CHAPTER III

“‘Ellen!’ he cried, ‘in Heaven’s name, what has happened?’”

“‘Ellen!’ he cried, ‘in Heaven’s name, what has happened?’”

“‘Ellen!’ he cried, ‘in Heaven’s name, what has happened?’”

to her mechanically, but his eyes were staring at her with a startled look, and he grew visibly paler every moment.

“How do you do?” she asked quite naturally, as they shook hands.

Lionel could hardly speak. “Ellen!” he cried, “in Heaven’s name what has happened?”

Before she could answer both heard the handle of the door moving, and when the two girls entered the room the governess was standing by her own place, waiting for them, and Lionel had turned his back and was poking the fire to hide his emotion.

Ashas already appeared, there were two families of Trevelyans among the Follitts’ friends. The Lincolnshire branch was usually described as the mad lot, because at least two members of the family had disappeared suddenly from society, and as it had never been said that they were dead, it was quite easy to say that they were insane. There were numerous more or less idle tales about these two and concerning their property, of which the sane members were supposed to be enjoying the income.

The ballooning branch, which Lionel thought rather the madder of the two, was represented by old Major Trevelyan,who had invented an airship that would not move, his married son, and his daughter Anne, who were enthusiastic aëronauts, but had no belief at all in the old gentleman’s invention; on the other hand, their confidence in their own methods was boundless, and several rather serious accidents had left it quite undiminished.

Young Mrs. Trevelyan sided with her father-in-law, for in her heart she was a dreadful coward in the air, though she feared nothing on land or water; and she found that the best way to be left at home was to quarrel with her husband and sister-in-law about ripping-lines, safety-valves, detachable cars, and other gear. When an ascent was not far off, and her husband, as usual, showed signs of wishing her to accompany him, the wise little lady would get the old gentleman to coach her thoroughlyin his own views, which she then proceeded to air and defend till her husband lost his temper and flatly refused to take her with him, which was precisely the end she desired to gain.

There had lately been one of those ascents which, in the ordinary course of things, had been followed by a descent with some of those results that are frequent in ballooning, if not inevitable. When the three younger members of the family appeared, Anne Trevelyan’s handsome nose was decorated with a fine strip of court plaster and her brother had a sprained wrist, which obliged him to carry his arm in a sling. But they all seemed very happy and united, for young Mrs. Trevelyan was the last person in the world to say “I told you so.”

Lady Jane approved of ballooning, in principle, because it was distinctly “sporting,” but she thought it dangerous compared with motoring.

“It’s all very well,” retorted Anne Trevelyan, “but you could count on your fingers the people you have ever heard of who have been killed by balloons, whereas every one I know has either killed or been killed by motors.”

“I am quite sure I never killed a human being,” answered Lady Jane; “and I’m quite alive myself.”

“Yes, but how long will it last?” inquired Miss Anne cheerfully.

“And as for danger,” answered Lady Jane, “whenever I see you, you have just escaped with your life! It’s quite needless to ask why you have a large piece of court plaster on your beautiful nose, my dear, isn’t it?”

“Oh, quite!”

As no new ascent was being talked of, Mrs. Trevelyan did not take Lady Jane’s side, and the subject was soon dropped. Moreover, in the course of the afternoon a thing so new and surprising happened that it drove all other questions out of the field of interest in the Follitt family. Lionel actually went for a walk with his sisters and the new governess. He made no secret of it, and his start with the girls and Miss Scott was witnessed by the assembled party soon after luncheon. They were all in a large room which was neither a hall, nor a library, nor a drawing-room, nor anything else directly definable. In the days when the children had been much smaller, but not quite small enough to be kept out of the way, it had been their general place of meeting, and the Colonel had christened it the “mess-room,” because, as he explained,it was always in such a mess. Each member of the family had a place in it which was regarded as his or her own—a particular chair, a particular table or a corner of a table, with a place for books and newspapers. Lady Jane often wrote her letters there instead of in her morning room, and the Colonel had a small desk before a window, which he preferred to the much more luxurious arrangements in his study; the three young men often lounged there on rainy days, and even the girls kept what they called their work in an old-fashioned work-basket-table before a small sofa which was their coign of vantage; for by keeping very quiet they sometimes made their elders forget their presence, and they heard many interesting things.

Ordinary acquaintances were never asked into the mess-room, and were not likelyto find their way to it uninvited, as it was not in direct communication with the other large rooms on the ground floor, and could only be reached by a small dark passage which was entered from the hall by a half-concealed door. But the Trevelyans had lately been promoted out of acquaintanceship to the rank of friends—partly, perhaps, because Lady Jane hoped that Lionel might take it into his head to fall in love with Anne, who had always shown, or pretended to show, an unaccountable preference for him. His mother could not imagine why in the world a handsome and rather dashing sort of girl, who was almost too fond of society, should be attracted by that one of the brothers whom almost every one thought the least attractive; but since it was so, and since Anne was a thoroughly nice young woman, and since it was evidently the eldest son’s duty to marry, Lady Jane did all she could to bring the two together; and she was not at all pleased when she heard her husband’s exclamation of surprise on seeing that Lionel was actually going for a walk with his sisters and the governess.

“Upon my word, my dear, I never expected to see that.”

Lady Jane was near him, and looked out; the others heard, and went to different windows to see what was the matter.

