; and if you elect 
 to return to be Mrs. Gourley, I shall expect 
 the establishment to be much better man- 
 aged than heretofore. I cannot afford to feed 
 a dozen families out of my income.' 
 
 '^Having uttered which nasty jeer, he 
 went out for a walk with Minnie ; and while 
 I was crying ready to break my heart in the 
 drawing-room, Susie came up to my chair, 
 and said, ^ Mamma, you are not one-half so 
 nice as papa.' I could not help slapping 
 her. Eeally children are as ungrateful as 
 adults. And then she began to cry, and
 
 From Another Side. 185 
 
 say she would tell her papa; and she did 
 tell him, but he only remarked aggravat- 
 ingly— 
 
 ^^ '- You are mistaken, Susie, I am not one- 
 half so nice as your mamma ; I indulge you 
 too much, and it is not well for children to 
 be indulged.' 
 
 ^^ ^ I think it is well for me,' Susie said, 
 and then she drew up quite close to him, far 
 as possible from me — and I have always 
 tried to be so kind to my children. Haven't 
 I, dear Millicent ? 
 
 "I do not really think any woman was 
 ever so sadly placed as I. No one seems to 
 sympathise with me, except you, dearest. 
 You understand my trouble and my position. 
 Fancy five children and an utterly incom- 
 petent husband — amiable, but powerless to 
 avert misfortune or mantain a position ! 
 What will be the result of all this ? Shall 
 I be able to put things on a more satisfactory 
 footing, or are they hopeless ? To be sure, I 
 must say that, spite of poor Frank's neglect.
 
 1 86 Frank Sinclair's Wife. 
 
 the business appears healthy, and capable of 
 much extension. 
 
 ^* Judging from the tone of his corre- 
 spondents, he has not answered letters 
 regularly; and I trust, therefore, that 
 much business will follow from my own 
 punctuality. "Wish me success, dear, and 
 believe me ever yours affectionately, 
 
 '^A. Sinclair." 
 
 To which Mrs. Sinclair received the 
 following reply : — 
 
 ^' Dearest, — How I feel for your sad lot ! 
 It is indeed lamentable to consider Jiow the 
 very best women are those most severely 
 tried. Would I were near you now to help ; 
 or, if I could not help, to condole, or perhaps 
 better, say, sympathise. 
 
 *'When I think of it, I really have no 
 patience; though, indeed, even at the risk 
 of offending you, I must say again, I fancy 
 you went a little tiny bit too far that night.
 
 From Ariother Side, 187 
 
 Mr. Sinclair felt your remarks, I could see 
 clearly ; and although they were quite true, 
 it was natural he should feel them — possibly 
 on that very account. 
 
 ''But then, I have not patience to think 
 of you — dear, high-spirited, energetic, cou- 
 rageous creature that you are — being placed 
 in such a position. The fact of your ability 
 to manage his business more ably than your 
 husband, is surely no reason why you ought 
 to be compelled to do so ; and he is com- 
 pelling you, I clearly see. How he can 
 bear your going about in those horrid 
 omnibuses by yourself baffles my compre- 
 hension- — amongst all kinds of men and 
 women too ! 
 
 '' Oh, you poor thing ! I could cry when 
 I think about you — and when am I now 
 doing anything else ? 
 
 ''If I am walking, I say mentally, 'How 
 dear Bella would enjoy this ! ' When I am 
 looking at the sweet, familiar sea, I imagine 
 your delight were you gazing at it also.
 
 Frank Sinclair's Wife. 
 
 When I am out for a drive, I consider how 
 much good the bracing air would do you, 
 poor darling ; and when I come home from 
 my morning dip, I think, ^ What a deal of 
 good sea-bathing would do that dear child ! ' 
 But it is of no use wishing, is it, love ? If 
 wishing could bring you here, I should see 
 the door open and you enter at this 
 moment. 
 
 ^'Some day, perhaps, we may hope to 
 enjoy this lovely place together. Mean- 
 while, you too will want to know something 
 of my daily life. Eeally, dear, it seems to 
 me that since I came here I have done 
 nothing save eat, sleep, bathe, amuse my- 
 self, and talk ! 
 
 ^^ When I think of your industry I blush. 
 We make up a pleasant party, though it is 
 €omposed of incongruous materials. First 
 there is Mrs. Hantrey, our hostess — cer- 
 tainly one of the most charming women I 
 ever met. So far as I know she has only a 
 single fault : she is devoted to a plain, heavy,
 
 From Another Side. 189 
 
 stupid husband; laughs at his tiresome 
 jokes ; humours his singular fancies ; and, 
 although it is of course impossible she can 
 really do so, professes to believe there is no 
 one like him on earth. Then we have an 
 astronomer, who talks of little excepting 
 Saturn; an author with a dreadful wife 
 (why is it that nice men marry such horrid 
 women, and vice versa F) ; a girl who writes 
 melancholy poetry, and thinks some day she 
 may attain to the unhappiness of Mrs. 
 Hemans, or end tragically like L. E. L. — 
 that is her idea of perfect bliss ; a lad who 
 has a charming voice, and sings exquisitely, 
 and likes, I fancy — he ^not being really one 
 bit sentimental — to see tears in the eyes of 
 those w/io have eaten of Ufe'^s fennel ; a widow 
 from the Sister Isle, with neither money nor 
 beauty, but possessed of plenty of mother- 
 wit, and apt at repartee; together with a 
 Mr. Munro, a very clever barrister, complete 
 oair party. 
 
 "The latter gentleman holds the most
 
 190 Frank Sinclair's Wife, 
 
 advanced and correct ideas on the subject of 
 women's capabilities, of any person — male or 
 female — I remember to have heard speak on 
 the subject. There is only one point on 
 which we disagree. He says, ' There is 
 nothing man could not make of woman; 
 there is no height to which he might not 
 elevate her, if he set himself heartily to the 
 work.' 
 
 "Now 1 say, * There is nothing woman 
 could not make of herself; there is no 
 height to which she might not rise, were 
 she only true to herself — faithful to her 
 noble origin.' 
 
 '^You, dear, have done — you have been 
 this. I so often speak of your noble self- 
 denial — of your brave abnegation of social 
 rules. 
 
 " He longs to know you : he declares you 
 must be a * perfect woman,' and of course, 
 dear, I declare you are not — being utterly 
 disloyal to you ! ! ! 
 
 "Write constantly, and tell me all about
 
 From Another Side. 191 
 
 everything. I was so amused with your 
 description of the domestic rebellion. Mr. 
 Munro was intensely delighted to find yon 
 had hit off one weakness of his sex capitally 
 — viz., their belief in being able to perform 
 women's duties better than women them- 
 selves. And you, dear, and your servants 
 always got on so capitally, and they seemed 
 so devoted to you. But there, I must say 
 no more, or I may vex you ; for after all, are 
 you not married, and is not your husband 
 the first to you ? 
 
 ^^ And now, dearest, good-bye. Write as 
 often as you can, and give me one of your 
 charming naive letters whenever it is 
 possible. 
 
 ^^ Always your lovingly attached 
 
 '^M. Myeton."
 
 192 
 
 CHAPTEE XIV. 
 
 AN INTERRUPTED SOIREE. 
 
 Letters are ghosts, or rather accusing 
 witnesses. They photograph our thoughts, 
 our troubles, our wishes, our joys, our sins ; 
 and which of these things are pleasant in 
 the retrospect? IS'ot the likeness of our 
 thoughts, for they are dead and gone ; not 
 that of our troubles, bearing an impression 
 we love not to remember ; not that of our 
 wishes, which, whether gratified or ungra- 
 tified, are our wishes no longer ; not that of 
 our sins, which turn no lovely faces to us 
 now. No : letters should be written on the 
 sand of the sea-shore, for the next high tide 
 to wash away from sight and memory.
 
 An Interrupted Soiree. 193 
 
 First cousins, perhaps, to the grains of 
 sand are post-cards, since one might imagine 
 little of importance could be retained on 
 them. Yet some people possess such ex- 
 quisite tact, and have such small reluctance 
 to wear their hearts where daws may peck, 
 that they will dun for that five pounds, or 
 indicate where the wound festers on an 
 open memorandum, to save a halfpenny. It 
 always delights me to hear of these people 
 having used two cards for the purpose ; that 
 is to say, they write the address on one side, 
 and the matter on the other, and then, be- 
 hold, the things have stuck together, and 
 the reverse of each is blank, and the missive 
 has cost just a penny ! 
 
 But the post-card, with all its capability 
 in some hands for giving present annoyance, 
 never can in the future raise such ghosts, 
 recall such skeletons, as old letters. Take a 
 bundle of your own', carefully hoarded by 
 some acquaintance too fondly attached to 
 friends and old relics to destroy one of the 
 
 VOL I.
 
 194 Frank Sinclair's Wife, 
 
 valuable documents, and what do you think 
 of the feelings, sentiments, fears, hopes, 
 therein expressed ! 
 
 Or pick out at random, from a long un- 
 used cabinet, letters you placed there in 
 years gone by. Do you think the people 
 who were not afraid to write would care to 
 read them? 
 
 There came a day, I know, when Mrs. 
 Sinclair, finding a package of epistles crossed 
 and recrossed, tied up with pink ribbon, 
 and labelled " M. Myrton," flung it intact 
 into the fire ; but that little feat of temper 
 was far from her thoughts in the golden 
 summer time of which I am writing. 
 
 " I fear " — so Frank's diary proceeds, 
 after the remark already quoted concerning 
 Catharine and Susie — '^ I shall never be 
 able to keep a diary so regularly as I kept 
 my books ; and if it be not kept regularly, 
 of course it cannot be a diary. Shall I make 
 it a weekly affair, as some people do their
 
 An Interrupted Soiree. 195 
 
 Tiousehold bills, or bring it out with the 
 magazines ? If I am to do it at all, I fancy 
 I bad better try to keep the thing properly; 
 for, after all, events are like expenditure. 
 It is difficult to remember the items after 
 the lapse of twenty-four hours. What a 
 thing habit is ! When I was in business 
 and went to the City every day, I should as 
 soon have thought of keeping a diary as of 
 omitting to balance my cash ; and now I 
 never balance my cash, and I keep a diary 
 or at least attempt to do so, and feel uncom- 
 fortable at having made no entry for three 
 days. 
 
 " What is the last event recorded? — Oh ! 
 that I was considered a Molly Coddle and a 
 Paul Pry by my domestics. I say was, 
 because, although they may remain of the 
 .same opinion, and probably do, they are 
 my domestics no longer. It seems strange 
 to write the word ' my ' in connection with 
 female servants, but when a man comes to 
 be mistress of a household, he cannot well 
 
 o 2
 
 196 Frank Sinclair's Wife. 
 
 help having something to say to those who- 
 are supposed to be under him. 
 
 ^' They had never been under my wife, 
 and that created a diificulty. So long as the 
 Catharine for the time being took her up 
 a comfortable breakfast, say, a couple of hours 
 after my departure, and dressed her hair 
 properly and made herself tidy — not to add 
 smart towards the afternoon, when visitors 
 were expected to call — so long as she failed 
 in none of these arduous tasks, and the 
 cook attended regularly to receive orders,, 
 was clever at pastry and pudding making, 
 and could serve an omelet, or some outre 
 dish, to the satisfaction of — well, suppose 
 the Dean of Eingleton, or the honourable 
 Mrs. Clace, or Miss Myrton, or any other 
 favoured mortal whose society my wife 
 affected, Bella — wisely perhaps — never 
 troubled herself about minor details. 
 
