THE SPIDER AND THE FLY Or, AN UNDESIEED LOVE.

Auckland Star, Volume XXXVI, Issue 84, 8 April 1905, Page 14

THE SPIDER AND THE FLY Or, AN UNDESIEED LOVE.

By CHARLES GARVICE, Author of "Elaine," "Her Heart's Desire," "Olivia," "A Martyred Love," "A Woman's Soul," "The Marquis," