Chapter Fourteen.

Chapter Fourteen.Cornelia booked a first-class return to town, scattered half-crowns broadcast among the astonished porters, ensconced herself in a corner of an empty carriage, and prepared to enjoy the journey. She did not purchase any magazines at the bookstall; the only child of a millionaire need not trouble about insurance coupons, and at two-and-twenty life is more interesting than fiction. Cornelia guessed she’d heaps more to think about than would occupy a pokey little journey of from two or three hours. Just to think how things changed from day to day! Yesterday she had supposed herself dumped right-down in Norton Park for a solid three months, and to-day here she was full chase for London, with the prospect of a week, crammed full of frivolity and amusement!She gurgled to herself in much contentment. Aunt Soph had kissed her, or, at least, submitted to be kissed; Elma was engaged in playing the part of Eve in flounced blue muslin, to an Adam in a flannel suit, in a particularly well-mown Garden of Eden. She could therefore be happy in her mind concerning those who were left behind, and she had never yet doubted her own ability to take care of herself. She smoothed the wrinkles on her long suede gloves, flicked the dust off the ridiculous points of her “high shoes,” and sighed impatiently. She and her baggage were safely aboard. Why couldn’t that old engine hustle up and start?Cornelia rose to her feet, and thrust her head out of the open window. There was only one passenger approaching along the deserted platform, and as fate would have it, he had reached a spot but a couple of yards away, so that the sudden appearance of the girl’s head through the window was followed by simultaneous exclamations of astonishment. Exclamations of recognition, too, for the new-comer was none other than Captain Guest himself, most obviously equipped for town.“Miss Briskett—is that you?”“Mussy, what a turn you gave me! Who’d have dreamt of meeting you here?”“Are you going up to town?”“I am! Are you?”“I am! Do you prefer to travel alone? If not, may I come in?”“Why, suttenly!” Cornelia was not yet quite sure whether she were annoyed or pleased by the encounter, but on the whole the agreeable element predominated. She was of a gregarious nature, and at any time preferred to talk, rather than remain silent. After a month spent in a strictly feminine household, the society of a male man was an agreeable novelty. Moreover—sweet triumph to a daughter of Eve!—half an hour’stête-à-têteon the drive home from the Manor had apparently made short work of the Captain’s preconceived dislike, since he was so anxious to repeat the dose! Cornelia smiled; the naughty, little smile of a spider who welcomes a fly into his net.Another minute, and the train was movings lowly out of the station, while the two young people continued their cross-examination, confronting each other from their separate corners.“This is an unexpected visit, is it not? I understood from Miss Ramsden that she expected you to call at the Manor to-day or to-morrow.”(Cornelia scored a point against him, for his own desertion, in the face of so interesting a prospect!)“Vury unexpected! I got a wire from a friend and came off within two hours. I understood from Mrs Greville thatyouwere making quite a good stay?”Guest grimaced eloquently.“I was—but—circumstances alter cases! To tell you the honest truth, Miss Briskett, I’m just a bit fed up with playing gooseberry by day, and piquet (with Madame!) by night, and the idea of spending a few days at the club presented itself as an agreeable novelty. My friends are almost all in town just now, and there is a good deal going on. I generally put in a week or so of the season, so I thought I might as well clear out at once. They don’t want me here!”“I don’t know about that,” returned Cornelia, thoughtfully. “What about Madame?Someone’sgot to keep her occupied! What’s to happen to her in the evenings now? There’ll be nothing for it but a three-handed game, and that’s the limit! If you’d been a kind, self-sacrificing friend, you’d have stayed on, and worked that piquet for all you were worth!”“But I’m not self-sacrificing, you see!” Captain Guest explained, and in truth he did not look it. Cornelia’s glance took in the magnificent proportions of the man, the indefinable air of birth and breeding, the faultless toilette; the strong, dark features. To one and all she paid a tribute of admiration, but the expression on the face was of concentrated self-sufficiency. At this point admiration stopped dead, to be replaced by an uneasy dread. Was Geoffrey Greville, even as his friend, frankly indifferent to everything but his own amusement, and if so, what of poor Elma and her dream? It was an awful reflection that in such a case she herself would be largely responsible for thrusting Elma into danger. Her expression clouded, and she stared through the window with unseeing eyes. Captain Guest’s words had been so exceedingly plain that she had not affected to misunderstand their meaning, and the ice once broken, she was glad of the opportunity of solving her doubts.“You know Mr Greville very well. Is he—a flirt?”Captain Guest flashed a glance at her; a rapid, understanding glance.“He has been,” he replied quietly. “A desperate flirt; but—he is not flirting now!”“You think—”“I’m sure!”Cornelia clasped her hands with a sigh of relief.“Then—?”“The Deluge!”“You mean—?”“He can’t marry her, of course! She’s a lovely girl, and everything that’s nice, and good, and that kind of thing, but—not at all the kind of girl he ought to marry.”“Ought he to marry someone hideous then, with an ugly temper? Poor fellow! Why?”“There’s no necessity to be hideous, that I know of, though as a matter of fact he probably won’t find a girl suitable as to means and position, who is anything like so attractive, personally, as Miss Ramsden. Greville is hardly his own master, Miss Briskett. He is not a rich man, and he has the place to think of. Besides, there’s Madame to consider. Madame belongs to a noble house, and has high ideas for her son.”“Is it the custom over here, for the mommas to choose wives for their sons? I don’t know much about Mr Greville, but from the look of him I shouldn’t suppose he was one of that sort. He has a kind of an air as if he’d want a lot of moving, once he got his head set! If he really cares—”Captain Guest shrugged expressively.“Oh, for the moment, of course, it’s a case of ‘all for love, and the world well lost,’ but in a few days’ time Miss Ramsden will return home; they will drop out of each other’s lives, and then prudence will come to the fore. There’s a girl whom he has known for years, who is built for him all the way round. I don’t say he’ll like it so much, but he’ll end by marrying her like a good boy.”“By marrying her money, you mean to say? I see, we Americans aren’t the only mercenary nation in the world, though we get the credit for it sometimes. Well! I’ll wait a while, before I judge. There comes a time in most men’s lives when they forget their fine principles, and see just one thing ahead,and they’ve got to have it! Everything else goes down like ninepins, even if it’s a real stately old mother, with her hair fixed-up like Marie Antoinette. We’ll wait and see if that time comes along for Mr Greville!”Guest’s lip twitched with amusement.“You seem to be very experienced on the subject.”“I am so. I’ve seen quite a good deal of life,” said Cornelia, with the air of a female Methuselah. She did not smirk nor giggle at the insinuation, but accepted it placidly as a matter of course, an occurrence of everyday happening.Guest studied her critically, as she gazed out of the window. Was she plain, or beautiful? It was difficult to say. The colourless complexion, and sharply pointed nose were serious blemishes, but the mouth was exquisite, and the hair a marvel. How Rossetti would have gloried in painting it, unbound, with the great red-gold waves floating over her shoulders! The eyes were good, too, despite their unusual colour—the colour of a tawny old sherry!As though attracted by his scrutiny, Cornelia turned her head, and let the golden eyes dwell thoughtfully upon his face.“Does Mr Greville do anything?” she inquired. “Has he any sort of occupation in life?”“He has a certain amount of business in connection with the property, but the agent does most of that. He hunts, of course, and shoots—he’s a capital shot—and fishes at odd times. All the ordinary things that a man does.”“Is that so? They wouldn’t be ordinary with us. I like a man to work.You’vegot to work hard, I suppose? You’re a soldier.”The quick pucker of lips and brows were almost startlingly eloquent of pain.“Not now! I was.”“You retired?”“Yes.”“Why?”Rupert Guest looked across the carriage in silence. At any time he was haughtily resentful of curiosity; but on this subject most of all he could not endure to speak with his most intimate friends. His first impulse was to ignore the question, but as he met Cornelia’s steady eyes that impulse underwent an extraordinary reversion. Incredible as it might appear, he became conscious that it was not only possible that he could tell this girl, this stranger, the hidden sorrow of his life, but that he actually wished to tell it! He wanted to hear what she would say; to see how she would look. Those childlike eyes would look very beautiful, softened with the light of sympathy and consolation. He wanted to see that light shining for his sake.“It’s a long story,” he began slowly, “I don’t talk of it more than I can help, but I’ll tell you, if you care to hear it. I come of a race of soldiers: it never entered my head that I could be anything else. My father was in the Lancers; he died before I left Sandhurst, but my mother managed to allow me fifteen hundred a year, and I joined my father’s regiment. I was lucky as things go; went through two engagements before I was thirty; gained distinction at Omdurman. At home I had a nailing good time: Adjutant of the regiment. We had the jolliest mess! I don’t think a man ever lived who enjoyed his life more. There was lots of play, but I loved the work too, and studied hard, at every branch of the profession. I had the credit of being one of the best all-round men in the service.” He laughed; a hard, sore-hearted laugh. “I can say that now without reproach, for it belongs to another life. ... Then—my mother died! She had been living beyond her income, and there were all the legal expenses to face; selling up at a loss; giving the girls their share. She had made a special push to keep me in the old regiment; but in the end it came down to this, that in all, there was barely five hundred a year for me. It was a big blow, but there was nothing for it but to send in my resignation.”“Why?”“One can’t be an officer in a crack cavalry regiment with only five hundred a year beyond his pay, Miss Briskett. It can’t be done. There wasn’t one of my subs, who had less than eight hundred.”“Don’t you get any pay at all in your army then?”“Certainly; about enough to pay the mess bills, and perhaps the changes of kit. The uniform costs several hundreds to start with, and those fools at the War Office are everlastingly ordering senseless alterations.”“Yes; but—I don’t understand! If the pay is enough for your keep, why do you need such a heap more to get along? Where does all the expense come in?”Guest knitted his brows in momentary embarrassment.“Well, of course, there are certain things that a man must do to live up to his position. He must entertain; he must hunt; he must play polo. It comes cheaper to him than ordinary men, for he has the use of the regimental stables; but still, things run up. It’s astonishing how theydorun up! There are a hundred things that areexpectedof him, and there’s no getting away from them.”“Isn’t he expected first thing of all to serve his country?”“That is, of course!” Guest raised his head proudly. “I have already explained that Ihadserved her.”“Wouldn’t they let you go on then, because you couldn’t cut a dash?”“Letme! There wasn’t a man in the mess who didn’t beg me to stay on! The Duke sent for me, and argued for half an hour. He promised me a staff appointment. He said some awfully decent things about my past services. I was glad of that... I said, ‘It’s no good, sir, I can’t face the prospect of being Colonel of the regiment, and not being able to afford as much as my own subs.’ We went over it again and again, and he lost his temper at last and called me a fool, but I stuck to it—”Cornelia drew a sharp breath of excitement.“Youdidresign—for money? In spite of all! For only that?”“It’s a very big ‘only,’ Miss Briskett. You don’t know how it feels to have your income suddenly reduced by two-thirds.”“Oh, don’t I just! I know how it feels to have it wiped clean away. I guess my Poppar’s dropped about as much in one slump as any man in the States!” cried Cornelia, with the true American’s pride in size, be it for good or ill. She did not feel it necessary to state that the lost fortune had been more than retrieved, for one of the very few points on which she found herself in complete agreement with her aunt, was the suppression of her own wealth. She had no wish to be judged from a monetary standpoint, and Poppar’s fame had not travelled across the ocean. He was just an ordinary everyday millionaire, with a modest little income of from three to four hundred a day; not a real, genuine high-flyer, with a thousand an hour!“I had to give up my frills and fixings, but I held on like grim death to the things that mattered.—I guess there’s something wrong about your army, if a man’s got to have a fortune before he can be an officer!”“A good many people are with you there, Miss Briskett, but unfortunately that does not alter the fact.”“Then—what did you do after that?”“Cleared out! I sold my uniform for eighty pounds!”—he laughed again, the same sore laugh—“and gave my orderly about a dozen suits of ordinary clothes. The only thing I kept was my sword. I had ten swords hung on my walls, used by ten generations in succession—I couldn’t give that up. ... An old chum was going out ranching to the wildest part of California. He asked me to come with him, and I jumped at it. I wanted to get out of the country—away from it all. If I’d seen the regiment riding through the streets, I should have gone mad! ... We sailed within a few weeks...”“California!” Cornelia’s face was eloquent with meaning. She had seen a regiment of Lancers riding through the streets of London on the one day which she had spent in the metropolis; had stood to stare open-mouthed, even as the crowd who thronged the pavement. She recalled the figure of the officer, a gorgeous, mediaeval knight, impenetrably lifeless, sitting astride his high horse like a figure of bronze; a glimpse of haughty, set features visible between cap and chin-strap. Outwardly immovable, indifferent; but within!—ah! within, beyond a doubt, a swelling pride in himself, in his men, in the noble animals which bore them; in the consciousness that every day the pageant attracted the same meed of admiration; pride in the consciousness that he represented his King, his Empire, the power of the sword! Cornelia, a stranger and a Republican, had thrilled at the sight of the gallant Lancers, and—she had visited the wilds of California also, and had received hospitality at a lonely ranch! There was a husky note in her voice as she spoke again.“How long were you there?”“Three years.”“Did you—hate it very much?”The laugh this time was more strangled than before.“Twice over I came within an inch of shooting myself! We were twenty miles from the nearest neighbour. My friend went his way; I went mine. For days together we hardly exchanged a word. There was nothing but the great stretch of land, and the Rockies in the distance. In time one gets to think them beautiful, but at first... I used to sit and think of home, and the regiment. It wasalwayswith me. I used to say to myself: ‘Now they are at mess—Now the horses are coming out of the stables—Now they are turning out for polo!’ I could hear the drum, and the reveille, and the last post. ... As clearly as in the barracks at home, I heard them!...”He stopped short, turning his eyes from the window to look at Cornelia’s face. It was distorted, quivering, with emotion; her hands were clasped together, and down her cheek rolled two tear-drops, unashamed. He turned sharply aside, and for some moments neither spoke. Cornelia was seeing, as in a picture, the lonely ranch, with the solitary figure, sitting with his face towards the East, thinking, thinking. ... Guest was reflecting with amaze on the strange antic of fate, which ordained that it should be in the eyes of this Yankee stranger that he should see the first woman’s tears shed on his behalf! She cried like a child; simply, involuntarily, without thought of appearance; the tears rising from a pure well of sympathy. To the end of his life he would bless her for those tears!The train slackened and drew up at a country station. A stout, elderly lady approached the carriage, glanced from one to the other of the two occupants, and hastily moved on. Cornelia smiled, with the tears wet on her lashes. Again the wheels began to move, and Guest said shortly—“Thank you for your sympathy! I had a feeling that you would understand—that’s why I told you. It’s not a story that I often tell to strangers, as you may guess.”“My, yes, I sympathise; I should just think I do. I know what even our own people suffer sometimes away out West; but I don’tunderstand,” said Cornelia, firmly. “I don’t understand—one—little—bit! There’s more to soldiering than riding through the streets, looking fine and large, and gotten up like a show. I love to see it. We profess to laugh at forms and ceremonies, but we love them just the same as anybody else, but it was yourcountryyou’d promise to serve! For better or worse you allowed you were sworn to serve her. You had risked your life for her; I reckon you had shed your blood. There was just one thing you wouldn’t sacrifice—your own pride! You were thinking ofyourselfwhen you sent in that resignation, Captain Guest! You saw yourself sitting looking out of the window, and seeing the boys riding off to their sports, and leaving you behind. You cared more for that, than the thought that England might need you!”“You hit hard, Miss Briskett.”“I hit straight. I know just how you’ve suffered. Seems to me I’m going to remember all my life how you sat in that ranch and heard the last post; but if I’d been in your place, if America had wanted me”—her small, white face lit up with a very ecstasy of emotion—“I’d have stayed at my post,if I’d had to sweep the floors to do it!”