 *^ It was expensive, but then she had not 
 to pay that expense, and it was easy. As 
 this diary is, of course, not intended for
 
 An Interrupted Soiree, 197 
 
 publication, I may hint, without treason, 
 that I am afraid my treasure, spite of her 
 recent early rising and commendable atten- 
 tion to business, is fond of ease. 
 
 ^^ That may, however, to quote Miss 
 Myrton, be only my ' male want of apprecia- 
 tion.' 
 
 ^^ Sometimes these very clever women have 
 a curious elliptical way of expressing them- 
 selves — and yet not elliptical, so far as I am 
 concerned, for I have not the remotest idea 
 ■ of what Miss Myrton generally thinks she 
 means. 
 
 ^^!N'o human being can imagine the satis- 
 faction I feel at Miss Myrton' s absence ; the 
 only drawback being, she is certain not to 
 remain absent for ever. I wonder whether 
 my wife has written to her an account of 
 the servants' defection, and if so, what she 
 said — whether she gave the true, unvar- 
 nished narrative with which I furnished her, 
 or one taken from the feminine and imagina- 
 tive point of view. It is said that faces have
 
 198 Frank Sinclair's Wife, 
 
 a * mother's side : ' I am sure facts have a 
 woman's side ; but this is beside the ques- 
 tion. 
 
 "The departure of tbe cook and house- 
 maid occurred in this wise : — After much 
 exercise of spirit and a greater trial of cou- 
 rage than I ever had experienced, even when 
 going to ask my bankers to discount a bill, 
 I at length descended into the front kitchen. 
 It was an accident which ultimately decided 
 me to do this ; but I had for days been tell- 
 ing myself that if I ever were to make a 
 good mistress, I ought, once at all events, 
 to visit my domestics' own particular do- 
 main. 
 
 ** Whether I ever should have carried out 
 this, intention, however, had I not — want- 
 ing a glass of water — rung seven times for 
 it without the slightest notice being taken 
 of the bell, is doubtful; but as the water 
 did not come to me, I determined to go to 
 the water. 
 
 "As I went down the stairs I heard,
 
 An Interrupted Soiree. 199 
 
 through the closely-shut door, a murmur as 
 of many people talking, and when I turned 
 the handle and entered, I beheld a spectacle 
 which might not have surprised Bella, but 
 which certainly startled me. 
 
 " On the table, covered with a fair white 
 cloth, were spread the various delicacies of 
 the season. A cool and refreshing salad 
 occupied the post of honour beside the re- 
 mains of a noble sirloin of beef. There was 
 a portion of a cold ham (I made my observa- 
 tions subsequently, and at my leisure); 
 there were preserves, fresh butter, new 
 bread ; a lobster — the gift, I have reason to 
 believe, of a gi-ateful fishmonger, for it 
 never was charged to, or paid for by, me ; 
 radishes, red and white, water-cresses — a 
 contribution, likewise, of a grateful green- 
 grocer ; periwinkles — the gift of one of the 
 guests, who had carried those dainties all 
 the way from Hatton Garden (it is a strange 
 idiosyncrasy of female domestics that if they 
 have the fat of the land and the increase
 
 200 Frank Sinclair's Wife. 
 
 thereof, they still crave for water-cresses 
 and periwinkles) ; there was a plum tart ; 
 there was a great jug of ale that I am con- 
 fident had been often replenished during the 
 previous half-hour ; there was likewise a tea- 
 tray, on which stood our silver teapot, ewer, 
 and sugar-basin ; and altogether the repast 
 seemed inviting. 
 
 '^ Around the festive board were seated 
 three men and four women, exclusive of the 
 members of our own modest establishment. 
 
 ^^ The cook presided over the tea-table 
 department, whilst the housemaid was press- 
 ing raspberry jam on the notice of a reluctant 
 swain. 
 
 " Into this group, I fell, so to speak, like 
 a shell; but I did not explode, although 
 the assembled company seemed as much 
 frightened as if I had been composed of 
 combustible materials. 
 
 ^^ At once they all rose to their legs 
 whilst a little beast of a dog, which I 
 always detested, from under shelter of the
 
 An Interrupted Soiree, 201 
 
 •cook's chair, set up a series of the most 
 frightful yelpings I ever heard. 
 
 ^^ ^ Would you be good enough to give me 
 a glass of water ? ' I said to Catharine. ' I 
 have rung seven times.' 
 
 '^^Yes, sir; I will bring it up in a 
 moment, sir,' answered Catharine, and 
 rushed off to fetch it. 
 
 ^^ ' Thank you,' I said ; ^ but as I should 
 be sorry to disturb so pleasant a party, I 
 will wait and take it myself. I hope, sir,' I 
 added, turning to the principal male figure 
 in the foreground, ' everything is as you like 
 it, and that you want fomothing ? ' 
 
 ^' ^ Thank ye,' he replied ; ' the beef is a 
 :first-rate cut, and the beer topping.' 
 
 '-'-'' I am delighted to hear it ' I was 
 
 beginning, when the cook, whose former 
 experiences had probably made her ac- 
 quainted with all the ins and outs of such 
 poor devices as mine, broke in with — 
 
 ^^ ' No, sir, you ain't delighted a bit, and 
 it ain't no use a- trying a-gammoning of me,'
 
 202 Frank Sinclair's Wife, 
 
 — ^there was a suspicious-looking square 
 bottle near her, wliicli had hitherto escaped 
 my notice, but which connected with her 
 thick utterance suggested gin — ^ I have lived 
 all along with respectable families who knew 
 what was what until now, and who would 
 have scorned such poking and prying ways, 
 such underminded things as for gentlemen, 
 gentlemen indeed ! to come down spying out 
 the nakedness of the land.' 
 
 "^ My good friend,' I remonstrated, 4t 
 seems to me that this land is certainly not 
 barren.' 
 
 ^^ ^ Call yourself a gentleman indeed!' 
 she repeated, ^ and grudging 'poor servants, 
 as is up early and late a-working for your 
 pleasure, the society of their friends once 
 and away ! ' 
 
 *' ^ You are quite welcome to the society 
 of your friends,' I replied, ' and your friends 
 are quite welcome to the poor refreshment 
 my larder affords, but it will be for the last 
 time in my house.'
 
 An Interrupted Soiree, 203 
 
 '-^ ^ Yes, just hark at him, and he calls his- 
 self a gentleman ! ' the woman shrieked out. 
 
 *^ * You clever soul, when did you ever 
 hear me make such an assertion ? ' I retorted. 
 ^ I have to work harder than any of you, 
 and to pay a great deal more ; and the po- 
 pular idea of a gentleman is some one who 
 does nothing and walks about with his hands 
 in his pockets. I dare say some of your 
 friends have done both things ere now, and 
 so are much more of gentlemen than I. 
 However, I wish you all a very pleasant 
 evening, and am sorry I interrupted its 
 enjoyment.' 
 
 *^ But she would not be appeased. Moved 
 thereto partly by the knowledge that Fate, 
 represented by myself, was walking towards 
 her ; partly by the presence of her friends ; 
 partly by reminiscences of my wife's cowardly 
 conduct in presence of a real foe ; and greatly 
 by the stimulant of — tea, shall we say ? — 
 she recommenced.
 
 204 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 THE END OF THE SOmEE. 
 
 ^' ^ Calls hisself a gentleman ! ' said the 
 cook. 
 
 " ^ My good woman,' I said, ' in that re- 
 spect, as I have before stated, you are quite 
 mistaken.' 
 
 *' ^ Good woman ! ' she repeated hysteri- 
 cally. All this time that wretched dog was 
 barking, and the company standing, and the 
 tea — if they wanted any — cooling. ' Good 
 woman ! ' 
 
 " ' Is there another term which you think 
 would suit better ? ' I inquired. 
 
 ^ ^ ' And he calls hisself a gentleman ! '
 
 The End of the Soiree, 205 
 
 she persisted. * You call yourself a master ? 
 Why, the very dog barks at you. You 
 who could not feed your family, but had to 
 let your wife, sweet lady ! go and work her 
 fingers to the bone. Master, indeed ! ' 
 
 "^IS"©, you mistake,' was my reply, ^I 
 am now your mistress, and do not mind the 
 dog in the least. When you are quite dis- 
 engaged, but not till then, I should like to 
 have five minutes' talk with you. Good 
 afternoon,' I added, speaking to the assem- 
 bled company, who were all standing staring 
 and gaping as a street crowd stares and 
 gapes when a horse is down, or a man run 
 over, or a pickpocket collared ; ^ and I wish 
 you a pleasant evening.' 
 
 '^ With which benevolent hope — so, at 
 least, it seemed to me — I was leaving the 
 room, when between me and the door inter- 
 vened the cook. 
 
 ^^ She was not an agreeable sight at that 
 moment to contemplate. The weather was 
 warm, and she not cool. The sun inclined
 
 2o6 Frayik StJiclair's Wife, 
 
 one to be thirsty, and she had drunk water 
 and something else. At the best of times 
 she had never seemed to me a desirable 
 person ; but now she seemed something 
 more undesirable still. 
 
 ^'Dressed in her best, she nevertheless 
 looked a dowdy. Her cap was awry ; her 
 l)rooch had come unfastened; her sleeves, 
 for the purpose of convenience, had been 
 turned back, leaving her large wrists with- 
 out a particle of merciful shading. Her 
 face was red, its expression angry. Well, 
 even the life of a mistress of a household is 
 not all couleur de rose. The dolce far niente 
 of a woman's life had hitherto seemed very 
 pleasant; but now I was, in addition, to 
 have experience of it^ for titer in re, 
 
 " ^ If you please, sir, just one word before 
 you go ; I don't want no five minutes' talk 
 with you, nor no two minutes neither, nor 
 lialf a minute, if you come to that. And 
 you don't hope we shall spend a pleasant 
 evening; having, with your nasty, mean,
 
 The E7id of the Soiree. 207 
 
 ■spying, poking, underminded ways, made 
 sure it should be quite the other thing. 
 -Drawing-rooms is for gentlefolks, and kitch- 
 ings is for poor creatures who has to earn 
 their bread in the sweat of their brows; 
 and when gentlefolks, as they call their- 
 «elves, comes down into kitchings and de- 
 means theirselves looking after candle-ends 
 and cheeseparings, so to speak, it is time 
 servants told masters to suit theirselves, 
 because they do not intend to stay another 
 iour under the same roof.' 
 
 ^' ^ You have said exactly what I intended 
 saying to you, though I should scarcely 
 have spoken before your friends. And now 
 that we perfectly understand each other, 
 perhaps you will give them their tea.' 
 
 ^^ ^ I shall give it, or I sha'n't give it, 
 just as I like. Who are you that you should 
 come a interfering when a acquaintance 
 drops in promiscuous? Your dear lady 
 would never so have demeaned herself. From 
 iveek's end to week's end she never put her
 
 2o8 Frank Sinclair's Wife. 
 
 foot inside tKis here kitching; she never 
 inquired after bare bones that dogs could 
 not have got a toothful off ; she never went 
 a poking after her tradespeople, nor a sus- 
 pecting her faithful servants. She is a lady,, 
 she is, that it were a pleasure to serve.' 
 
