A QUESTION OF QUALITY.

Auckland Star, Volume XXX, Issue 87, 14 April 1899, Page 6

A QUESTION OF QUALITY.

*Q}y Mm EfEle A- Rowlands.)

CHAPTER XIX.

Mr Callard was quick to take advantage of Lady Alicia's invitation. He appeared duly at Summer Lodge the following afternoon. Nancy was out. She started immediately after lunch and drove over to the brewery to collect and forward on her father's letters. Peter would have been far from flattered if he could have known how eagerly the girl sought to escape seeino- him. Lady Alicia had made no protest when her daughter had announced her intention of being absent, but Hubert had spoken to Nancy quite testily. , , 'Don't you think it will look deuced odd to Callard if you are not here? You tell me he is coming to call this afternoon. I think you ought to -be at home. Nancy.' 'I don't know whether Mr Ooillara •will call to-day or to-morrow.' Nancy answered a trifle coldly. 'In any case lie is coming to see mother, not me. Hubert frowned. 'It looks awfully rude,' he repeated, and he strolled off to the stables in a very bad temper. All this emphasised in Nancy's mind that sudde-n queer dislike, almost repugnance, that had come to her for this man, who seemed to be so much sought by everybody. Against herself she could not help thinking that something stronger than mere courtesy impelled Hubert to suddenly interest himself in her doings. As a usual rule, he was utterly indifferent where sh£ went and what she did. 'I hope—oh, Ido hope Hubert has not the intention of asking Mr Callard to help him out of his difficulties,' she (paid to herself with trepidation and a quickening of her heart's beat. The mere suggestion that her brother should think of using- his acquaintance with a wealthy man in such a manner jarred, sharply on Nancy; for, sympathetic as she was, and that in the truest, sense of the word, she had inherited her fathers probity and justice, and she could not but see and know that her brother's troubles were all the outcome of folly and most reprehensible extravagance. She found herself longing again for her father's return, although she did not desire that he should come home merely to be harassed and distressed by Hubert. Nevertheless, things never could seem so bad* when her father was near. At the brewery she heard that sir Baillie had written announcing he should be in his old place in less than a week. This was news to Nancy. One of her many little griefs of the moment was th e fact that she heard so seldom from her fat-her; that he seemed to desire to escape from all connected with his home; - even from her. Thus, though the news that he was coming ga.ve her joy, it hurt her to have this jp.V delivered second-hand. She delayed her journey homewards as much as possible, and alighted at the library In town on purpose to let some time whirl itself away. Chance came to her aid in this matter most ■unexpectedly. Th e shop was close to the t3Town"-Hall. ' Nancy's eye" had caught the sight of many-coloured posHT*Jawing.at. the entrance, to the hall as she got out of the carriage. The coming of any theatrical company was a rare occasion in Northehester, and Nancy paused to read the contents of the large placards. Now end then, at long intervals, some one of these nomadic players had ventured to solicit the patronage of Mr and Lady Alicia Baillie, a favour always refused by her ladj'ship and softened in the refusal by Mi' Baillie's generous purchase of tickets. Northchester was the least theatrically inclined place in the world; and now, as on previous occasions, the girl gave a pitying thought to the people whose pathway must be set in a poor world, since they considered such an insignificant town worth a visit. , Inside the shop Nancy wandered about, looking at the well-worn books on the shelves—all old acquaintances —and searching in vain for a new volume. She >yas not very much in earnest in her search, however. Her thought's were too busy in another direction, and once or twice she raised Jxer head and looked backwards from the library into the shop, as the sound of a most distressing and hacking cotrerh came to her ear. The owner of thecough was a. spare man, who was talking earnestly,to the proprietor of the shop, seemingly asking a favour. He had such a thoroughly all look and seemed so feeble and worn that Nancy's quick woman's pity went out to him. The girl in the library whispered ■ the information that this person was the manager of the company announced to perform that night at the hall. •Not that there'll be a performance at all, I'm afraid, 1 the girl added, 'for the hall people want a guarantee of some sort before they will open the doors. The last time Mr Sylvester's company came here, it, seems, they were an awful failure.' N-a<ncy put- down a book that she had in her hand, and looked round again at the ma.n, who was leaning against the counter, speaking as fluently as his cough would allow. 'I don't care a rap for myself, but the others must be cared for,' Nancyheard him say. Never till this moment had the existence of Bettine's father troubled her thoughts. She knew, as we know, absolutely nothingabout either of Bettine's parents, save that the mother had been her own father's sister. Now, as by a flash of lightning1, certain facts were made clear to her. Swiftly she recalled the time of the election—that day when she had seen her father walking alone in the town, when he had spoken of some important engagement, and the evening of that day when the news of Bettine's coming"was given to her, followed by the arrival of • Bettine Herself.

