CHAPTER XI.

'These arts are mine, to wield the steel,To curb the warlike horse;To swim the lake, or skate on heel,To urge my rapid course;To draw the bow, to fling the spear,To brush with oar the main:All these are mine, and shall I bearA Danish maid's disclaim?'

I wonder, for my part, that the Danish maid could resist him."

"Oh, I don't!" answered Frank. "Danish maids are pretty tough, I should think; spotted too, probably, like Danish dogs. Who did you say the fellow was, and what did he brush?"

"I said he was a soldier," replied Miss Ross demurely. "Most likely a mounted volunteer."

"And who was the lady?—the Danish maid, I mean."

"I don't know—I wishIwas!" she answered, with a sigh.

Frank pondered, resting on his oars. It was not this young officer's habit to puzzle his wits unnecessarily in the solution of intricate problems, and whatever genius he possessed was in no way akin to that of a mathematician, who takes pleasure in the actual process by which results are worked out. To ride a comrade's horse "truly through" in a steeple-chase, to make the most of his own in a run, to lead his squadron straight, and as fast as his colonel would permit, to have his troop at the highest possible pitch of efficiency, befriending the men, pacifying their wives, and keeping an especial eye on buckles, to drive the regimental coach without "putting it over," and never to turn his back on a friend, comprised the simple articles of his creed; nor, until he met Helen Hallaton at her father's house, had it ever entered his head there could be an interest in life more engrossing than regimental duty and field-sports. But he was learning tothinknow, and, like all beginners, found himself somewhat at sea in the process.

What was this strange, subtle intoxication of the brain, rather than the heart, which stole over him so gently, while he looked in that pale, eager, restless face, not a yard off, over the stretcher yonder, turned so wistfully towards his own, while he caught the tones of that low, pleading voice, blending so musically with the jerk of his oars, the leap and gurgle of the stream beneath his prow? Was this the enchantment he had a vague recollection of as practised by the Syrens in his school-books, by the Mermaidens of nursery lore, by the Ondines and Lurlines, the Wilis and Walpurgis of the stage? Must he learn so soon, while yet in the flush of youth and hope, that the coquette is immortal as the vampire, equally thirsty, tenacious, and insatiable? Was this the same mysterious influence exercised on him by Miss Hallaton? or was it not rather a dazzling and illusive imitation, resembling truth as the scenery of a theatre resembles Nature's landscapes; its tinsel and glitter, the splendour of real gems and gold? Well, it was no use troubling one's head about these matters. If you once begin analysing, what becomes of everything we call pleasure? Who would drink wine if he knew how it was made, or, indeed, a glass of pure water, if he reflected on the mingled gases and impurities of which that innocent element is composed?

Sculling on towards the lock, Frank Vanguard was content to leave his own questions unanswered, and abandon himself to the claims of his companion and the fascination of the hour.

With her it was different. Young in years, Miss Ross was yet an old stager in that broad road between the roses, along which it is all down hill. She had travelled it many a time, usually at her own pace, and, so to speak, with horses perfectly well broke. She knew, none better, each smiling nook, each romantic peep of the country on either side,—this awkward turn, that comfortable resting-place, when to put the drag on with judicious caution, where to make the most of her ground at a gallop. She liked to feel her blood stir to the old familiar pastime once more, liked it none the worse that the team was getting out of her hand, the pace no longer at her own control.

All the while it was no more the real Frank Vanguard who excited these welcome sensations in her ill-regulated mind than it was Uncle Joseph, or young Goldthred, or Punch! Men and women, we are but children in our dearest dreams, and Jin was no wiser than the rest of us. She had dressed her doll in the gaudy habiliments that suited her own taste, and persuaded herself the creation of her fancy was a tangible and existing truth.

Frank Vanguard seemed at present her ideal of the robust Scandinavian, polished up a little and modernised, of course. It would be a duty, she considered, to sacrifice him in accordance with her principles of manslaughter. It would be a pleasure to watch the tortures of her victim at the stake. Perhaps, after all, she would grant him a milder punishment than the rest. She wondered more than ever at the northern girl's insensibility to her stalwart admirer.

"No," she murmured, after a pause, during which Frank had set the boat going once more; "I don't think I should have snubbed him long, if I had been the Danish maid."

"I believe youarethe Danish maid!" said he. "You're notquiteEnglish, I'm sure, though I can't tell how I know. You're not Scotch, for you don't speak the language. Welsh? No. You're scarcely my idea of a Welsh woman; at least, judging by those I've seen with wooden collars and milkpails in London."

"Guess again."

"Irish; that's it. 'Kathleen Mavourneen,' 'Arrah na Pogue,' 'Norah Creina,' and 'The Shan Van Voght!'"

"You might have added, 'Teddy, you Gander,'" she replied, laughing. "No; what should make you think I'm Irish? I never was in Ireland in my life? I don't mind tellingyouI'm more a French woman than anything else. In honest truth, I've no country, no relations, no belongings, no friends," and she carolled out in her rich clear voice—

"I care for nobody, no, not I,And nobody cares for me."