 •^ ^ "Well,' I answered, 'I hope you will 
 get just such another mistress,' and I made 
 another step towards the door, hoping to 
 end the controversy. 
 
 " ' Ah ! that's another of your nasty 
 sneers,' the half- tipsy wretch shrieked out. 
 ^ Catharine, have you not a word to say 
 when you see your friend so put upon? 
 Are you a-going to stay on in a house where 
 things has come to such a pass ? or do you 
 intend to speak up, and tell Mr. Francis 
 Sinclair, Esquire, that you ain't a-going to 
 put up with his arbitrary ways, since as- 
 ]iow — thank heaven so be ! — you beant his 
 wife ?' 
 
 •' ^ I certainly shall not stay in a place 
 where there is no cook,' answered Catharine 
 loftily and yet, as it struck me, uneasily.
 
 The End of the Soiree. 209 
 
 "^Yery well,' I remarked; ^ come up- 
 stairs wlien your friends are gone, and you 
 shall have your wages.' 
 
 '-'- ' And arrears,' suggested the cook, with 
 an emphasis which filled me with unspeak- 
 able apprehensions. 
 
 '' ' Any arrears that may be due to you 
 shall be paid after I haye spoken to Mrs. 
 Sinclair,' I replied; and the way being 
 more clear, I passed out of the kitchen, 
 hearing as I went — 
 
 ^^'And won't Mrs. Sinclair like to be 
 asked about the arrears — won't she just ? ' 
 
 *^ That remark decided me. Straight up- 
 stairs I went to the nursery, where Eliza- 
 beth was trying to lull the cries of our latest 
 blessing. 
 
 "^Elizabeth,' I said, ^have you a 
 mother ? ' 
 
 ^^ * No, sir, nor yet a father,' she answered 
 briskly. ' I have only an aunt as goes out 
 nussing and charing.' 
 
 " ' Could she come here for a few days ? ' 
 
 VOL. I. P
 
 2IO Frank Sinclair^ s Wife, 
 
 ^' ^ Here, sir — to this house ?' and Eliza- 
 beth looked dubious. 
 
 *' ^ Yes,' I said; ^ the cook and housemaid 
 have given me warning, and we must have 
 some one; and I thought if you had a 
 mother, or aunt, or anybody ' 
 
 '^ ' Oh, sir ! ' cried the girl, ' let me try. 
 I am not up to much, but I could do more 
 if I was let. I can make the fires, and boil 
 the kettle, and get the breakfast; and I 
 could get the early and late dinner — I know 
 I could ; and, sir, there have been dreadful 
 goings on here, and it will be a good day 
 for us all when some people leave ; but don't 
 ask me to bring aunt — I will do it all my- 
 self till you are suited, if you will only let 
 me.' 
 
 '' ' Then you do not want to leave also ? ' 
 I suggested. 
 
 " ' Leave, sir ! I do not know where I 
 should lay my head if you turned me out, 
 for I would never — never go to my aunt. 
 I would rather be dead — I would indeed.'
 
 The E7id of the Soiree, 211 
 
 ^' Slightly comforted — for, my knowledge 
 of eyenyery plain cooking being limited, I felt 
 relieyed to know breakfast and dinner could 
 be prepared without my help — I descended 
 to the drawing-room, where Catharine soon 
 joined me. 
 
 " During the interyal which had elapsed 
 between my exit from the kitchen and her 
 appearance up-stairs, she must haye taken 
 thought to many things — notably that, al- 
 though work in any form is objectionable, 
 her work in our house was not excessiye \ 
 that she was not debarred from occasional 
 tender interyiews and pleasant strolls with 
 the then loyer of her choice ; that our 
 yisitors were not illiberal; that my wife 
 gaye away her old-fashioned dresses, and 
 new-fashioned ones too, instead of selling 
 them ; and that, if I were a drawback to -^ 
 the happiness of the Briant Yiew Terrace 
 household, I was yet not more of a drawback 
 than many another master she might chance 
 to encounter. 
 
 p 2
 
 212 Frank Sinclair's Wife, 
 
 ^' Further, I suspect she thought to ad- 
 vance her prospects, or in other words, to 
 have her wages raised, for she began — 
 
 ^' ^ I have just come up, sir, to offer to 
 stay till you can suit yourself. It would 
 be hard for my mistress to return home 
 and not find a servant here to do a hand's 
 turn for her.' 
 
 ^^ ^ It is very kind of you,' I answered, 
 ' but I am suited.' 
 
 ^^ And when I said that the ^ superior 
 young woman's ' face was a sight to behold. 
 
 ^^ ^ You do not wish us to leave to-night, 
 sir, though, I suppose ? ' she remarked. 
 
 ** ^ If your friends have gone, so that you 
 are both quite at liberty to attend to such 
 small matters, I wish you and the cook to 
 pack up your boxes, and be out of this house 
 within one hour ; by that time I trust Mrs. 
 Sinclair will have returned, and I can then 
 ascertain what is owing to you.' 
 
 ^'^As for that,' Catharine declared, ^she 
 could tell me as much about that as Mrs.
 
 The End of the Soiree. 213 
 
 Sinclair. She had put it all down in a 
 book.' 
 
 " And the book, which being produced 
 turned out to be ^ The Good Servant's In- 
 structor,' proved conclusively enough to me 
 that during the past year Catharine had 
 received about six months' wages. 
 
 ^' Not uplifted by this discovery, I ven- 
 tured to inquire if Catharine could inform 
 me how the cook's pecuniary matters stood. 
 
 ^^ ' Yes, she had kept her account on the 
 back of an old valentine.' 
 
 ^^ And having been favoured with a sight 
 of this document, I walked out to the shop 
 of our nearest tradesman in order to get 
 change for a twenty- pound note. 
 
 *' When I returned, the cook opened the 
 door and accosted me with a series of sen- 
 tences which I gathered to mean : ' Did I 
 want to see their boxes packed ? Did I want 
 to be sure they had not the plate — plate 
 indeed ! — stowed away in their trunks ? 
 Should I like to turn out their pockets?
 
 214 Frank Sinclair's Wife, 
 
 Did I intend to accuse her of robbery be- 
 cause there was a dress Mrs. Sinclair had 
 given her among her things? Would I 
 come up into their bedroom and bring a 
 policeman with me? — it might save the 
 trouble of sending one after them the next 
 day.' 
 
 " ^My good woman,' I answered, ^ it is 
 very kind of you to suggest all this ; but 
 the only real want I have at the present 
 moment is, that you lock your boxes with 
 all speed, take your wages, and go.' 
 
 '^^And about their wages; she should 
 expect her month, and board-wages into the 
 bargain.' 
 
 ^^ '- You shall have your wages till to-day,' 
 I answered ; ^ and if I hear any more non- 
 sense from you, I shall go for a policeman 
 to see you off my premises.' 
 
 ^^ ^ Well, then, about a character.' 
 
 " ^ You can refer any one you like to me,' 
 I replied. ^ There can be no objection to 
 that.'
 
 The End of the Soiree 215 
 
 '^Apparently, in all her experience she 
 had never heard of a bad character being 
 given, for she retreated up-stairs seemingly- 
 satisfied ; and about half an hour afterwards 
 she and Catharine, and three of their friends 
 who had waited, so they said, ^ to see them 
 through it,' drove off in a cab, laden with 
 luggage — which cab the beer-boy, providen- 
 tially coming in the very nick of time, had 
 brought for them from a neighbouring stand. 
 
 ^'•I feared the return of my beloved — • 
 must I confess it ? — even though right as 
 well as might was certainly on my side. I 
 dreaded the domestic storm that I fancied 
 must ensue when Bella discovered the de- 
 cided step I had taken. 
 
 ^^But here again I proved wrong in my 
 forebodings. 
 
 ^'When I told Arabella there were no 
 servants, that there was no dinner, and but 
 small prospect of supper, my darling only 
 answered, with a smile of conscious superi- 
 ority —
 
 2i6 Frank Sinclair's Wife, 
 
 '' ' "Well, dear, I suppose I can have a 
 cup of tea; or if not, let us go out for a 
 walk.' 
 
 '^ Here was an example held up to me, 
 and I am not ashamed to say I felt grateful 
 for her clemency; but then — oh! forgive 
 me, Bella — I could not quite forget.''
 
 217 
 
 CHAPTER XYI. 
 
 THE PLEASURES OF HOUSEKEEPING. 
 
 " Taking it as a whole, when a man becomes 
 the mistress of a domestic establishment, he 
 finds there are drawbacks to the pleasure of 
 his position. 
 
 ^' Until I descended to the basement, and 
 disturbed that pleasant little party, my life 
 had not been totally unenviable ; but from 
 the moment the cook drove off, waving her 
 handkerchief at the house in drunken de- 
 fiance, I have experienced a sense of defeat 
 which it would be impossible to describe in 
 words. 
 
 '' Bella's amiability also did not, para-
 
 2l8 Frank Sinclair's Wife. 
 
 doxical as it may seem, render me more 
 comfortable. Life in the City appeared to 
 be going on charmingly with her, while life 
 in Briant View Terrace was progressing 
 anything but smoothly with me. It was, of 
 course, easy for me to say mentally that the 
 whole fault commenced with Bella ; but this 
 proposition, though true, failed to console as 
 it should have done, since I could not avoid 
 acknowledging, after two days' experience 
 of our 'help,' that economy may be bought 
 at too high a price, and that even an occa- 
 sional party in the kitchen, and a liberal use 
 of intoxicating liquors, may be more con- 
 ducive to comfort than the most rigid virtue, 
 if incompetent to cook a chop. 
 
 " The next morning, after the evacuation 
 of the premises by cook and housemaid, the 
 young nurse contrived to burn the toast, to 
 boil the eggs hard as bullets, and to bring 
 up the tea tasting very strongly of smoke. 
 I sat wretched, remembering Bella's fast of 
 the previous night ; and she made me more
 
 The Pleasures of Housekeeping, 219 
 
 wretched by saying it did not matter in the 
 least, and that the girl would do better in 
 time. 
 
 '''- If she had only been so amiable with 
 me in the days departed ! I considered. 
 But then again, I considered, I had not been 
 so amiable as she ; I remembered swearing 
 at our then Catharine, banging the hall door 
 after me, and walking forth to calm my 
 temper, when a repast was not to be had ; 
 and now, under worse circumstances, Bella 
 only smiled, and said, ^!N'ever mind, dear,' 
 and so drove me to the verge of distraction. 
 
 ^^Had I told her formerly ^not to mind,' 
 she would have obeyed me literally. 
 
 ^^ The girl certainly did her best — but 
 then that best was very bad indeed; and 
 get a suitable servant, or rather pair of 
 servants, I could not. IN'aturally, respect- 
 able women objected to me as a mistress, 
 and those who might have been willing to 
 overlook that drawback did not strike me as 
 being desirable servants.
 
 220 Frank Sinclair's Wife, 
 
 ^^I asked the tradespeople, I went to 
 registry offices. I saw people, and places, 
 and phases of character I had never before 
 conceived had an existence. I advertised, 
 I answered advertisements, all in vain. 
 Two or three of our neighbours, wanting, I 
 presume, to get rid of their own servants, 
 kindly sent them in to me, and half Eliza- 
 beth's time was taken up in answering the 
 door, and replying to the questions of would- 
 be candidates, who looked contemptuously 
 at her face and hands, which were, I regret 
 to say, in a chronic state of black lead and 
 perspiration 
 
 "Were it not for exposing my relations 
 with Bella, I should write to Mrs. St. Clair, 
 and request her to find me a staid and 
 respectable person. Under the circum- 
 stances, however, this is impossible; I 
 cannot let it be known at Mulford that 
 Bella and I have changed sexes — that she 
 is now a man, and I a woman ; and that we 
 have changed natures as well, since she is
 
 The Pleasures of Housekeeping, 221 
 
 now amiability itself, and I — well, the less 
 I say about my own feelings and temper the 
 better. 
 
 " But for very pride I should ask Bella to 
 find me one servant, at all events ; and 
 seeing my perplexity, I think she might 
 offer her assistance in the matter. How- 
 ever, she does not, and I am at length 
 driven to accept the services of a ^ professed' 
 cook, who charges for her services ten and 
 sixpence a week, with beer ad lihitum^ and 
 five meals a day. 
 
 '' When I observe that this worthy woman 
 sleeps at home, and is supposed to have 
 breakfasted before she comes in the morning, 
 and to sup after she leaves at night, it will 
 be understood that her appetite is fairly 
 good. 
 
 ^'Let me not be ungrateful, however, to 
 Mrs. Eudge — that is her name. Never 
 before have the children rejoiced in such 
 puddings, tarts, and sweetmeats — never 
 before have I sat down to dinners so admir-
 
 222 Frank Sinclair's Wife. 
 
 ably cooked, at so moderate an expense. 
 It may be — indeed, I know it is, that Mrs. 
 Eudge annexes small articles from our 
 larder, but tben she takes very good care 
 that no other person has the chance of doing 
 so. 
 
 ^'- Farther, between her and the trades- 
 people there wages a war which, I believe, 
 no laying down of arms on either side could 
 permanently end. 
 
 " ITot an article that comes to the house 
 pleases her. The mutton is always too fat 
 or too lean, the sirloins have not sufficient 
 of the under-cut, the fowls are ^ poor things 
 — just like eating money,' the fruit is half 
 rotten, the butter rank, the milk short 
 measure, and thin even beyond the wont of 
 London milk, the vegetables are stale, and 
 the oilman's goods nothing but trash. 
 
 ^^ So at least I hear Mrs. Eudge stating at 
 the side gate — though I am bound to add, 
 none of the articles are beneath the notice of 
 that lady when she wishes to carry them
 
 The Pleastcres of Housekeeping, 22^ 
 
 home. The farce she makes of asking my 
 permission before she makes up her little 
 private bundle is really admirable. 
 
 "Up-stairs she comes with a piece of 
 plum-tart, or possibly the fag-end of a 
 fowl on an immense dish, and asks whether, 
 as the item is too small to serve up again for 
 the mid-day dinner, she may take it home 
 for Eudge. 
 
 '' Eudge, being in delicate health, likes, 
 so his wife says, to ^pick a bit' — meaning 
 thereby that he is partial to scraps of bread- 
 pudding, cupfuls of soup, the tails of soles, 
 cold vegetables, and such like. 
 
 " Of course I well understand that, under 
 cover of these gifts, Mrs. Eudge takes home 
 other ai-ticles which are not gifts ; but my 
 courage has so evaporated, that were I to de- 
 tect her making away with the appetising 
 morsel I had intended for my adored one's 
 dinner, I should only go out and secure 
 another morsel equally inviting. 
 
 " The woman can cook ; and, after all, one
 
 2 24 Frank Sinclair's Wife. 
 
 virtue in a woman covers a multitude of 
 sins. My Eella declares such, cutlets never 
 were served, and I must say I think Bella 
 understands such things. For myself I like 
 steaks, and Mrs. Eudge sends them up to 
 perfection. 
 
 '-'- But there are drawbacks. For example, 
 Mrs. Eudge likes to take her orders direct, 
 and she generally takes them in a bonnet. 
 Before me now I see the woman, elderly, 
 hungry-looking, clad in black, severe, un- 
 suggestive of cleanliness, unappetising. 
 Morning after morning she applies her 
 knuckles to the breakfast-room door, and 
 says when she enters — 
 
 ** ^ About dinner, sir V 
 
 ^^ On my word, I have scarcely got over 
 the pang of parting from Arabella before 
 Mrs. Eudge appears. And, unaccustomed 
 as I am to catering for a family, the ordeal, 
 especially in warm weather, proves hard. 
 
 *^ Before I became the mistress of a house- 
 hold, I could have sworn there were fifty
 
 The Pleasures of Housekeepmg. 11^ 
 
 kinds of meat. Now I find them narrowed 
 to mutton and beef, poultry, game, and fish. 
 Variety with these materials is out of the 
 question. After all, the feminine mind may, 
 in Great Britain, have to contend with diffi- 
 culties. Why cannot we cure elephant 
 hams, for instance ? Perhaps if we did we 
 should not like them. I fancy Mrs. Eudge 
 would. 
 
 ^^ I am getting dreadfully weary of the 
 life : there is no use in trying to make the 
 best of it. If Bella do not give in, I must 
 leave London for a time. The absurdity of 
 the whole affair would be ludicrous, if the 
 sadness were not still greater. 
 
 "Is Bella mad, or am I? Last night 
 I tried to get her to confess she would like 
 to remain at home for one day, but she 
 replied with such an air of superiority, that 
 I shall not venture on a similar question 
 again. I wonder how the business really is 
 going. McLean no doubt really manages 
 it, letting her believe she is holding the 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 226 Frank Sinclair's Wife, 
 
 reins ; but if this be so, she will never give 
 in. She will attribute the comparative ease 
 in money matters, that I have been strug- 
 gling for years to compass, to her own 
 superior cleverness, and there is no knowing 
 when she will find out her error. "What 
 ought I to do ? Having made the mistake 
 of beginning wrongly, how am I ever to 
 rectify it ? 
 
 ^^ She will not listen to reason, and I can 
 not apply force. Perhaps my better plan 
 would be to engage a thoroughly experienced 
 housekeeper, stop this business craze, and 
 let Bella take her way, while I take mine. 
 But then she might object to the house- 
 keeper — indeed I am sure she would. 
 
 *' Will no one tell me what I ought to do ? 
 Short of emigrating or cutting my throat, I 
 think I would do anything to end this diffi- 
 culty. If it were not for the children, I 
 might know to act. There, I will write no 
 more to-day. 
 
 " Eemembering all I hoped, all I believed.
 
 The Pleasures of Housekeeping, 227 
 
 all the fond, foolish dreams I hoped, be- 
 lieved, and dreamed during my courtship, I 
 cannot help tears blinding me. 
 
 '^I look at the last sentence, which I 
 wrote three days ago, and hesitate whether 
 I shall run my pen through it, or whether I 
 shall let it remain, so that if Eella ever read 
 this record she may understand how she has 
 grieved and wounded me. I do not think 
 she can understand that part of the affair at 
 all, or surely she would not so gratuitously 
 have hurt any one's feelings. Better let the 
 passage stand, perhaps. 
 
 ''Concerning money matters I am grow- 
 ing anxious. Last night, for the first time 
 Bella looked thoughtful and troubled. She 
 ate little dinner, she fell into reverie, and 
 seemed, when I spoke to her, to have to 
 bring her mind back from a distance before 
 she answered. 
 
 '^ Can it be that she has let anything go 
 wrong with Allington ? Scarcely, I fancy. 
 
 Q 2
 
 228 Frank Sinclair's Wife. 
 
 McLean knew the importance of that, and 
 besides, some time has elapsed since the day 
 his payment was due, and I should have 
 been certain to hear of it ere now. I asked 
 her if she were ill, and she said ^ No.' I 
 asked her if there were anything troubling 
 her, and she said ^ No,' again. I asked her 
 if she were tired, and she said ^ A little ;' 
 that the day had been intensely warm, and 
 the office close. I asked her if she did not 
 think she had better remain at home this 
 morning, for a few hours at all events, and 
 she said ^ Decidedly not.' 
 
 *^ There is something the matter, I am 
 confident, and of course I shall soon have to 
 know what it is. Meantime I have my own 
 especial cause of anxiety. Susie is certainly 
 ill. I cannot make out what ails the child, 
 She seems ^peeky,' and languid, and ner- 
 vous. She is never happy, except when I 
 have her in my arms. The doctors say she 
 ought to go out of town ; and I must talk to 
 Eella about this to-night. If anything went 
 wrong with her I should break my heart.
 
 The Pleasures of Housekeeping, 229 
 
 ^'Mrs. Eiidge declares the child's mother 
 ought to be at home with her; but from 
 previous observation, unless Bella be greatly 
 changed, if she were at home she would not 
 spend much of her time with the children. 
 
 " I have spoken to Bella, and she says 
 that if I want to go out of town I had better 
 do so ; that it is impossible for her to go ; 
 that there is not much the matter with 
 Susie ; that I have indulged her too freely 
 in cakes and fruit ; that Dr. Hirst is an old 
 woman; that Susie will be well enough 
 if no fuss be made over her; and that no 
 doubt the children are not looked after 
 properly — indeed, how could I expect it, 
 with Elizabeth doing the housework, and no 
 one else in the shape of a servant, except an 
 old charwoman ? 
 
 '* Clearly my beloved was in a very 
 irritable frame of mind. I wonder what is 
 the matter. I am quite as certain some- 
 thing has gone very wrong at the office, as I
 
 230 Frank Sinclair's Wife, 
 
 am that Susie is in a very precarious state 
 of health. I hear her crossing the hall while 
 I write, and in another moment she will be 
 beside my chair, saying piteously, 'Take 
 me up, papa.' "
 
 231 
 
 CHAPTER XYII. 
 
 FROM IVIES. SINCLAIR. 
 
 " My Dearest, — I am in such dreadful 
 trouble, and where can I go for help save 
 to you? In whom can I confide except 
 in you ? This business must have been 
 wretchedly conducted. How it has been 
 kept on for so long a time I cannot ima- 
 gine. Everything is just from hand to 
 mouth. Frank does not seem to me to have 
 a thousand pounds in any place. If he have, 
 it is certainly not at his bank, for — would 
 you believe it? — there was not enough there 
 to meet eleven hundred pounds, which had 
 to be paid on the fifth. The clerk I men-
 
 232 Frank Sinclair's Wife. 
 
 tioned in my last letter said I ought not to 
 have parted with that two hundred and 
 £% pounds ; but only fancy, dear, two hun- 
 dred and fifty pounds being of any object in 
 a business I 
 
 " I made some such remark to Mr. McLean, 
 and he declared he was afraid I should find 
 it of very great importance; that he felt 
 confident not merely all trade connection 
 would cease with Mr. Allington — that is the 
 name of the gentleman — but that we should 
 find him ^ very nasty ' (I repeat his expres- 
 sion) unless the affair was arranged. 
 
 ^^ I asked him how the affair could be 
 arranged, and he said, only by paying the 
 money, and suggested I should see if some 
 of Frank's business friends could not help 
 me. I should tell you he had mentioned 
 this before the fifth, but I rejected the 
 proposition because, as I assured him, Mr. 
 Sinclair would not like me to borrow from 
 strangers. 
 
 ^^ To this he answered, ' That Mr. Sinclair
 
 From Mrs. Sinclair. 233 
 
 would like still less to have irregularities in 
 his payments, and that had he been fit to 
 attend to business at all, the thing would not 
 have happened.' 
 
 ^^You cannot think how miserable it 
 makes it for me, the way in which every one 
 will insist that Frank is ill. When I say he 
 is well, they reply, with a sort of incredulous 
 smile, that they are glad to hear it — 
 delighted. 
 
 '-'- 1 spoke to Mr. McLean about this the 
 other day, as I heard him tell a gentleman 
 he was afraid Mr. Sinclair was no better, 
 and asked him what he imagined was the 
 matter. After a good deal of hesitation, he 
 answered that he supposed Mr. Sinclair's 
 head was a little affected. 
 
 ^'My dear, depend upon it, he thinks 
 Frank has softening of the brain. 
 
 " I have talked a good deal to this person 
 about the business. He seems devoted to 
 his employer ; very sorry for me ; though 
 he mistakes the whole position, and I have
 
 234 Frank Sinclair's Wife, 
 
 thought it best not to enlighten him, as 
 there is no use in telling people everything. 
 He is clever, too, and has been with Frank 
 for years. The sum of what he says is 
 this — 
 
 "For ages Frank has been 'paying off' 
 that dreadful Mr. Varham — with whom, 
 as I told you, he was once in partner- 
 ship — and it has clearly left him almost 
 penniless. The business seems to be car- 
 ried on with credit; I mean, nothing 
 appears to be paid for at the time. People 
 sell things to Frank, and do what Mr. 
 McLean calls ' draw on him ; ' then Frank 
 sells these things to other people, and 
 'draws' on them. It appears to me to be 
 altogether a muddle, and of course I cannot 
 put it right all at once. However, dear, not 
 to tease you with these details, we have 
 now got enough money to pay this eleven 
 hundred pounds except one hundred and 
 sixty, and I want you, you rich thing, to 
 lend it to me. Mr. McLean says we shall
 
 From Mrs, Sinclair, 235 
 
 be having money shortly. I asked him why 
 we could not wait for ' shortly ; ' but he 
 says if we do unpleasant consequences may 
 follow. So, love, I write to you in all con- 
 fidence. 
 ^ ^^ Most affectionately, 
 
 A. Sinclair. 
 " Mr. Allington has just been here. My 
 dear, such a man ! But I will tell you 
 everything to-morrow." 
 
 But apparently, on second thoughts, Mrs. 
 Sinclair could not wait for the morrow, 
 since that same night she wrote from Briant 
 Yiew Terrace the following epistle : — 
 
 " I cannot rest, dear, without writing to 
 you once more. Frank seems ill at ease, 
 and, God knows, so am I. 
 
 '^ What with anxieties in the City and 
 anxieties at home, my life is not worth 
 having. There are no servants here. Frank, 
 indeed, has procured a woman able to cook
 
 236 Frank Sinclair's Wife. 
 
 very well; but, beyond this, we are dependent 
 on Elizabeth, the children's nurse. And 
 Susie is ill, or at least Frank says so, and 
 the doctor says so, and declares she ought to 
 go out of town ; and amongst all my troubles 
 I believe I shall go mad. 
 
 ^^ In a postscript to my letter of to-day, 
 I told you Mr. Allington had been. Talk 
 about men, he was a brute — simply, purely 
 a brute ! 
 
 ^^ He came into the outer office — I heard 
 him — and asked to see Mr. Sinclair. 
 
 ^' ^Mr. Sinclair,' Mr. McLean answered, 
 ^ was not at the office.' 
 
 ''' ' "Why was he not at his office !' 
 
 '' ^ He is ill,' Mr. McLean replied; and I 
 declare to you, my love, I blessed him in my 
 heart for that answer. What would he have 
 said had he known Frank only remained at 
 home because he felt that he could manage 
 his business no longer ? Poor Frank ! 
 
 '''mi What ails him ? ' 
 
 '' ' Something the matter with his head.'
 
 From Mrs, Sinclair. 237 
 
 ^^ as he mad?' 
 
 ^'^ don't know, sir.' 
 
 *' ' And who is taking charge ? ' 
 
 '-'- ' Mrs. Sinclair.' 
 
 '-'- ' Why isn't she with her husband ? ' 
 
 ^' '1 hope he is not so bad as that ? ' 
 
 '^ ' Does she know anything of the busi- 
 ness ? — but I suppose she don't.' 
 
 " • I do not think she knows much,' 
 answered Mr. McLean. 
 
 ^^ ^ Mr. Allington,' I said, from the door of 
 my oflfice at this juncture, ' perhaps you will 
 kindly walk this way.' 
 
 '' I intended to treat him a little loftily, 
 but it was of no use. The horrid creature 
 kept on his hat, and after saying, ^ Good 
 afternoon, ma'am,' plunged both hands 
 into the depths of his pockets, and com- 
 menced — 
 
 '^ ' Sorry to hear about Mr. Sinclair. Bad 
 job, ma'am ! ' 
 
 ^* ' Yes,' I answered, wondering what he 
 would think could he see Frank at that
 
 238 Frank Sinclair's Wife. 
 
 moment enjoying himself at home with the 
 children, as I know he does, 
 
 " ' I assure you, ma'am, I find it disagree- 
 able to haye to speak to a lady on such 
 matters; but still, you know, business is 
 business, and money is money. Now, about 
 that eleven hundred pounds ? ' 
 
 " ' I have got it all,' I gasped, ^ except 
 about one hundred and sixty pounds, and 
 that I expect to have very soon.' 
 
 ^' ^ How soon ? ' he asked. 
 
 *' ' I have written to ask a Mend for it 
 to-day, and I shall have it, if she be at home, 
 by return of post.' 
 
 " * And if she.be not at home ? ' 
 
 " ^ But I have every reason to suppose 
 she is.' 
 
 *' ^ What reason, if I may inquire ? ' 
 
 '^ ' I had a note from her the day before 
 yesterday,' and then, seeing he did not be- 
 lieve me — the horrid wretch — I took your 
 dear three lines out of my pocket and placed 
 them in his large^ fat hand (forgive the pro-
 
 From Mrs. Sinclair, 239 
 
 fanation, but it seemed necessary. I never 
 thought I should have to do with people who 
 doubted my word^ and I do think Frank 
 sometimes must have been tried). 
 
 ^'He read your loving words out loud, 
 holding the paper at arm's-length, con- 
 templating it through a great pair of spec- 
 tacles that he placed leisurely on his horrid 
 nose. 
 
 *' ' That is the lady, then ? ' he said, when 
 having finished, he gave me your sweet note 
 back again, ' from whom you are to have the 
 money ? ' 
 
 ^' I answered, ' Yes, it was.' 
 
 '-'- ' Then, ma'am,' he remarked, ^ I will go 
 round to the firm who hold your husband's 
 bill, to ask them to take no steps till to- 
 morrow afternoon. I think they will do this 
 for me ; and I hope you will get the money, 
 and I am sorry to see a lady so situated.' 
 Having given utterance to which remark, he 
 held out a hand that reminded me of an 
 elephant's foot, and took, to my intense
 
 240 Fraiik Sinclair's Wife, 
 
 relief, his large, ungainly person out of the 
 office. 
 
 ^' When he went out Mr. McLean came 
 in. Eeally I like that man, he is so re- 
 spectful, and yet so sympathising. He 
 wanted to know the result of the inter- 
 view, and so I told him everything — when 
 I hoped to get the money, and from 
 whom. 
 
 ^^ He looked very grave, and asked if he 
 should not go round to Mr. Yarham ; 
 ^Because,' he said ^the matter is now be- 
 coming serious, and if we cannot pay the 
 amount I am afraid of the consequences.' 
 
 •^ 'What consequences ?' I inquired. 
 
 ^' ' Why, ma'am,' he said, '- they could 
 take Mr. Sinclair now if they liked. It is 
 evident they are only holding back because 
 they are sorry for you and for Mr. Sinclair's 
 illness.' 
 
 '' ' They !— who are they I ' 
 
 " ' Mr. Allington and his firm. He is the 
 London partner of a great house in IS'otting- 
 ham.'
 
 From Mrs, Sinclair, 241 
 
 " ^ What do you mean -by ^^ take " Mr. 
 Sinclair ? ' I asked. 
 
 " For a moment lie hesitated, then he said, 
 * Lock him up.' 
 
 ^^ ^ Lock him up ! Where ? ' My dear 
 I was so confused, I mixed up Bedlam and 
 all sorts of places. 
 
 " ' In prison,' was the reply. 
 
 '^ * In prison ? ' I almost shrieked. 'What 
 has he done ? ' 
 
 " ' Failed to meet his engagements ; in 
 other words, failed to meet that accept- 
 ance.' 
 
 '^ Dearest, conceive of it ! And Frank 
 has let such a risk be run ! and these are 
 men's laws against men ! Can we wonder, 
 therefore, at their conduct to women ? 
 
 " I shall go to bed to-night and dream of 
 poor Frank lying on straw, and having 
 chains on his feet and hands. Write, dear- 
 est, and relieve the frantic anxiety of 
 '^ Your devoted Friend, 
 
 '^ A. SiXCLAIR. 
 VOL. I. E
 
 242 Frank Sinclair's Wife, 
 
 " Only fancy, my dear, if they even 
 imagined Frank had nothing the matter with 
 him, save his extraordinary ideas ! Poor 
 Frank ! Eeally it is all very pitiable, and 
 he has not a notion of it. I keep the whole 
 trouble locked away. Would he do so much ? 
 — or any man ? Poor Frank ? " 
 
 It was quite as fortunate for '^ poor Frank," 
 in those days, that he had not the remotest 
 idea of the extent of his wife's consideration. 
 Latterly he had not slept very well ; but 
 could he have formed an idea of the way 
 business had been retrograding and disagree- 
 able affairs progressing, in the City, he 
 might not have slept at all.
 
 243 
 
 CHAPTEE XYIII. 
 
 ME. MCLEAN TO ME. VARHAM. 
 
 Happily it is giyen to women to get dread- 
 fully frightened, but still never perfectly 
 to understand — that is to say, a woman 
 takes alarm rapidly, but she is fortunate in 
 so far as she never grasps the whole of a 
 trouble at a first glance. 
 
 It is customary to talk of a woman's 
 imagination as vivid ; but if so, it is vivid 
 only to a limited extent. 
 
 If the kitchen chimney be on fire, she 
 may conjure up visions of flame to the 
 seventh heaven; but if flames be blazing 
 to the seventh heaven, she fails to realise 
 
 E 2
 
 244 Frank Sinclair's Wife. 
 
 blackened walls, roofless homestead and the 
 silence of despair. 
 
 For my own part, I do not believe the 
 woman ever lived whose imagination en- 
 abled her thoroughly to realise the meaning, 
 say, of the single word ^^ruin;" and I can 
 scarcely credit that even the virtues of an 
 Act of Parliament will assist her to the 
 extent indicated. 
 
 The feminine mind can picture things in a 
 dreadful state of excitement, but it fails to 
 picture them in the state which follows that 
 excitement. Paris during the siege, with 
 shells bursting and cannon roaring, it was not 
 impossible for a woman's imagination to con- 
 ceive ; but beautiful Paris desolated ; gay 
 Paris silent ; smiling Paris sitting weeping 
 amid her own ruins : these things are to her 
 facts spoken as parables. 
 
 ]^o doubt, in the good time coming, 
 women shall have become so like men that 
 they will be able at once to compass the 
 meaning of ^^ bankruptcy," ^^ ruin/' "re-
 
 Mr, McLean to Mr, Varha7n. 245 
 
 treiiclinient," ^'retirement," as well as nien 
 can now ; but then they will not be women, 
 only a smaller sort of man ! 
 
 Abstract questions of this kind, however, 
 had no place in Prank Sinclair's meditations. 
 
 He was concerned with himself for him- 
 self — himself, of course, including wife, chil- 
 dren, reputation. On the one side was 
 possible ruin, on the other the memory of 
 that wretched period of his life when no- 
 thing he could do was right, and nothing 
 Eella could do was wrong. 
 
 If he gave in now, if he went to his office 
 and resumed the reins of government, domes- 
 tic matters would, he knew, drift back to 
 their former position ; whilst, on the other 
 hand, if he did not take some decisive step 
 — if he stayed at home with the children, 
 and continued to spend his days in idleness, 
 all the labour of years would, he knew, be 
 lost ; and even supposing bankruptcy were 
 averted, the uphill work he once thought 
 over would have to be continued, perhaps, 
 to the end of life.
 
 246 Frank Sinclair's Wife, 
 
 "Well, let it, he decided. Better that — 
 better anything than a discontented wife — 
 a wretched home. Better even to procure a 
 situation, than for Bella and him to lead the 
 existence which once obtained in Briant 
 Yiew Terrace. Of two evils he chose the 
 evil he considered least, never taking into 
 consideration the fact that all Bella really 
 wanted was a tighter hand and less gentle 
 tenderness than he had hitherto employed. 
 
 But Frank Sinclair could not be ungentle ; 
 he could not return taunt for taunt — re- 
 proach his wife with having wasted hard- 
 earned money ; for having learned nothing 
 from the severely economical training of her 
 youth, save how — when opportunity offered 
 — to spend lavishly and uselessly in her 
 husband's home. 
 
 It was not in Frank to do any one of these 
 things. He could only, having commenced 
 a negative sort of battle, fight it silently 
 out, opposing to force that kind of passive 
 resistance which is more annoying and more
 
 Mr. McLean to Mr. Varham, 247 
 
 difficult to deal -with than any active war- 
 fare. 
 
 During the whole combat, however — that 
 is, after the first couple of days — he under- 
 stood perfectly well he was playing with 
 edged tools, which could, and very possibly 
 would, injure him most seriously. 
 
 But then, there are cancers so terrible 
 that the patient ceases to dread the surgeon's 
 knife ; and there are family troubles which 
 eventually become so intolerable that a 
 man feels, even if the sky fall in the at- 
 tempt, it were better to make a change. 
 
 And all the while things were getting 
 worse in the City, as the following letter 
 from Mr. McLean to Mr. Yarham will ex- 
 plain. Mr. McLean had been clerk in the 
 office when Yarham and Sinclair were 
 partners. He was now manager in Frank's 
 office, having elected to cast in his lot with 
 Mr. Sinclair. 
 
 For him, however, Mr. Yarham had al- 
 ways entertained the highest respect, and
 
 248 Frank Sinclair's Wife, 
 
 therefore, though he was grieved, he did not 
 feel surprised when he opened Mr. McLean's 
 letter, and read : — 
 
 Lane, London, Sept. 30th, 18- 
 
 " Deab Sir, — Knowing the friendship you 
 have always entertained for my employer, I 
 went round last evening to your oflB.ce, 
 hoping to see you concerning some private 
 matters of Mr. Sinclair's. Hearing you 
 were out of town, and likely to be so for 
 some time, I took the liberty of asking 
 Hudson for your address, and trust you will 
 excuse my writing this letter. 
 
 ^'I am sorry to say Mr. Sinclair has not 
 been able to come to business for a long 
 time past. I am still more sorry to say 
 Mrs. Sinclair has been able. 
 
 ^^ I do not intend by the foregoing remark 
 the slightest disrespect to that lady; but 
 affairs have, in consequence of her interfer- 
 ence, got into terrible confusion, and it is on 
 this account I venture to ask your advice 
 and — assistance.
 
 Mr. McLean to Mr. Varhain. 249 
 
 " As you are aware, on the fifth of each 
 month we have been in the habit of making 
 regular payments to Mr. Allington, and 
 hitherto everything has given way to that. 
 These payments one month under another 
 were regarded as equivalent to cash, and the 
 discount was in itself, a handsome income. 
 
 " Mrs. Sinclair, being unacquainted with 
 these business details, and paying no 
 attention to me when I ventured to explain 
 them, paid away a sum of money to a per- 
 son who has set up a claim against Mr. 
 Sinclaii', wi'ong in every particular ; and the 
 consequence is, Allington's last draft is still 
 unsettled. 
 
 *^ I have written to Mr. Sinclair on the 
 subject, but he returned my letters unopen- 
 ed, saying, ' he left everything to Mrs. 
 Sinclair ; ' and when I called, he repeated 
 what he said at the beginning of his illness, 
 namely, that for reasons which he could not 
 explain, he had decided to remain at home, 
 and leave the whole management of his 
 business to Mrs. Sinclair.
 
 250 Frank Sinclair's Wife. 
 
 " He is much changed since I last saw 
 him, and seems irritable and despondent. 
 It is pitiable to witness poor Mrs. Sinclair's 
 distress. She cries half the day, I think, 
 and literally trembles when she hears Mr. 
 Allington's voice. Not being accustomed to 
 business or business ways, she thinks he 
 is treating her cruelly; but he has been, 
 I assure you, much more patient and lenient 
 than I expected. 
 
 ^' He offered to take the amount lying at 
 the bank, and let the balance stand over to 
 next month ; but to do this it was necessary 
 to get a cheque from Mr. Sinclair, and this 
 Mrs. Sinclair said she could not do. 
 
 ^^ ^ Is he really so bad as that ? ' Mr. 
 AUington asked; and then Mrs. Sinclair 
 covered her face, and sobbed like a child. 
 
 ^^ '• Bless my soul ! ' he went on, ^ you 
 had better apply for some power to act for 
 him. Things will go to wreck and ruin 
 if you let them drift like this. You have 
 got your children as well as his creditors to
 
 Mr. McLean to Mr. Varham. 251 
 
 consider. Have you no male relation whom 
 you can consult ? ' 
 
 ^^ But she only shook her head in reply. 
 
 ^' '- That lady did not send you the money 
 then ? ' he asked. 
 
 ^^ ^ !N"o, she could not spare it ; and I have 
 written to two or three other friends, but no 
 one seems to have any money.' 
 
 '* ^ And the worst of it is, Mr. Allington,' 
 I said at this juncture, ' that our trade is 
 totally at a standstill. Of course, till this 
 matter is settled we cannot order any more 
 goods from you ; and in Mr. Sinclair's state 
 of health, it is impossible for transactions to 
 be opened with any other house. Our pay- 
 ments, beyond what is required for current 
 expenses, do not come in till the twenty- 
 ninth.' 
 
 " ' Can you certainly pay the amount 
 then ? ' he asked. 
 
 ^^I said, yes, we could ; and to my great 
 relief, he promised to wait till the thirtieth, 
 and then re-apply.
 
 252 Frank Sinclair's Wife. 
 
 ^^ Knowing what lie is, I must say I felt 
 agreeably surprised at his leniency; but his 
 manner annoys Mrs. Sinclair greatly, and 
 «he is besides sadly vexed at the way in 
 which her friends hold aloof. I believe she 
 thought she had nothing to do but ask and 
 have, and not only has no one helped, but 
 no one has even come to see her. 
 
 '^If I could induce her to remain at 
 home, I think I might pull things round 
 even now, although, with no business doing, 
 the prospect is not bright. I wish you 
 would advise me as to the best course to 
 pursue. If I were able to open an account 
 with some other house on equally advantage- 
 ous terms, I should not feel afraid ; but so 
 long as Mrs. Sinclair insists on coming to 
 the office that is hopeless, since people at 
 once inquire why she is here, and so of 
 course hear of Mr. Sinclair's illness. As it 
 is, creditors are pressing on all sides, and I 
 have been compelled to pay accounts which 
 really are scarcely due, in order to avoid pro-
 
 Mr, McLean to Mr. Varham. 253 
 
 ceedings ; so that when Allington is paid lii& 
 last draft, I shall be even less prepared 
 than the last time for that coming due on 
 the fifth of October. 
 
 ^^I trust you will pardon the liberty I 
 have taken in troubling you with all these 
 details, but I felt I could not stand by and 
 see a good business going to the dogs, if 
 any act of mine could avert it. 
 '' Hoping soon to hear from you, 
 '' I am, dear Sir, 
 
 ^^ Yours respectfully, 
 
 '' J. S. McLean." 
 
 From town to town this letter, which was 
 posted just three days too late to reach Mr. 
 Yarham at the address furnished by his 
 manager, followed that gentleman ; and 
 when at length he received it, he was in 
 Paris, where he intended to remain for 
 a week before returning to England, 
 after a prolonged and profitable business 
 journey.
 
 2^4 Frank Sinclair's Wife, 
 
 When he had read Mr. McLean's com- 
 munication, however, twice over — the first 
 time hurriedly, the second slowly and care- 
 fully — he asked for his bill, packed his port- 
 manteau, and started for London within an 
 hour.
 
 255 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 SANE OR IXSAXE ? 
 
 ^^PooE Sinclair!" thought Mr. Yarham ; 
 ^4t is that discontented cat who has driven 
 him out of his mind. And they have a 
 tribe of children, too, I believe. Well, 
 there is something to be said on each 
 side of a question. Here have I often 
 murmured because I was left so soon a 
 widower, with never a son to come after me, 
 never a daughter to grow up and fill 
 her mother's place; but surely that is 
 better than to marry as Sinclair did, and 
 bring a lot of poor helpless creatures into 
 the world, and then to go mad and leave
 
 256 Frank Sinclair'^s Wife. 
 
 them to shift for themselyes as best they 
 can. 
 
 ^^ It is horrid to think of. And what a 
 pleasant, cheerful, happy fellow Frank was 
 once, to be sure — in the days when we were 
 careless bachelors together ! After all, there 
 are no friendships like those formed in youth. 
 I am sorry I ever let any woman come be- 
 tween us. He has had a struggle, and it 
 has not been all profit to me." 
 
 And so his thoughts ran on during the 
 whole of that return journey. Arriyed in 
 London, he went straight to Frank's office, 
 even before calling at his own. 
 
 There, perched on a high stool, sat 
 McLean disconsolate, his elbows resting 
 on the desk, and his chin supported by 
 his hands, looking the very picture of 
 despair. 
 