Cornelia booked a first-class return to town, scattered half-crowns broadcast among the astonished porters, ensconced herself in a corner of an empty carriage, and prepared to enjoy the journey. She did not purchase any magazines at the bookstall; the only child of a millionaire need not trouble about insurance coupons, and at two-and-twenty life is more interesting than fiction. Cornelia guessed she’d heaps more to think about than would occupy a pokey little journey of from two or three hours. Just to think how things changed from day to day! Yesterday she had supposed herself dumped right-down in Norton Park for a solid three months, and to-day here she was full chase for London, with the prospect of a week, crammed full of frivolity and amusement!

She gurgled to herself in much contentment. Aunt Soph had kissed her, or, at least, submitted to be kissed; Elma was engaged in playing the part of Eve in flounced blue muslin, to an Adam in a flannel suit, in a particularly well-mown Garden of Eden. She could therefore be happy in her mind concerning those who were left behind, and she had never yet doubted her own ability to take care of herself. She smoothed the wrinkles on her long suede gloves, flicked the dust off the ridiculous points of her “high shoes,” and sighed impatiently. She and her baggage were safely aboard. Why couldn’t that old engine hustle up and start?

Cornelia rose to her feet, and thrust her head out of the open window. There was only one passenger approaching along the deserted platform, and as fate would have it, he had reached a spot but a couple of yards away, so that the sudden appearance of the girl’s head through the window was followed by simultaneous exclamations of astonishment. Exclamations of recognition, too, for the new-comer was none other than Captain Guest himself, most obviously equipped for town.

“Miss Briskett—is that you?”

“Mussy, what a turn you gave me! Who’d have dreamt of meeting you here?”

“Are you going up to town?”

“I am! Are you?”

“I am! Do you prefer to travel alone? If not, may I come in?”

“Why, suttenly!” Cornelia was not yet quite sure whether she were annoyed or pleased by the encounter, but on the whole the agreeable element predominated. She was of a gregarious nature, and at any time preferred to talk, rather than remain silent. After a month spent in a strictly feminine household, the society of a male man was an agreeable novelty. Moreover—sweet triumph to a daughter of Eve!—half an hour’stête-à-têteon the drive home from the Manor had apparently made short work of the Captain’s preconceived dislike, since he was so anxious to repeat the dose! Cornelia smiled; the naughty, little smile of a spider who welcomes a fly into his net.

Another minute, and the train was movings lowly out of the station, while the two young people continued their cross-examination, confronting each other from their separate corners.

“This is an unexpected visit, is it not? I understood from Miss Ramsden that she expected you to call at the Manor to-day or to-morrow.”

(Cornelia scored a point against him, for his own desertion, in the face of so interesting a prospect!)

“Vury unexpected! I got a wire from a friend and came off within two hours. I understood from Mrs Greville thatyouwere making quite a good stay?”

Guest grimaced eloquently.

“I was—but—circumstances alter cases! To tell you the honest truth, Miss Briskett, I’m just a bit fed up with playing gooseberry by day, and piquet (with Madame!) by night, and the idea of spending a few days at the club presented itself as an agreeable novelty. My friends are almost all in town just now, and there is a good deal going on. I generally put in a week or so of the season, so I thought I might as well clear out at once. They don’t want me here!”

“I don’t know about that,” returned Cornelia, thoughtfully. “What about Madame?Someone’sgot to keep her occupied! What’s to happen to her in the evenings now? There’ll be nothing for it but a three-handed game, and that’s the limit! If you’d been a kind, self-sacrificing friend, you’d have stayed on, and worked that piquet for all you were worth!”

“But I’m not self-sacrificing, you see!” Captain Guest explained, and in truth he did not look it. Cornelia’s glance took in the magnificent proportions of the man, the indefinable air of birth and breeding, the faultless toilette; the strong, dark features. To one and all she paid a tribute of admiration, but the expression on the face was of concentrated self-sufficiency. At this point admiration stopped dead, to be replaced by an uneasy dread. Was Geoffrey Greville, even as his friend, frankly indifferent to everything but his own amusement, and if so, what of poor Elma and her dream? It was an awful reflection that in such a case she herself would be largely responsible for thrusting Elma into danger. Her expression clouded, and she stared through the window with unseeing eyes. Captain Guest’s words had been so exceedingly plain that she had not affected to misunderstand their meaning, and the ice once broken, she was glad of the opportunity of solving her doubts.

“You know Mr Greville very well. Is he—a flirt?”

Captain Guest flashed a glance at her; a rapid, understanding glance.

“He has been,” he replied quietly. “A desperate flirt; but—he is not flirting now!”

“You think—”

“I’m sure!”

Cornelia clasped her hands with a sigh of relief.

“Then—?”

“The Deluge!”

“You mean—?”

“He can’t marry her, of course! She’s a lovely girl, and everything that’s nice, and good, and that kind of thing, but—not at all the kind of girl he ought to marry.”

“Ought he to marry someone hideous then, with an ugly temper? Poor fellow! Why?”

“There’s no necessity to be hideous, that I know of, though as a matter of fact he probably won’t find a girl suitable as to means and position, who is anything like so attractive, personally, as Miss Ramsden. Greville is hardly his own master, Miss Briskett. He is not a rich man, and he has the place to think of. Besides, there’s Madame to consider. Madame belongs to a noble house, and has high ideas for her son.”

“Is it the custom over here, for the mommas to choose wives for their sons? I don’t know much about Mr Greville, but from the look of him I shouldn’t suppose he was one of that sort. He has a kind of an air as if he’d want a lot of moving, once he got his head set! If he really cares—”

Captain Guest shrugged expressively.

“Oh, for the moment, of course, it’s a case of ‘all for love, and the world well lost,’ but in a few days’ time Miss Ramsden will return home; they will drop out of each other’s lives, and then prudence will come to the fore. There’s a girl whom he has known for years, who is built for him all the way round. I don’t say he’ll like it so much, but he’ll end by marrying her like a good boy.”

“By marrying her money, you mean to say? I see, we Americans aren’t the only mercenary nation in the world, though we get the credit for it sometimes. Well! I’ll wait a while, before I judge. There comes a time in most men’s lives when they forget their fine principles, and see just one thing ahead,and they’ve got to have it! Everything else goes down like ninepins, even if it’s a real stately old mother, with her hair fixed-up like Marie Antoinette. We’ll wait and see if that time comes along for Mr Greville!”

Guest’s lip twitched with amusement.

“You seem to be very experienced on the subject.”

“I am so. I’ve seen quite a good deal of life,” said Cornelia, with the air of a female Methuselah. She did not smirk nor giggle at the insinuation, but accepted it placidly as a matter of course, an occurrence of everyday happening.

Guest studied her critically, as she gazed out of the window. Was she plain, or beautiful? It was difficult to say. The colourless complexion, and sharply pointed nose were serious blemishes, but the mouth was exquisite, and the hair a marvel. How Rossetti would have gloried in painting it, unbound, with the great red-gold waves floating over her shoulders! The eyes were good, too, despite their unusual colour—the colour of a tawny old sherry!

As though attracted by his scrutiny, Cornelia turned her head, and let the golden eyes dwell thoughtfully upon his face.

“Does Mr Greville do anything?” she inquired. “Has he any sort of occupation in life?”

“He has a certain amount of business in connection with the property, but the agent does most of that. He hunts, of course, and shoots—he’s a capital shot—and fishes at odd times. All the ordinary things that a man does.”

“Is that so? They wouldn’t be ordinary with us. I like a man to work.You’vegot to work hard, I suppose? You’re a soldier.”

The quick pucker of lips and brows were almost startlingly eloquent of pain.

“Not now! I was.”

“You retired?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Rupert Guest looked across the carriage in silence. At any time he was haughtily resentful of curiosity; but on this subject most of all he could not endure to speak with his most intimate friends. His first impulse was to ignore the question, but as he met Cornelia’s steady eyes that impulse underwent an extraordinary reversion. Incredible as it might appear, he became conscious that it was not only possible that he could tell this girl, this stranger, the hidden sorrow of his life, but that he actually wished to tell it! He wanted to hear what she would say; to see how she would look. Those childlike eyes would look very beautiful, softened with the light of sympathy and consolation. He wanted to see that light shining for his sake.

“It’s a long story,” he began slowly, “I don’t talk of it more than I can help, but I’ll tell you, if you care to hear it. I come of a race of soldiers: it never entered my head that I could be anything else. My father was in the Lancers; he died before I left Sandhurst, but my mother managed to allow me fifteen hundred a year, and I joined my father’s regiment. I was lucky as things go; went through two engagements before I was thirty; gained distinction at Omdurman. At home I had a nailing good time: Adjutant of the regiment. We had the jolliest mess! I don’t think a man ever lived who enjoyed his life more. There was lots of play, but I loved the work too, and studied hard, at every branch of the profession. I had the credit of being one of the best all-round men in the service.” He laughed; a hard, sore-hearted laugh. “I can say that now without reproach, for it belongs to another life. ... Then—my mother died! She had been living beyond her income, and there were all the legal expenses to face; selling up at a loss; giving the girls their share. She had made a special push to keep me in the old regiment; but in the end it came down to this, that in all, there was barely five hundred a year for me. It was a big blow, but there was nothing for it but to send in my resignation.”

“Why?”

“One can’t be an officer in a crack cavalry regiment with only five hundred a year beyond his pay, Miss Briskett. It can’t be done. There wasn’t one of my subs, who had less than eight hundred.”

“Don’t you get any pay at all in your army then?”

“Certainly; about enough to pay the mess bills, and perhaps the changes of kit. The uniform costs several hundreds to start with, and those fools at the War Office are everlastingly ordering senseless alterations.”

“Yes; but—I don’t understand! If the pay is enough for your keep, why do you need such a heap more to get along? Where does all the expense come in?”

Guest knitted his brows in momentary embarrassment.

“Well, of course, there are certain things that a man must do to live up to his position. He must entertain; he must hunt; he must play polo. It comes cheaper to him than ordinary men, for he has the use of the regimental stables; but still, things run up. It’s astonishing how theydorun up! There are a hundred things that areexpectedof him, and there’s no getting away from them.”

“Isn’t he expected first thing of all to serve his country?”

“That is, of course!” Guest raised his head proudly. “I have already explained that Ihadserved her.”

“Wouldn’t they let you go on then, because you couldn’t cut a dash?”

“Letme! There wasn’t a man in the mess who didn’t beg me to stay on! The Duke sent for me, and argued for half an hour. He promised me a staff appointment. He said some awfully decent things about my past services. I was glad of that... I said, ‘It’s no good, sir, I can’t face the prospect of being Colonel of the regiment, and not being able to afford as much as my own subs.’ We went over it again and again, and he lost his temper at last and called me a fool, but I stuck to it—”

Cornelia drew a sharp breath of excitement.

“Youdidresign—for money? In spite of all! For only that?”

“It’s a very big ‘only,’ Miss Briskett. You don’t know how it feels to have your income suddenly reduced by two-thirds.”

“Oh, don’t I just! I know how it feels to have it wiped clean away. I guess my Poppar’s dropped about as much in one slump as any man in the States!” cried Cornelia, with the true American’s pride in size, be it for good or ill. She did not feel it necessary to state that the lost fortune had been more than retrieved, for one of the very few points on which she found herself in complete agreement with her aunt, was the suppression of her own wealth. She had no wish to be judged from a monetary standpoint, and Poppar’s fame had not travelled across the ocean. He was just an ordinary everyday millionaire, with a modest little income of from three to four hundred a day; not a real, genuine high-flyer, with a thousand an hour!

