The end of April found Mrs. De Wolfe and her protégée in London, installed in a fine suite at the Hyde Park Hotel. The position suited the old lady, as here she was surrounded by connections and friends. There was her sister-in-law in Park Lane, her niece in Belgrave Square, the Hillsides within a stone's throw, and the Millers in Pont Street. She and her young companion were soon sought out, and overwhelmed with invitations, and Nancy lived in a whirl of agreeable engagements.
First an early ride in the Park, then the morning shopping; luncheon parties, receptions, dinners, and above all, dances! Spare moments were devoted to "fittings," and hurried visits to girl friends.—These various claims, literally devoured the long summer days.—Nancy was very gay and happy in this new life, a conspicuous figure in her immediate circle! admired in private, stared at in public, and favoured with yet another gift besides beauty, and youth. Wherever she went, she appeared to bring sunshine; and those who knew her, revelled in her endowment. Among her chief partners and cavaliers were, Sir Dudley Villars, Major Cathcart—now enjoying a nice soft staff appointment—Toby Lamerton, Lord Lanark, and various others too numerous to mention.
Soon after her arrival in London, Nancy had reported herself in Queen's Gate, and waited upon her aunt,—unsupported by her good friend, Mrs. De Wolfe. Mrs. Jenkins' little blue eyes opened to their widest extent, when they beheld her niece, no longer a shrinking and humble satellite, but a self-possessed, well-dressed, and independent damsel.
As her envious glance wandered over an elegant toilet, she realized that this "bird of paradise" would be entirely out of place, in her own ordinary "Hen Run." It was evident that the girl had a good maid, and a good conceit of herself; she resolved to secure Nancy for a visit,—which would include at least, two state dinners,—in order that her own friends should have an opportunity of beholding a niece whose success and striking appearance, would add to her own importance.
Mrs. Taylor and Miss Dolling happened to be both in attendance,—the one as faded and sentimental, the other aggressive, and glum—as of old. At the end of twenty minutes' conversation,—chiefly questions and answers,—Miss Dolling rose, and said, "I'll just go and fetch the Pom, I'm sure he'd love to see Nancy."
"And I'm sure he wouldn't recognize hernow," said Mrs. Taylor, with significance, and for once Mrs. Taylor happened to be right. The Pom merely sniffed indifferently at Nancy's smart gown, and then rudely retired into his comfortable padded basket.
"And how is the Coffee?" inquired Mrs. Jenkins, in a condescending manner.
"Oh, doing well. One of my old friends has taken over the management; and gold has been found on the estate."
"Gold? well I never!" ejaculated Miss Dolling. "Fancy owning a gold mine!"
"It's a reef, I believe," explained Nancy, "and has been taken over by a company."
"So you'requitea millionaire," remarked her aunt, rather sourly. "And what are your plans for the summer?"
"We are going down to Mrs. De Wolfe's place, Newenham Court—later on."
"Oh, so shehasa place; I always understood, that she lived in hotels and steamers, and had no home?"
"She found it so lonely, living all by herself."
"Then why not have a companion?" demanded Mrs. Taylor, "goodness knows they are cheap enough!"
"She has a companion now,—she hasme," declared Nancy with a smile.
"Oh,you!" with an impatient sniff, "you won't last her long; young women with money, are soon snapped up. You'll marry within six months."
"I assure you, I shallnot."
"Ah, that is how girls always talk," broke in Miss Dolling, "I used to say the very same things myself; you have yet to meet your fate," and she heaved a heavy sigh, as with her head on one side, she dreamily contemplated Nancy,—the daughter of her one, and only love!
Before the visitor took leave, she was invited, nay, almost commanded, to come and stay at Queen's Gate. This invitation she firmly, but very civilly declined. Mrs. De Wolfe could not possibly spare her.
"Well," said Mrs. Jenkins, looking alarmingly pink and angry, "I do think your own aunt has a claim beforestrangers; I shall expect you to give me at least a week."
But the niece of her own aunt proved to be adamant, and submitted a long, and imposing list of her engagements. She, however, consented to appear at a dinner-party,—the date of which Mrs. Jenkins, diary in hand, fixed so far ahead, that excuse or evasion, was out of the question.
One Sunday afternoon Nancy, and a party of friends, betook themselves to the Park, chaperoned by Mrs. De Wolfe and Lord Hillside. The usual rendezvous near Stanhope Gate, was crowded, and the promenade bordering the grass, so thronged that progress was difficult. Nancy and Tony Lamerton lagged somewhat in the rear of their companions, and during a block in the seething mass, she descried a face she hadn't seen for more than two years: the beaming visage of Teddy Dawson, wearing a wide smile upon his half-open mouth. Oh, how funny he looked! His coat sleeves and trousers, inches too short; an old-fashioned tall hat crammed on the back of his head, otherwise the same blue-eyed old Teddy. Nancy instantly extended a delicately gloved hand, but instead of grasping it (as expected), he failed to recognize a friend in this smart young lady, and became the colour of a boiled beetroot.
"There must be some mistake," he said to himself, "hehad no acquaintance with this dazzling creature, who had so to speak, summoned him to halt,"—but when Nancy smiled at his overpowering embarrassment, and he looked into her eyes, he exclaimed, "Great Christmas, can it beNancy?"
"Why not?" she demanded. "Of course it's Nancy."
The pair were unaffectedly glad to meet, and exchanged very cordial greetings.
"When did you arrive?" she asked. "Yesterday?"
"Now, how in the world did you guess?"
"By your wardrobe; Jessie will have to take you in hand."
"Oh, so you've heard!" he replied, with a conscious grin. "My coming home was a bit sudden; but at the very last moment I got a passage in the same boat, with Jess, and her mother. Where are you stopping?"
"At present, we arebothstopping the public thoroughfare,—but you will find me at the Hyde Park Hotel. I've no end of things to hear, and to say to you. Will you and Jessie come and dine to-morrow night at eight?"
"I can't answer for Jess,—I believe she has no frocks yet, but I'll come all right."
"Don't be late," and with a parting nod, she drifted on.
"I say! that's a rum-looking chap," said Tony. "Did you ever see such boots?—like coal boxes, and what a hat! no gloves, hands the size of a ham,—where on earth did you get hold of him?"
"In India, he was our nearest neighbour; I've known him since I was in socks. He is one of the best; something quite extra! You mustn't judge him by his clothes! If you had put in ten years on a coffee estate, perhaps you wouldn't be soverysmart yourself!"
"Perhaps not! Well, I hope when Jessie has got her frocks, she will do something for him, poor chap! His coat would be a find for the wardrobe of our regimental theatre. Ishea specimen of the men you met out in India?"