“In a long and misspent life,” said Claude, who was not twenty-two, “I have never seen anything more extraordinary.”

“I say, governor,” asked Jocelyn, “there’s no insanity in our family, is there?”

“I’m not sure,” answered the Colonel. “I believe I once paid your debts, my boy. That’s always a bad sign.”

Jocelyn did not smile. “Taken in connection with the fact that I never made any more,” he answered, “it certainly looks as if we were threatened with softening of the brain.”

“And this settles it,” put in Claude, watching the fast disappearing figures of Lionel and Miss Scott, who were already walking side by side behind the two girls.

“It’s a safe and harmless madness, at all events,” laughed Anne Trevelyan, who was close behind Jocelyn and looking over his shoulder.

But the surprise of the party in the mess-room was nothing to the amazement of Evelyn and Gwendolen, who could not believe their eyes and ears. Their taste for forbidden amusements and sports, and their intimate alliance and mutual trust during a long career of domestic crime,had given them an almost superhuman power of concealing their emotions at the most exciting moments. When they saw that Lionel was coming with them, they behaved as naturally as if it were an everyday occurrence; but as soon as they were half a dozen paces in front of the other two they exchanged glances of intelligence and suspicion, though Evelyn only said in an unnecessarily loud tone that it was “a capital day for a walk,” and Gwendolen answered that it was “ripping.” They remembered that they had more than once derived great advantage from not altogether dissimilar circumstances; for although none of their brothers had exhibited such barefaced effrontery as to go to walk with them and the governess of the moment, nevertheless it had often happened that their former tormentors had disappeared from the schoolroom, or during the afternoon, for as much as an hour at a time, during which the girls left undone those things which they ought to have done and did a variety of other things instead.

On the present occasion they were surprised, but they never lost their nerve, and by the time they were six paces in front they were both already intent on devising means for increasing the distance to a quarter of a mile. Having been allowed to lead the way, it was natural that they should take the direction of the moor, where escape would be easy and pursuit difficult; besides, once there, it was easy to pretend that there was a cat in sight, and a cat on a grouse moor is anathema maranatha, with a price on its head, and to chivvy it is a worthy action in the eyes of all sportsmen. Cats were scarce, it wastrue, but Lionel and Miss Scott would be talking together, and how could either of them swear that there was no cat? As a preliminary measure, the two increased their speed at the first hill, and Lionel, who was in extreme haste to ask questions of his companion, refused to walk any faster than before. In a few moments, Evelyn and Gwendolen, though well in sight, were out of earshot.

“Why didn’t you tell me that you had had an accident?” asked Lionel in a low tone.

“Because it would not have been true,” answered Miss Scott, limping along beside him.

“But you are lame,” objected Lionel.

“Very!”

“And you’ve got one shoulder higher than the other.”

“It’s quite noticeable, isn’t it?”

“And your figure and your complexion——”

“Awful, aren’t they? I suppose I’m absolutely repulsive, am I not?”

The girls were forging steadily ahead.

“No, dear, you never could be that to me,” answered Lionel earnestly. “I’m very anxious about you, that’s all.”

“There’s really no cause for anxiety, I assure you.”

“But if you have not had an accident you must at least have been very ill?”

“Oh, no,” answered Miss Scott in an indifferent tone; “only a little influenza since I saw you two months ago. I don’t call that an illness, you know.”

“I’m not sure,” answered Lionel very gravely. “I’ve often heard that the influenza may have very serious consequences. I call being lame quite serious enough.”

“I daresay it will get better,” said Miss Scott cheerfully. “I am quite sure that this kind of lameness can be cured. I’m sorry to have given you such an unpleasant impression.”

“Painful would be a better word,” said Lionel. “I never had such a shock in my life as when you came into the breakfast-room this morning.”

“Yes, I saw. I suppose I had not realised how changed I am.”

“If you would only do your hair as you used to,” Lionel said, “it would be better. Why in the world have you taken to drawing it back in that way?”

“Did you see your mother’s advertisement?” asked Miss Scott.

“No. What had that to do with the way you do your hair?”

Instead of answering, Miss Scott produced a small newspaper cutting, which she had carried inside her glove with the evident intention of showing it to him. He took it, read it, and slipped it into his pocket with a rather harsh little laugh. “That was ingenious,” he said; “but the idea that you, of all people, could ever fulfil such outrageous conditions!”

“I’m perfectly satisfactory, you see. I fill the place very well, and Lady Jane is kindness itself.”

“I suppose that hideous frock is also meant to enhance the effect?”

“It does, doesn’t it?”

“Oh, yes, indeed it does! Most decidedly! But I should have thought that what has happened to you would have been quite enough to satisfy my mother, without making it so much worse.”

By this time they were up on the moor,which began not more than half a mile from the great house. As Lionel spoke the last words he looked sadly at Miss Scott’s blotched face; but it hurt him to see it, and he looked away at once, following his sisters’ movements with his eyes. At that very moment he saw them both stoop suddenly to pick up stones from the rough moorland road; having armed themselves, they dashed away like greyhounds from the leash, straight across the moor, in a direction which would soon take them out of sight in the hollow beyond. Miss Scott was watching them too, and showed signs of wishing to give chase at once, but Lionel stopped her.

“They’ve probably seen a cat,” he said quietly.

Miss Scott, who knew nothing about moors, did not understand.

“Cats kill the young birds,” Lionel explained. “The best thing we can do is to sit down and wait. It won’t hurt them to have a good run.”

As Miss Scott sat down on a boulder by the roadside, he caught sight of the thick sole of her right shoe for the first time. He had often seen cripples wearing just such a shoe on one foot, and he started a little and drew his breath sharply between his teeth as one does at a painful sight. She understood, but was silent for a moment, though she instantly drew back her foot under the edge of her tweed skirt.

“I was afraid it would make a dreadful difference to you,” she said, “and I suppose I should never have let you see me like this.” He made a quick movement. “No, dear,” she continued quietly, “I quite understand; but I couldn’t resist the temptation to be near you.”

“Besides,” he answered, anxious to destroy the painful impression he must have made on her, “you had written that you meant to come, if only on trial. I thought it was a mad idea, but I found it just as impossible to resist as you did, and I should have been awfully disappointed if you had not come. Of course it would have been easier for me if I had known—or if you had not done all you could to make it worse.”

She looked at him so steadily while he was speaking that he turned and met her eyes; they seemed to be laughing, though her face was grave.

“I really couldn’t paint my cheek, could I?” she asked.

“Oh, no! I did not mean that.”

“But I have,” said Miss Scott with great gravity.

“What do you mean?” asked Lionel in amazement.

“I wash it off at night,” she answered. “It comes off quite easily.”

“What?” Lionel almost sprang to his feet. “Do you mean to say——”

“Yes,” answered Miss Scott, smiling. “I’ve made up for the part. It’s well done, isn’t it? You know I belonged to the dramatic club at the college, and they thought I was rather good at it. I always did the ugly housemaids with colds in their heads and red noses.”

“Your nose too!”

“Yes, my nose too. The paint comes off my face; and this comes off.” She stuck out the thick-soled shoe as she spoke. “And this comes off,” she added, laying her hand on her shoulder and laughing. “And my figure is just what it always was. Only my teeth and hair are real.”

At first Lionel stared at her with some alarm, as if he thought she might be going out of her mind. But she only smiled and looked at him quite quietly; and, now that he knew the truth, he saw the familiar face that was dear to him as if it were not disfigured, and the sudden understanding wrought such a quick revulsion in his feeling and so greatly delighted his natural sense of humour, that he began to laugh silently, as he sat leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, for he had the grave disposition of a thoughtful scholar. But instead of subsiding, his mirth grew by quick degrees, his shoulders shook, and his face twisted till he felt as if his whole being were turning into one vast joke; then, quite suddenly, he stuck out his feet in front of him, leaned back, threw up his head, and broke into a peal of such ringing laughter as the silent moor had never heard before. And Ellen Scott, who had been dying to laugh for ten days, could not help joining him now, though in a much more musical and pretty fashion; so there the lovers sat on the boulder, side by side, laughing like a pair of lunatics.

The air was bright and still, as it can be in the North of England when the winter is just over and the earth is beginning to wake again, and to dream of her returning loveliness, as a beautiful woman may who has long lain ill in a darkened room. The clear laughter of the two echoed far and wide, even down to the stream in the hollow, where the girls were poking sticks under the big stones at one end of the pool to drive the speckled trout out of their quiet lurking-places; and they were talking in low tones and plotting to hide some fishing-tackle

“Such ringing laughter as the silent moor had never heard before.”

“Such ringing laughter as the silent moor had never heard before.”

“Such ringing laughter as the silent moor had never heard before.”

out of sight near by, on the mere chance that they might before long get an hour’s fishing while Lionel would be talking to Miss Scott. But the instant they heard the far-off sound of mirth overhead, they ran up the slope again, and dropped to the ground just behind a long familiar bunch of gorse, whence they could watch the road unobserved. The manœuvre was executed with a skill that would have done credit to a head stalker.

Lionel and Miss Scott were still laughing, but had reached the milder stage of mirth which is like the after-taste of very dry champagne. They were looking at each other, and it was quite evident to the experienced eyes that watched them through the gorse that they were holding hands, though the hands that were joined were not visible, but were held low down betweenthem, pressing the boulder on which they sat.

The two girls saw, understood, and rejoiced. They had firmly believed that never, under any conceivable circumstances, could any male being even think of holding Miss Scott’s hand; but the impossibility was an accomplished fact before their eyes, and as they could not have any reason for supposing that the two had ever met before, they both instantly concluded that it was a case of love at first sight. Then they looked at each other and they also laughed long and heartily, though not a sound disturbed the air. When the fit was over, they whispered together.

“I think it’s going to be all right,” said Evelyn, keeping her eye on the couple.

“I’m jolly glad,” whispered Gwendolen. “I thought we were in for it this time.”

“The last ten days have been awful,” said Evelyn, “haven’t they?”

“She’s a perfect demon,” replied the other. “I wish I knew some nice bad words for her, that it wouldn’t be wrong or low-down form to say!”

“I’ve seen things in Shakespeare,” said Evelyn thoughtfully, “but I’m not quite sure what they mean.”

“You can think them anyway,” suggested Gwendolen—“that’s better than nothing; and you’ll show them to me when we get home, and I can think them too. There can’t be anything wrong about that, can there?”

“I don’t think so,” answered Evelyn; “and we’ll never ask anybody, so we can always think that the words are all right.”

“Do you suppose he’ll kiss her?” asked Gwendolen.

“Not to-day,” answered Evelyn, with the superior wisdom of an elder sister. “They never do the first day; and besides, he’s sitting on the side that has the blotch.”

“Well, then,” said Gwendolen, who had a more practical mind, “if there’s not going to be anything more to see, and as we can’t hear what they are saying, let’s go back and tickle the trout!”

Evelyn at once recognised that this was sound counsel, and with the unanimity which characterised all their actions, the two crept backwards till they were below the brow of the knoll, and then rose to their feet and trotted down to the pool again in great gladness of heart.

“How long do you think you can keep it up?” Lionel asked at last. “It’s utterly amusing and delightful, but I think it is just a little dangerous for you.”

“At the first sight of danger I shall disappear into space,” answered Miss Scott. “But I have a little plan of my own,” she added, “which I mean to carry out if I can.”

“What is it?”

“It will succeed better if I keep you in the dark,” she answered. “In the meantime give me some work to do for you in the evenings—copying or looking up things. That will account for your talking to me sometimes, don’t you see?”

Lionelhad first known Ellen Scott while she was still a student at the college and was at home during the vacation. It happened in this way. Old Herbert Scott was one of the many learned and industrious, but quite obscure men whose ceaseless industry under the direction of half a dozen distinguished personages makes the British Museum the greatest institution of its kind. He was not a scholar in the ordinary sense of the word, for he had no degree, and had never been at a University. The son of an English officer in the native Indian army, who had been killed at the siege of Kabul, he had obtained a post inthe Customs of Bombay. Though he possessed little or no knowledge of the Classics at that time, he soon became known for his extraordinary proficiency in Mahratta and the kindred dialects. He was, in fact, a natural philologian, and soon advanced himself to the study of Sanskrit. His misfortune was that the subject interested him far more than any material advantage which he might have obtained by mastering it. There is plenty of lucrative employment in India for men who know Sanskrit and have a dozen modern dialects thoroughly well, and who can be trusted; but Herbert Scott cared for nothing but study, and at the age of thirty-two he was as inefficient in the performance of his professional duties as he was learned in the Vedas and the lore of the Brahmans; in fact, he was in danger of losing his means of livelihood, since the Customs were not included in the “covenanted” Indian Civil Service. Happily for him, he was discovered at this time by one of the lights of English learning, who instantly recognised in him the talents and qualities of one who would always be far more useful to others than to himself. He gladly accepted the honourable though modestly paid situation which was offered him in the British Museum—for the twenty-four-year rule had not been invented then; he returned to England, installed himself economically in the cheapest part of Kensington, and went to work.

A good many years passed before Lionel Follitt made his acquaintance in the Museum, and became indebted to him for invaluable assistance. The extraordinary extent and variety of his learning attracted and interested the young man, who at firsthad him to dinner at a Club, and soon afterwards proposed to go and see him in Kensington on a Sunday. Mr. Scott seemed pleased. Lionel kept the appointment he had made, and was considerably surprised to find his learned friend in conversation with a pretty and charming young girl.

“My daughter Ellen,” Herbert Scott had said, introducing his visitor.

Ellen had made them tea, had seen that they had everything they wanted, and had then discreetly withdrawn, leaving them to the discussion of Sanskrit literature.

The rest needs little explanation. The girl was vastly more to Lionel’s taste than any of those he met in his own set: she was modest without being shy, she was clever without ostentation, she could appreciate without flattering, and she couldunderstand without being vain of her wits. Moreover, though she was not more than pretty so far as features went, she had a lovely complexion, nice brown eyes that sparkled when she was amused, soft wavy hair of no particular colour, and a figure which Lionel thought the most beautiful he had ever seen.

After this first meeting his visits to the British Museum were more frequent, and though his own industry did not relax and his learning profited considerably by them, he often found time to go with Mr. Herbert Scott to Kensington after hours, and even to stay to tea and spend the evening with the father and daughter.

The old Indian knew nothing of Lionel’s position in the world, beyond the fact that he was a quiet young gentleman who lived in the country with his parents, and hewould have been a good deal surprised to learn that his studious friend was heir to a noble old estate in Yorkshire. It was soon apparent that the two young people liked each other very much, but Lionel inspired confidence, and the young girl had plenty of common sense; and if the young gentleman from the country took it into his head to marry the daughter of the penniless old student, so much the better. If anything happened to her father she would have to support herself, and as he could not hope to provide for her he had given her the best education that could be had in England. If she did not marry and was left alone in the world, she was at least fit for any employment that might offer.

Herbert Scott had no great knowledge of human nature, but as months went by,and visits followed visits, he became convinced that there was an understanding between the two, and his hopes increased; yet it was not until Ellen informed him of her intention to accept the position of governess in Lionel’s family that her father ventured to ask her a direct question.

“Yes,” she said, “I have promised to marry him if his people do not object to me. That will be the difficulty, especially with his mother, who wishes him to marry well. He has not spoken of me at home yet. My plan is to make his mother like me before she has any idea of the truth. Do you think there is anything wrong in that?”