"That's impossible!" exclaimed Frank, pushing the boat out of certain shallows into which he had inadvertently guided it, with the blade of his oar, and looking over his shoulder to see how far the lock was ahead. "That's simply impossible!" he repeated, as they shot back into deep water, where, nevertheless, the stream ran very swift and strong. "I should say a great many people did. More than you think, I am sure. Steady! Miss Ross. Let him alone, please! He'll swamp us in two seconds, if he tries to come on board. Ah! I thought how it would be; and, of course, she can't swim!"

The last sentence Frank sputtered out with a mouthful of Thames water, shaking his head the while, to clear his eyes, as he came to the surface from an immersion, sudden as involuntary, consequent on the indiscreet proceedings of his passenger. Since the adventure of Leda down to our own times, when Landseer has consigned him to an immortality of suffering in the eagle's clutch, it appears that the swan has been a consistent admirer of beauty, both in and out of his proper element. He drew the car of Venus, he piloted the galley of Cleopatra, he spied Miss Ross glittering like a jewel on the bosom of Father Thames. Exasperated, as it would seem, by Vanguard's good fortune, he made rapidly for the boat containing this treasure, wreathing his neck, ruffling his wings in angry curves, and tearing up the water like a river steamboat. Miss Ross laughed merrily, and splashed the enemy with considerable energy. The swan advanced, the lady leaned over, Frank backed water hard with one scull, a heavy lurch, a little scream, a sway, a surge, and the rushing stream rose over the boat's side from stem to stern, while a wisp of muslins, a gaudy hat, and a tangle of black hair, were already splashing, struggling, sinking, a dozen yards farther down the river in the direction of London and the Nore. Frank was a good swimmer, Miss Ross possessed courage and presence of mind. The shallows were close, and a punt was already putting out from the neighbouring lock, where the man in charge had a view of the accident, nevertheless it was not without the exertion of considerable strength and skill, without great personal risk, a very sufficient wetting, and the swallowing of at least a quart of dirty water, that Vanguard succeeded in placing the lady on her feet in the shallows before mentioned, thanking Heaven fervently in his heart that they were not five strokes farther off, and that he had been enabled to reach them with his burden by aid of a strong stream running in his favour. Draggled, limp, exhausted, dripping from top to toe, Miss Ross clung tight to her preserver, with the more reason that although the stream here scarcely reached her knees, it ran so hard she found some difficulty in keeping her feet. She behaved, thought Frank, very pluckily and well. No nonsense, no hysterics, no theatrical gratitude of gasps and groans. She held one of his hands, indeed, very tight, and her face was paler than ever, but she only said:

"How stupid of me to upset the boat! What a ducking we've both had, Captain Vanguard! You'll never take me on the water again."

"Won'tI?" thought Frank, helping her into the punt which had now come to the rescue, and wondering at the masses of black hair, released and straightened by immersion, that hung round her in such unusual length and volume.

Like most bachelors, Frank entertained exaggerated notions as to feminine delicacy, both of mind and body. In the present instance, he was satisfied that unless Miss Ross could be enveloped in blankets, dosed with hot brandy-and-water, and taken home on the instant, death must inevitably ensue. Assisted by the lock's-man and his wife, who, without partaking of his fears, joined heartily in his exertions, he had Miss Ross swathed up like a mummy in less than ten minutes; and, by her own desire, helped her to walk the short distance between the lock and The Lilies at as good a pace, and, indeed, almost with the same results, as if they had been waltzing. Frank found so much to think of, that it was not till he reached the gate he remembered his own dishevelled plight, and the unusual costume, or rather want of it, in which he meditated a morning call. Reflecting that his straw hat was gone, that he was bare to the shoulders, that his dress consisted only of a light jersey, flannel trowsers, and canvas shoes, the whole of which, after being thoroughly saturated, had dried on a dusty road, he was perhaps hardly disappointed to learn that the ladies were at the races, and nobody had stayed at home except Mrs. Lascelles's maid.

"Then I'll wish you good-bye, Miss Ross," said Frank. "I can't do anything more for you now. Only mind you go to bed till dinner-time, and I hope you haven't caught cold."

"Won't you come in?" asked Miss Ross. "They'll give you some sherry, or brandy, or whatever you ought to have. I'm sure you must want it."

"Never felt so well in my life!" he answered gaily. "Besides, I must go back to recover my floating capital: jacket, hat, boat, stretcher, and pair of sculls, not to mention your pretty parasol. They were all swimming different ways when I saw them last, but I dare say they'll get together again on this side of Staines. We landed the cargo, which was the great thing, but I wish we could have managed to keep it dry."

He was turning away, with a light laugh, when she called him back. "I've never thanked you," said she, "but I know you risked your own life to-day to save mine. If you had lost it—I—I should like to have gone down too!"