 When Mr. Yarham entered he got down 
 from his stool, and returned that gentlemen's 
 greeting sadly. 
 
 '-'- 1 did not receive your letter till yester-
 
 Sane or Insane? 257 
 
 day," began Mr. Yarham. ^' I had left 
 Guernsey when it arrived there. Now, 
 what can I do to help you ? " 
 
 *^ I do not think you can do anything, sir, 
 unless it be to tell me whether I ought to 
 lock up the o£B.ce and go away." 
 
 "Why, what has happened? Is Mr. 
 Sinclair worse?" 
 
 ^^ It appears there never was anything 
 the matter with him — at least, so Allington 
 says." 
 
 " Then why is he not here ? " 
 
 '^ He is not here now for a very sufficient 
 reason, because he is in Whitecross Street 
 Prison, and likely, so far as I can hear, to 
 remain there. Allington thinks he has only 
 been shamming illness ; but I feel sure he 
 must be hopelessly mad. I have had a 
 letter from him, in which he declares that all 
 questions must be referred to Mrs. Sinclair, 
 and he further states that he does not at all 
 dislike being in Whitecross Street. And 
 Mrs. Sinclair, when I went up there last 
 
 VOL. I. s
 
 258 Frank Siiiclairh Wife, 
 
 niglit, ^as in hysterics ; and one of the 
 children, it seems, is dying ; and the land- 
 lord, hearing of Mr. Sinclair's arrest, has 
 put in a distress for the rent ; and there is 
 not a soul who can answer a question, or 
 give the slightest information on any subject, 
 except a lady — Mrs. Sinclair's sister, I 
 think — for whom Mr. Sinclair sent before 
 he left home. 
 
 ^^ There, I cannot understand it. I can- 
 not make head or tail of the business. It is 
 beyond flesh and blood to stay here and be 
 bullied by Allington, who comes in two or 
 three times a-day to say we are all swin- 
 dlers together, and that he is not sure 
 he shall not prosecute us criminally for 
 conspiracy. A man from whom I ordered 
 some goods, a few days before this hap- 
 pened, is simply furious. If I had enough 
 money I would leave the country — that I 
 would." 
 
 ^' Bless my heart ! " exclaimed Mr. 
 Yarham, who had not heard one word
 
 SaTie or Insane? 259 
 
 of the latter part of McLean's harangue. 
 "To think it ever should have come 
 to this! and with Sinclaii% too. of all 
 men ! " 
 
 8 2
 
 26o 
 
 CHAPTEK XX. 
 ME. sixclaik's diaey eesoied. 
 
 '^ Vlliitecross Street^ Oct, IS fh. — I am 
 very glad I commenced to keep a diary. It 
 seemed a foolish thing to attempt at first ; 
 but it has not only wiled away, many an 
 anxious quarter of an hour at home, but 
 suggested to me the idea of taking to 
 literatui'e as a profession. 
 
 "To be sure it is rather late in life for 
 me to turn author, but everything must have 
 a beginning; and, as it seems extremely 
 probable I shall have to remain here for the re- 
 mainder of my natural life, I may as well try to 
 earn a few pounds for my family as not. 
 My family — oh I Susie, my little daughter,
 
 Mr. Sinclairh Diary Resumed, 261 
 
 I wonder how you are this morning. How 
 the hours lengthen out while I am waiting 
 for Patty's notes ! What a fool I have been 
 — what an obstinate, selfish, wicked idiot ! 
 What did it matter whether my home were 
 comfortable or the reverse, what did it 
 signify whether Bella spent much money or 
 little, I should have stuck to my post and 
 earned money, I should have borne everything 
 she liked to thrust upon me, rather than 
 have courted ruin and poverty in this way. 
 
 ^^ For my courtship of misfortune, which 
 I merely intended should be a passing 
 flirtation, has only proved too successful. 
 Euin and I have entered the matrimonial 
 estate together. She has grasped my hand 
 with a clutch strong and cruel as death, and 
 taken me and my fortunes for better for 
 worse. Further, she has agreed to provide 
 for me, and this is the lordly mansion I and 
 my grim bride inhabit. I cannot realise it 
 all yet. I cannot understand how it has 
 come about. Let me read McLean's letter
 
 262 Frank Sinclair'' s Wife. 
 
 once again. I believe I was mad when it 
 arrived, lor I wrote some ridiculous reply, 
 that I now feel very much ashamed of having 
 penned. I must ask him to come here and 
 explain how matters stand. I ought also to 
 see a solicitor. What am I to say to any 
 sensible man, however, on the subject? 
 How can I ever confess the length and 
 breadth and depth of my stupid folly ? Not 
 even to Patty could I tell how criminally 
 weak I have been. 
 
 '^ The provocation appears so slight, the 
 insanity so incredible ; but yet, small 
 though the drop of water may have been, 
 it had gone on dripping for so long a time 
 that it had worn into my very brain. And 
 now Bella does not write to me. Patty 
 says she is ill, but still she is not confined 
 to her room. I told Patty she must neither 
 come here again nor allow Bella to come, 
 nevertheless I expected a letter. 
 
 ^^ Were it not for Patty, I should not 
 know whether Susie were alive or dead.
 
 Mr. Sinclair^ Diary Resumed. 263 
 
 *^ How did it all happen ? I must try to 
 make sense out of what seems to me little 
 more real than a dream. For days and days 
 I had noticed Bella was desponding, but as 
 she resolutely refused to take me into her 
 confidence, I arrived gradually at the con- 
 clusion that she was getting tired of City 
 life, only she had not sufficient moral cou- 
 rage to say so. 
 
 ^^ Further, I was much concerned about 
 Susie. How those children have twined 
 themselves into every thought of my life ! 
 I imagined I loved them, well six months 
 since, but the feeling I had then was by 
 comparison superficial to that I bear to- 
 wards them now. 
 
 ^^ Susie is dangerously ill now; she was 
 sickening for that illness then, and the 
 doctor told me she must leave town, or that 
 a longer journey might be in store for her. 
 Will she set out on that without my seeing 
 her again — shall I never kiss my child — 
 never feel her soft hand in mine — never
 
 264 Frank Sinclair^ Wife, 
 
 push the hair back from her forehead 
 more ? 
 
 '-'• Has it really come to this, that with my 
 little one in all probability dying, I am not 
 able to go and see her ? I deserved to drink 
 a bitter cup for my folly, but surely this 
 is draining it to the dregs ! 
 
 *^ To resume my story. Susie was ill; 
 the doctor said she ought to have change of 
 air. Bella declared it was impossible she 
 could leave. It was equally impossible for 
 me to send the child to Mulford, under ex- 
 isting circumstances ; so I asked Bella 
 whether she did not think, as my remaining 
 in London seemed useless, that it might be 
 well for me to take the children away for a 
 fortnight or so to Margate. 
 
 '^ She, I suggested — and it was an ill- 
 natured suggestion for which I am now 
 sorry — could come down once a week by the 
 * Husbands' Boat.' 
 
 " To this Bella assented — not to the 
 coming down by that special conveyance,
 
 Mr. Sinclair's Diary Resumed, 265 
 
 but to the scheme generally. Looking back^ 
 I believe she felt my absence would be a 
 relief, but of course I could not know this 
 by intuition. 
 
 "Ah! my dear, times have changed 
 since I read poetry and you darned stockings 
 in the Eectory arbour. Perhaps we were 
 both hypocrites then, and that poetry was 
 as foreign to my nature as darning stockings 
 to yours. 
 
 "It is a strange thing that when people 
 are married, and no means of escape possible, 
 they should take such pains to make one 
 another uncomfortable, whilst before the 
 knot is tied they lure each other on and on, 
 by all manner of sweet devices, to the fatal 
 plunge, just as though lovers turned de- 
 ceivers for the express purpose of making 
 themselves and others wretched. Suppos- 
 ing, for instance, I had not read poetry, or 
 Eella mended stockings — but what is the 
 use of supposing anything about it? My 
 poetry has found its realisation in White-
 
 266 Frank Sinclair's Wife. 
 
 cross Street, and Bella's prosaism has en- 
 abled her to take a flight out of her own do- 
 main, as daring as it has proved disastrous. 
 
 ". But to pick up the dropped thread of 
 my reminiscences. To Margate I went, in 
 order to look out suitable lodgings, and 
 having secured these, I started on my re- 
 turn to town, via Thames Haven. 
 
 '-^ After I had been on board for a little 
 while, I beheld amongst the passengers a 
 man whose face I recognised. We had 
 done business together for years ; and, un- 
 aware that any cause existed for dissatisfac- 
 tion, I made my way to him, and, stretch- 
 ing out my hand, said cordially — 
 
 '^ ^ Good morning, Allington.' Where- 
 upon, to my intense surprise, he thrust both 
 his hands into the lowest depths of his 
 trousers-pockets, and looked me all over 
 without uttering a word. 
 
 " There was a little circle about us in a 
 moment. The slight had been too palpable 
 to escape attention, and I was too much
 
 Mr, Sinclair's Diary Resumed, 267 
 
 astonished and dismayed even to make an 
 effort to cover my discomfiture. 
 
 "After a second's pause, which seemed 
 to me long as eternity, Mr. Allington began 
 with an ironical ring in his voice that 
 maddened me — 
 
 " ' I am glad to see you looking so well, 
 sir.' 
 
 ^' ' Thank you,' I said, '- 1 am very well.' 
 
 '' ^ Then, sir, if you are very well, sir, all 
 I have to remark is, you are an unprincipled 
 vagabond and a liar — and a cheat — a cheat, 
 sir ! ' 
 
 " Without any more ado I knocked him 
 down ; that is to say, I sent him into the 
 arms of an admiring audience, some of whom 
 succumbed under his weight, and went 
 sprawling on the deck instead. It could 
 not be considered a prudent action, but it 
 was the only one which occurred to me, and 
 I struck straight out as I have said, whilst 
 some of the bystanders applauded and others 
 cried ^ Shame ! ' "
 
 268 
 
 . CHAPTEE XXI. 
 
 " A GENTLEMAN TO SEE YOU, SIR ! " 
 
 ^^ Foaming with rage, Mr. Allington, so soon 
 as he recovered his feet, rushed at me, and 
 what the result might have proved had not 
 a couple of gentlemen dragged him back, I 
 cannot tell ; for my blood was up, and I 
 should not have stood nice about the degree 
 of punishment I inflicted. 
 
 " However, the gentlemen did interfere, 
 for which reason, perhaps, I am now in 
 Whitecross Street instead of x^ewgate. 
 
 '' ^ Never mind,' Mr. Allington sputtered, 
 almost black in the face from the tight hold 
 one man had laid on his high, old-fashioned
 
 "A Gentleman to See You, Sir P"^ 269 
 
 satin stock — ' ^N'ever mind, yon will live to 
 rue this morning's work, Mr. Sinclair. It is 
 a fine thing first to rob a creditor and then 
 assanlt him. It is brave to sit smoking at 
 home and to take yonr pleasure abroad, and 
 leave a woman to bear the brunt of a battle 
 you have not courage to fight out yourself.' 
 
 " ' If you bring my wife's name into this 
 discussion I will kill you,' I answered; and 
 I suppose I looked like a murderer, for one 
 sailor seized my right arm, and another my 
 left. 
 