“I had to give up my frills and fixings, but I held on like grim death to the things that mattered.—I guess there’s something wrong about your army, if a man’s got to have a fortune before he can be an officer!”

“A good many people are with you there, Miss Briskett, but unfortunately that does not alter the fact.”

“Then—what did you do after that?”

“Cleared out! I sold my uniform for eighty pounds!”—he laughed again, the same sore laugh—“and gave my orderly about a dozen suits of ordinary clothes. The only thing I kept was my sword. I had ten swords hung on my walls, used by ten generations in succession—I couldn’t give that up. ... An old chum was going out ranching to the wildest part of California. He asked me to come with him, and I jumped at it. I wanted to get out of the country—away from it all. If I’d seen the regiment riding through the streets, I should have gone mad! ... We sailed within a few weeks...”

“California!” Cornelia’s face was eloquent with meaning. She had seen a regiment of Lancers riding through the streets of London on the one day which she had spent in the metropolis; had stood to stare open-mouthed, even as the crowd who thronged the pavement. She recalled the figure of the officer, a gorgeous, mediaeval knight, impenetrably lifeless, sitting astride his high horse like a figure of bronze; a glimpse of haughty, set features visible between cap and chin-strap. Outwardly immovable, indifferent; but within!—ah! within, beyond a doubt, a swelling pride in himself, in his men, in the noble animals which bore them; in the consciousness that every day the pageant attracted the same meed of admiration; pride in the consciousness that he represented his King, his Empire, the power of the sword! Cornelia, a stranger and a Republican, had thrilled at the sight of the gallant Lancers, and—she had visited the wilds of California also, and had received hospitality at a lonely ranch! There was a husky note in her voice as she spoke again.

“How long were you there?”

“Three years.”

“Did you—hate it very much?”

The laugh this time was more strangled than before.

“Twice over I came within an inch of shooting myself! We were twenty miles from the nearest neighbour. My friend went his way; I went mine. For days together we hardly exchanged a word. There was nothing but the great stretch of land, and the Rockies in the distance. In time one gets to think them beautiful, but at first... I used to sit and think of home, and the regiment. It wasalwayswith me. I used to say to myself: ‘Now they are at mess—Now the horses are coming out of the stables—Now they are turning out for polo!’ I could hear the drum, and the reveille, and the last post. ... As clearly as in the barracks at home, I heard them!...”

He stopped short, turning his eyes from the window to look at Cornelia’s face. It was distorted, quivering, with emotion; her hands were clasped together, and down her cheek rolled two tear-drops, unashamed. He turned sharply aside, and for some moments neither spoke. Cornelia was seeing, as in a picture, the lonely ranch, with the solitary figure, sitting with his face towards the East, thinking, thinking. ... Guest was reflecting with amaze on the strange antic of fate, which ordained that it should be in the eyes of this Yankee stranger that he should see the first woman’s tears shed on his behalf! She cried like a child; simply, involuntarily, without thought of appearance; the tears rising from a pure well of sympathy. To the end of his life he would bless her for those tears!

The train slackened and drew up at a country station. A stout, elderly lady approached the carriage, glanced from one to the other of the two occupants, and hastily moved on. Cornelia smiled, with the tears wet on her lashes. Again the wheels began to move, and Guest said shortly—

“Thank you for your sympathy! I had a feeling that you would understand—that’s why I told you. It’s not a story that I often tell to strangers, as you may guess.”

“My, yes, I sympathise; I should just think I do. I know what even our own people suffer sometimes away out West; but I don’tunderstand,” said Cornelia, firmly. “I don’t understand—one—little—bit! There’s more to soldiering than riding through the streets, looking fine and large, and gotten up like a show. I love to see it. We profess to laugh at forms and ceremonies, but we love them just the same as anybody else, but it was yourcountryyou’d promise to serve! For better or worse you allowed you were sworn to serve her. You had risked your life for her; I reckon you had shed your blood. There was just one thing you wouldn’t sacrifice—your own pride! You were thinking ofyourselfwhen you sent in that resignation, Captain Guest! You saw yourself sitting looking out of the window, and seeing the boys riding off to their sports, and leaving you behind. You cared more for that, than the thought that England might need you!”

“You hit hard, Miss Briskett.”

“I hit straight. I know just how you’ve suffered. Seems to me I’m going to remember all my life how you sat in that ranch and heard the last post; but if I’d been in your place, if America had wanted me”—her small, white face lit up with a very ecstasy of emotion—“I’d have stayed at my post,if I’d had to sweep the floors to do it!”

Chapter Fifteen.The moment of tension passed, and the strain relaxed. Captain Guest stoutly defended his position, and Cornelia vouchsafed a generous sympathy, while not budging an inch from her ultimate decision. She disapproved, but she had wept; the tears had rolled unchecked down her cheeks on his behalf. After that they could no longer be mere, casual acquaintances.By the end of the first hour they had left the personal element behind, and were chatting busily about a dozen varying subjects—the English landscape; Trusts; Free Trade; Miss Alice Roosevelt; chafing dishes, and the London season. Cornelia had a cut-and-dried opinion on each, and was satisfied that every one who did not agree with her was a “back number,” but her arguments and illustrations were so apt and humorous, that Guest was abundantly entertained. Throughout the entire journey theirtête-à-têtewas uninterrupted, for though several passengers approached the carriage with intent to enter, one and all followed the example of the stout lady, and dropped the handle at sight of the two occupants. The third time that this interesting little pantomime was enacted Cornelia laughed aloud, and cried serenely—“Guess they think we’re a honeymoon couple; they’re so scared of getting in beside us!”Her colour showed not the faintest variation as she spoke. It was Guest who grew hot and embarrassed, and was at a loss how to reply. He need not have troubled himself, however, for Cornelia continued her exposition touching the superiority of American everything, over the miserable imitations of other countries, with hardly as much as a comma’s pause for breath.Guest sat back in his corner, looking at her with every appearance of attention, but in reality his thoughts were engaged in following a bewildering suggestion.“They think we are a honeymoon couple.” ... Suppose—it was folly, of course, but for one moment,suppose they were! He would be looking at his wife! She would smile across at him, and call him fond, silly little names. He would kiss her—she had beautiful lips to kiss! and hold her hand—it was a soft little hand to hold, and tease her about her shaded hair, and her sharp little nose, and her ridiculous, pointed shoes! They would get out at the terminus, but instead of bidding each other a polite good-bye, would drive off together in a fly, discussing joint plans for the evening. Later on they would have dinner at a little table in the great dining-hall of the hotel, criticising their neighbours, and laughing at their peculiarities. In the theatre they would whisper together, and when the curtain went up on the heels of a critical moment, he would see the tear-drops shining once more on her lashes.—It was a lonely business going off to a man’s club, where nobody wanted you, or cared a brass farthing whether you came or went. Not that for a moment he wished to be married—least of all to Cornelia Briskett. There were a dozen things about her which jarred on his nerves, and offended his ideas of good taste. He objected to her accent, her unconventional expressions, her little tricks of manner; while on almost every subject her point of view appeared to be diametrically opposed to his own. In her company he would be often jarred, annoyed, and discomfited, but of a certainty he would never be bored! Rapidly reviewing his life for the last few years, it appeared to Guest that he had existed in a chronic state of boredom. If “we were a honeymoon couple,” that dreariness at least would come to an end!He looked at Cornelia’s ungloved left hand resting upon the dark cushions—she wore a ring, a wide, flat band of gold, with one fine diamond standing far out, in a claw setting. American ladies affect solitaire rings, as tokens of betrothal—did this mean that the honeymooning question was already settled? If it were so, the fact would account for the girl’s absence of embarrassment in his own company; all the same, he did not believe it, for there was in her manner a calm, virginal composure, an absence of sentimentality, which seemed to denote that the citadel had not yet been stormed.Cornelia noted his gaze, without in the least guessing its meaning.“It was the other wrist that was sprained— The right one!” she said, holding it up as she spoke, and carefully moving it to and fro. “It’s heaps better, thanks to you. I set Mury to rub it, according to instructions, and—there you are! It’s most as well as the other.”“Ready to shake hands, now?”“Oh, yes.”“Mentally, as well as physically?”The white teeth showed in a smile of comprehension.“I—guess so! I never was one to harbour animosity.”“I am glad of that! You bade me such a frigid good-bye on Thursday afternoon that I was afraid you had taken a violent dislike to me.”“My stars and stripes, that’s pretty calm! What aboutyou, I beg to ask?” Cornelia rolled indignant eyes to the hanging lamp. “I didn’t hev to think; Iheardfrom your own lips what you thought aboutme! I couldn’t rest easy in my bed, for fear you went home and did away with Mr Greville, for making you drive me home. I never supposed I should live to endoor the degradation of having a man do things for me against his will, but I had to come to England to find my mistake. And then you sit there and accuse me of disliking you!—Well!!!”Guest flushed with embarrassment; with something deeper than embarrassment; with honest shame. He clasped his hands between his knees, and bent forward eagerly.“You are quite right, Miss Briskett, there is no excuse for me. I behaved like a cad. Things got me on the raw, somehow. I imagined—all sorts of things which weren’t true! That’s no excuse, I know. I should have controlled myself better. But if I was annoyed at starting on that drive, I was far more so when it came to an end. You had your revenge! And you don’t deny that you disliked me in return.”“I did so! I did heaps more than that. I thought you just the hatefullest person I’d ever met.”“And now?”Cornelia laughed easily.“Oh, well—we’ve had a pretty good time together, haven’t we? We can let bygones be bygones. You’re English—vurry, vurry English, but I guess you’re nice!”“What do you mean by English?” But even as he put the question Captain Guest straightened himself, and reared his neck within his stiff, upstanding collar, with that air of ineffable superiority which marks the Englishman in his intercourse with “inferior” nations. Cornelia laughed, a full-throated ha-ha of amusement.“It’s ‘English’! There’s no other word to it. You are about as English at this moment as you’ve been in the whole of your life.—I guess we must be getting pretty near London now, for I ken see nothing but smoke.”“Yes, we are nearly there. Will you—may I call at your hotel some day, on the chance of finding you in?”“Why, suttenly! I’d love to have you. You could take me round. If the Moffatts have fixed-up a dinner for themselves, some night, we might go to a theatre together!”“Um—yes!” Guest surveyed her with doubtful eyes. “I suppose it would be easy enough to find some other lady to play chaperon.”“I don’t want a chaperon. Why should I? It’s no fun having her poking round, and listening to every word one says. It’s ever so much nicer alone.”“I don’t doubt it, but—in Rome one must do as the Romans do, Miss Briskett! In England a man does not take a girl to a theatre unchaperoned. It’s not the thing.”“I don’t care a mite. It’s the custom with us, anyway, and there’s no country in the world where women are more respected. What’s the harm, I want to know!”“No harm at all. That’s not the question. It’s simply not the custom.”“Do you mean to say you refuse to take me alone, even if I ask you?”“I do!”“Then you’re a mean old thing, and I shan’t go at all!”Guest laughed; an amused little laugh, in which there was an unwonted softness. Somehow, he quite enjoyed being called “a mean old thing” by Cornelia Briskett. There was an intimacy in the sound, which more than nullified the disparagement.“I think you will! You are too ‘straight’ to punish me for what is not my fault. It would be much more amusing for me to take you about unattended, and so far as I’m concerned, I can afford to ignore conventions. A man can do as he likes. It is you I am thinking of. You may not approve of our ideas, but that does not alter their existence, or the fact that whip; you are here you must be judged by them. You would not like to be considered careless of your reputation?”“I don’t care a mite what the old fossils, think.”“Ido, then; and I will take no part in putting you in a false position.”Cornelia pouted, but in her heart admired his firmness, as any woman would. She stared at the forest of chimney-tops without speaking, for several minutes, then suddenly turned towards him, speaking in what was evidently supposed to be a lifelike imitation of the English accent, as spoken by the Lady of the Manor.“Th–anks; aw-fly tha–anks! How varry kind! I shall be charmed. ... Too aw-fly sweet of you, don’t-cher-know!”“That’s all right!” laughed Guest, happily. “We’ll manage to enjoy ourselves, never fear! There’s such a thing as takingtwochaperons and letting them play with each other. ... Here we are at Paddington. Are your friends coming to meet you?”“They are. I guess they’ll be waiting on the platform. She’s tall and fine-looking, and dresses fit to kill—”She paused with a sharp little intake of breath, for the train, as it snorted into the station, had passed by the figure of a woman standing conspicuously alone—a tall woman, with hair of a violent peroxide gold, holding up an elaborate white gown, to display a petticoat of flounced pink silk. It was Cornelia’s first introduction to Mrs Moffatt in “shore clothes,” and to an eye accustomed to Norton simplicity the vision was sufficiently startling. Also—it was hateful to think such things—but, that hair! On the steamer it had been just an ordinary brown!Cornelia would have died rather than own it, but she felt a qualm. On the platform she saw other ladies standing waiting the arrival of the train; smart, well-dressed, even golden-headed ladies not a few, but none in the least resembling Mrs Silas P Moffatt. A swift desire arose that Guest might depart before her hostess made her way through the crowd, followed by a resigned recollection that that would be of no avail, since the two were bound to meet sooner or later. She stepped out of the carriage, keeping her head turned in an opposite direction, but almost immediately a crisp rustling of skirts, a strong odour of violette de parme, and a loud—“Say! is that you?” proclaimed that the search was at an end.Cornelia forced a smile to her lips, and acknowledged her identity in suitable terms, and Mrs Moffatt gushed over her, in a Yankee accent, strong enough to cut with a knife, casting the while, arch, questioning glances in Guest’s direction. Cornelia suffered qualm number two. Even to her ears, the tone of her friend’s voice sounded unduly loud and nasal, and looking from her to her late travelling companion, it appeared that to be “English” need not be invariably a disadvantage. Of course, Mrs Moffatt was not a good type of American; she belonged to the class who brought that honourable title into disrepute. How was it that she herself had hitherto been blind to peculiarities which now aroused an instant prejudice?“Don’t you want to introduce me to your friend, dear? I never came across such a girl. Someone flying around after you wherever you go!” cried Mrs Moffatt, genially, and Cornelia mumbled the necessary words, with an unusual display of embarrassment. She dared not look at the expression of Guest’s face, and his cool, easy voice gave no hint of his real feelings. She turned aside to give instructions to a porter, while her ears strained to catch every word which passed between her companions. Mrs Moffatt was talking about her, gushing over her, in fulsome phrases. Cornelia this! Cornelia that! What business had she to use that name, anyway? She had never received permission to do so. It was impertinent to assume such an air of familiarity!The three made their way together towards the luggage van, where Cornelia claimed her two big boxes, and saw them hoisted on the top of a four-wheeler. The elation of ten minutes back had died a sudden death, and she felt depressed and lonesome. Among all the crowd no one seemed a greater stranger than this woman by her side; in comparison with her, Captain Guest appeared an old and proven friend. She raised her eyes to his, as the cabman busily strapped the last box to the roof, and found his eyes fixed on her face with a very grave scrutiny. She did not know how pale and dejected was her own appearance, how different from the jaunty self-confidence of an hour before; but Guest had been keen to notice the quickly succeeding expressions, and was saying to himself: “She is upset. Something is different from what she expected. It’s a bad lookout for her with that terrible woman, but she must have known her before...”Mrs Moffatt glanced from one to the other, giggled meaningly, and stepped into the cab. They were alone; as much alone in the midst of the noise and confusion, as in the quiet of the railway carriage.“Well,” said Guest, regretfully; “I suppose I must say good-bye! I’ll come round soon to see how you are getting along, and—Miss Briskett, here is my card.—It gives the address of my club. If you should need me for anything, at any time, ring me up! You will promise, won’t you? I could be with you in a few minutes.”Cornelia smiled faintly.“Oh, thanks; I don’t know aboutneeding. Mr Moffatt will be round to look after us, but—Norton’s my only home over here, and you seem like a bit of it! I’ll be real glad to see you.”She held out her hand to him; he held it for a moment in a tight, protective grasp, then took off his hat to Mrs Moffatt, and turned away. Twenty yards farther on the cab passed him, and he caught another glimpse of the two faces; one small and white, the other heavy in outline, and suspiciously blue-pink as to cheeks.“Thank heaven, I came up!” said Captain Guest to himself.