He started. There was a tremble in her voice that seemed very strange to him, nor was the sensation without its charm; but he had not yet contemplated the subject from this romantic point of view, so he could think of no better answer than to put out his hand.

She caught it eagerly, and for one half-second pressed it against her heart, while she murmured:

"Good-bye, Captain Vanguard, good-bye; when shall I see you again?"

The dark, pleading eyes were turned on him so kindly, the pale, bewitching face was drawing so near his own—close, closer yet, as he bent towards it—and so their lips met in one long, clinging, and totally unjustifiable kiss. Then Miss Ross, blushing to her ears, scudded up-stairs like a lap-wing, while Frank walked dreamily away from the front door, feeling as if he had behaved very badly about something or somebody, and couldn't bring his mind to regret it as he ought.

We must return to Uncle Joseph, endeavouring to compose his mind by riding Punch at an uncomfortable jog-trot along a succession of shady lanes calculated to bring him back by a roundabout way to his own dwelling-place. Thisdétour, much against the pony's inclination—for that sagacious animal protested at every homeward turn—he took advisedly and with deliberation, that he might have time to ponder on his position and his wrongs. Like most men who have passed middle age, he set a great value on the blessing of health, and prudently reflected that a towering passion, an obstinate cob, and a broiling sun, formed a combination likely to produce one of those bilious attacks which lay the sufferer on his back for a week, and make him as yellow as a guinea for a fortnight. Therefore he thought it wise to cool down in solitude, and consider his own case dispassionately, before deciding on a future line of conduct. Had he been a young man he would have broken with Jin on the spot. Storms of invective, reproach, and recrimination, would have ensued, to be succeeded by thorough reconciliation and a subsequent state of slavery more degrading than the first, after much unnecessary wear and tear of body and mind. But Uncle Joseph had arrived at a period of life when, highly as we prize our hearts, we set also a sufficient value on our livers, and see no reason why lacerated affections should be aggravated by an impaired digestion. There is much knowledge of human nature comprised in Sir John Suckling's shrewd and suggestive stanza:

"Why so pale and wan, fond lover,Prithee, why so pale?Will, if looking well can't move her,Looking ill prevail?"

That is doubtless the least decisive defeat which is most skilfully concealed, and one of the first principles in manœuvring is to "show a front," the steadier the better, however severe may be the loss under which you are compelled to retire.

By the time Uncle Joseph had ridden a mile (and at Punch's pace, when turned away from home, this distance afforded some leisure for reflection) he made up his mind not to put himself in a passion. Ere he had gone two, and settled another difference with the pony by diverse jobs in the mouth and kicks in the stomach, he sought and found many excuses for the young lady's conduct, and almost decided not to quarrel with her at all.

If less agile and less ardent, these mature lovers are, at any rate, more patient, more considerate, more forbearing, than their impetuous juniors. They take thought, they give time, they make allowances, they have learned one of life's most important lessons, only set forth towards the end of the chapter, "Not to expect too much." Could they but keep the smooth skin, the jaunty step, the trim waist, the clear eye, the glossy locks, the buoyancy, the sparkle, and the bloom! Alas! alas! turn it how we will, there is no disputing that the one quality of youth outweighs all advantages of experience, wisdom, fame, intellect; and that the figure 50, so acceptable in arouleau—

"Sounds ill in love, whate'er it may in money."

While he thus rode along the shady lanes, Uncle Joseph's cogitations, interrupted only by the carelessness and other short-comings of Punch, jumbled themselves together into something like the following soliloquy:

"Comes down to breakfast as sulky as a bear; 'low spirits' the women call it, and 'over-fatigue,' but I know what that means—restless manner, wandering eye, and not half an appetite. Scarcely truffles enough, by the way, in that pie; mustn't forget to write about it. (Hold up, you brute. Such another asthatand you'll be on the top of your stupid head!) Then off she goes in a desperate fidget to write letters up-stairs. Up-stairs indeed! I ought to have known at once there was something wrong, for I never remember her in a fidget before; and as for letters, I should suppose she was the worst correspondent in Europe! Then, after everybody's back is turned, off like a shot through the hay-fields, under a tropical sun, and down to the river. Some sense in that if she'd jumped in for a cold bath. I shouldn't have pulled her out; yes, I should! The girl's a dear girl, and a pretty one. It mayn't be so bad after all. She couldnothave looked at me as she did last night, when she pinned the pinks in my button-hole, unless she liked me. Why does my tailor never put a loop in? Does he think I'm so old nobody gives me flowers, or is he a deep dog, who reflects I ought to have the pull of their being pinned in? She shall never pin one in again formethough, unless she can give an account of to-day's doings! What was she about in that cottage, I should like to know, exposing herself to infection of all kinds, and why did she stay so long? Then, who ever heard of a young lady rushing down to the water-side, and jumping into the first boat that passes (I wonder she didn't upset it, and I almost wish she had!), with a half-naked man she never saw before in her life? Whowasthe man, I wonder? I could only make out that he had very few clothes on! Miss Ross! Miss Ross! you are not treating me well! Perhaps you think I'm an indulgent old fool, and only too pleased to let you do as you like. So I would, my pretty Jin, so I would, if I had your perfect confidence, and felt I could depend upon you. I'm not the least a jealous fellow, I know, though of course I don't want you to make up to anybody else; but I shouldn't mind your pretty little coaxing manner, and your flirting ways. In fact, I rather like them. No, I don't, not a bit, so it's no use saying so. But I could be very good to her if she cared for me. Perhaps she doesn't, after all. And yet that seems unlikely. Julia Bright did, and Jemima Fetters, and I think Miss Flouncerwouldhave, if I'd been more in her set. Can I be so much altered since then?" And thus Uncle Joseph, with his reins on the pony's neck, dropping gradually into a walk, pursued a train of varied thoughts, retrospective and otherwise, comprising diverse incongruous subjects—his shares, his dinner, his present hopes, the state of his health, the increasing proportions of his figure, Punch's failings, Jin's perfidy, the columns of his banker's book, wine, tradespeople, double-entry, boyhood's pastimes, manhood's gains, his last investment, and his first romance.

The afternoon began to wane ere Punch's willing head was in the manger, and Uncle Joseph rang the bell at his own hall-door. The race-goers having returned early, because this, the last day, afforded but a meagre bill of fare for sport, were yet so worn out with the heat that they had retired to their respective dressing-rooms. Was Miss Ross back? Well, sir, Miss Ross came home some time ago, but she seemed to have met with—with something of an accident. No occasion to be alarmed, said the butler, but miss was wet through, however—not a dry stitch on her, the maid told him—and went to her own room at once. Could his master see her? The well-drilled servant thought not. Miss Ross had given orders she was on no account to be disturbed till dinner; and he, the butler, rather opined she had gone to bed: adding, with a sense of what was due to his own importance, that, "for his part, he was thankful it wasn't no worse!"

But Miss Ross had not the least intention of going to bed, nor could she have slept a wink on the softest couch that ever was spread. Busy thoughts were teeming in her brain, strange contradictory feelings thrilling at her heart. She was half pleased with herself, half angry, sometimes absolutely revelling in the recollections of the day, sometimes wishing she had never gone to the cottage at all. In her dark eyes shone a light that told of some new fire kindled within; on her delicate cheek, usually so pale, burned that blush of pleasure which is all the dearer and deeper for being tinged by self-reproach and shame.

Mrs. Lascelles saw the change at a glance, and knew with womanly instinct that something more had happened to her friend than a common river accident, however dangerous it might have been. Without removing her bonnet, she settled herself in an arm-chair the moment she entered the other's room, determined to find out everything that had taken place. As the two women sat together in that light, cheerful, prettily-furnished chamber, they afforded no unsightly study of effect, as resulting from contrast, of the respective proportion in which feminine attractions are enhanced by dress anddéshabillé. The fairer beauty wore a costume I am constrained to admire, but shrink from attempting to describe, inasmuch as it seemed to combine the different attractions by which victory is assured at balls, dinners, regattas, races, suburban breakfasts, county archery-meetings, the morning cricket-match, and the afternoon tea. How it was put together, and of what fabric, I am brutally ignorant: you might as well ask me to articulate the anatomy of a humming-bird or describe the dress of a dragon-fly; but I am prepared to protest that it was voluminous, enchanting, transparent, and that there wasmauvein it. To have white teeth, red lips, dancing blue eyes, rich brown hair, and a bloom like a peach, is all very well, but does it seem quite fair play to dispose around these natural advantages certain delicate and filmy draperies, that set them off as a summer haze glorifies some Devonshire valley under the noon-day sun? "Scaldings!" quoth honest Jack-tar, creeping along the deck with anything that may be spilt. "Væ Victis!" says Brennus, turning up his moustache at the gates of Rome. "Look out for yourselves, gentlemen!" seems to be the interpretation of either warning, "and make the best terms you can!" For my part, I think it is wise policy to surrender at discretion, and sink point with the first clash of steel.

Mrs. Lascelles, you see, shone in mail and plate; armed, so to speak, at all points. Miss Ross, on the other hand, was in light skirmishing order—none the less dangerous, however—and prepared, you may be sure, for immediate attack. Her black hair fell about her in shining folds, over a white surface fretted with frills and laces, set off by knots of cherry-coloured ribbon; a band of the same hue was drawn loosely round her slender waist; open sleeves disclosed a pair of ivory arms to the elbows; and she had slippers on, but no stockings. I think I have described her enough.

"So he pulled you out, dear, just as you were sinking, propped you in his arms, with your head on his shoulder, and both did the regular stage business, of course: 'My precious!'—'my preserver!'—'awakened feelings!'—'eternal gratitude!' and a duet at the foot-lights. Seriously, Jin, it is quite a romance in these prosaic days."