 ^^^ Let me go,' I said; ^the man is safe 
 enough for me now, if he will only do as I 
 tell him. Mr. AILington,' I went on, ^ it 
 seems you have some ground of complaint 
 against me, real or fancied. I should like 
 to know what that ground is. Am I in your 
 debt?' 
 
 ^^ ^ As you are well aware.' 
 
 " 'Will you believe me if I declare, on my 
 word of honour, that I was not aware of it 
 until this moment V
 
 ayo Frank Si7iclair^s Wife. 
 
 " ' 1^0. A man who has acted as you 
 have done, can have no sense of honour left. 
 It may be all very well for you to try to 
 produce an effect on these gentlemen, but 
 you can produce none on me.' 
 
 '' ' I^ot after all the years we have done 
 business together ? ' 
 
 " ' Not after all the money I have honestly 
 and regularly paid you ?' 
 
 " * No. It is of no use your trying to 
 humbug me. I would not believe you now 
 on your oath.' 
 
 ^'I did not strike him this time. I did 
 not answer him. My arms dropped power- 
 less by my side, and I walked away to a 
 quiet part of the vessel, where I stood for 
 the remainder of the journey, looking at the 
 Thames. 
 
 " If ever I contemplated self-destruction, 
 it was then. If ever death and the river 
 tempted me, it was then. If ever I felt 
 that the burthen of life could be endured no 
 longer, it was then.
 
 '' A Gentleman to See You^ Sir I ''^ 271 
 
 ^^I despised myself — I cursed the folly 
 which had brought me into such a predica- 
 ment. I felt I could never again hold up 
 my head amongst my fellows. By my own 
 act I had placed myself outside the pale, 
 and all for what ? Ay, there was the rub : 
 what had I proposed to myself as the re- 
 ward for such madness ? 
 
 ^'Now the crisis had come, I could not 
 tell what real benefit I ever expected to 
 arise from the course adopted. Did I once 
 believe circumstances and experience could 
 alter Bella's nature ? I now felt how delu- 
 sive had been such a hope ; and as I stood 
 there writhing under the humiliation I had 
 received, smarting because of words which 
 had lashed me like scorpions, I determined 
 that not for another day should this state of 
 things continue. I would go home, have 
 my wife's clothes packed up, and then, on 
 her return, tell her I had decided she and 
 the children must leave town, whilst I re- 
 mained behind to strive and save my busi- 
 ness from utter shipwreck.
 
 272 Frank Sinclair's Wife, 
 
 *^ Looking back at it now, I wonder any 
 man on board the steamer felt the smallest 
 sympathy with me ; but some did. Two or 
 three came round after a time, and talked 
 kindly and wisely about the disturbance. 
 They wanted me to explain matters fully ; 
 to justify myself and disprove the words — 
 so one of them said — ^ of that over-fed bully;' 
 to make peace, another advised, with my 
 creditor, if it were possible. 
 
 "Explanation, however, was impossible 
 — as impossible as making peace. I could 
 not tell any rational human being that all 
 the trouble had been brought about by my 
 own folly and obstinacy ; that I had actually 
 stayed at home and played with the chil- 
 dren, and interested myself in the pecula- 
 tions of drunken servants, the while ruin 
 was coming as fast as it could come — and all 
 this because I failed to get a cup of tea on 
 my return from business, and entertained a 
 rooted dislike to the society of that, no 
 doubt, most estimable lady. Miss Myrton.
 
 '^ A Gentle77ia7i to See You^ Sir!'''' 273 
 
 '^ Wliat an endless journey that seemed ! 
 — though it came to an end at last. What 
 a contrast the dead calm of Briant View 
 Terrace appeared to the scene on the deck 
 of the steamer ! I sat down for a time in 
 the dining-room, alone, sending even Susie 
 away, for the child's fretful restlessness 
 worried me beyond measure, and tried to 
 brace up my nerves — unstrung as they were 
 by the bitter humiliation undergone — but 
 the more I thought of the matter, the worse 
 I thought of it. 
 
 ^^ How was it possible to retrieve my 
 position ? I could not even go through the 
 Bankruptcy Court and begin the world over 
 again. 
 
 *' What was I to do ? With credit de- 
 stroyed, with my connection broken up, 
 with the memory of unutterable folly weigh- 
 ing me down, how could the future ever be 
 faced? 
 
 '^ I felt then as, no doubt, many a poor 
 wretch has felt when in the grey morning 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 274 Frank Sinclair^ Wife, 
 
 light he awoke to the consciousness that a 
 ghastly end was at hand — that, incapable of 
 altering his doom, he must meet the worst, 
 and wait for Calcraft, and the chaplain, and 
 the sea of upturned countenances, that had 
 all to be faced before he might be permitted 
 to slip from the sight and memory of his 
 fellows into the presence of his Creator. 
 
 " Elizabeth brought me something to eat, 
 but the food remained untouched. Hour 
 after hour went by, and the silence seemed 
 to deepen — the calm to lengthen itself out, 
 a desert of inaction. Presently Bella would 
 be home, and I should then have to talk to 
 her — ah, Bella! I felt very sorry for you 
 that afternoon ; much more so than I do 
 now, for you have never written a line to 
 me since this trouble came, and I thought 
 how it would be best to speak so that I 
 might win your confidence, and, if it pleased 
 God, win together with it your affection back 
 once more. Surely you cared for me once, 
 my dear. It could not have been all acting
 
 "^ Gentleman to See You, Sir!^^ 275 
 
 while you seemed so happy and so loving, 
 wliile we strolled side by side together along 
 the winding lanes, and across the pleasant 
 fields lying all around Mulford. 
 
 " Elizabeth brought in candles, made up 
 the fire, for the evening was chilly, and drew 
 the curtains. The room looked cheerful and 
 warm and homelike, and reminded me of how 
 much a man who has gathered household 
 gods about him has to lose. Well, I did not 
 mean to lose if I could help it. Through 
 the open door I heard the voices of my chil- 
 dren, subdued, for Elizabeth had told them she 
 thought their papa was ill. For their sakes 
 I would go back to the City and boldly face 
 the sneers of creditors, and the contempt 
 of friends. I would acknowledge my sin, 
 though not its cause. I would say I meant 
 to pay every one, but that I must have time 
 given me to see exactly how I stood. The 
 first day, I said to myself, would be the 
 worst; after that the thing must grow 
 easier.
 
 276 Frank Sinclair's Wife. 
 
 '^ I waited anxiously for my wife's return. 
 After dinner, sitting before that cheerful 
 fire, I meant to commence my story ; and 
 like all people who have something unplea- 
 sant to do, though I dreaded the approach of 
 the moment of explanation, still I wished it 
 over. 
 
 '' ' There ! surely that must be she,' I 
 thought, and then I marvelled because, 
 while the sound of steps came up the garden, 
 I had not heard the omnibus stop before the 
 house. 
 
 '^ 1^0 ! it was not Bella. My beloved 
 availed herself of the doubtful luxury of a 
 latch-key, whilst this latter visitor knocked 
 imposingly. 
 
 ^^ ' Is Mr. Sinclair within ? ' I heard some 
 one ask, and Elizabeth answered, ' Yes.' 
 
 " ^ Is he engaged ? ' was the next question, 
 and Elizabeth answered, ' Xo ' — adding, 
 ^ What name please, sir ? ' 
 
 " ^ He would not know my name,' was the 
 reply, ' I shall not detain him two minutes.'
 
 ''A Ge7itleman to See Ybuj Sir / ^^ 277 
 
 " Whereupon Elizabeth, opened the door, 
 and merely announcing, ^A gentleman to 
 see you, sir,' admitted my visitor. 
 
 " I may as well say at once I did not like 
 the look of him, although that might have 
 been prejudice on my part. 
 
 " There was something about the man's 
 face, dress, expression, walk, and manner, 
 which filled me, unsuspicious as I was of 
 that form of comiDg evil, with a vague fore- 
 boding. 
 
 ^' The dinner-table was laid, the fire burn- 
 ed cheerfully, the furniture was good, the 
 apartments respectable. I saw the man 
 taking in every detail, and without knowing 
 why or wherefore, by some curious instinct, 
 I felt as one might do who beholds some 
 shrine holy to him profaned — some hitherto 
 sacred place rendered ' unclean.' 
 
 '' ^I have come upon rather unpleasant busi- 
 ness,' said the stranger, after an awkward bow. 
 
 ** ^ Then the sooner we go into it, the 
 sooner it will be over,' I replied.
 
 278 Frank Sinclair's Wife. 
 
 " ^ It is really very disagreeable,' he 
 fenced. 
 
 '^ ' Come to tlie point, sir, if you please,' 
 was my answer. ^ I am neither a child nor 
 a woman, and can bear, I have no doubt, 
 whatever it may be you have come to say.' 
 
 ^^ ^ It is such an awkward time,' he went 
 on, glancing over again at the fire and the 
 dinner-table, at the pictures hanging on the 
 wall, at the substantial furniture. 
 
 '^ ^ In a word, what is your business ? ' I 
 demanded. 
 
 " ^ I have a writ here, at the suit of 
 Allington,' he answered, producing it. 
 doubt you will be able to arrange the matter 
 at once, but still, till it is arranged, I must 
 ask you to accompany me.' 
 
 ^^^ Where?' I asked. 
 
 '-^ '' Oh ! we will make it as comfortable 
 for you as we can. Mr. Sloman will be 
 very glad to find you a room.' 
 
 "^Possibly,' I replied, 'but I am not 
 going to Mr. Sloman' s. Since Mr. Allington
 
 '^ A Gentleman to See You^ Sir / ^^ 279 
 
 has elected to take this course, I shall choose 
 Whitecross Street. I have not the remotest 
 idea how my affairs stand, but Mr. Allington 
 shall have no preference out of my estate. 
 May I write a couple of notes ? ' 
 
 ^^ ' Certainly, sir.' 
 
 ^^ ^ Will you take a glass of wine ? ' 
 
 *^ ' Much obliged, sir.' 
 
 " ' Port or sherry ? ' 
 
 ^^ 'Whichever is most convenient.' 
 
 '' ' They are both on the table.' 
 
 '^ ' Port, then, if you please, sir.' 
 
 " I poured him out a glassful, which he 
 drank off at a gulp. It was inhospitable, 
 but I sincerely wished it had choked him. 
 
 '^'Pray help yourself,' I said after a 
 pause, looking up from my writing. 
 
 ''He coughed and then kindly said he 
 would — and he did, first at my invitation 
 and then at his own. 
 
 " ' That is very good wine,' he was kind 
 enough to remark ; ' if you do not mind, I 
 will take another half a glass.'
 
 28o Frank Sinclair's Wife, 
 
 '^ ^ By all means,' I replied, and he finish- 
 ed the decanter. Should it eyer be my lot 
 to receive that gentleman in my house again, 
 he would, I doubt not, be discreetly civil ; 
 but my politeness at that time could scarcely 
 be called disinterested." 
 
 END OP VOL. I. 
 
 i 
 
 PBIJfTED BY TATLOB AND CO., 
 LITTIB QUEEN" STEEET, LINCOLN'S IBTT PIBLBS,
 
 ^