It had needed only the mention of the name 'Sylvester'" to" bring all this to Nancy's mind. She moved forward suddenly., 'Mr Bright,' she said to the proprietor of the shop, 'can I book any places with you for the performance at the Town Ha.ll to-night? I want at least a dozen if I can have them.'

The shop-keeper paused hesitatingly. As he had just refused to have any-

thing whatever to do"with the theatrical business, Nancy's question came awkwardly enough. 'I—we—this gentleman can perhaps oblige you. Miss Ba.illie.' he said confusedly. 'This is Mr Sylvester himself, the manager of the company. You can'get tickets at the hall.' 'Can I?' Nancy said, as brightly as she could, and with a courteous'movement to Sylvester.

Unconsciously the tears stole over her eyes as she looked on this pitiful wreck of v- once handsome ma.n. That Sylvester was still a gentleman in nature if not in appearance was something" at once revealed as he spoke to Nancy.

'If you will come with me to the hall I will arrange you the best seats possible.'

Nancy thanked him and they walked together out of the shop, an incongruous pair, as Mr Bright quickly told himself. The patronage of Summer Lodge was, however, something that could gloss over much in his Nonconformist opinion. 'Miss Baillie "is good at heart, though she's got odd notions,' he said to his daughter, and the daughter acquiesced warmly, for she was fond of Nancy, and she had a yearning now and then alter the flesh pots of "Nancy, utterly regardless of what might be thought or said, walked into the dim recesses oi the Town Hall beside James' Sylvester. Once they were alone she stopped aaid held out her hand.

'You are Bettine's father, are you not'?' she said, softly; then more hurriedly, 'My name is Anne Baillie I am your niece

Tames Sylvester took her hand

'Thank you.' was all he said at first, and indeed he felt a. sudden rush of gratitude at this sweet girl's claim of relationship, for none of those who belonged to him cared to do. what Naucy did, not even his own child. 'You have a look of your father, as I remember him,' he said next, 'though truly it is long since I saw him.' 'My father .regrets this, I am sure,' Nancy said quietly, and she knew she spoke the truth,'"and that ever since Bettine's coming and the experience that her coming- had signified, her father must have put aside the harshness against this man that he had spoken on that one and only occasion when Bettine's father had been men« tioned between them. James Sylvester shrugged his shoulders. 'Oh, lam not of your father's .world, my dear. A longtime ago he was taught to call me a blackguard, and now he is convinced, of course, of the fact.' He broke off with a sharp fit of coughing, and perceiving a chair in the distance, Nancy led him to it and made him sit down.

'My dear father is human, und therefore he must err, as we all do; but he has the most generous soul in the world, and when he realises he has done wrong1, he is the first to confess it,' she said

James Sylvester leaned back in the chair and brushed his handkerchief over his brow. 'I think,' lie said, slowly, his voice hoarse and difficult; 'I think I should like to feel that I stood well in Ralph Baillie's eyes before I go under altogether. One gets tired of being held in contempt for ever.' He broke off again, and coughed till the blood came to dye the handkerchief held to his lips.

Nancy stood and looked at him in a bewilderment of pain, regret, and fear. 'Uncle, you must let me help you. You seem very ill. Are you obliged to be out? Surely you are not fit to work?' The man looked up at her .with a faint smile on his pale lips. 'Needs must,' he quoted; then the smile went. 'There is the responsibility of the others, and I must carry this through. I've been called a bad lot, Niece Anne, a very bad lot, and 'I fear I have deserved the name, and yet I've treated no man, woman, or child dishonestly. Those who have trusted me have found me trustworthy, and so it must be to the end. I started this tour when I thought myself stronger, and I must carry the business through. You see I am the star in this show, and miserable as it may seem to you, my name will draw' at least one fair house in most towns—enough at any rate to give us a bed and bread and butter. This, however, is one of those places that will not have me at any price. It was a mistake to come here again, but the booking of the tour was done by an agent, and so I came to fulfil the engagement, hoping for luck — and finding none. Nancy bent over him and kissed his brow, 'i will be. you? luck,' she said tenderly. 'Deai: uncle, you will let me come into your life even at this late date. Had I only known—' She broke oIT; then she began speaking in that quick practical way that recalled her father so vividly. 'Let me know all. your obligations,' she said. 'No, no!' she entreated, as she read the expression on his face. 'You must not refuse—you must not. There is so little we can do in this life, and when the moment comes it is so sweet.' James Sylvester was silent a long while, but "he held the girl's hand in his> 'I am a broken-down man,' he said, when he spoke. 'Each day I seem to have' seen my grave draw nearer. I thought to go without -a glimpse of heaven here, or hereafter; but fate has been kinder than I deserve. You have come, my dear child—l accept from you all your heart prompts you to give, for I shall not live to be a nuisance to you, that is pretty certain.' Nancy's tears ran down her cheeks, but she brushed them aside. There was much to do in a practical sense, and she did it all; did it as neatly and as thoroughly as any man could have done. Her father's name was a 'guarantee for all that Nort.hchester's Town Hall required, and when the business of • the cancelled performance had been, arranged, Nancy insisted on her. uncle promising her that he would take up his abode at the hotel, quitting the miserable lodging he had occupied. Further, she sought a private interview at the bank, and was fortunate enough to obtain, a certain sum of ready money sufficient to settle matters with the members of the company, and leave Sylvester's mind at peace. It was late afternoon when all this ■was done, and .Nancy felt she must hurry home. 'But you will see me again, either to-night or to-morrow, dear Uncle,' she said,, as she took her leave. At the hotel she gave her father's name as a power to work everything pleasant for the sick man, who hencefdrvvard would have a place in her heart and thoughts. On her way home Nancy stopped; the carriage at the best local doctor and asked that he should go and pay a visit to Mr Sylvester at the hotel; and here, once more, the name of Baillie was used to work everything comfortably.