The moment of tension passed, and the strain relaxed. Captain Guest stoutly defended his position, and Cornelia vouchsafed a generous sympathy, while not budging an inch from her ultimate decision. She disapproved, but she had wept; the tears had rolled unchecked down her cheeks on his behalf. After that they could no longer be mere, casual acquaintances.

By the end of the first hour they had left the personal element behind, and were chatting busily about a dozen varying subjects—the English landscape; Trusts; Free Trade; Miss Alice Roosevelt; chafing dishes, and the London season. Cornelia had a cut-and-dried opinion on each, and was satisfied that every one who did not agree with her was a “back number,” but her arguments and illustrations were so apt and humorous, that Guest was abundantly entertained. Throughout the entire journey theirtête-à-têtewas uninterrupted, for though several passengers approached the carriage with intent to enter, one and all followed the example of the stout lady, and dropped the handle at sight of the two occupants. The third time that this interesting little pantomime was enacted Cornelia laughed aloud, and cried serenely—

“Guess they think we’re a honeymoon couple; they’re so scared of getting in beside us!”

Her colour showed not the faintest variation as she spoke. It was Guest who grew hot and embarrassed, and was at a loss how to reply. He need not have troubled himself, however, for Cornelia continued her exposition touching the superiority of American everything, over the miserable imitations of other countries, with hardly as much as a comma’s pause for breath.

Guest sat back in his corner, looking at her with every appearance of attention, but in reality his thoughts were engaged in following a bewildering suggestion.

“They think we are a honeymoon couple.” ... Suppose—it was folly, of course, but for one moment,suppose they were! He would be looking at his wife! She would smile across at him, and call him fond, silly little names. He would kiss her—she had beautiful lips to kiss! and hold her hand—it was a soft little hand to hold, and tease her about her shaded hair, and her sharp little nose, and her ridiculous, pointed shoes! They would get out at the terminus, but instead of bidding each other a polite good-bye, would drive off together in a fly, discussing joint plans for the evening. Later on they would have dinner at a little table in the great dining-hall of the hotel, criticising their neighbours, and laughing at their peculiarities. In the theatre they would whisper together, and when the curtain went up on the heels of a critical moment, he would see the tear-drops shining once more on her lashes.—It was a lonely business going off to a man’s club, where nobody wanted you, or cared a brass farthing whether you came or went. Not that for a moment he wished to be married—least of all to Cornelia Briskett. There were a dozen things about her which jarred on his nerves, and offended his ideas of good taste. He objected to her accent, her unconventional expressions, her little tricks of manner; while on almost every subject her point of view appeared to be diametrically opposed to his own. In her company he would be often jarred, annoyed, and discomfited, but of a certainty he would never be bored! Rapidly reviewing his life for the last few years, it appeared to Guest that he had existed in a chronic state of boredom. If “we were a honeymoon couple,” that dreariness at least would come to an end!

He looked at Cornelia’s ungloved left hand resting upon the dark cushions—she wore a ring, a wide, flat band of gold, with one fine diamond standing far out, in a claw setting. American ladies affect solitaire rings, as tokens of betrothal—did this mean that the honeymooning question was already settled? If it were so, the fact would account for the girl’s absence of embarrassment in his own company; all the same, he did not believe it, for there was in her manner a calm, virginal composure, an absence of sentimentality, which seemed to denote that the citadel had not yet been stormed.

Cornelia noted his gaze, without in the least guessing its meaning.

“It was the other wrist that was sprained— The right one!” she said, holding it up as she spoke, and carefully moving it to and fro. “It’s heaps better, thanks to you. I set Mury to rub it, according to instructions, and—there you are! It’s most as well as the other.”

“Ready to shake hands, now?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Mentally, as well as physically?”

The white teeth showed in a smile of comprehension.

“I—guess so! I never was one to harbour animosity.”

“I am glad of that! You bade me such a frigid good-bye on Thursday afternoon that I was afraid you had taken a violent dislike to me.”

“My stars and stripes, that’s pretty calm! What aboutyou, I beg to ask?” Cornelia rolled indignant eyes to the hanging lamp. “I didn’t hev to think; Iheardfrom your own lips what you thought aboutme! I couldn’t rest easy in my bed, for fear you went home and did away with Mr Greville, for making you drive me home. I never supposed I should live to endoor the degradation of having a man do things for me against his will, but I had to come to England to find my mistake. And then you sit there and accuse me of disliking you!—Well!!!”

Guest flushed with embarrassment; with something deeper than embarrassment; with honest shame. He clasped his hands between his knees, and bent forward eagerly.

“You are quite right, Miss Briskett, there is no excuse for me. I behaved like a cad. Things got me on the raw, somehow. I imagined—all sorts of things which weren’t true! That’s no excuse, I know. I should have controlled myself better. But if I was annoyed at starting on that drive, I was far more so when it came to an end. You had your revenge! And you don’t deny that you disliked me in return.”

“I did so! I did heaps more than that. I thought you just the hatefullest person I’d ever met.”

“And now?”

Cornelia laughed easily.

“Oh, well—we’ve had a pretty good time together, haven’t we? We can let bygones be bygones. You’re English—vurry, vurry English, but I guess you’re nice!”

“What do you mean by English?” But even as he put the question Captain Guest straightened himself, and reared his neck within his stiff, upstanding collar, with that air of ineffable superiority which marks the Englishman in his intercourse with “inferior” nations. Cornelia laughed, a full-throated ha-ha of amusement.

“It’s ‘English’! There’s no other word to it. You are about as English at this moment as you’ve been in the whole of your life.—I guess we must be getting pretty near London now, for I ken see nothing but smoke.”

“Yes, we are nearly there. Will you—may I call at your hotel some day, on the chance of finding you in?”

“Why, suttenly! I’d love to have you. You could take me round. If the Moffatts have fixed-up a dinner for themselves, some night, we might go to a theatre together!”

“Um—yes!” Guest surveyed her with doubtful eyes. “I suppose it would be easy enough to find some other lady to play chaperon.”

“I don’t want a chaperon. Why should I? It’s no fun having her poking round, and listening to every word one says. It’s ever so much nicer alone.”

“I don’t doubt it, but—in Rome one must do as the Romans do, Miss Briskett! In England a man does not take a girl to a theatre unchaperoned. It’s not the thing.”

“I don’t care a mite. It’s the custom with us, anyway, and there’s no country in the world where women are more respected. What’s the harm, I want to know!”

“No harm at all. That’s not the question. It’s simply not the custom.”

“Do you mean to say you refuse to take me alone, even if I ask you?”

“I do!”

“Then you’re a mean old thing, and I shan’t go at all!”

Guest laughed; an amused little laugh, in which there was an unwonted softness. Somehow, he quite enjoyed being called “a mean old thing” by Cornelia Briskett. There was an intimacy in the sound, which more than nullified the disparagement.

“I think you will! You are too ‘straight’ to punish me for what is not my fault. It would be much more amusing for me to take you about unattended, and so far as I’m concerned, I can afford to ignore conventions. A man can do as he likes. It is you I am thinking of. You may not approve of our ideas, but that does not alter their existence, or the fact that whip; you are here you must be judged by them. You would not like to be considered careless of your reputation?”

“I don’t care a mite what the old fossils, think.”

“Ido, then; and I will take no part in putting you in a false position.”

Cornelia pouted, but in her heart admired his firmness, as any woman would. She stared at the forest of chimney-tops without speaking, for several minutes, then suddenly turned towards him, speaking in what was evidently supposed to be a lifelike imitation of the English accent, as spoken by the Lady of the Manor.

“Th–anks; aw-fly tha–anks! How varry kind! I shall be charmed. ... Too aw-fly sweet of you, don’t-cher-know!”

“That’s all right!” laughed Guest, happily. “We’ll manage to enjoy ourselves, never fear! There’s such a thing as takingtwochaperons and letting them play with each other. ... Here we are at Paddington. Are your friends coming to meet you?”

“They are. I guess they’ll be waiting on the platform. She’s tall and fine-looking, and dresses fit to kill—”

She paused with a sharp little intake of breath, for the train, as it snorted into the station, had passed by the figure of a woman standing conspicuously alone—a tall woman, with hair of a violent peroxide gold, holding up an elaborate white gown, to display a petticoat of flounced pink silk. It was Cornelia’s first introduction to Mrs Moffatt in “shore clothes,” and to an eye accustomed to Norton simplicity the vision was sufficiently startling. Also—it was hateful to think such things—but, that hair! On the steamer it had been just an ordinary brown!

Cornelia would have died rather than own it, but she felt a qualm. On the platform she saw other ladies standing waiting the arrival of the train; smart, well-dressed, even golden-headed ladies not a few, but none in the least resembling Mrs Silas P Moffatt. A swift desire arose that Guest might depart before her hostess made her way through the crowd, followed by a resigned recollection that that would be of no avail, since the two were bound to meet sooner or later. She stepped out of the carriage, keeping her head turned in an opposite direction, but almost immediately a crisp rustling of skirts, a strong odour of violette de parme, and a loud—“Say! is that you?” proclaimed that the search was at an end.

Cornelia forced a smile to her lips, and acknowledged her identity in suitable terms, and Mrs Moffatt gushed over her, in a Yankee accent, strong enough to cut with a knife, casting the while, arch, questioning glances in Guest’s direction. Cornelia suffered qualm number two. Even to her ears, the tone of her friend’s voice sounded unduly loud and nasal, and looking from her to her late travelling companion, it appeared that to be “English” need not be invariably a disadvantage. Of course, Mrs Moffatt was not a good type of American; she belonged to the class who brought that honourable title into disrepute. How was it that she herself had hitherto been blind to peculiarities which now aroused an instant prejudice?

“Don’t you want to introduce me to your friend, dear? I never came across such a girl. Someone flying around after you wherever you go!” cried Mrs Moffatt, genially, and Cornelia mumbled the necessary words, with an unusual display of embarrassment. She dared not look at the expression of Guest’s face, and his cool, easy voice gave no hint of his real feelings. She turned aside to give instructions to a porter, while her ears strained to catch every word which passed between her companions. Mrs Moffatt was talking about her, gushing over her, in fulsome phrases. Cornelia this! Cornelia that! What business had she to use that name, anyway? She had never received permission to do so. It was impertinent to assume such an air of familiarity!