"He is a specimen of a successful planter, a first-rate sportsman, and a real friend. He was like a kind elder brother, when I was in frightful trouble. Well!" in a totally different voice—"there are Mrs. De Wolfe and Sir Dudley beckoning—I do hope, they have kept us chairs!"
"Mr. Edward Dawson," as announced in Mrs. De Wolfe's sitting-room, arrived to dine, alone, bringing a long epistle from Jessie, who was staying in West Kensington, with some of her mother's relatives. Teddy had invested in a new black tie and a pair of shiny shoes, and looked quite passable when presented to Mrs. De Wolfe,—who gave him a cordial reception. She knew all about him,—and had even read his letters!
The two ladies, who were "going on" to a ball, were in full dress; Nancy so transformed and lovely, that Teddie could scarcely take his eyes from her. His surprise and bewilderment were such, that several times, he entirely forgot what he was going to say, and blundered about, with spoons and helpings, as if he had never dined in company before! He and Nancy had much to discuss, and he spoke freely and openly before the "old lady," as he mentally called her.
"I must confess, I wonder how you got round Finchie?" said Nancy.
"Oh, you mean about Jess? You see she was away up in Cashmere, and the mice played about! She declares that Jessie's mad,—and that I'm a savage and belong to the Stone Age; but Jessie stood up for me and said, 'At any rate, he is a rock of sense.' Rather smart, eh?"
"Yes," agreed Mrs. De Wolfe.
"And then the General, that's my father," he explained to the old lady, "has come forward nobly, and is going shares in the rent of Fairplains; he and I, will be your tenants, Nance."
"Yes, and I shall go out and stay with Jessie and you, for such ages,—that you'll be obliged to leave home!"
"And what about the gold?" inquired Mrs. De Wolfe.
"I believe it's paying hand over fist. Nancy, you will remember Nicky always swore that there was gold in those old workings. I thought it a fairy tale, but when some engineer chaps came sniffing round for reefs, Nicky put them on, and went down with them himself. The gold was all right, and he has stuffed several thousands a year, into your pocket. Mind you don't forgetthat!"
"You may be sure I won't.—And so he is staying on at the Corner?"
Teddy nodded.
"Alone?" Her tone was significant.
"I don't think so! Perhaps you can guess the name of the new partner? By the way," lowering his voice, as he noted that Mrs. De Wolfe was absorbed in the menu, "what about that chap?" ... name indistinct, to the sharp-eared chaperon. "Do you ever hear anything of him?"
"Never!" was the emphatic reply.
Mrs. De Wolfe waited to hear more, and continued to stare steadily at the word "asparagus." "He pays in the money for you to the day; it is lying in my name at Grindlays—about six hundred pounds."
The anxious matron felt immensely relieved; of course the money, had to do withcoffee. She laid down the card, and glanced over at Nancy,—never had she seen her with so high a colour; and yet it was not a warm evening, and the girl hadn't touched anything stronger than barley water. Nancy, too, had violently assailed her with her foot. Why? She was not aware that she had made a social blunder, orfaux pas; and how the girl chattered! Undoubtedly these tidings and reminiscences, and "Plain tales from the hills," had excited her, and made her rather odd and unlike herself!
The cable dispatched to Mayne, had been so urgent and alarming, that he half expected to hear bad news when the mail steamer called at Port Said,—however, neither cable nor letter awaited him. Arriving in London early one May morning, he drove up to his mother's house in Charles Street,—intending to ask for news and a meal. The door was opened by a somewhat dishevelled footman, who informed him that "her ladyship was out of town."
"But was I not expected?" inquired the caller, glancing at his luggage-laden taxi, "I am Captain Mayne."
"Oh yes, sir, you were expected, but her ladyship said as 'ow you couldn't possibly be here before Monday, and she and his lordship has gone down to Brighton for the week-end."
This was but a tepid welcome after an absence of some years; however, there was nothing for Mayne to do, but re-enter the cab and have himself driven to his club. Here, he encountered various old friends, lunched, paid a hasty visit to his tailor, bought an umbrella, and took the afternoon express to Campfield, the nearest station to Maynesfort.
Maynesfort was a venerable, but well preserved Jacobean house (with artfully hidden Georgian patches), and stood amidst delightful and rural surroundings. On the south side, lay a prim Dutch garden, beyond that, an undulating heavily wooded park,—both overlooked by the windows of a once famous library. This library was now the chief reception room; ever since the death of Mrs. Mayne, the drawing-rooms had been closed!
Here, the master of the house received his guests and tenants, here he smoked, gossiped and read the newspapers—The Times,The Field,Country Life, and with special avidity, the local Rag,—but he never opened a book,—although encompassed by thousands of neglected volumes.—He was not, as he boastfully declared, "a reading man." "Jorrocks" was his favourite hero; his, was an outdoor temperament; hunting, shooting, gardening, and farming were all to his taste; and the house was merely a sort of refuge, where he ate, and slept; four weeks' incarceration indoors, was to him an unexampled experience. On a lounge in the library, surrounded by a volume of tobacco smoke, and attended by a buxom nurse, the invalid was found by his nephew and heir.
Richard Mayne, J.P. and D.L., was a remarkably active little man, some years over seventy; he had keen dark eyes, flexible brows, a firm, clean shaven mouth, and a pleasant smile. The arrival of his nephew, afforded him real and unqualified pleasure, and he greeted him with outstretched hands, and a full resonant voice—by no means the feeble squeak of an invalid.—"Got your wire this morning, sent the car, glad to see you, my boy—very glad!"
"And how are you, Uncle Dick? you look fairly fit. Going on all right, eh, nurse!" glancing at his companion.
"Yes, Mr. Mayne has made a remarkable recovery," she rejoined, "I expect in a few weeks, he will be quite out of my hands," and she rose and retired, leaving the uncle and nephew to themselves.
"It's the healthy outdoor life, eh, 'um, 'um, that's what has stood to me—but I tell you, when that brute rolled on me, I thought it was a case for the undertaker!
"Yes," assented his nephew, "from that cable, I was afraid you were in a bad way, Uncle Dick, and I'm awfully glad to find you so well."
"We wrote to Port Said to tell you I was going on all right,—but I daresay we missed the mail. You are looking uncommonly fit, not a bit yellow or tucked up! India has taken no toll offyou: good stations, good sport, 'um, 'um?"