Mrs. Lascelles found herself amused as well as interested by the glowing colours, not devoid of caricature, in which Miss Ross described her late adventure and its hero.

"Nothing of the kind," protested Jin, with energy. "On the contrary, I never saw a man take anything so quietly. You'd think he pulled people out of the Thames once a week. I don't suppose the thing will ever enter his head again."

"That would be very uncomplimentary, my dear," answered Mrs. Lascelles; "and you can't really suppose anything of the sort. Now, honour! Don't you expect him to call here to-morrow morning, the very first thing after breakfast?"

"Why shouldn't he?" replied Jin hotly. "It wouldn't follow that he meant more than an act of common courtesy, which he must have paid any lady after so—so ludicrous a performance as ours!"

Here she burst out laughing, but did not thereby in the least deceive her friend.

"Jin," said the latter, after a pause, during which each had scanned the other narrowly, "what do you think of him?"

"Think of who?" said Jin. It was bad grammar, but people are very obstinate about grammar in common conversation, particularly when they turn away their heads with a blush.

"Who?" repeated Mrs. Lascelles. "Why, this new admirer, of course. This hero, perhaps I ought rather to say, this Leander, this Windsor Bridge swan, this duck of a dragoon! Shall you be able to abide by our compact, and treat him like the rest? Jin, Jin, I should be sorry for you, my poor girl, very sorry, of course, but yet I should laugh, I am afraid, too, if you were to be caught at last, and fall in love—souse!—as you fell into the Thames!"

"I don't know what you mean," answered Miss Ross, with great dignity. "The one I couldn't help, and it would have been hard on me to be drowned. If I did the other, I should deserve never to get my head above water again."

"After all, I don't see why it should be so inexcusable," pursued her tormentor. "Though they have not had such a chance as yours, depend upon it, lots of others are after him. He's a strong, enterprising young man, as you've reason to admit. Nobody can deny his good looks, and though he hasn't a superfluity of brains, he's always very well dressed."

"You wouldn't have said so if you had seen him to-day," laughed Miss Ross. "My dear, he was almost ready for bathing long before he jumped out of the boat. But seriously," she resumed with imposing gravity, "I have no secrets fromyou, Rose, and I don't wishyou, of all people, to carry away a false impression of me or my opinions. About Captain Vanguard's good looks I know nothing, for I've never considered them, and as for his being stupid, that I'm sure he'snot. Decidedly well-read, I should say, from his conversation. However, that's not the question. He has done me a very great service, the greatest, probably, that one human being can do another; for, though I laugh at it now, it seemed no laughing matter, I assure you, while that dreadful whirl of water was filling mouth, and nose, and ears; but if you think I am so missy-ish that I consider it necessary to fall in love with Captain Vanguard because he saved me from drowning, why you never were more mistaken in your life. He's a gentleman, Rose, and a fine fellow, I freely admit. I shall always feel grateful to him, and look on him as a friend, but as for being inlovewith him—bosh! Knowing me as well as you do, Rose, I wonder you can talk such nonsense!"

From all which vehemence, and especially from the gratuitous energy of her friend's denial, I think Mrs. Lascelles was justified in entertaining a strong impression the very reverse of that which was intended to be conveyed.

Her opinion gained strength from the readiness with which Jin accepted a suggestion that it might be more prudent to remain another day at the villa, instead of returning to London on the morrow, taking into consideration the afternoon's excitement, the hot weather, and the comfort of their present quarters.

"My dear, I should like to stay a month!" exclaimed Miss Ross. "It's a paradise on earth for scenery. Uncle Joseph's the best host in the universe, and we're all so happy. Besides, London is too detestable in this weather. I declare to you, Rose, it was hotter last week than I ever felt it in the South of France."

Mrs. Lascelles pondered, reflecting that she, too, had liked her visit very much. It was pleasant enough to keep her hand in by laying siege to Sir Henry, no great infliction to accept the slavish adoration of Goldthred. If these could be induced to remain, a few days might pass very agreeably at The Lilies, and Uncle Joseph, of course, would only be too happy to keep them as long as they liked.

"But our London engagements," said she doubtfully.

"There are none for the next week we need mind throwing over," replied Jin, whose memory was always to be depended on. "A heavy dinner at Lord Gasper's—twenty people we don't know, not a man under forty, and all the windows shut. Mrs. Potterton's concert—second-rate company, third-rate singers, two hundred people asked and sitting-room for fifty. Lady Jericho's drum—small and early, like young potatoes; she'll be mortally affronted, and won't ask us again; but she's not going to give anything more this season, so that don't signify! Dear Rose, it would be very nice. Let us stay."

Now, in justice to Miss Ross, I feel bound to insist that this sudden hatred of London gaiety and passion for rural scenery was not due solely to her adventure with Frank Vanguard. One of the strongest motives that can sway a woman's feelings prompted her to remain in the neighbourhood of Mrs. Mole. To have seen her long-lost child for one short hour, to have held him in her arms, set him on her knees, and folded his curly little head to her bosom, was like a mouthful of water to a man fainting from thirst, delightful, invigorating, life-restoring, but creating an insupportable craving for more.

It may be that this interview had softened Jin's whole moral being, rendering her more susceptible to the gentler emotions of her nature, against which she had long waged unnatural war. It may be that in the subjection of Frank Vanguard she hoped to acquire another vassal, or at least an ally, against the time when she might want to summon all her forces for the furtherance of her plans. Perhaps she had many reasons, perhaps she had none at all, but acted, woman-like, on her instinct and her desires. However this may be, she brought out all her powers of persuasion to fortify her friend in the plan that seemed so delightful, of remaining yet a while longer at The Lilies; but I must leave to those who understand a woman's nature, if such philosophers there be, the task of explaining why Jin should have felt at this moment less affection, less gratitude to Mrs. Lascelles, and altogether less dependence on her benefactress, than during the whole of their previous acquaintance.

Dinner that day, at least until the champagne had circulated, was less lively than usual. Everybody seemed silent and pre-occupied. Sir Henry, to use his own expression, had not "got out" in time on one of the principal races, and as the favourite was never "in the hunt," being beaten half a mile from home, the baronet experienced a double annoyance, of losing his money, and feeling also that he had been less astute than his neighbours when he suffered Outrigger to carry a large stake for him in the Thames Handicap. Mrs. Lascelles, watching his face narrowly, began to torment herself, but taking her tone from his, these two presently recovered their equanimity. Sir Henry liked champagne, and drank it freely. The exhilarating tendency of that agreeable wine, acting on the buoyancy of his disposition, soon put dull care to flight, and before dinner was half over, he had forgotten ill-luck, losses, and embarrassments, and disposed himself to grasp the enjoyments of the present as only such natures can.

But not all the wine that ever was corked at Epernay could have enlivened Uncle Joseph after the disclosures of to-day. He hardly spoke to Miss Ross before they sat down; and when she offered him the usual little posy for his button-hole, refused the flowers with a rudeness that would have been brutal, but for the wounded feelings his petulance revealed. Truth compels me to admit that, notwithstanding his mercantile probity, Uncle Joseph scarcely behaved like an honest man in the present transaction. He was not really half so angry as he pretended to be; but remembering, in his previous experience, that such little quarrels often cleared the way to mutual understanding and good-will, he resolved to stick by the precepts of that great amatory authority, "Ovid with the Nose," and prepare, by a good dose of sulks to-night, for a "redinte-gratio amoris" to-morrow.

Jin, on the contrary, whose present idea it was to keep all her irons in the fire, suffering no profusion of birds in the bush to distract her entirely from the one in hand, proceeded to approach and circumvent her host as craftily as a Scotch keeper stalks an old cock grouse in October. She gazed on him at intervals with mournful curiosity, withdrawing her eyes the instant they met his glance. She sighed, she talkedathim, she even tried to flirt a little with Goldthred, something in the day's adventures preventing her from sharpening her weapons on Sir Henry; as a last resource, she affected headache and extreme fatigue, while she related, with touching frankness, the accident she had sustained, making light of its danger, and most ungratefully ignoring the gallantry of her preserver.

But all to no purpose—she deceived nobody. Uncle Joseph grew crustier every moment, and Sir Henry, who was easily amused, smiled as he bethought him that, but for the good looks of the lady, this ill-matched couple reminded him forcibly of a monkey and a bear.

Goldthred, I need hardly observe, was always the same in the presence of his mistress, absent, confused, over-polite, and prone to blush at short notice. At no time did he aspire to be a vivacious companion, but in the company of Mrs. Lascelles he became simply idiotic.

Helen, too, seemed absent and pre-occupied; of course, with the old excuse, that she was over-tired. The weather had been so hot, the road so dusty! and if shehadindeed expected to meet Captain Vanguard on the Heath, his absence might perhaps have been accounted for more satisfactorily than by the recital of his adventure with Miss Ross, which met her immediately on her return. Dinner, therefore, in spite of the cook's undoubted talents, progressed but heavily, and with long intervals of silence, dispiriting in the extreme.

Later, in the drawing-room, it was worse. A light rain prevented egress on the lawn, intrusive cockchafers, buzzing in at the open windows, blundered drowsily about the lights; and—an unusual circumstance—when coffee came, it was not only thick, but cold. The gentlemen were sleepy, or pretended to be; Miss Ross was too tired to sing; and Helen sat by herself, turning over the leaves of a photograph book.

Even Mrs. Lascelles found her animal spirits unequal to the pressure, and, at an earlier hour than usual, made signals to retire for the night.

Standing on the stairs, with a bedroom candle in her hand, she could not forbear expressing to Miss Ross the sense of depression and low spirits under which she laboured.

"If we're all to be as deadly-lively at Cliefden to-morrow," said she, "our pic-nic won't be much fun. I believe I shall follow your example, my dear, and drop quietly into the Thames."