“No,” answered Herbert Scott, to whose Anglo-Indian mind anything appealed that had a touch of adventure in it. “But does he know everything? Have you told him?”

“Yes, I have told him.”

But when Mr. Scott had gone with Ellen to the station, she had been quite herself in appearance, and he would have been much surprised if he had seen her when she walked into Lady Jane’s morning room. The disguise was a part of her little plan which she had not confided to him, any more than she had shown him the singularly uninviting advertisement she had answered. She had timed her journey so as to spend the night in York; she had arrived at the hotel in a long cloak and wearing a veil, and had gone to her room at once, and no one had been surprised at the appearance she presented when she came down for breakfast in the morning. As a matter of fact, she had got the idea of making the change in that way from the account of a celebrated robbery committed by a woman, which she had read in a newspaper.

On the evening after Lionel’s memorable walk with Miss Scott, Anne Trevelyan asked him whether he had found the new governess a pleasant companion, whereat the Colonel smiled pleasantly, and Lady Jane and the others laughed; but Lionel was not in the least disturbed.

“I was very much surprised when I saw her this morning,” he replied, truthful to the letter, if not in the spirit—for his amazement had been great. “I know her. She is the daughter of old Herbert Scott of the British Museum, who has helped me a great deal with my work. So I went to walk with her, and we renewed our acquaintance.”

Every one seemed disappointed, for the chance of chaffing the least chaffable member of the family had seemed unique. But now everything was explained in the dullest possible manner.

“Oh!” ejaculated Anne Trevelyan.

“Fault!” cried the Colonel, who was fond of tennis.

“Punctured!” observed Lady Jane, who motored.

“Crab!” was Jocelyn’s observation, as he looked across the table at Miss Trevelyan, for he was the oarsman of the family.

“Hit to leg for six,” remarked Claude, who was the cricketer.

After this no one thought it strange that Lionel should treat the governess with great friendliness, and as the Follitts were all kind-hearted people, no allusions were made to her undesirable appearance.

On the contrary, it occurred to Lady Jane before long that the poor girl mightreally make some improvement in her looks without endangering her ladyship’s peace of mind. Miss Scott was turning out to be so thoroughly satisfactory, and “knew her place so well,” that Lady Jane’s heart was softened. “I am sure you won’t mind my speaking of a rather delicate matter,” she said one morning, when she chanced to be alone with Miss Scott for a few moments. “I should certainly not mention it if I did not hope that you will stay till the girls are grown up.”

“I will stay as long as I can,” answered Miss Scott demurely. “You are all very kind to me, and I am very happy here.”

“That’s very nice, and I am sure you won’t be offended if a much older woman gives you a little piece of advice.”

“Oh, not at all! I should be most grateful.”

“‘The truth is,’ answered Lady Jane, ‘it’s about your hair.’”

“‘The truth is,’ answered Lady Jane, ‘it’s about your hair.’”

“‘The truth is,’ answered Lady Jane, ‘it’s about your hair.’”

“The truth is,” answered Lady Jane, “it’s about your hair. Are you sure you don’t mind? Don’t you think that perhaps, if you did not draw it back so very tight, it might look—er—a little less—er—unprepossessing?”

“It’s so easy to do it in this way,” answered Miss Scott, and she made her right eye wander rather wildly, for that was one of the tricks she had learnt in amateur theatricals. “But I shall be only too happy to try something else, if you do not think it would seem ridiculous.”

“I’m sure you needn’t be afraid of that,” said Lady Jane; “and besides, no one else will notice it, you know. I mean,” she added, not wishing to seem unkind, “I mean that no one will care, you know, except me, and I should like you to look—er—a little more like other people.”

“I quite understand,” answered Miss Scott; “I’ll do my best. But I ought to tell you that when my hair isn’t pulled straight back, it’s wavy.”

“All the better,” answered Lady Jane, with satisfaction. “That will be very nice.”

She had really felt that, in spite of Miss Scott’s admirable qualities, she was almost too hideous to be seen in town with two very smart girls. She might perhaps be taken for a maid.

As I have said, Ellen had nice wavy hair, though it was of no particular colour, and when she came down to breakfast the next morning, having arranged it as she did at home, the change in her appearance was surprising. She still had a red nose, a blotched cheek, and a bump on her shoulder, and she limped; but she no longer looked like a skinned rabbit. Evelyn and Gwendolen exchanged glances, and said in their evil hearts that the change was a step in the right direction, since it must be intended to please Lionel. Lady Jane smiled at her and nodded approvingly, but her prediction proved to be well founded, for neither the Colonel, nor Jocelyn, nor Claude, nor any one of the three Trevelyans, even glanced at the governess. And she had managed to tell Lionel of the advice his mother had given her, so that he showed no surprise.

On that day and the next, a large party of people came for the week-end, and when the house was full the governess and the girls had all their meals apart in the regions of the schoolroom, visited only by Lady Jane and occasionally by Lionel.

But he was obliged to be a good deal with the others, and incidentally with MissTrevelyan. He was the last man in the world to fancy that a woman was falling in love with him merely because she always seemed glad to talk with him, and he was inclined to resent the way in which his mother did her best to bring him and Anne together at all times; but when there was a large party he preferred the society of the few whom he knew more or less intimately to the conversation of those whom he rarely met more than three or four times in a year, and had sometimes never met at all—for in London he avoided the crowd as much as he could. The consequence was that, on the present occasion, Anne saw much more of him than when the Trevelyans had been the only people stopping at the house.