After such a long absence from home, there was much for Mayne to hear, and for his uncle to impart; the old gentleman was a fluent talker, and enchanted to get hold of a listener, to whom all his news was absolutely fresh. He was ten times more anxious to relate, than to listen, and unfolded a heavy budget,—without displaying any curiosity as to what the traveller might have to offer in exchange?
First, there were the full details of his accident,—including the weather, the condition of the ground, the character, and pedigree of the horse; then came "the case," the doctors, the specialist, and a warm eulogium of his nurses. After this, the county news; succeeded by estate and domestic intelligence; who had come, and who had gone, how the pheasants had done; how the great fig tree was dead,—also the hen swan, and the old woman at the west lodge.
Mayne found the place but little changed—everything in the same apple-pie order. Maynesfort was his uncle's hobby, he loved the old place with an absorbing passion,—and to tell the truth found her a very extravagant mistress! A series of reckless predecessors, had dissipated and gambled away the property, till but about a thousand acres remained; and although the owner lived, so to speak, rent free, there was much to maintain; the ancient house like its kind, was in constant want of repair; the drains, the roof, the chimneys, called for outlay, and supervision; the gardens, greenhouses, and avenues, had to be kept up,—as Maynesfort had a reputation to support, and there were no nice fat farms, to bring in a steady revenue.
The late Mrs. Mayne, had been a woman of fortune, and her money had assisted to maintain Maynesfort, as a sort of show place.—Its mullioned windows and heavy chimney stacks, were a great feature on the local post cards.
As the long May days went by, the heir of Maynesfort found time to hang heavily on his hands,—although he successfully concealed the fact. There was no shooting, except a few pigeon of an evening; naturally there was no hunting, he was not a fisherman; most of the neighbours were in London for the season, and the Parsonage was in quarantine with scarlet fever. Mayne rode about the lanes on an elderly cob, strolled through the park and gardens, played cricket with the village team,—but still the days were long and empty.
He read the papers to his uncle, played dominoes and backgammon, and even "cut-throat" Bridge with him and the nurse. He smoked many pipes, and listened to many stories: descriptions of the season's good runs, and best days' shooting.
Strange to say, the old gentleman exhibited but little or no interest in Indian sport,—nor wished to hear, in what way his nephew had passed the last four years? It was sufficient for him to know that he was there, sitting opposite to him, looking a little older,—but both hale, and hearty.
Richard Mayne was a man of one idea at a time,—but that idea, excluded all others, and would occasionally hold the fort of his mind for months. His present obsession, was, that Mayne should, could, and must, marry,—and that without delay. At first his nephew had put the suggestion aside with a joke, and a laugh; but he soon realized that indifference and frivolity raised his uncle's ire; the flexible eyebrows went up and down, or met, alarmingly; the "'um, 'um, 'ums" came thick, and fast,—he resigned himself to the situation, and suffered the old gentleman to talk and talk, and even to arrange a formal, and imaginary parade of all the available spinsters in the county!
"You see, my dear boy," he urged, "that time, when I was lying on my back, and they were not quite sure, if I was internally injured, I could not help thinking of this dear old place,—and its new master."
"What nonsense, Uncle Dick," protested Mayne, "you will be master here for years, and years."
"No, no," waving away the idea, "if I'd snuffed out, you would have had to come back, and take over my shoes, and sit here all alone; no mistress for the house; so I made up my mind, that if I recovered, I'd take right good care to see youmarried; married to some nice girl with money; family not so important, you have enough family for both! Now tell me, Derek, is there any young woman, you have a fancy for?"
"No, not one."
"Well, then, my dear boy, you must look round, now you are at home, and find a pretty girl, with a pretty fortune, that will keep the old place on its legs,—otherwise it might have to belet, and if that came to pass, I believe I'd come out of the family vault! You know your aunt's money goes back to her own people; the property itself is not worth much. There is the grazing, and the woods, and Jones sells some of the garden stuff, but the men's wages and coal and coke, run into hundreds a year; our gambling ancestors staked farms and livings, and fishing rights on the length of a straw, or the activity of a snail, and I tell you, my blood boils when I think of them!"
"To marry, to look out for a nice girl with money," was the "motive," which, like the ever recurring air in an opera, ran through all Mr. Mayne's jokes, reminiscences, and solemn exhortations to his nephew; the subject became intolerable; his good nature and patience were wearing a little thin, and it was an immense relief to escape into the park of an afternoon, whilst the invalid dozed, there to wander about, accompanied by two happy brown spaniels.
To find himself thrown entirely upon his own society, was a rare experience for Derek Mayne; opportunities to meditate, and hold counsel with his subconscious self, were invariably passed over and neglected; his impulse was for action, to be up and doing, not thinking, or mooning; but for once he found his thoughts arrested, and intensely occupied, by his uncle's "idea," for once, he approached a subject, with which he had hitherto refused to grapple,—and a swarm of thoughts, not hitherto entertained, suddenly invaded his brain.
It was his nature to face things—but there was one stern fact, he had always thrust aside. "Nancy!—their marriage! What was to be the end of that coil?" Was he to go through life alone?—to live in that place in the hollow, with no companionship, and no affection,—save what was offered by the dogs? He might, he believed,—though he had never looked into the subject,—obtain a divorce for desertion; but the idea was repugnant,—such an action impossible!
He thought of Travers, who had given his life for him,—his anxiety about the future of his little girl; the subsequent relief, and gratitude he had read in those dying eyes; how could he drag "the little girl" into the blaze and publicity of "a case in the courts"; oh, it was altogether a deadly business, and yet, where had he gone wrong? Possibly, when he had suffered a mere chit of eighteen, to take command of the situation; on the other hand, he recalled with a guilty qualm, his sense of profound relief, and satisfaction, when he discovered that she had cut the knot, severed their bonds, and fled!
The haunting vision of a miserable, white-faced, blighted, flapper, accompanying him back to Cannanore, had undoubtedly had its terrors; his colonel did not encourage matrimony,—it spoiled the mess,—and all his little world would marvel at his choice! He wondered what Nancy was like now? and what were her surroundings? Possibly she lived in some third rate suburban circle, was prominent in the local tennis club, wore home-made frocks, adored (platonically) some preacher or actor, and led her old aunt by the nose. Only for the secret tie, which held him, he might have been married long ere this. There was that lively little girl up at Murree. What marvellous red hair, how she danced and chattered; and she had liked him too,—but he had never gone beyond the flirting stage, or dropped into serious love-making; the memory of Fairplains constrained him.