The three made their way together towards the luggage van, where Cornelia claimed her two big boxes, and saw them hoisted on the top of a four-wheeler. The elation of ten minutes back had died a sudden death, and she felt depressed and lonesome. Among all the crowd no one seemed a greater stranger than this woman by her side; in comparison with her, Captain Guest appeared an old and proven friend. She raised her eyes to his, as the cabman busily strapped the last box to the roof, and found his eyes fixed on her face with a very grave scrutiny. She did not know how pale and dejected was her own appearance, how different from the jaunty self-confidence of an hour before; but Guest had been keen to notice the quickly succeeding expressions, and was saying to himself: “She is upset. Something is different from what she expected. It’s a bad lookout for her with that terrible woman, but she must have known her before...”

Mrs Moffatt glanced from one to the other, giggled meaningly, and stepped into the cab. They were alone; as much alone in the midst of the noise and confusion, as in the quiet of the railway carriage.

“Well,” said Guest, regretfully; “I suppose I must say good-bye! I’ll come round soon to see how you are getting along, and—Miss Briskett, here is my card.—It gives the address of my club. If you should need me for anything, at any time, ring me up! You will promise, won’t you? I could be with you in a few minutes.”

Cornelia smiled faintly.

“Oh, thanks; I don’t know aboutneeding. Mr Moffatt will be round to look after us, but—Norton’s my only home over here, and you seem like a bit of it! I’ll be real glad to see you.”

She held out her hand to him; he held it for a moment in a tight, protective grasp, then took off his hat to Mrs Moffatt, and turned away. Twenty yards farther on the cab passed him, and he caught another glimpse of the two faces; one small and white, the other heavy in outline, and suspiciously blue-pink as to cheeks.

“Thank heaven, I came up!” said Captain Guest to himself.

Chapter Sixteen.Cornelia was surprised to find that her friends were not already housed at the Ritz, but had been staying at a private hotel, in a dull side street, where the cab called on the way from the station, to take up a pile of luggage lying ready packed in the hall.“The fashionable hotels are all crowded out in the season,” Mrs Moffatt explained. “We’ve had our names down for ages at the Ritz, but it was impossible to get in before to-day. I don’t know as we should have managed even now, if it hadn’t been for you, dear. It worked wonders when we said you would be one of the party. You don’t mind having your name mentioned, do you? You’ve just got to play up to these managers, if you don’t want to be put off for ever, or poked away in a back room.”“Oh, I don’t mind,” said Cornelia, easily. “If my name is of any use, use it for all you’re worth. I shouldn’t have supposed anyone would know it over here. They don’t in Norton.”“My dear, the hotel is crammed full of Americans, and any one of them would say it was poor business to refuse the daughter of Edward B Briskett. The connection might be worth a heap, if you went home and allowed you were satisfied. Silas don’t count for anything—he’s no push! We might have waited for ever if it had been left to him!”To judge by the hangdog expression of the said Silas as he came forward to greet his guest at the door of the Ritz, the success attending his wife’s manoeuvres had not inspired him with any particular joy. Cornelia thought he looked more henpecked than ever, but he received her warmly, and hovered round to assist with the smaller impedimenta, while his wife hurried forward into the hotel. Inside all was brightness and gaiety; little parties of visitors grouped here and there about the large, light hall; obsequious clerks bowing before one, hoping that the rooms reserved might give satisfaction; begging to be informed if any comfort were lacking; summoning waiters to show the way to the lift. Cornelia was annoyed to notice that most of these attentions were directed towards herself, but as Mrs Moffatt did not appear to take umbrage, it seemed wisest to make no protest. The mistake was not likely to occur again, for with so many guests in the house, individual attention could not extend beyond the arrival civilities.Tea was served in the Empire suite, which had been reserved for the party, and Cornelia hated herself for feeling so little in sympathy with a host and hostess whose one anxiety seemed to be to provide for her enjoyment. From a printed list of amusements, she was bidden to make her choice for every evening in the week; for the afternoons, river-picnics were suggested, coaching expeditions to outlying scenes of interest, drives in the Park. For the mornings—well, naturally, there was just one thing to be done in the morning, and that was shopping!“I hope you’ve brought up heaps of money, my dear. You’ll need it. The things are just heavenly this season!” Mrs Moffatt declared, but Cornelia remained unfired.“I’ve a circular note; it’s all right so far as that goes, but I shan’t want any more clothes for ages! I brought over a whole trousseau, and so far as I can see, the half will go back unpacked. They don’t dress down at Norton—theyclothe! You’ve got to be covered right up to the chin, and to work in all the blue serge you can, and that’s about all there is to it. If you fixed-up like we do at home, you’d make as much stir as the fire-engine. I’d like to mail a few presents, if I saw anything really new and snappy, but I shan’t go near a store for myself.”“I shall, then!” cried Mrs Moffatt, laughing. “I got next to nothing in Paris. The shops over there aren’t a patch on London, in my opinion, and the language puts one off. I can’t get the hang of it, and it gets on my nerves fitting on clothes, and not being able to find fault. You’ll have to come round with me, Cornelia. I’ve been waiting till you came, to decide on heaps of things. You’ve got such lovely taste. Silas wants to give me some furs, and I’ve seen an emerald necklace that I’m bound to have if I’m to know another happy moment. I’ve been in twice to see it, and I guess the man’s beginning to weaken. It would pay him to let me have it at a reduction, rather than keep it lying idle. You shall come with me, and say what you think it’s worth; but mind, I’m to have the first chance! You mustn’t try to snap it up. A few hundred dollars don’t matter to you one way or the other, but I’ve got to worry round to make the money go as far as it will. It’s not that Silas wants to stint me; he’s not that sort, but he hasn’t the balance behind him your father has!”Silas smiled in sickly acknowledgment of his wife’s consideration, fidgeted in his seat, and finally took himself downstairs, to see about securing theatre tickets, whereupon his wife heaved a sigh of relief, and helped herself to a fresh cup of tea.“Thank goodness! I ken’t stand men in the daytime. They don’t take any interest in clothes or parcels, or trying-on, but kinder hang round, looking bored and superior! It gets on my nerves. ... That was a real smart-looking man you had with you to-day, dear. Guest? did you say—Captain Guest? English, isn’t he? Acts as though he’d got the patent, and everybody else was imitation. I rather like it myself, I don’t think anything of a man who takes a back seat.” The short, impatient little sigh was evidently dedicated to the memory of the absent Silas. ... “Where did you pick him up, dear? He seems very devoted. Anything coming on between you?”Cornelia’s “No!” made the listener start in her seat, so loud was it, so stern, so eloquent of displeasure. She herself was astonished at the white heat of anger which possessed her as she listened to Mrs Moffatt’s questionings. “Picked him up,” indeed! What insolence; what vulgarity! What an indignity to speak of him in such words. Her indignation seemed almost as much on Guest’s account as her own. A vision of his face rose before her, she seemed to see the curl of the lip, the droop of the eyelid with which he would have greeted such an expression.“No! Suttenly not! He is the merest acquaintance. There is not even an ordinary friendship between us. I may very probably never meet him again.”“Is that so?” queried Mrs Moffatt, calmly. As the Captain had himself announced his intention of calling at the hotel, the only effect of Cornelia’s violence was to deepen the impression that there was “something in it,” but she was too diplomatic to pursue the subject. Instead, she prattled on about a dozen inconsequent topics, and finally suggested a drive in the Park before dinner.“It will freshen you up after your journey, and there’s nothing else to do for the next two hours. Just ring, will you, dear, and make arrangements, while I write a few notes in my room. A victoria, or a motor, whichever you prefer, and in about half-an-hour. That will give us time to prink.” She rustled out of the room, and Cornelia rang and gave the order, only too thankful to avoid a prolongedtête-à-têteindoors. Once again she wondered how it had come to pass that she had become on intimate terms with this woman, who now jarred upon her at every turn. On board the steamer her own friends had scarcely left their state-rooms during the voyage, and Mrs Moffatt, in a neat tweed costume, and an enveloping blue veil, had played the part of ministering angel with much devotion, during three dreary days, when she herself had lain on a chair in a sheltered corner of the deck; had read aloud, repeated amusing little anecdotes about the passengers, taken her for constitutionals up and down, and even helped her to bed at night. When Liverpool was reached, it seemed as if they had known one another for years. They had kissed at parting, and mutually agreed to meet, and have a good time.“Shucks!” cried Cornelia, mentally. “It’s that old Norton! I’ve gotten so used to dowds, that the sight of a Paris gown scares me all into fits. I’ve looked forward to coming to London all my life, and now I’m here, I’m going to enjoy myself all I know. Now then, for the Park! I guess that grey crêpe, and the hat with the white feathers, will be about the best I can do for the honour of the flag. You’ve got to strike a balance, my dear, and plump for neutral colours as long as you run in harness with Mrs Silas P Moffatt!”That first drive in Hyde Park was a pleasant experience, though the trees looked grey and dusty, after the fresh green of the country. Cornelia, like most of her sisters, had, as a first object, to see the people, not the Park itself, and certainly they were worth the seeing. There is no place in the world where finer specimens of humanity can be seen than in Hyde Park on the afternoon of a bright June day. Cornelia admired the tall, immaculately-groomed men, the dainty, high-bred looking women, with their air of indolent grace. They did not look as if they were enjoying themselves particularly, but she enjoyed, looking at them, and honestly acknowledged the presence of a certain quality unowned by herself. “They’ve got a far-off look, as if they couldn’t see anything nearer than a hundred miles, and were scared to laugh, in case they might break! ... I guess it’s what they call ‘breed!’ Captain Guest’s got it, too. We’ve not much use for that kind of thing at home, but it—counts! If you’d been used to it all your life, it would be a jar to step down...”Mrs Moffatt knew a great many people by sight, and pointed them out as they drove by. Lady this, the Countess of that, Mrs Blank, who wrote society novels, and was noted for her taste in dress, the beautiful Miss Dash.—“Not that I can see much beauty in her myself. She’s not a patch on you, when you’re in form!” Cornelia felt a girl’s natural pleasure in the compliment, in the truth of which she complacently agreed. She did not envy Miss Dash her looks, but she did emphatically envy her her friends, particularly her male friends, who clustered around her carriage, eager for a word. One felt decidedly out of it, driving through a crowd of strangers, not one of whom turned a welcoming smile in your direction, nor cared whether you came or went. At home, Cornelia was accustomed to be in the midst of all that was going on, a central figure, round which all the rest revolved. She did not at all appreciate being relegated to the position of regarding the fray from the vantage of a hired vehicle!Cornelia craned her head to right and to left, scanning the passing crowd for a familiar face. It seemed impossible that among hundreds of people there should not be someone whom she recognised, and her faith was justified, for just at the bend near the Marble Arch, she had a passing glimpse of Guest’s tall figure, standing talking to two ladies, one middle-aged, the other young, and graceful, and smiling. They were quietly, even simply, attired, but their whole air and carriage breathed that indefinable something which she had just struggled to define: something diametrically different from the ostentatious display of the woman by her side. Theoretically, Cornelia was thankful to escape observation; in reality she felt an absurd pang of loneliness and disappointment, as the carriage bore her out of sight.The evening was spent at a theatre, and by eleven o’clock next morning both ladies had started forth on one of the shopping expeditions, which seemed to constitute Mrs Moffatt’s chief pleasure in life. They drove first of all to the jeweller’s, where Cornelia was shown the emerald necklace, a wonderful collection of stones, in an antique setting, with which she herself promptly fell in love. The price was excessive, even for her own deep purse, and she concluded that Mr Moffatt’s means must be even larger than she had imagined, since his wife seriously contemplated such a purchase. There was a good deal of bargaining, half-serious, half-joking, between Mrs Moffatt and the very imposing-looking personage behind the counter, but fortified by the advent of another possible purchaser, the latter steadily refused to reduce his price, and once again Mrs Moffatt retired discomfited from the struggle.“I know just how it will be,” she cried, “I’ll have to give it up, and then you’ll step in, and carry it off before my eyes! But you’ve got to wait a bit, till I see what I can do with Silas. I’m not going to give up yet awhile.”Cornelia laughed easily. “Oh, I’ll play fair. If you give up the idea, I daresay Poppar’d let me have it. He says emeralds suit me better than any other stones; but I shan’t break my heart, one way or the other.” ... Then addressing the shopman: “Have you got anything really new and tasty for little presents? I might as well look round while I’m here.”Then followed a delightful hour, from the shopkeeper’s point of view, at least, when Cornelia examined the contents of tray after tray, and selected “little presents” to the value of a cool hundred pounds: an old pearl and enamel solitaire stud for her father; a hat-pin composed of a big turquoise, and a selection of dainty, jewelled brooches and bangles for special girl friends.“I’ll give you the addresses, and you’d better mail them from here. I don’t know how you fix up things to travel safely from this side, but you can do all that’s necessary. I’ll give you a cheque and you needn’t send them out till you see that it’s all right. I’m a stranger to you, and can’t expect you to trust me right away, but you’ll find the money’s there!”“Well, I should think your name’s good enough! No one need fear trusting your father’s daughter for a few hundred dollars!” Mrs Moffatt protested, while the shopman waxed eloquent in protestation. Cornelia continued to write addresses on the various boxes, without troubling to answer, for the assiduous manner in which her friend advertised her parentage was already beginning to jar. First to the hotel officials; then to casual acquaintances during the evening, and now to this tradesman! It was a disagreeable change from Norton, where the subject of money was never mentioned, and no one seemed to care whether you were rich or poor.The whole morning was devoted to shopping; in the afternoon the two ladies went out driving, and returned to the hotel, to find Captain Guest’s card on the sitting-room table.“He has lost no time, anyhow!” said Mrs Moffatt, meaningly.“He has done the polite thing. Now he need not trouble any more,” Cornelia replied. On the whole, she was not sorry to have missed the call. Conversation, with Mrs Moffatt as audience, would have been somewhat of a strain!