If he had been wise in the ways of the world he would have known that when a woman has a fancy for a man she talks tohim about herself, or himself, and has little to say about any one else; and he would have observed before now that Miss Trevelyan asked questions and led the conversation from general subjects to people. She seemed more interested in his brothers than in him, and particularly in Jocelyn—though she actually treated the latter with more coldness, or less cordiality, than the others.

“He has no ambition,” she said to Lionel. “I wish he would go in for ballooning!”

Lionel smiled a little. They were strolling along a path on the outskirts of the park, near the Malton road.

“I hadn’t associated ballooning with ambition before,” he answered, “but I daresay that if you suggested it as a career, he might take a fancy to it.”

“Not much!” answered Miss Anne, ina tone of conviction. “That would be just the way to make him do the opposite.”

“I doubt that. But do you mind telling me what the opposite of ballooning would be? Diving, I suppose, wouldn’t it?”

“Don’t be horrid! You know what I mean.”

Lionel did not know, but she had never before shown so clearly what she thought about Jocelyn’s opinion of her. Lionel was interested, and thought he knew her well enough to ask a direct question.

“You like Jocelyn, don’t you?” He looked at her quietly.

“Do you mind?” inquired Anne, with a short laugh.

“Not a bit. But, as a matter of fact, my mother has got it into her head that it’s your duty to like me.” He laughed too.

“You’re a very calm person.”

“I didn’t mean to be cheeky,” answered Lionel. “But as we are very good friends, and seem to be expected to fall in love with each other, though we never shall, it’s just as well to be frank, isn’t it?”

“Yes. I was only chaffing. You’re quite right.”

“Very well. Then you won’t mind if I tell you just what I think. You like Jocelyn, and you are quite sure he does not care for you. Is that it?”

Anne Trevelyan did not answer for a moment, and there was a little more colour in her handsome face. “Yes,” she said, after a few seconds. “That’s it. Rather humiliating, isn’t it? All the same, I would rather that you should know.”

“Thank you. But you don’t give him much encouragement to be nice to you, do you?”

“Well, hardly!” answered Anne, holding up her head. “I don’t think it would be very nice if I did, considering that he evidently dislikes me.”

“You’re quite mistaken,” said Lionel in a tone of certainty. “If you did not pretend to ignore him half the time, as you do, you would soon find it out.”

“Nonsense! You might as well say that he likes that dreadful governess!”

“I don’t think Miss Scott at all dreadful,” answered Lionel, in a tone that made his companion look at him quickly. “Her looks are against her, I admit, but I assure you she is a very nice girl.”

“I was only thinking of her looks, of course. And I forgot that you knew her father. What did you say he was?”

She asked the question in a tone of real interest, which was intended as a sort of

“‘I don’t think Miss Scott at all dreadful,’ answered Lionel.”

“‘I don’t think Miss Scott at all dreadful,’ answered Lionel.”

“‘I don’t think Miss Scott at all dreadful,’ answered Lionel.”

apology for having said anything against the governess.

“He’s in the British Museum; but he is not really her father. He adopted her and brought her up, that’s all. She was left on his doorstep, I believe.”

“Really! How interesting! Do tell me all about it.”

“There’s not very much to tell,” said Lionel. “Herbert Scott has been in the Museum five-and-twenty years, I believe, and has always lived in the same little house in Kensington. He began life in India, and I fancy he must be almost sixty. One morning, about twenty-two years ago, he was lying awake at dawn, when he heard a child crying just under his window. At first he paid no attention to the sound, but as it went on persistently, he went down and opened the door. He found a littlegirl baby, nicely dressed and quite clean, lying on the doorstep, kicking and screaming. He thought the baby might be about a year old. That’s the story.”

“Except the rest of it,” observed Miss Trevelyan. “The interesting thing would be to know what he did with it—a man living alone, and who had probably never touched a baby in his life!”

“He went to the police and made inquiries, and advertised, but as he could not get any information, and the woman servant he had was a respectable middle-aged widow who was fond of children, they kept it and brought it up. That’s all I know.”

“I have heard of such things before,” said Anne Trevelyan thoughtfully. “The child must have been kidnapped by thieves who tried to get a ransom and failed.”

“Or gipsies,” suggested Lionel.

“No, not gipsies. They hardly ever give up a child they have stolen, unless they are in danger of being caught; and if that had been the case in your story, the child’s parents would probably have claimed it, for they would have been employing detectives, and the police would have been informed. I should think the baby Mr. Scott found must have been an orphan in charge of some relations who were glad to get rid of it.”

“That certainly sounds likely,” answered Lionel. “I think it will be better not to speak about it to my mother or the others. I’m not quite sure why I’ve told you.”

“You told me because I called Miss Scott dreadful. I am sorry I did. I won’t do it again.”

“That’s all right—you didn’t mean it. We were talking about Jocelyn, I remember.I never understand how women do their thinking, and I suppose that I am not curious enough to study them.”

“What has that to do with anything?” asked Miss Trevelyan quickly.

“I was only wondering why, since you like Jocelyn, you are always as disagreeable as possible to him and as nice as possible to me.”