"To come up again at Cremorne!" replied Jin, yawning drearily. "I'm completely done up, Rose, and tired out. Good night."

Notwithstanding this protestation, however, Miss Ross lay awake many a long hour after the other inmates of The Lilies, thinking, wishing, doubting, for the first time in her life mistrusting her own powers, and fearing there was a task before her she would be unequal to perform.

Could these be the same people assembled round a white table-cloth, held down at the four corners by judicious pebbles, and covered as yet only with plates and glasses, though hampers, half unpacked, much litter of straw and scatter of paper, denoted that a plentiful feast was in progress of preparation? The ice had not melted, nor were the eggs broken, while even the salt had been remembered by a careful caterer, who bethought him also of borage for the claret-cup, and mint-sauce for the cold lamb. Last night's rain had cooled the air, though scarce a cloud now flecked the calm, blue heaven, and a dazzling sky burnished the Thames into floods of reflected sunshine. Beautiful Cliefden seemed to realise the poet's dream of a very Arcadia, rich in gleams of light, and deep cool masses of shade, in flicker of leaf, ripple of stream, and song of birds; bright in the prime of her June loveliness, decked with all her wealth of wood and water, clad in her holiday attire of green and gold.

By the courtesy of one of the kindest and most generous of peers, the party from The Lilies had permission to land and hold their revels in this earthly paradise. Uncle Joseph himself dressing the salad with great pomp and ceremony, vowed "the Duke was a trump of the first water, and if ever he could do him a turn, he would!"

That gipsy Jin had once more coaxed her elderly admirer into perfect good-humour and a return of entire confidence in herself. This desirable reconciliation was effected by the frankness with which she asked to sit by his side on the voyage hither, a distinction he was too angry to offer, and a position indeed of no slight constraint and inconvenience, inasmuch as he insisted on steering the boat, occupying for that purpose a scanty perch, as little adapted to his proportions as would have been the five-pound saddle in which a slim subaltern or undergraduate rides a hurdle-race.

Here, like "lissome Vivien" twining herself about her Merlin's feet, she coaxed him into good humour in ten minutes. Perhaps yesterday's practice on the river had served to keep her hand in. No sooner were they fairly under weigh, and the attention of the others distracted by a passing barge, than she nestled to his side, crossed two taper forefingers under his nose, and looking up in his face with a glance that mingled affection and reproach in deadliest proportions, murmured the single monosyllable, "Why?"

Uncle Joseph, neglecting his rudder, melted visibly. All the oars on stroke side touched ground at once, and No. 2 caught a crab. Still he did not choose to surrender over-hastily, and pulling hard at his tiller-ropes, replied in a hoarse whisper:

"Miss Ross, you know your own business best, but I don't think you treat me quite on the square."

"Miss Ross!" she repeated, and again those black reproachful eyes would have pierced a rhinoceros, crackling and all. "I thought you were never to call me by that hateful name again. I'm always to be 'Jin.' Always, even when you're angry with me. And to tell you the truth, I shouldn't have liked younotto mind about what I did yesterday, though indeed it wasn't my fault.

"Now, then, look ahead!" For a minute or two Uncle Joseph could think of nothing but an Eton eight flashing down stream at the rate of twelve miles an hour, threatening to cut him in two from stem to stern unless he got out of the way. Not till this water-dragon was half a mile off did he recover composure to put the pertinent question, "When you went out yesterday, did you expect to meet Captain Vanguard on the river?"

"YouknowI didn't," exclaimed Jin; "it's cruel to ask me!" Then out came a long story, well-conceived, deftly constructed, and told with such downcast glances, in such low pleading murmurs, with such pretty little flashes of pique, and shades of penitence, and sparkles of fun, all repressed and toned down not to be overheard, that, had the success of their voyage depended on the steersman, I fear boat and crew and passengers might have come to disastrous shipwreck at least a dozen times between Maidenhead-reach and Cliefden landing-place.

But Jin at any rate succeeded in gaining a temporary haven, and dropped her anchors to-day in Uncle Joseph's breast with a sense of triumph that such moorings never afforded her before.

Mrs. Lascelles meanwhile had taken possession of Sir Henry, leaving Miss Hallaton to the enforced attentions of Goldthred. Helen, I believe, in her heart would have given a good deal to change places with "bow,"—a sturdy knave, brawny, deep-chested, and curly as a retriever; nor was she incapable of handling an oar for a short distance almost as effectually as that skilled waterman. It would have been at least a relief from her companion, whose politeness nevertheless was unimpeachable as his conversation was correct and monotonous in the extreme.

Such a dialogue as the following would have excited her mirth, but that Helen just now seemed to have lost all sense of the ludicrous, with her spirits, energy, and general interest in life:

"Don't you enjoy the water on a day like this, Miss Hallaton?"

"Immensely."

"There seems no chance of rain at present. I think the fine weather will last us now till the moon changes."

"Probably."