Cornelia was surprised to find that her friends were not already housed at the Ritz, but had been staying at a private hotel, in a dull side street, where the cab called on the way from the station, to take up a pile of luggage lying ready packed in the hall.

“The fashionable hotels are all crowded out in the season,” Mrs Moffatt explained. “We’ve had our names down for ages at the Ritz, but it was impossible to get in before to-day. I don’t know as we should have managed even now, if it hadn’t been for you, dear. It worked wonders when we said you would be one of the party. You don’t mind having your name mentioned, do you? You’ve just got to play up to these managers, if you don’t want to be put off for ever, or poked away in a back room.”

“Oh, I don’t mind,” said Cornelia, easily. “If my name is of any use, use it for all you’re worth. I shouldn’t have supposed anyone would know it over here. They don’t in Norton.”

“My dear, the hotel is crammed full of Americans, and any one of them would say it was poor business to refuse the daughter of Edward B Briskett. The connection might be worth a heap, if you went home and allowed you were satisfied. Silas don’t count for anything—he’s no push! We might have waited for ever if it had been left to him!”

To judge by the hangdog expression of the said Silas as he came forward to greet his guest at the door of the Ritz, the success attending his wife’s manoeuvres had not inspired him with any particular joy. Cornelia thought he looked more henpecked than ever, but he received her warmly, and hovered round to assist with the smaller impedimenta, while his wife hurried forward into the hotel. Inside all was brightness and gaiety; little parties of visitors grouped here and there about the large, light hall; obsequious clerks bowing before one, hoping that the rooms reserved might give satisfaction; begging to be informed if any comfort were lacking; summoning waiters to show the way to the lift. Cornelia was annoyed to notice that most of these attentions were directed towards herself, but as Mrs Moffatt did not appear to take umbrage, it seemed wisest to make no protest. The mistake was not likely to occur again, for with so many guests in the house, individual attention could not extend beyond the arrival civilities.

Tea was served in the Empire suite, which had been reserved for the party, and Cornelia hated herself for feeling so little in sympathy with a host and hostess whose one anxiety seemed to be to provide for her enjoyment. From a printed list of amusements, she was bidden to make her choice for every evening in the week; for the afternoons, river-picnics were suggested, coaching expeditions to outlying scenes of interest, drives in the Park. For the mornings—well, naturally, there was just one thing to be done in the morning, and that was shopping!

“I hope you’ve brought up heaps of money, my dear. You’ll need it. The things are just heavenly this season!” Mrs Moffatt declared, but Cornelia remained unfired.

“I’ve a circular note; it’s all right so far as that goes, but I shan’t want any more clothes for ages! I brought over a whole trousseau, and so far as I can see, the half will go back unpacked. They don’t dress down at Norton—theyclothe! You’ve got to be covered right up to the chin, and to work in all the blue serge you can, and that’s about all there is to it. If you fixed-up like we do at home, you’d make as much stir as the fire-engine. I’d like to mail a few presents, if I saw anything really new and snappy, but I shan’t go near a store for myself.”

“I shall, then!” cried Mrs Moffatt, laughing. “I got next to nothing in Paris. The shops over there aren’t a patch on London, in my opinion, and the language puts one off. I can’t get the hang of it, and it gets on my nerves fitting on clothes, and not being able to find fault. You’ll have to come round with me, Cornelia. I’ve been waiting till you came, to decide on heaps of things. You’ve got such lovely taste. Silas wants to give me some furs, and I’ve seen an emerald necklace that I’m bound to have if I’m to know another happy moment. I’ve been in twice to see it, and I guess the man’s beginning to weaken. It would pay him to let me have it at a reduction, rather than keep it lying idle. You shall come with me, and say what you think it’s worth; but mind, I’m to have the first chance! You mustn’t try to snap it up. A few hundred dollars don’t matter to you one way or the other, but I’ve got to worry round to make the money go as far as it will. It’s not that Silas wants to stint me; he’s not that sort, but he hasn’t the balance behind him your father has!”

Silas smiled in sickly acknowledgment of his wife’s consideration, fidgeted in his seat, and finally took himself downstairs, to see about securing theatre tickets, whereupon his wife heaved a sigh of relief, and helped herself to a fresh cup of tea.

“Thank goodness! I ken’t stand men in the daytime. They don’t take any interest in clothes or parcels, or trying-on, but kinder hang round, looking bored and superior! It gets on my nerves. ... That was a real smart-looking man you had with you to-day, dear. Guest? did you say—Captain Guest? English, isn’t he? Acts as though he’d got the patent, and everybody else was imitation. I rather like it myself, I don’t think anything of a man who takes a back seat.” The short, impatient little sigh was evidently dedicated to the memory of the absent Silas. ... “Where did you pick him up, dear? He seems very devoted. Anything coming on between you?”

Cornelia’s “No!” made the listener start in her seat, so loud was it, so stern, so eloquent of displeasure. She herself was astonished at the white heat of anger which possessed her as she listened to Mrs Moffatt’s questionings. “Picked him up,” indeed! What insolence; what vulgarity! What an indignity to speak of him in such words. Her indignation seemed almost as much on Guest’s account as her own. A vision of his face rose before her, she seemed to see the curl of the lip, the droop of the eyelid with which he would have greeted such an expression.

“No! Suttenly not! He is the merest acquaintance. There is not even an ordinary friendship between us. I may very probably never meet him again.”

“Is that so?” queried Mrs Moffatt, calmly. As the Captain had himself announced his intention of calling at the hotel, the only effect of Cornelia’s violence was to deepen the impression that there was “something in it,” but she was too diplomatic to pursue the subject. Instead, she prattled on about a dozen inconsequent topics, and finally suggested a drive in the Park before dinner.

“It will freshen you up after your journey, and there’s nothing else to do for the next two hours. Just ring, will you, dear, and make arrangements, while I write a few notes in my room. A victoria, or a motor, whichever you prefer, and in about half-an-hour. That will give us time to prink.” She rustled out of the room, and Cornelia rang and gave the order, only too thankful to avoid a prolongedtête-à-têteindoors. Once again she wondered how it had come to pass that she had become on intimate terms with this woman, who now jarred upon her at every turn. On board the steamer her own friends had scarcely left their state-rooms during the voyage, and Mrs Moffatt, in a neat tweed costume, and an enveloping blue veil, had played the part of ministering angel with much devotion, during three dreary days, when she herself had lain on a chair in a sheltered corner of the deck; had read aloud, repeated amusing little anecdotes about the passengers, taken her for constitutionals up and down, and even helped her to bed at night. When Liverpool was reached, it seemed as if they had known one another for years. They had kissed at parting, and mutually agreed to meet, and have a good time.

“Shucks!” cried Cornelia, mentally. “It’s that old Norton! I’ve gotten so used to dowds, that the sight of a Paris gown scares me all into fits. I’ve looked forward to coming to London all my life, and now I’m here, I’m going to enjoy myself all I know. Now then, for the Park! I guess that grey crêpe, and the hat with the white feathers, will be about the best I can do for the honour of the flag. You’ve got to strike a balance, my dear, and plump for neutral colours as long as you run in harness with Mrs Silas P Moffatt!”

That first drive in Hyde Park was a pleasant experience, though the trees looked grey and dusty, after the fresh green of the country. Cornelia, like most of her sisters, had, as a first object, to see the people, not the Park itself, and certainly they were worth the seeing. There is no place in the world where finer specimens of humanity can be seen than in Hyde Park on the afternoon of a bright June day. Cornelia admired the tall, immaculately-groomed men, the dainty, high-bred looking women, with their air of indolent grace. They did not look as if they were enjoying themselves particularly, but she enjoyed, looking at them, and honestly acknowledged the presence of a certain quality unowned by herself. “They’ve got a far-off look, as if they couldn’t see anything nearer than a hundred miles, and were scared to laugh, in case they might break! ... I guess it’s what they call ‘breed!’ Captain Guest’s got it, too. We’ve not much use for that kind of thing at home, but it—counts! If you’d been used to it all your life, it would be a jar to step down...”

Mrs Moffatt knew a great many people by sight, and pointed them out as they drove by. Lady this, the Countess of that, Mrs Blank, who wrote society novels, and was noted for her taste in dress, the beautiful Miss Dash.—“Not that I can see much beauty in her myself. She’s not a patch on you, when you’re in form!” Cornelia felt a girl’s natural pleasure in the compliment, in the truth of which she complacently agreed. She did not envy Miss Dash her looks, but she did emphatically envy her her friends, particularly her male friends, who clustered around her carriage, eager for a word. One felt decidedly out of it, driving through a crowd of strangers, not one of whom turned a welcoming smile in your direction, nor cared whether you came or went. At home, Cornelia was accustomed to be in the midst of all that was going on, a central figure, round which all the rest revolved. She did not at all appreciate being relegated to the position of regarding the fray from the vantage of a hired vehicle!

Cornelia craned her head to right and to left, scanning the passing crowd for a familiar face. It seemed impossible that among hundreds of people there should not be someone whom she recognised, and her faith was justified, for just at the bend near the Marble Arch, she had a passing glimpse of Guest’s tall figure, standing talking to two ladies, one middle-aged, the other young, and graceful, and smiling. They were quietly, even simply, attired, but their whole air and carriage breathed that indefinable something which she had just struggled to define: something diametrically different from the ostentatious display of the woman by her side. Theoretically, Cornelia was thankful to escape observation; in reality she felt an absurd pang of loneliness and disappointment, as the carriage bore her out of sight.

The evening was spent at a theatre, and by eleven o’clock next morning both ladies had started forth on one of the shopping expeditions, which seemed to constitute Mrs Moffatt’s chief pleasure in life. They drove first of all to the jeweller’s, where Cornelia was shown the emerald necklace, a wonderful collection of stones, in an antique setting, with which she herself promptly fell in love. The price was excessive, even for her own deep purse, and she concluded that Mr Moffatt’s means must be even larger than she had imagined, since his wife seriously contemplated such a purchase. There was a good deal of bargaining, half-serious, half-joking, between Mrs Moffatt and the very imposing-looking personage behind the counter, but fortified by the advent of another possible purchaser, the latter steadily refused to reduce his price, and once again Mrs Moffatt retired discomfited from the struggle.

“I know just how it will be,” she cried, “I’ll have to give it up, and then you’ll step in, and carry it off before my eyes! But you’ve got to wait a bit, till I see what I can do with Silas. I’m not going to give up yet awhile.”

Cornelia laughed easily. “Oh, I’ll play fair. If you give up the idea, I daresay Poppar’d let me have it. He says emeralds suit me better than any other stones; but I shan’t break my heart, one way or the other.” ... Then addressing the shopman: “Have you got anything really new and tasty for little presents? I might as well look round while I’m here.”

Then followed a delightful hour, from the shopkeeper’s point of view, at least, when Cornelia examined the contents of tray after tray, and selected “little presents” to the value of a cool hundred pounds: an old pearl and enamel solitaire stud for her father; a hat-pin composed of a big turquoise, and a selection of dainty, jewelled brooches and bangles for special girl friends.

“I’ll give you the addresses, and you’d better mail them from here. I don’t know how you fix up things to travel safely from this side, but you can do all that’s necessary. I’ll give you a cheque and you needn’t send them out till you see that it’s all right. I’m a stranger to you, and can’t expect you to trust me right away, but you’ll find the money’s there!”

“Well, I should think your name’s good enough! No one need fear trusting your father’s daughter for a few hundred dollars!” Mrs Moffatt protested, while the shopman waxed eloquent in protestation. Cornelia continued to write addresses on the various boxes, without troubling to answer, for the assiduous manner in which her friend advertised her parentage was already beginning to jar. First to the hotel officials; then to casual acquaintances during the evening, and now to this tradesman! It was a disagreeable change from Norton, where the subject of money was never mentioned, and no one seemed to care whether you were rich or poor.

The whole morning was devoted to shopping; in the afternoon the two ladies went out driving, and returned to the hotel, to find Captain Guest’s card on the sitting-room table.

“He has lost no time, anyhow!” said Mrs Moffatt, meaningly.

“He has done the polite thing. Now he need not trouble any more,” Cornelia replied. On the whole, she was not sorry to have missed the call. Conversation, with Mrs Moffatt as audience, would have been somewhat of a strain!