Miss Trevelyan laughed and looked away from him. “Of course you don’t understand!” she said. “Men never do.”

“I’ll give you a piece of advice, Miss Anne. The next time you make an ascent, make Jocelyn go with you, and see what happens.”

“Nothing would induce him to go, I am sure.”

“I think I could manage it, if you will only ask him.”

“I’ll take odds that you can’t,” declared Miss Anne emphatically.

“Six to four,” offered Lionel, who was not a Follitt for nothing.

“Two to one would be more like it,” proposed the young lady. “I only mean sovereigns, of course. I’m not on the make.”

“Done!” answered Lionel promptly. “I wish it were thousands!”

“Well, it’s in your stable!” laughed Miss Anne, who seemed pleased, “and I suppose you know what you can do.”

“There’s only one condition. You must ask him before me.”

“All right.”

Theinterview which was the consequence of Miss Trevelyan’s bet took place the following morning, in the presence of most of the family. As has been said, the Trevelyans had the privilege of the mess-room when the house was full; and as Anne was very much in earnest, she found her way there after breakfast, when she was sure Jocelyn and his brothers would be together. She was not disappointed. They were scattered about the big room when she came in, and the Colonel was writing a note at his little desk before the window.

Lionel guessed why she had come, and gave her a lead at once. He had the morning paper in his hand.

“Have you seen this?” he asked, looking at her directly. “There’s been another of those awful motor accidents. The thing ran away, and caught fire, and was smashed by an express train. Frightful, isn’t it!”

“Anybody we know?” asked Miss Anne, coming up to him.

“Nothing particular was found of the people,” he answered; “but there seems to be an idea that they were foreign tourists. It’s one to you, Miss Anne. No one ever seems to get killed in a balloon, unless they go to the North Pole.”

“Ballooning is no more dangerous than football,” answered Miss Trevelyan, turning her back to the fireplace and looking round the room. “You get rather bumped about sometimes, in coming down, but that’s all. Why don’t you try it?”

She looked about her vaguely.

“Is that meant for me?” inquired Lionel.

“It’s meant for anybody who will come with me next time.”

The brothers had dropped their newspapers and were listening, and the Colonel had turned in his seat, after finishing his note, and was looking at her.

“We can’t all go,” observed Claude.

“And as I have no time for that sort of thing,” said Lionel, “the choice is not large, for I don’t suppose the Governor is going in for aeronautics.”

“Why not?” asked the Colonel, perennially young.

“I wonder what the Lady would say?” laughed Claude.

“Of course my brother will go with us, so it will be quite proper,” said Miss Anne coolly.

“The Governor is welcome to my place,” said Claude. “I’ve promised to ride a steeplechase next month, and I’m not very keen about breaking any bones before it comes off.”

“That narrows the invitation to the Governor and Jocelyn,” observed Lionel, “and I’ll lay odds that the Governor will be the only one of the family who will accept.”

“What odds?” inquired Jocelyn, who had not spoken yet.

“Oh, anything,” laughed Lionel. “Five to one if you like.”

“Tens?” Jocelyn asked.

“Yes; I’ll go fifty against it.”

“Done!” answered Jocelyn promptly, for he was hard up, and Lionel knew it.

“Will you really come?” asked Anne, affecting cold surprise.

“Rather!”

“Jocelyn was always a sordid beast,” observed Claude in a brotherly manner. “He’d sell his soul for fifty pounds.”

But Jocelyn remained unmoved. “I don’t know about my soul,” he answered, “but you may have the brown filly at the price.”

“That imp of Satan? Not much!”

Jocelyn made no answer to Claude’s disparaging remark about the filly, but turned to Miss Trevelyan in a businesslike manner.

“When is it to be, and where?” he asked.

“We’ll make the usual start,” Anne answered. “But we shall have to wait till Bob’s wrist is all right again.”

“He isn’t wearing it in a sling any more,” said Jocelyn, who, for reasons of his own, was in a hurry to win his brother’s money.

“Call it three weeks from Monday,” said Anne, after a moment’s thought, during which she had mentally run over thelist of her numerous engagements. “I’ll let you know the hour. We’ll start no matter what the weather is, of course. We always do.”

So the matter was settled much more easily than she had anticipated, and she was proportionately grateful to Lionel for making her lose her own small bet.

“You’ll be forty-nine sovereigns to the bad,” she said with a pleasant smile as she paid it, “and it’s rather a shady transaction, I suppose. But I’ll make it up to you somehow.”

“That’s all right.”

Lionel reflected on human nature afterwards, and more particularly on the ways of young women; but it is due to him and to Anne Trevelyan to say that he did not like her any the less for what she had done. On the contrary, he would cheerfully havemade a larger sacrifice to see her married to his brother, since that happy result would effectually put an end to his mother’s plans for his future bliss.