A pretty face, had always appealed to Mayne, and certainly Nancy was no beauty,—possibly by now, she had improved in appearance,—when her complexion was no longer exposed to the sun, and her hair was properly dressed, she might pass in a crowd; she would always be quick witted, quick footed, and quick tempered. After much serious reflection, and many pipes, he came to the conclusion, that now he was at home, it was his business to find out something aboutMrs. Mayne. The name made him pause, and laugh aloud,—to the great bewilderment of the two spaniels.—He need not necessarily seek an interview, no, far from it; but he might as well make cautious inquiries, and discover where she lived? and what she was doing?
Mrs. Ffinch was the right woman to lend him a helping hand, and as she was expected home within the next few weeks, he would ask her to look up Nancy, without bringing him into the question. Here was a field for her particular activities; it was just the sort of commission she would eagerly undertake, and thoroughly enjoy.
At the end of a fortnight, Mayne prepared to take his departure for London; not without a half expected, and feared, opposition on the part of his uncle; but to his surprise and joy, the old gentleman received his hint of a move, without demur,—for he assured himself, that Derek was about to act on his advice, and "look about him," and the sooner he commenced his quest, the better. It was true that he had given no definite promise; he had said but little; just lounged, and smoked, and stared at the carpet, or out of the window; however, it was a well known, and well proved adage, that "silence gives consent."
It was with a blissful sense of escape, that Mayne found himself seated in the car, and once more bound for Campfield station. The sensation was unusual,—for it was the first time, that he had ever felt glad to leave Maynesfort, and he was secretly ashamed of his joyful relief. The old man, accustomed to a life of constant outdoor activity, was putting in a dull time,—and it had enlivened his empty hours, to build castles in the air,—instead of model cottages,—and reckon upon the future of his successor's wife, yes—and children! The nurseries had not been occupied for nearly fifty years; but as the car skimmed round the last bend in the avenue, and the tall chimney stacks sank out of sight, Mayne, as he lighted his cigar, sternly assured himself, that as far ashewas concerned,—Maynesfort would never have a mistress.
The new arrival in Charles Street soon discovered that he had by no means bettered his position, on the contrary, appeared to have gone out of the frying-pan, into the fire! Four years had wrought surprising changes in the ménage: Lord Torquilstone had become "more so," as Mayne mentally expressed it; his moustache was blacker, his coat more padded, his temper more irascible, than formerly. He belonged to a type of club man happily becoming extinct,—loud, aggressive in argument, quarrelsome, gouty, and greedy. He and her ladyship did not now hit it off,—and saw as little of one another as their mutual ingenuity could contrive. She, never appeared before one o'clock; he, lunched, and frequently dined, at his club,—unless they happened to have a few guests, or were engaged to present themselves, at some particular function.
Mayne noticed a woeful alteration in his mother; she looked faded, and worn, there were deep lines about her mouth, her voice was querulous, and her attitude the pose of one enduring "the bitter winter of her discontent!" In her cold, unemotional way, she was glad to welcome Derek, a handsome, creditable fellow and like his father; but in character much stronger, and more self-assertive.
He seemed to be thoroughly capable of shaping his own life, had excellent manners, plenty to say for himself, and judging by the number of his letters, with regimental, and other crests, was claimed by hosts of friends! In honour of his return, Lord Torquilstone dined at home, and abused the dinner; and he and his wife passed the young man under the harrow of a searching examination, with respect to his life, during the last four years. Mayne found it useless to protest, "But Mater, you had my letters."
"Yes, my dear boy,—they were rather dull. Not your fault I know, I always hated India,—the deadly paradise of the middle class. It's just what wasnotin your letters, that I want to hear about."
"Oh well, if you mean manœuvres, camps of exercise——"
"Don't be so silly," she interrupted impatiently.
"Your mother wants to hear about those lively grass widows up in Simla," broke in his lordship; "come now, own up!" and he chuckled diabolically.
"I have nothing to own. Never had any use for the frisky matron, at home, or abroad."
"Oh, Derek," protested his mother, "what about Josie Speyde?"
"Yes, what abouther?" leaning back, with his hands in his pockets.
"You were one of her boys, I know!"
"She taught me to dance,—I'll say that for her."
"She taught you to flirt too."
"Don't expect the fellow wanted much teaching!" broke in Lord Torquilstone. "Any nice little girls out in India?"
"Oh yes, lots."
"I hope you didn't leave your heart, behind, Derek? I warn you that as daughter-in-law, I refuse to receive an Indian spin."
"Oh, there's no fear of that," replied Derek, lighting a cigarette, and tossing the match into the fireplace.
"I suppose you know your uncle is very anxious that you should marry."
"I suppose I do know! I suppose he has it on the brain, I've heard of nothing else,—he has driven me to the verge of idiocy."
"You were twenty-nine last April; time to be looking about, Derek. I know some charming girls; I do hope you will letmehave a say?"
"Oh, my dear mother, you are welcome to as many says as you like, but I haven't the smallest intention of marrying."
"That's the way you young fellows talk," declared Lord Torquilstone, setting down an empty glass, "and then before you know where you are, you'recaught," and he glanced at his wife with deadly significance.
"I'd like to see the girl, who could put salt on my tail," rejoined his stepson with extravagant confidence.
"Well now, Mater," glancing at his watch and rising as he spoke, "if you'll excuse me, I'm going out."
"Going out!" she repeated blankly, "whereare you going?"
"To look on at a boxing match; I have promised to join a couple of fellows at the Sports Club."
"A boxing match, how horrible—disgusting!"
"Well, I admit that it's not exactly a pretty sight sometimes; but I like to see an active muscular fellow, that knows how to use his fists; I do a little in that line myself. I won't be in till all hours,—so I'll take a latch-key."
Before her ladyship could offer any further objection, he had kissed her on her powdered cheek, nodded to his stepfather, and departed.
"Quite his own master!" remarked his mother, as she heard the whistle for a taxi, "and I had promised to take him to the Rutherfords' 'at home!' Last night he was at the Opera,—it's almost impossible to get hold of him."
"You'll find some young woman will get hold of him," snarled Lord Torquilstone. "I hope she'll be, er! er! respectable. It's just those young fellows home on leave—that the worst of women pounce on."
Upon this subject, arose an immediate argument, Lady Torquilstone declaring, that "no man with good blood in his veins, would be likely to marry out of his class." Her husband held the opposite view, and backed his opinion, with an imposing string of names. The argument waxed louder, and presently developed into a personal quarrel, and (unmindful of the grey parrot's warning cry, of "Hullo! Hullo! Police! Police!") they continued exchanging nasty thrusts, until a footman brought in the ten o'clock post, and her ladyship having collected her letters, left the smoking-room, fortified with the consciousness, that the last word, had beenhers.