Chapter Seventeen.The Moffatts appeared to have few private friends in London, and to show no anxiety to add to their number. Though they displayed an insatiable curiosity about everything which concerned their guest, they volunteered very little information in return, and after three days spent entirely in their society, Cornelia knew little more about them than on the first day of their meeting on shipboard. A mushroom city of the West figured as “home,” in occasional references; but the wife frankly declared a hatred of domesticity, while the husband regretted that constant travel was a necessity in his business.Evidently the present period was one of holiday-making, for Mr Moffatt seemed to do nothing but hang about the hotel, playing odd games of bridge or billiards with stray loafers like himself, and being correspondingly elated or depressed as he won or lost. On the whole, Cornelia preferred him when he was depressed. Exuberance of spirits is apt to wax offensive when divorced from good taste. At times she frankly disliked both husband and wife, and meditated an immediate return to Norton; but as a rule she was absorbed in the interest and charm of the grey old city, which was so unlike anything she had yet visited. It was like turning back a page of history, to see with her own eyes those historical landmarks, of which she had read since childhood; to drive about looking at the names of the streets, the monuments at the corners, the great, inky buildings. Visitors from sunnier lands often take away from our capital an impression of gloom and ugliness, but Cornelia’s artistic sense realised a picturesque element which rose superior to smoke and grime. She loved the narrow, irregular streets, the Turneresque haze which hung over the sky, even in this fine summer weather.The City was a solemn land of work, but the West End was a fairy realm of luxury and pleasure. Flowers everywhere, stacked up in great piles at the corners of the streets; hanging from window-boxes; massed together in the beds of the parks. The carriages blocked one another in the narrow roads; the balconies were draped with awnings; gorgeously-clad flunkeys stood upon the doorsteps, ushering in long streams of visitors. In the City men worked for money; in the West End they threw it away, carelessly, heedlessly, as if it had been dross. The great hotels sheltered hives of strangers, who admired and criticised, envied and scoffed, and flitted industriously about on the edge of the feast; on the edge, but never actually passing over the border!On the fourth morning of her stay in town, a note, addressed in a strange handwriting, was brought to Cornelia, with her morning tea. She guessed at its authorship before opening the envelope, and reading the name “Rupert Guest,” at the end of the letter. “Rupert!” A good name, an appropriate name! Strong and manly, with an old-world echo of dignity in the sound. One could not associate this man with abbreviations or nicknames. At work and at play, at home and abroad, he would remain plain, unabbreviated “Rupert.” One doubted if even his own mother ventured on a familiarity! Cornelia read the few lines with lively curiosity:—“Dear Miss Briskett,—I was disappointed to miss seeing you when I called at your hotel on Saturday. My aunt, Lady Seymour, is giving a reception to-morrow afternoon, and would be delighted to see you and your friends, if you have nothing better on hand. There ought to be some pretty good music. I will call at three o’clock, on the chance that you may care to come.—Yours faithfully, Rupert Guest.”Enclosed was a formal card of invitation, dated from Grosvenor Gate, “Miss Briskett and party” written on the corner.Cornelia sat banked up against her pillows, her ruddy locks framing her little face in a glory of rippling curls and waves, her lips pursed in slow reflection.“No-o! I guess Miss Briskett and party would rather not! I don’t see the fun of squeezing in among a lot of grandees, who don’t want anything of us but just to quiz and stare, and make remarks. If he’d asked me alone, I’d have risked it, just to see how they manage their shows over here; but he’s too proper to take me without a chaperon, and ... Well, anyway, the Moffatts are right-down good to me, and I’ll have no hand in having them snubbed! Miss Briskett will politely refuse, and the party won’t have a chance of accepting, for they won’t be told anything about it. I hate a fuss.”Cornelia went downstairs, deciding to write a letter before going out, and post it to the club; but during breakfast Mrs Moffatt announced with profuse apologies that she and her husband were obliged to devote the afternoon to visiting a friend living at some distance from town, and must therefore leave her to her own resources. Perhaps she would like to do a little shopping on her own account, take a drive, or visit a gallery! Cornelia, with a sudden rising of spirits, guessed she could find a dozen things to do, and bade her friends feel no anxiety on her score. She wrote no letters that morning, but sallied forth on the inevitable shopping excursion, with a particularly gay and jaunty air, and an inclination to bubble into laughter on the slightest provocation, at which Mrs Moffatt exclaimed in envy—“My, what spirits you do enjoy! I wish I could laugh like that. Some people have all the luck!” She sighed as she spoke, and Cornelia, glancing at her, caught a haggard look beneath the white veil. It occurred to her for the first time that her hostess was no longer young. She wondered how she would look at night, denuded of powder and rouge, and luxuriant golden locks? An elderly woman, thin and worn, with the crow’s feet deepening round her eyes. A woman whose life was spent in the pursuit of personal gain, and who reaped in return the inevitable harvest of weariness and satiety. Cornelia was too happy to judge her harshly. She was sorry for her and made a point of being unusually amiable during the long hours of trailing about from shop to shop, which were beginning to be a severe tax on her patience. Mrs Moffatt never seemed to make a purchase outright, but preferred to pay half a dozen visits to a shop, trying on garment or ornament, as the case might be, haggling over the price, and throwing small sops to the vendor, in the shape of the purchase of insignificant trifles.Cornelia herself was tempted to buy a number of articles which she neither needed nor knew exactly how to use, partly from want of something to do while her companion was occupied, and partly from a sense of shame, at giving so much trouble for nothing. Every day, also, boxes of fineries were sent “on approval,” to the hotel, so that one seemed to live in a constant atmosphere of milliner’s shop. Cornelia wondered to what purpose was this everlasting dressing up. The dejected Silas could hardly count as an audience, since he was the most indifferent of husbands, and it seemed a poor reward for so much trouble to receive the passing glances of strangers.“I hope when I settle down, I’ll have some real interest in life. I’ll take care that I have, too! I’d go crazed if there was nothing more to it than hanging round stores all the time,” said Cornelia to herself, as she bade farewell to her friends after lunch, and settled herself with a book in the corner of the lounge, to await Guest’s arrival. She was pleased at the prospect of meeting him again; mischievously amused at the anticipation of his embarrassment when he found that her chaperons had fled. It would be a delightful change to chat with him for half an hour, and when he departed to listen to the “pretty good music,” she herself would get into a hansom and drive to Saint Paul’s to listen to the wonderful boys’ voices chanting the evening service. Cathedrals were not included in the London known to Mrs Silas P Moffatt, but Cornelia was determined not to leave the metropolis without visiting the great temple of the East. After four days of pure, undiluted Moffatt, she felt mentally and spiritually starved. It would be good to leave the world and sit apart awhile beneath the great dome...At five minutes past three by the clock, Guest appeared in the doorway of the hotel, made an inquiry of the porter, and was directed to Cornelia’s sheltered seat. She saw him cast a glance over her neat, walking costume, as he approached, and naughtily determined to prolong his uncertainty. On her own side, she honestly admired his appearance; compared him to his advantage with the other men in the hall, and was proud to welcome him as her friend. Her little, white face was sparkling with animation, as she held out her hand to greet him.“How d’you do, Captain Guest? It’s real good of you to come again so soon. I was sorry to miss you Saturday afternoon.”“So was I.” Guest seated himself, and deposited his hat carefully by his side. “I waited half an hour, and then gave it up, and went to loaf in the Park. It’s the only thing to do before dinner.”“I saw you there, standing on the sidewalk talking to two ladies, an old one, and a young one, as pretty as—”“A moss rose!” he suggested quickly, and they laughed together over the remembrance. “Were you driving? I wish I had seen you! Is—er—Mrs Moffatt quite well?”“Puffectly, thank you,” said Cornelia, calmly. She noted the quick glance around, and wondered if he felt it compromising to sit with her alone, even in the publicity of a hotel lounge. “We drive most afternoons, and go to the theatre every evening. I’m having a giddy time—just about as different from Norton as it’s possible to imagine! Have you heard anything from the Manor? That wretched girl has never sent me as much as a postal, and I’m dying to hear what’s going on.”“No. I’ve heard nothing. I never for a moment expected that I should. Greville is too much engaged.” Guest knitted his brows, bitched his trousers at the knee, and cleared his throat uncertainly. Cornelia divined that he was waiting for her to refer to his aunt’s invitation, and feeling somewhat at a loss to account for the severity of her costume. At last the question came out suddenly.“Er—you got my note?”“I did! I thank you for it. It was real kind of good to take the trouble. I suppose you had to go and ask for those invitations?”“I asked, of course, but my aunt was delighted to give them. It will be quite worth going to, I think—good music, and something of a function! You would enjoy seeing the people. I hope you are not going to say that you can’t come!”“What makes you think that, I wonder? Don’t I look smart enough? I’m sorry you don’t approve of my costume!” She sat up straight in her seat; a smart little hat perched on the top of shaded locks; a neat little stock beneath the rolled-back collar of her coat; minute little shoes, with ridiculous points, appearing beneath the hem of her skirt. Guest looked her over deliberately, his dark face softening into a very charming smile.“I do! Very much indeed!”“Maybe it’s a trifle homely, but it’s best to strike a balance. Mrs Moffatt’s apt to be a bit gaudy on these occasions.”“It is very good of her to take so much trouble. Is—er—is she nearly ready, do you know?”Cornelia had been narrowly on the watch for the flicker of dismay on Guest’s face; it came surely enough, but was suppressed by such a gallant effort that, to use her own vernacular, she “weakened” at the sight. The impish light died out of her eyes, and she said frankly—“I guess I’ve been jollying all the time! Mrs Moffatt’s gone with her husband to visit a friend who lives quite a good way out, and she won’t be back before seven. I didn’t tell her of your invitation, as her plans were made, so it wasn’t worth while. I’m ‘alone in London’ for the afternoon. Sounds kinder pathetic, don’t it; but I’m enjoying it very well.”“Then—er—am I to have the pleasure of taking you alone?”Cornelia threw him a glance of tragic reproach.“Captain Guest! I’m surpr-iz-ed! How dare you take advantage of my unprotected position, to make such a suggestion? In England young girls—niceyoung girls, do not go about with young gentlemen unchaperoned. I’m shocked at you! I should have believed you would have been more considerate!”“We could start early. I could introduce you to my aunt. She would find some ladies, with whom you could sit during the concert.”Cornelia made a grimace, the reverse of appreciative.“No, thank you; I guess not! I’m not over-fond of sitting with ladies at any time, but strange ones are the limit. You tell your aunt that it’s real kind of her, and I vury much regret that I don’t want to go. I’ve fixed-up just how I’m going to spend the afternoon. First, I’m going to give you some coffee—the waiter’s bringing it along—then, when you go off to your crush, I shall get into a hansom and drive away into the City, to Saint Paul’s. The service is at four. I’ll sit right by myself, and listen till that’s over, then I’ll go round and see the tombs. Quite a number of big people are buried there, I’m told.”“Saint Paul’s!” Guest’s tone was eloquent of amazement. “But why Saint Paul’s, of all places on earth? Why not hit on something livelier, while you are about it? There’s a splendid exhibition of paintings in Bond Street, and the Academy, of course, and the Wallace Collection—half a dozen shows which are worth seeing. Why go into the City on a day like this?”“Because I want to! I’ve had four days cram full of—” She hesitated, seeking for a word that would not incriminate her hosts—“offuss, and I want something else for a change. From all I hear, Saint Paul’s is a kinder big, and soothing, and empty. You can sit and think without being jostled up against someone else all the time. I don’t suppose there’s a more sociable creature on earth than I am myself, but every now and then I’ve justgotto get away and have things out by myself.”Guest sipped his coffee in thoughtful silence, glancing at Cornelia from time to time, with eyes full of a new diffidence. An impulse gripped him, an impulse so extraordinary that he hesitated to put it into words. He wanted to go to Saint Paul’s too; to drive beside Cornelia through the streets, to see her face as she sat in the dim old cathedral; that softened, tremulous face, of which he had caught a glimpse once before, the memory of which lived with him still. When the service was over, he wanted to be her guide, to climb with her the tortuous staircase, and look down on the ant-like figures in the streets below; to descend with her to the subterranean vaults. ... He, Rupert Guest, wished to visit Saint Paul’s on a grilling June afternoon, in preference to attending a fashionable rendezvous—what madness was this which possessed him? It was rank folly; he would be ashamed to put the request into words. Pshaw! it was only the impulse of a moment—he would never think of it again. Then he looked at Cornelia once more, and heard himself say, in deliberate tones—“May I come with you? I should not interrupt. If you prefer, I could sit in another place during the service, but I’d like to come. Afterwards we could go round together. It would be good of you to give me the chance.”“But—the reception?”“Oh, hang the reception! I’m not sure that I should go in any ease. Do let me come, Miss Briskett. I want to. Badly!”Cornelia hesitated, staring at him with puzzled eyes.“You seemed to think Saint Paul’s a pretty queer choice when I mentioned it a few minutes back!”“I did; more shame to me, I suppose; but then you explained your reasons.—I don’t pretend that I should care to go by myself, but if you take me as your companion, it might be good for me, too. ... Would it disturb you to have me there?”“No-o,” said Cornelia, slowly. “I’d as lief you were there as not! I feel differently since I heard that story. ... You must need heartening up sometimes. Let’s go right along then, and see if we ken’t lay in a store of good thoughts, that will help us along for quite a while. Will you order a cab?...”Guest walked in silence to the door of the hotel. By his own request he was going to attend a church afternoon service with Cornelia Briskett! The thing seemed too extraordinary to be believed! He took his seat in the hansom in a kind of stunned surprise. Truly, every man was a stranger to himself, and there was no foretelling what an hour might bring forth!Cornelia turned to survey herself in the slip of mirror, and carefully adjusted the set of her hat.“Say!” she cried, laughingly, “we’ve forgotten that chaperon! Suppose you think one’s not needed in a cathedral.” She paused, dimpling mischievously. “Well! that’s just as you’re made. I guess if I were set on it, I could flirt in acrypt!”

The Moffatts appeared to have few private friends in London, and to show no anxiety to add to their number. Though they displayed an insatiable curiosity about everything which concerned their guest, they volunteered very little information in return, and after three days spent entirely in their society, Cornelia knew little more about them than on the first day of their meeting on shipboard. A mushroom city of the West figured as “home,” in occasional references; but the wife frankly declared a hatred of domesticity, while the husband regretted that constant travel was a necessity in his business.