During the remaining three days of the Trevelyans’ visit, after the house-party had scattered, he already had reason to congratulate himself on his investment. The singular transaction which had taken place in the mess-room had broken the ice between Anne and Jocelyn, and for the first time in their acquaintance they were seen talking together apart from the others. At dinner, too, they exchanged remarks, and judging from what they said the rest of the party might have supposed that their conversation consisted chiefly in making satirical observations on each other’s personal tastes; but now and then, when Jocelyn said something particularly disagreeable,Anne laughed cheerfully, as though she liked it, and when she returned the thrust with interest Jocelyn’s large good-natured mouth twitched a little and then smiled. They acted like a couple of healthy terrier puppies, whose idea of a good game is to bite each other in the back of the neck and catch each other by the hind leg, and then to rush wildly off in opposite directions, only to turn back the next moment and go at each other again, with furious barking and showing of young teeth, which is all a part of the fun. It would be beneath their dignity as fighting dogs not to pretend to fight each other when no sworn enemy is about; but it would be against the laws of puppy honour to do each other any real harm.

Lionel saw and understood, and so did quiet little Mrs. Trevelyan; but the Colonel could not make out what was going on, for he was a mild man who had inherited the sentiments of the Victorian age, and only recognised that he was growing old because he felt that his own methods of being agreeable in the eyes of women were antiquated.

As for Lady Jane, she was not at all disturbed, for Lionel and Anne were as good friends as ever, and were, in fact, more intimate since they had entered into an offensive and defensive alliance. Besides, the presence of the undesirable governess had contributed greatly to her peace of mind. Her gratitude had already shown itself in the advice she had given Miss Scott as to arranging her hair, and the effect was so good that she contemplated some further improvements. What made the governess look like a housemaid, though it was clearthat she was a lady, was her red nose and the blotch. A lady might limp and have a bad figure, and even be a little crooked, but a red nose was distinctly plebeian in Lady Jane’s code, and blotches were a somewhat repulsive disfigurement. She was really kind-hearted, but she knew that she was not always tactful, and it was with some trepidation that she approached the subject, having summoned Miss Scott to her morning room to ask whether the girls were doing well at their lessons.

“You are really quite wonderful,” said Lady Jane, when the governess assured her that Evelyn now really understood that Henry V. of England did not fight for the French crown on the ground that he was the son of Henry IV. of France, and that Gwendolen had remembered “nine times eight” for three whole days. “And areyou quite sure,” Lady Jane asked, “that you wish to stay with us? Does the air here—er—quite agree with you?”

“Oh, yes, indeed!” answered Miss Scott, with alacrity; “besides, I should be perfectly well anywhere.”

“Because I sometimes think that, perhaps, your circulation is not as good as it might be.”

“Really?” cried Miss Scott, very much surprised, for she had not the faintest idea what Lady Jane was driving at. “I never thought of my circulation.”

Lady Jane hesitated, and looked at her, not without a certain motherly kindness. “I’ve noticed,” she said, looking away again, “that you sometimes have—er—in fact, always since I have known you, a slight—er—redness.”

“Oh, yes, I know,” answered Miss Scott,with a very slight tremor in her voice, which was really due to the fact that she felt the warning symptoms of coming laughter.

But Lady Jane was afraid that she had touched a sensitive spot, and had given pain. However, she was in for it now.

“Please don’t think me meddlesome,” she said gently; “but I really know that those little things generally come from a bad circulation, and can be very much improved, if not quite cured, by diet and by taking the right sort of exercise.”

“I’m afraid my nose isn’t that kind,” answered Miss Scott with difficulty, for she could scarcely speak.

“Perhaps not. But Sir Jasper Threlfall is coming next week, and he is such a great authority, you know. I am sure he would be willing—if you don’t mind too much——”

When Miss Scott understood she started in real fright. “Oh, please, please! I’ll do anything you like, but please don’t ask me to see a doctor!”

There was no mistaking her real distress now, and Lady Jane felt that it was impossible to insist.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “but of course, if you feel so strongly about it, I won’t say anything more. Perhaps you wouldn’t mind very much trying some stuff I always use myself if I happen to get burnt by the wind when motoring. It’s not at all nasty, you know—in fact, it’s rather nice, and it’s very soothing. Will you let me send a bottle to your room? I always keep a supply.”

“It’s most kind of you, I am sure,” answered Ellen, immensely relieved. “I can’t tell you how I dread seeing a doctor!If you will only tell me just what to do, I shall be very grateful.”

Lady Jane’s lotion for the face was a marvellous compound. Judging from the short, but imposing, statement set forth on the neat Parisian label, it was the highest achievement of two famous French chemists in collaboration with an ancient and celebrated manufactory of perfumery in the Rue de Rivoli. Miss Scott, who was strictly truthful, said that she used it conscientiously, and so she did; but she did not add that she had another little bottle of her own, the contents of which she applied with equal regularity to her nose and her cheek during at least a week after her interview with Lady Jane. When the lotion was almost finished, however, a marked improvement was visible. Her nose was still as red as ever, but the disfiguring blotch grew rapidlysmaller and paler. Lady Jane was delighted, but, with the exception of Lionel, the men of the family were so thoroughly convinced that poor Miss Scott was a dreadful sight, that they did not notice the change at all, while Lady Jane’s interest in the cure she was effecting steadily increased. It is well known that a red nose is even harder to cure than a bad complexion, but she did not lose heart. Bottle after bottle of the wonderful lotion was sent to the governess’s room, and Lady Jane was soon obliged to order a fresh supply from Paris. Her maid, who had been the first to discover that Ellen was a perfect lady, took a lively interest in the cure.

“It’s a wonderful change for the better, miss, if I may say so,” she said, “and it’s a mercy that her ladyship happens to use the lotion, for I must say she never needed it

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