It was the day of a very "Big" race at Sandown, the weather was perfection, and half society, and all the racing world poured out of London in a long succession of specials.
Captain Mayne and a brother officer, had secured the last two seats in a smoking carriage; the train was just about to start, when the door was wrenched open, and a tall young man, leapt in, and hauled a girl after him. A stout individual by the window, rose, and offered the lady his place, and he and her companion, stood,—blocking up the compartment. "By Jove, that was a near squeak," exclaimed the young man, breathless, but triumphant. Mayne recognized him as an acquaintance—the Honourable Tony Lamerton.
"Yes!" panted his companion, "what a race! I wonder what has become of the others?"
"Left behind, I'll bet. I'll swear her ladyship could never leg it down the platform, as you did!"
"Then pray, what am I to do for a chaperon?" and the girl laughed.
There was something in the voice and laugh, that sounded oddly familiar to Mayne, and suddenly leaning forward, he looked round the substantial figure, which was planted directly in front of him. The first glance, gave an impression of a remarkably pretty girl; then with a shock, it dawned upon him, that the pretty girl wasNancy! A Nancy altered almost beyond recognition: beauty the crown of her youth!
It seemed to Mayne that nothing remained of the original flapper, but her merry blue eyes, and sweet, high-pitched voice. Her face was rounded, her complexion—if real,—was dazzling. She was dressed with surpassing elegance, in a gauzy white gown, touched with green; a large hat wreathed with green feathers, half concealed masses of reddish brown hair, a string of splendid pearls encircled her throat, and in her little white gloved hand, she held a gold bag, and a card of the races. Undoubtedly her aunt was a woman of wealth, and did not spare it upon her niece.
The niece was so engaged in laughing and chattering with Tony Lamerton, that Mayne had ample time to collect his wits, and make a prolonged and critical inspection. Nancy carried herself, with an air of graceful confidence, and the manner of one who was aware of her own value; and yet the face wore the same eager, almost childish expression; and a look of innocent mockery danced in the eyes that were raised to Tony Lamerton. Here was a beauty! an assured, and fashionable young woman; she and Tony appeared to be on the best of terms, and he noticed that the Guardsman's attention, was entirely absorbed by his lovely charge.
As the train cleared the suburbs, a clear young voice, said, "How dreadfully hot it is!! may we not have the other window down?" and as the stout gentleman instantly moved to obey her request, Nancy became suddenly aware of Derek Mayne! He was seated in the far corner, and hitherto concealed behind a bulky screen.
His grave dark eyes, encountered her startled glance, with the most penetrating composure. Yes, it certainlywasCaptain Mayne,—but little changed, beyond the transformation effected by London clothes, a tall hat and a buttonhole. How different to the rough Shikari garb, in which she had been accustomed to see him! When their eyes met in recognition, Nancy was sensible of an overwhelming shock; she gave little outward sign, beyond a quick indrawing of her breath, but her heart had made such a violent plunge, that it seemed about to leap out of her mouth!
Here within three yards of her, was the last man in the world, she expected, or wished to see. A man, she had almost succeeded in turning out of her mind, and to whom for weeks she never cast a thought. The discovery left her nerveless; every morsel of colour deserted her face and lips. The last time they met, was when they had stood beside her father's grave: that was exactly two years and four months ago, and although she had instantly averted her eyes, he was still before them; vividly different to her somewhat faded mental picture—that of a worried restless young man, smoking endless cigarettes, as he paced the terrace at Fairplains.
During this little scene, Tony and the stout gentleman had taken it in turn to struggle with an obstinate window sash, and as the former turned about, his eyes fell upon an old acquaintance. In a voice of hearty welcome, he exclaimed,
"Hullo! Mayne, when did you get back?"
"Three weeks ago."
"And never came near us,—how is that?"
"I've been down at Maynesfort."
"Oh yes, to see the old man! Getting on all right, isn't he? and now you're doing a bit of town, eh?—What are you backing for the big race?"
As Mayne discussed the favourites and weights, he noticed that Nancy had recovered her composure and colour; her self-possession was marvellous; but then he was not aware, that she had been through a rigorous training in a stern school, and had learnt to successfully repress her feelings and emotions. For the moment, she appeared to be engrossed in the study of her race card; but unless Mayne was greatly mistaken, it was not altogether the oscillation of the express, which caused that pretty little hand, to shake quite perceptibly!
By some unexplained miracle it turned out that Nancy's chaperon—Lady Jane Wynne—had actually caught the train, and Mayne overheard the party volubly congratulating one another, as they moved out of the station. And so that slim girl in white, carrying a green sunshade, was Mrs. Mayne! Among all that great crowd, there was no one to approach her in looks and distinction. If people were to know the truth, how widely he would be envied!
His uncle clamoured for him to take a wife, and there she was, strolling up the path in front of him—supported on either hand by an assiduous escort. Supposing he were to claim her? Here was a very different individual to the poor little girl in India, who was distracted with grief, and misery. There was something amazingly attractive about this new, and radiant Nancy. His inspection in the railway carriage, had shown him, an undeniablyhappyface!
Meanwhile the object of his reflections,—for all her assumed animation—felt shattered, by her recent experience, and talked the wildest nonsense to her companions, as she made her way to the stand. Here numerous acquaintances accosted, and surrounded her and her party. To-day, Miss Travers' gaiety was feverish, her colour unusually high, and her laugh almost hysterical. Soon after the second race, she complained of a headache, and sought a seat on the way to the paddock, where, attended by Sir Dudley Villars, she sheltered behind her sunshade.
Sir Dudley was not a racing man; cards, he could understand; but betting, and backing horses, he looked upon as childish! Races, were all right, as institutions—where you met your friends, had a fair lunch, inspected the newest beauties, and heard the latest gossip. To sit by Nancy Travers, studying her exquisite complexion, listening to her somewhat disjointed chatter, was a thousand times more agreeable, than being precariously perched on the top of a stand, following with a field-glass, the speedy movements, of a little bunch of thoroughbreds!
During a lull, before one of the big events, a seemingly endless procession passed backwards and forwards between the paddock, and the stand. Sir Dudley pointed out various celebrities to Nancy,—adding in each case some pithy, or cynical remark. She did not wish to be noticed and accosted, and kept her parasol well before her face, but the hat of her companion seemed to be scarcely ever on his head; his acquaintance appeared to be as the sands of the sea!
"There's the Duchess of Doncaster,—I see she is bringing out her second girl,—hard luck on Lady Alfreda. There's Claverhouse of the Blues, and the little American widow; I wonder ifthatwill come off?"
These and other remarks were received by his partner, with nods and monosyllables. Her thoughts were elsewhere; her mind was in a tumult of fear, and bewilderment. Supposing Derek Mayne were to come forward, and claim her; what was to be her attitude? What would Mrs. De Wolfe think?—yes, and all her girl friends,—who talked to her so frankly, of their love affairs; Nora Wynne, Brenda Miller, and various others,—for she looked and was, a born confidante, and sympathizer,—what would be their feelings, when they were informed, that their simple Nancy had actually ahusbandin the background? Her reflections were interrupted by her companion suddenly asking, "I hope you had a good day?"
"'A good day?'" she repeated to herself. It was one of theworst, she had ever known! But she smiled faintly, and replied, "Oh, yes,—I've won! Tony Lamerton has given me tips. I put ten shillings on 'Dear Me.'"
"So I see that fellow Mayne is home again," remarked Sir Dudley; "strolling about with his old love,—Josie Speyde. She is looking remarkably well to-day,—those daring colours, suit her bold, black style."
Nancy raised her sunshade a couple of inches, and peeped out cautiously. There they were! promenading slowly together, Josie talking and gesticulating with unusual animation, and Mayne?—she surveyed him critically,—yes, he was remarkably good-looking; well set-up, well-dressed, and could hold his own, even with her present companion!
"Do you know him?" she faltered.
"Who? Oh, Mayne?—yes. Not very well, he's in my club, and we just pass the time of day. Not a bad-looking chap; one of the rough-and-ready sort: goes in for polo, boxing, and soldiering. He's afflicted with the most appalling stepfather, Torquilstone,—I actually had to leave the High Light Club, as I simply couldn't stand him; he seemed tolivein the smoking-room, and never gave us a day off! I hear that Mayne's people are keen to get him married, and that Lady Torquilstone is looking about for a suitable daughter-in-law,—no penniless beauty need apply."
It did not strike Sir Dudley that he had said anything particularly humorous, yet Nancy had burst into rather a wild, and unexpected laugh. How odd, and jerky she was to-day! headaches affected people in different ways: as he looked at her shining eyes, and brilliant colour, he leant towards her, and said in his most seductive manner:
"If you will be a good little girl, you won't sit here in the sun, but allow me to take you straight home; and go and lie down, and have ice on your head."
"Ice!" she repeated; "you have put itintomy head! I'm dying for one, and here comes Tony; I promised I'd let him take me to their tent. I'll be quite all right to-morrow; we were such a frightful squash in our carriage coming down, that I was nearly suffocated with the heat,"—then rising as she spoke, "Here I am, Tony! I'm coming; did Ireallywin five pounds!"—as he handed her a note. "Well, I'll give it to the Dog's Home."
Sir Dudley, who felt himself injured, and deserted, relinquished his pretty companion with what grace he could assume, and swept off his hat in his very best style. As he looked after the couple, he said to himself, "'Dogs' Home!' Much better return it to that bumptious young puppy,—who by all accounts is uncommonly hard up!"
Mayne, man-like, was not nearly so overwhelmed by their recent encounter as Nancy. He was still able to make bets, talk sanely to friends, and to follow the racing, with the keenest interest (although running through his thoughts, and keeping well ahead of the horses, was Mrs. Mayne). His present idea, was to make a move; a quiet cautious move, and try to find out, how the land lay? He had not failed to notice Nancy's numerous admirers; more than once, he had focussed her through his glasses, and though she played the "Ostrich," he was perfectly aware of the identity of the girl, who was sitting on the lawn, with that tame cat, Dudley Villars!—A tame, butnotdomestic cat! he knew something about him; and what he knew, was not to his advantage. A song-singing, insidious, unscrupulous, rascal,—and no fit companion for any innocent girl.
The sight of Villars, and his proprietary attitude, had awakened Mayne's jealousy, and materialized his intentions; he must see, and that without delay, how he could approach Nancy? Possibly some friendly third person, would assist him? It would be, he was aware,—a most delicate enterprise, yet "nothing venture, nothing have!"
As Mayne and a friend, were leaving the paddock, they almost ran into Teddy Dawson, Mrs. Hicks, and Jessie; he halted at once. This amazing encounter, was as unexpected, as it was providential! Here, as it were spirited from the ends of the earth,—were two of the witnesses to his marriage! and Dawson his best man, would stand by him now, as formerly.
The greetings of the little party were exceedingly cordial. Mrs. Hicks, Jessie and Ted were unaffectedly delighted to see Mayne. Teddy was now presentable, and "more,"—as his fiancée said,—"like a human being!" Mrs. Hicks radiantly happy, and attired in a bright green gown, with a pink silk frill round her neck,—recalled to Mayne, the common parroquet of India!
To secure a word with Teddy, Mayne presented his brother officer to the two ladies, and drawing him aside, said in an undertone:
"Guesswho'shere?"
"Yes, I know; I've seen her," replied Teddy; "isn't she ripping? Takes the whole cake, eh? Have you met?"
"We came down in the same carriage just now; she cut me dead!"
"Oh well, I expect she was a bit taken aback——"
"Look here, Dawson, I want to see you,—Imustsee you! I know your time is not your own,—but fix an early date to dine,—or something!—My club is the 'Rag.'"
"And mine's the 'Oriental.'"
"I say, you two," interposed Mrs. Hicks, laying a yellow claw, on Mayne's arm, "I won't have this! When two men get so confidential, I know they're after no good! Oh, I'm up to all your little games!" and she poked Mayne sharply with her fan. "If you are fixing a dinner, you must both dine withme! I know of such a nice, risky little restaurant, in Soho, where they do you 'A 1' for half a crown; and we'll all go on to a music-hall afterwards. Now, you come along, and get me a cup of tea," taking possession of Mayne; "I suppose you have tickets?" and still holding him fast, she led him captive towards the refreshment room. "I'm awfully glad you're home atlast," she remarked, with significant emphasis.
"Thank you," said Mayne,—meeting the amused eye of a friend, who stared hard at the lady on his arm.
"It's on account of Nancy," she continued, confidentially; "have youseenher?"
"Yes; to-day."
"Now, who would have thought, she'd bloom out into such a beauty! But her mother was rarely pretty,—and you saw the Earl for yourself. Jessie and me lunched with Nancy, and the old lady yesterday; the old lady has a voice comes out of her boots, and Nancy is just the same as ever!"
"Is she?"
"Come now; don't you be so stiff, and stand off; it isn't every man who has a beauty, and a real nice girl for a wife. And then there's all themoney!" and she nodded her head complacently.