Evidently the present period was one of holiday-making, for Mr Moffatt seemed to do nothing but hang about the hotel, playing odd games of bridge or billiards with stray loafers like himself, and being correspondingly elated or depressed as he won or lost. On the whole, Cornelia preferred him when he was depressed. Exuberance of spirits is apt to wax offensive when divorced from good taste. At times she frankly disliked both husband and wife, and meditated an immediate return to Norton; but as a rule she was absorbed in the interest and charm of the grey old city, which was so unlike anything she had yet visited. It was like turning back a page of history, to see with her own eyes those historical landmarks, of which she had read since childhood; to drive about looking at the names of the streets, the monuments at the corners, the great, inky buildings. Visitors from sunnier lands often take away from our capital an impression of gloom and ugliness, but Cornelia’s artistic sense realised a picturesque element which rose superior to smoke and grime. She loved the narrow, irregular streets, the Turneresque haze which hung over the sky, even in this fine summer weather.

The City was a solemn land of work, but the West End was a fairy realm of luxury and pleasure. Flowers everywhere, stacked up in great piles at the corners of the streets; hanging from window-boxes; massed together in the beds of the parks. The carriages blocked one another in the narrow roads; the balconies were draped with awnings; gorgeously-clad flunkeys stood upon the doorsteps, ushering in long streams of visitors. In the City men worked for money; in the West End they threw it away, carelessly, heedlessly, as if it had been dross. The great hotels sheltered hives of strangers, who admired and criticised, envied and scoffed, and flitted industriously about on the edge of the feast; on the edge, but never actually passing over the border!

On the fourth morning of her stay in town, a note, addressed in a strange handwriting, was brought to Cornelia, with her morning tea. She guessed at its authorship before opening the envelope, and reading the name “Rupert Guest,” at the end of the letter. “Rupert!” A good name, an appropriate name! Strong and manly, with an old-world echo of dignity in the sound. One could not associate this man with abbreviations or nicknames. At work and at play, at home and abroad, he would remain plain, unabbreviated “Rupert.” One doubted if even his own mother ventured on a familiarity! Cornelia read the few lines with lively curiosity:—

“Dear Miss Briskett,—I was disappointed to miss seeing you when I called at your hotel on Saturday. My aunt, Lady Seymour, is giving a reception to-morrow afternoon, and would be delighted to see you and your friends, if you have nothing better on hand. There ought to be some pretty good music. I will call at three o’clock, on the chance that you may care to come.—Yours faithfully, Rupert Guest.”

“Dear Miss Briskett,—I was disappointed to miss seeing you when I called at your hotel on Saturday. My aunt, Lady Seymour, is giving a reception to-morrow afternoon, and would be delighted to see you and your friends, if you have nothing better on hand. There ought to be some pretty good music. I will call at three o’clock, on the chance that you may care to come.—Yours faithfully, Rupert Guest.”

Enclosed was a formal card of invitation, dated from Grosvenor Gate, “Miss Briskett and party” written on the corner.

Cornelia sat banked up against her pillows, her ruddy locks framing her little face in a glory of rippling curls and waves, her lips pursed in slow reflection.

“No-o! I guess Miss Briskett and party would rather not! I don’t see the fun of squeezing in among a lot of grandees, who don’t want anything of us but just to quiz and stare, and make remarks. If he’d asked me alone, I’d have risked it, just to see how they manage their shows over here; but he’s too proper to take me without a chaperon, and ... Well, anyway, the Moffatts are right-down good to me, and I’ll have no hand in having them snubbed! Miss Briskett will politely refuse, and the party won’t have a chance of accepting, for they won’t be told anything about it. I hate a fuss.”

Cornelia went downstairs, deciding to write a letter before going out, and post it to the club; but during breakfast Mrs Moffatt announced with profuse apologies that she and her husband were obliged to devote the afternoon to visiting a friend living at some distance from town, and must therefore leave her to her own resources. Perhaps she would like to do a little shopping on her own account, take a drive, or visit a gallery! Cornelia, with a sudden rising of spirits, guessed she could find a dozen things to do, and bade her friends feel no anxiety on her score. She wrote no letters that morning, but sallied forth on the inevitable shopping excursion, with a particularly gay and jaunty air, and an inclination to bubble into laughter on the slightest provocation, at which Mrs Moffatt exclaimed in envy—

“My, what spirits you do enjoy! I wish I could laugh like that. Some people have all the luck!” She sighed as she spoke, and Cornelia, glancing at her, caught a haggard look beneath the white veil. It occurred to her for the first time that her hostess was no longer young. She wondered how she would look at night, denuded of powder and rouge, and luxuriant golden locks? An elderly woman, thin and worn, with the crow’s feet deepening round her eyes. A woman whose life was spent in the pursuit of personal gain, and who reaped in return the inevitable harvest of weariness and satiety. Cornelia was too happy to judge her harshly. She was sorry for her and made a point of being unusually amiable during the long hours of trailing about from shop to shop, which were beginning to be a severe tax on her patience. Mrs Moffatt never seemed to make a purchase outright, but preferred to pay half a dozen visits to a shop, trying on garment or ornament, as the case might be, haggling over the price, and throwing small sops to the vendor, in the shape of the purchase of insignificant trifles.

Cornelia herself was tempted to buy a number of articles which she neither needed nor knew exactly how to use, partly from want of something to do while her companion was occupied, and partly from a sense of shame, at giving so much trouble for nothing. Every day, also, boxes of fineries were sent “on approval,” to the hotel, so that one seemed to live in a constant atmosphere of milliner’s shop. Cornelia wondered to what purpose was this everlasting dressing up. The dejected Silas could hardly count as an audience, since he was the most indifferent of husbands, and it seemed a poor reward for so much trouble to receive the passing glances of strangers.

“I hope when I settle down, I’ll have some real interest in life. I’ll take care that I have, too! I’d go crazed if there was nothing more to it than hanging round stores all the time,” said Cornelia to herself, as she bade farewell to her friends after lunch, and settled herself with a book in the corner of the lounge, to await Guest’s arrival. She was pleased at the prospect of meeting him again; mischievously amused at the anticipation of his embarrassment when he found that her chaperons had fled. It would be a delightful change to chat with him for half an hour, and when he departed to listen to the “pretty good music,” she herself would get into a hansom and drive to Saint Paul’s to listen to the wonderful boys’ voices chanting the evening service. Cathedrals were not included in the London known to Mrs Silas P Moffatt, but Cornelia was determined not to leave the metropolis without visiting the great temple of the East. After four days of pure, undiluted Moffatt, she felt mentally and spiritually starved. It would be good to leave the world and sit apart awhile beneath the great dome...

At five minutes past three by the clock, Guest appeared in the doorway of the hotel, made an inquiry of the porter, and was directed to Cornelia’s sheltered seat. She saw him cast a glance over her neat, walking costume, as he approached, and naughtily determined to prolong his uncertainty. On her own side, she honestly admired his appearance; compared him to his advantage with the other men in the hall, and was proud to welcome him as her friend. Her little, white face was sparkling with animation, as she held out her hand to greet him.

“How d’you do, Captain Guest? It’s real good of you to come again so soon. I was sorry to miss you Saturday afternoon.”

“So was I.” Guest seated himself, and deposited his hat carefully by his side. “I waited half an hour, and then gave it up, and went to loaf in the Park. It’s the only thing to do before dinner.”

“I saw you there, standing on the sidewalk talking to two ladies, an old one, and a young one, as pretty as—”

“A moss rose!” he suggested quickly, and they laughed together over the remembrance. “Were you driving? I wish I had seen you! Is—er—Mrs Moffatt quite well?”

“Puffectly, thank you,” said Cornelia, calmly. She noted the quick glance around, and wondered if he felt it compromising to sit with her alone, even in the publicity of a hotel lounge. “We drive most afternoons, and go to the theatre every evening. I’m having a giddy time—just about as different from Norton as it’s possible to imagine! Have you heard anything from the Manor? That wretched girl has never sent me as much as a postal, and I’m dying to hear what’s going on.”

“No. I’ve heard nothing. I never for a moment expected that I should. Greville is too much engaged.” Guest knitted his brows, bitched his trousers at the knee, and cleared his throat uncertainly. Cornelia divined that he was waiting for her to refer to his aunt’s invitation, and feeling somewhat at a loss to account for the severity of her costume. At last the question came out suddenly.

“Er—you got my note?”

“I did! I thank you for it. It was real kind of good to take the trouble. I suppose you had to go and ask for those invitations?”

“I asked, of course, but my aunt was delighted to give them. It will be quite worth going to, I think—good music, and something of a function! You would enjoy seeing the people. I hope you are not going to say that you can’t come!”

“What makes you think that, I wonder? Don’t I look smart enough? I’m sorry you don’t approve of my costume!” She sat up straight in her seat; a smart little hat perched on the top of shaded locks; a neat little stock beneath the rolled-back collar of her coat; minute little shoes, with ridiculous points, appearing beneath the hem of her skirt. Guest looked her over deliberately, his dark face softening into a very charming smile.

“I do! Very much indeed!”

“Maybe it’s a trifle homely, but it’s best to strike a balance. Mrs Moffatt’s apt to be a bit gaudy on these occasions.”

“It is very good of her to take so much trouble. Is—er—is she nearly ready, do you know?”

Cornelia had been narrowly on the watch for the flicker of dismay on Guest’s face; it came surely enough, but was suppressed by such a gallant effort that, to use her own vernacular, she “weakened” at the sight. The impish light died out of her eyes, and she said frankly—

“I guess I’ve been jollying all the time! Mrs Moffatt’s gone with her husband to visit a friend who lives quite a good way out, and she won’t be back before seven. I didn’t tell her of your invitation, as her plans were made, so it wasn’t worth while. I’m ‘alone in London’ for the afternoon. Sounds kinder pathetic, don’t it; but I’m enjoying it very well.”

“Then—er—am I to have the pleasure of taking you alone?”

Cornelia threw him a glance of tragic reproach.

“Captain Guest! I’m surpr-iz-ed! How dare you take advantage of my unprotected position, to make such a suggestion? In England young girls—niceyoung girls, do not go about with young gentlemen unchaperoned. I’m shocked at you! I should have believed you would have been more considerate!”

“We could start early. I could introduce you to my aunt. She would find some ladies, with whom you could sit during the concert.”

Cornelia made a grimace, the reverse of appreciative.

“No, thank you; I guess not! I’m not over-fond of sitting with ladies at any time, but strange ones are the limit. You tell your aunt that it’s real kind of her, and I vury much regret that I don’t want to go. I’ve fixed-up just how I’m going to spend the afternoon. First, I’m going to give you some coffee—the waiter’s bringing it along—then, when you go off to your crush, I shall get into a hansom and drive away into the City, to Saint Paul’s. The service is at four. I’ll sit right by myself, and listen till that’s over, then I’ll go round and see the tombs. Quite a number of big people are buried there, I’m told.”

“Saint Paul’s!” Guest’s tone was eloquent of amazement. “But why Saint Paul’s, of all places on earth? Why not hit on something livelier, while you are about it? There’s a splendid exhibition of paintings in Bond Street, and the Academy, of course, and the Wallace Collection—half a dozen shows which are worth seeing. Why go into the City on a day like this?”

“Because I want to! I’ve had four days cram full of—” She hesitated, seeking for a word that would not incriminate her hosts—“offuss, and I want something else for a change. From all I hear, Saint Paul’s is a kinder big, and soothing, and empty. You can sit and think without being jostled up against someone else all the time. I don’t suppose there’s a more sociable creature on earth than I am myself, but every now and then I’ve justgotto get away and have things out by myself.”

Guest sipped his coffee in thoughtful silence, glancing at Cornelia from time to time, with eyes full of a new diffidence. An impulse gripped him, an impulse so extraordinary that he hesitated to put it into words. He wanted to go to Saint Paul’s too; to drive beside Cornelia through the streets, to see her face as she sat in the dim old cathedral; that softened, tremulous face, of which he had caught a glimpse once before, the memory of which lived with him still. When the service was over, he wanted to be her guide, to climb with her the tortuous staircase, and look down on the ant-like figures in the streets below; to descend with her to the subterranean vaults. ... He, Rupert Guest, wished to visit Saint Paul’s on a grilling June afternoon, in preference to attending a fashionable rendezvous—what madness was this which possessed him? It was rank folly; he would be ashamed to put the request into words. Pshaw! it was only the impulse of a moment—he would never think of it again. Then he looked at Cornelia once more, and heard himself say, in deliberate tones—

“May I come with you? I should not interrupt. If you prefer, I could sit in another place during the service, but I’d like to come. Afterwards we could go round together. It would be good of you to give me the chance.”

“But—the reception?”

“Oh, hang the reception! I’m not sure that I should go in any ease. Do let me come, Miss Briskett. I want to. Badly!”

Cornelia hesitated, staring at him with puzzled eyes.

“You seemed to think Saint Paul’s a pretty queer choice when I mentioned it a few minutes back!”

“I did; more shame to me, I suppose; but then you explained your reasons.—I don’t pretend that I should care to go by myself, but if you take me as your companion, it might be good for me, too. ... Would it disturb you to have me there?”

“No-o,” said Cornelia, slowly. “I’d as lief you were there as not! I feel differently since I heard that story. ... You must need heartening up sometimes. Let’s go right along then, and see if we ken’t lay in a store of good thoughts, that will help us along for quite a while. Will you order a cab?...”

Guest walked in silence to the door of the hotel. By his own request he was going to attend a church afternoon service with Cornelia Briskett! The thing seemed too extraordinary to be believed! He took his seat in the hansom in a kind of stunned surprise. Truly, every man was a stranger to himself, and there was no foretelling what an hour might bring forth!

Cornelia turned to survey herself in the slip of mirror, and carefully adjusted the set of her hat.

“Say!” she cried, laughingly, “we’ve forgotten that chaperon! Suppose you think one’s not needed in a cathedral.” She paused, dimpling mischievously. “Well! that’s just as you’re made. I guess if I were set on it, I could flirt in acrypt!”

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