"That's a great advantage, you know, for the people who have already got their hay down."

"Undoubtedly."

"How smooth the boat goes, Miss Hallaton. A smooth row is—is—much smoother, isn't it, and pleasanter, than a rough one?"

"Certainly."

"And this is a very nice row, I think," continued Goldthred, encouraged by an approving glance from Mrs. Lascelles, to whom his eyes, like his thoughts, were continually turned,—which accounted, indeed, for the abnormal idiotcy of his conversation. "I shall be almost sorry when we get to Cliefden; shan't you?"

"Oh, no!" exclaimed Helen, truthfully enough, but with a fervency that startled herself, and caused her companion to retire from any further attempts at small talk in confusion and dismay.

Sir Henry caught his daughter's eye, and could not help laughing. Perhaps, much as he loved her, the only feeling of his child in which he could thoroughly sympathise, was a certain susceptibility, inherited from himself, of being bored, and a tendency to adopt the ridiculous view even of so distressing a calamity.

He felt for her at present all the more that his own position was perfectly to his taste—smoking an excellent cigar, propped by soft cushions, with the summer sky above, the lap and wash of the cool water around, pleasant company, a good luncheon in prospect, and a pretty woman, half in love with him, shading his face with her parasol, while her soft tones murmured in his ear. Sir Henry did not care how long the voyage lasted, though prepared to accept its conclusion with the greater resignation, that their party was to be reinforced at Cliefden by a few agreeable acquaintances eking out the end of a gay Ascot week, and a sprinkling of young officers from Windsor.

The latter addition was a bright thought of Mrs. Lascelles, who, being thoroughly good-natured, intended it especially for Helen's gratification. But, as she had no time to receive answers to her notes of invitation before starting, and, like most women, imagined military duties ceaseless and unvarying, she said nothing about the warlike element for fear it should be unattainable, forbearing to raise the young lady's hopes only that they might be destroyed. "I didn't like being disappointed myself when I was a girl," thought Mrs. Lascelles. "I'm not sure I like it a bit better now."

She was getting very fond of Helen, believed in her goodness, admitted her beauty, and was, perhaps, the only person in the world who thought her the image of her father.

In all matters of affection Mrs. Lascelles was clear-sighted enough, and it did not escape her that Helen's spirits, during the last day or two, had sunk lower than was natural at her time of life under no more sedative influences than sunshine and dust. It was partly to rouse the girl from her depression, as well as for purposes of her own, that she commanded Goldthred to place himself at Miss Hallaton's disposal; but certain suspicions that the young lady required a more warlike vassal than this obedient slave, were much strengthened by the light that sparkled in her eyes when, nearing Cliefden, a group of gentlemen became visible on the landing-place, in the midst of whom she could not mistake the shapely form of Frank Vanguard.

Mrs. Lascelles, you see, had a good afternoon's work on hand. A score of people to entertain, couples to pair, flirtations to encourage, and Jin's vagaries to overlook, lest she should drive Uncle Joseph beyond the bounds of patience; besides keeping Sir Henry at her own apron-string, while enacting the part of a blue-eyed Cleopatra to that laziest and least warlike of Antonys.

Half-a-dozen swinging, vigorous jerks, an exclamation of pleasure from the passengers, an "easy all!" in gruff syllables from "Stroke," and the galley poised her oars, as a sea-bird spreads her pinions, ere she folds them to alight. The officers cheered, the ladies chattered, greetings were exchanged, muslins shaken out, parasols unfurled—a cool air stole across the water, a blackbird struck up from the copse, the leaves danced, the boat danced, the sunshine danced, the scene was all colour, motion, and variety, like a ballet after Watteau, set to music by Offenbach.

In these days it is the affectation of society to be natural, and nobody can dispute the advantage of such a change from that pompous reserve and frozen insensibility which represented good-breeding some five-and-twenty years ago. The party gathered round their table-cloth on the grass at Cliefden, if more polished, were as joyous and merry as so many lads and lasses at a fair. Of course it took some little time before luncheon could be got ready, of course it was necessary to walk about during the interval, of course people paired off for that purpose. Nobody goes to a pic-nic, I imagine, with the view of discussing grave subjects in full conclave—forbid it! faun and satyr, nymph and dryad, forest-fairy and bottle-imp, the genius of the woodland, the goblin of the cave, all the spirits of the hamper, the corkscrew, and the rill!

No; for us seniors, let there be flowing cups, though temperate, cooled with ice, and spiced with fragrant herbs—a cunning pasty, a piece of resistance, thus named because irresistible, egg-sandwiches, French mustard, a currant-tart, and a parti-colouredmayonnaise. So shall we flavour the repast with quip and jest, with merry, quaint conceit and pointed anecdote, pleasant or pathetic, yet, in pity, not too long! But, as for you young people, off with you, while we uncork the wine! Climb the bank, if you know it, "whereon the wild-thyme grows;" dive into the recesses of the forest, its paths are only wide enough for two;

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