"Money? What money?" he asked.
"Oh, Lord! haven't you heard? Why, she's gottonsof it."
Mayne stared at his companion interrogatively.
"Just squeeze me in there, and get me a cup of tea,—two lumps! andthenI'll tell you all about it in a jiffy!"
With a teacup in her hand, Mrs. Hicks resumed: "Do youmeanto say, that you never heard, that Mr. Fletcher left Fairplains to Nancy?"
"No. Did he really?"
"Yes, and a couple of thousand a year, as well."
After a long pause, he asked, "How long ago?"
"About eighteen months. She was living with an aunt,—a real terror, by all accounts, and having a mighty poor time, and then she came in for this legacy. An old lady who had a fancy for Nancy, took her in hand, and they have been knocking about the Continent for quite a time. Now they are staying at the Hyde Park Hotel. The old lady, who has no family, is just wrapped up in Nancy. She's one of the 'ordering-about sort,' and has a man's nose, and deep voice. Her name is De Wolfe!"
"De Wolfe!" repeated her listener, in amazement. "Are you quite sure?"
"Yes, I'm both sure, and certain,—how could anyone forget such an outlandish name as that?"
"I know Mrs. De Wolfe well," said Mayne, "she and I come from the same part of the world."
"I am glad to hear it, and you can take over Nancy. It is not fair or respectable, that she should be going about as Miss Travers, turning all the men's heads,—when you and I know, that she's a married woman!"
Mayne made no reply, but accepted an empty teacup in silence, and Mrs. Hicks continued: "Of course, you will leave the service, and take a fine country place; for there's not only the Fletcher money, but the gold mine. I see! you've not heard of that, I suppose! They are working a big reef on Fairplains,—you know the place near Chuttibutti?"
"I've heard nothing whatever about Fairplains, since I last saw you," said Mayne, after a considerable pause, during which an agreeable day-dream, had been completely dispelled.
"You've only yourself to thank for that!" said Mrs. Hicks, shaking the crumbs from her green plumage. "You went away to the north of India, and dropped the whole lot of us, like so many 'ot potatoes. Those old workings have turned out very valuable,—Hicks always believed in them.—They say, they are bringing Nancy in about eight thousand a year, and will be worth more, as time goes on! What do you think of that?"—and she poked him facetiously with her pocket-fan. "Why, I declare, to look at you, one would say you'd lost a fortune! Come, come! buck up!"
"Mother!" interrupted Jessie breathlessly, "I've been looking for you everywhere; we are going to try, and catch the next train. You know we are dining in town, and doing a play,—sodo, do make haste! Captain Mayne, you'll come, and see us, won't you?"
"Why, of course he will," replied her mother; "he and I have no end to say to one another,"—then turning to him, "Our address—have you a pencil, and I'll write it out on a bit of the race-card,—Torkington House, Baron's Court, quite in the wilds; but you're used to that! It was in the wilds that we met, ha! ha!"
"Oh,docome, mother!" cried Jessie, and seizing her by the arm, she dragged her parent almost forcibly away, but Teddy hung back for a second,—and said, "I'll telephone to your club, and fix a meeting!"—then he ran.
A change had come o'er the spirit of Mayne's dream; a bolt had descended from the blue! If Nancy had ten thousand a year, or thereabouts, how, he asked himself, could he come forward, and claim her? He had suddenly lost all interest in the meeting,—he had also mislaid his companion, and strolled over, and leant on the rails; not as others, watching an exciting race, but digesting Mrs. Hicks' unwelcome information. Her news, had altered the whole of his plans. Plans hastily made; and as hastily shattered.
Suddenly a heavy hand smote him on the back, and turning about he beheld Major Cathcart, looking remarkably spruce, and cheerful. "Glad to see you, old man," he began. "All the world seems to have turned up here to-day; and what a rare good meeting! I have pulled off a nice little haul." Then, after an expressive pause.... "You'vehad a bad time, I'm afraid!"
"Oh, no," replied Mayne, standing erect, and facing the speaker, "I'vedone pretty well, too."
"I say," now indicating a flowing tide of departures,—"if you are going by this train, we may as well toddle down together, and discuss old times."
Mayne nodded assent, and turned to accompany him.
"Where are you staying?" inquired Cathcart.
"With my mother, in Charles Street."
"And what leave have they given you?"
"All I asked for—three months."
"Of course you'll get an extension! Do you know that there has been quite a gathering of the hill tribes here to-day? I spotted Mrs. Hicks,—by George, what a sight! she ought to be in the Zoo, among the cockatoos. Her eldest girl, and Teddy Dawson, were with her, and then there's you and me,—and last but not least, Miss Nancy Travers! There's a transformation! She's a tremendous success, I can tell you. Men actually biting, and scratching one another, to get hold of her at dances, and so on. She's deuced ornamental, and well gilded too! and has slipped into the rôle of heiress, and beauty,—as easily as an old glove. You'd never believe she is the same girl as our little red-haired flapper! Have you come across her?"
"Not ... er ... to speak to."
"Well, all in good time; you and she used to be rather chummy, and by Jove, she could play tennis a bit! Mrs. De Wolfe, her chaperon, is a crafty old woman, and knows all the best people. She will do her best to fix a coronet, on that girl's head. I hear Lord Lanark is in the last stage of idiocy. I must confess I am rather surprised, that Mrs. De Wolfe allows Miss Nancy to be seen about with that fellow Villars. I am told, that he was always one of the little family party, on Como; painting, boating and caterwauling and all that sort of thing! He got the girl a good deal talked about,—but that's his little way!"
"Mayne never had much to say for himself," thought his companion, "now he did not seem to have a word, to throw at the traditional dog; but appeared to be totally dumb, and an absolutely uninterested listener. Well, there were crowds of other fellows, with whom he could improve the shining half-hour, to town," so with a "See you later on," Cathcart shook off this deadly wet-blanket, and hailed a passing acquaintance.
For once, Mrs. De Wolfe was hopelessly puzzled; something had happened the day of the races at Sandown; for ever since that date, Nancy was a changed creature; her amazing spirits appeared to have evaporated; she no longer entered into plans, with the same keen enthusiasm, but was restless, nervous, and given to surprising fits of silence. Her anxious chaperon dated this phase, from the afternoon when she had confided her charge into the hands of Jane Wynne; yet Jane Wynne could throw no light on the matter—although her aunt had approached her with the most careful, and subtle questions. The girl did not bet, she had no quarrel with anyone, nor had she lost any treasured bit of jewellery,—something had gone much deeper thanthat. What was it?
Nancy described in somewhat laborious detail, the crowd, the heat,—which had given her a headache,—she had met masses of people she knew, including the Hicks, and Teddy; the Millers were there in great force, including Lady Miller in a wonderful French frock; but the glare was dreadful, and she had not enjoyed herself one bit. "How I wish I had stayed at home, with you, and sat out in the cool under the trees," she concluded, as she had bent over her old friend, and kissed her between her somewhat bushy eyebrows.
Subsequently, Mrs. De Wolfe (who was credited with eyes in the back of her head) noted, that when they were in the park, at a polo match, or a dance, Nancy seemed to be looking about her nervously, as if in quest of someone: some individual whom she was half afraid to see! Her talk and her manner suffered; she had become preoccupied, absent minded, and silent.—It was a puzzle.—Meanwhile, her young friend was going through a crisis of feeling, almost too terrible to support.
For a whole fortnight, Nancy never caught sight of Mayne, and then she encountered him riding in the park one morning early. He was with a lady. They passed within a few yards of one another; but made no sign. She had felt half inclined to bow, but her impulse had arrived too late.
Mayne had waited in due form upon the Hicks, sent a handsome present to the bride-elect, and invited Teddy to dine with him at his club; but Teddy preferred atête-à-têteluncheon—his evenings were sacred to Jessie.
"I'm awfully glad you were able to come," said Mayne, as he ushered his friend into the stately dining-room of his club. "I couldn't get half a word with you the other day, and I wanted to have abukh."
"Oh, it's all right,—Jessie let me off this morning; she is up to her neck, shopping! You see, we are to be married in ten days, and want to do our honeymoon at home, before I get back to the coffee. We intend to live at Fairplains, which belongs to Nancy,—as you know."
"Yes! Mrs. Hicks told me. I hadn't heard a word."
"Well, how could you? when you never wrote to any of us. Nancy was a jolly sight better, she used to send me screeds, when she lived with her aunt, and did Companion, and Tweenie, and Scapegoat. However, that's all over now; as she and Mrs. De Wolfe will live together: they are going down to her country place, after July. I dined with them the other night, and I have heard all their plans."
"Mrs. De Wolfe lives in our part of the world; she and my uncle are old friends, so Nancy and I, will find ourselves in the same boat, meeting every day, sitting next to one another at dinner; in fact, I see nothing for it, but to chuck the rest of my leave, and go back to India."
"Don't be a fool, Mayne! Why on earth should you do that?"
"Knowing what you know,—need you ask? How can I go about, and associate, with a girl——" He paused expressively.
"You can make it up."
"No! I did my best, and Nancy made a fool of me."
"Yes, but the poor child was out of her mind with grief; the whole tragedy got upon her nerves; to tell you the truth, she grew so strange, that they thought she was really going off her chump, and bundled her home,—where I believe some real hard knocks and shocks, brought her to her senses. She has a face you can't forget; awfully pretty, isn't she?"
"She is," assented the other.
"Look here, Mayne, if you will takemyadvice,—you will sit tight—and brazen it out!"
"But my dear fellow, how can I brazen out, what is a dead secret?"
"Everyone will know some day,—and there will be a most tremendous rumpus. Nancy is famous for her good looks, she has a whole string of admirers,—Finchie's nephew is making great running, and——"
"He may run till he is black in the face," interrupted Mayne, "he can't marry her."
"Aren't you rather a manger dog; you don't care about the girl yourself,—some day she may lose her heart to a fellow, andthenwhat is to happen?"
"I'm afraid, I have not been quite candid with you, Teddy old man! although I have only seen this new Nancy twice; I find, that Idocare for her. In old days I admired her character, and liked her as a pal, otherwise she only struck me as a sunburnt, talkative, tomboy. Now, added to her good points, she has become beautiful, and attractive; and if she hadn't a penny, I'd have come forward, have asked you to be my ambassador, and endeavoured to make friends. On these lines, I believe matters would have worked out all right, intime. Travers liked me, and I'd score there; but to find that Nancy is not only a beauty, but also a great heiress, is a bit too much to face. I couldn't stand a wife with heaps of money, and mines! I'd be buried in gold and grandeur, and lose my own identity—such as it is! I only wish I saw a clear and honourable road, out of the whole diabolical business!"
"That is to say, if the mine were to burst up, and the coffee to go smash. I suppose," added Dawson, after a moment's reflection, "there was no flaw in that hurried-up ceremony?"
"None! I made particular inquiries at the time. The parson had the Bishop's licence all right; they sent an express, and routed his lordship out of bed in the middle of the night. Without this licence, a marriage is no more valid, as a binding ceremony,—than taking a woman down to dinner."
"So there's no loop-hole inthatdirection," said his companion. "If Finchie were at home, I bet you anything you like, she'd clear a path somehow. Shove you and your queer wedding into limbo, and marry Nancy and her money, to her nephew, Tony Lamerton!"
"Yes, perhaps she'd have a good try, but she couldn't bring it off all the same."
"You're coming to see me turned off on Wednesday week, eh,—you reallymustsupport me, and Nancy is to be one of the bridesmaids."
"Is she? well don't put me down for best man,—I'm not eligible, but I'll afford you my presence, and moral support. Is it to be a big affair?"
"I'm afraid so! lots of Mrs. Hicks' old friends, every planter in London, and most of our fellow passengers; we've had some thumping presents. Nancy has given us a car, a piano, and a fine canteen. She takes the deepest interest in our affairs, and is with Jessie to-day. We are sending some new furniture out to Fairplains."
"Well, I must confess, I rather liked the old sticks. There was one lame chair in the verandah, the most comfortable I ever sat in,—just took you nicely in the back, and didn't poke your head into your chest."
"It shall be preserved, and kept ready foryouwhenever you come for a shoot."
"I'll never shoot again at Fairplains,—or set foot on Nancy's estate."
"What a stiff-necked beggar you are! and yet I think it is quite on the cards,—that you may never return to India."
"Yes, I see your meaning, why swither out there, when I have a rich wife in England? As it happens, I bar a rich wife, and never intend to claim her."
"Supposing she were to take it into her head to claimyou? What then?"
Mayne stared at his guest for a moment, and then burst into a loud and hearty laugh. "Sooner than that, from what I know of Nancy, she would take a header off Waterloo Bridge."
"Well," replied Teddy, looking at his watch, "I must be off. Jessie is the soul of punctuality,—and I have to be, what the Americans call, 'on time.'"
"I score over you in one way, Teddy," said his friend, "I was never on duty; I had no long engagement,—at the outside, it wasn't more than thirty-six hours!"