It needed no unspoken words from her uncle to assure Nancy that BetTine had completely severed herself from her father; and knowing the girl so well now, Nancy felt sadly that even if this father's condition were made known to her, it would make little difference to Bettiue.

Nevertheless Nancy determined that Bettine should be informed of all that was passing with this poor dying father, Selfishness and callousness might go a very long way, but there were limits, and it was, above all, her strong sense of duty to the man that prompted Nancy 'to brin,g- the other girl to her father at such a time.

The clock in the stable tower was chiming the half hour of seven when Nancy at last drove up to the home.

Hubert met her as she was passing into the hall. 'Well, for all intentioned rudeness commend me to you,' was his greeting. M can tell you, Callard was awfully annoyed with you.'

Nancy faced her brother. She was tired, both, mentally and physically, but his words struck a kind of hot energy into her. 'My dear Hubert,' .she said very coldly, 'what do you mean? In what way do you suppose it can possibly affect me, what Mr Callard does, or does not think? You speak most extraordinarily.'

She did not wait for the young man's answer, but passed on to dress for dinner, and Hubert Baillie was left to stand and look after her with a curious expression on his face.

'She must help me —she must," he said to himself passionately.

At dinner that evening it did not take Nancy long to see that her mother was more than usually angry with her. Lady Alicia had a trick of hurting those'she desired most to hurt in an indirect manner, by inuuendo rather than by attack. It was a most disagreeable meal, and more than once, in her present overwrought mental condition, Nancy very nearly broke down and cried bitter tears.

Something, however, sustained her, and that something was the fact forced upon her that her mother's anger was allied 1o her brother's annoyance with her, and as Nancy realised that Hubert's annoyance was all based on some selfish reason he had for propitiating Peter Callard, it roused the girl's pride to its fullest.

After dinner, when they were alone. Lady Alicia questioned the girl as to "the cause of her absence. 'You must have known I desired your presence at home,' she said, in her hardest way; and 'tliut was why, I suppose, you chose to absent yourself, Anne?'

Nancy's lips trembled. 'Oh, mother, is it possible for me to do anything but-wrong?' she asked bitterly; then, with added bitterness, 'Are you so eager, as a rule, to have me with you, that I should understand my absence would pain you?'

j^ady Alicia coloui'ed. 'There is, unfortunately, a complete lack of sympathy between v's, which I hope is rare between most mothers and daughters,' was her answer, 'yet you should accord me the privilege of playing a role occasionally. After all, though you have no pleasure in acknowledging the fact, you must remember I am yor mother, and as such have the right to expect certain duties and outward forms from you."

Nancy brushed aside her unshed tears. 'In what way have I erved this afternoon, mother?' she asked, quietly; then, before Lady Alicia could speak, she went on hurriedly: 'I see you are siding with Hubert in his vexation with me, because I was absent this afternoon when Mr Callard came. Hubert's eagerness that I should show deference to Mr Callard, mother,' Nancy said proudly, 'rings strangely in my ears; it signifies too much that is hurtful to me. I would be glad if you would let Hubert understand that I cannot nssist him in any. way to obtain material satisfaction from this friendship with Mr Callard, and that he does great wrong, both to Mr Callard and myself, when he imagines I have any influence to be used in such a manner '

Lady Alicia continued to read the magazine she held in. her hand for some minutes, then she closed it and laid it on a table beside her. Her long white hand, laden with jewels, trembled a little, and there was a look in her dear, hard eyes that touched Nancy sharply. it was an expression that spoke of mental trouble, and at the same time it revealed to the girl a truth which sent a hot flush covering her face. Her mot/hers voice speaking was but the echo of this revealed fact. 'Mr Callard does you the honour to admire you so much, my dear Anne,' Lady Alicia' said in a strange way, 'that he has to-day asked me to permit you to become his wife.' Aline Baillie sat very still and her cheeks grew pale. Then, rising slowly, she made her way out*of the room, unable to utter a word in answer to her mother's speech. .

(To be Continued.)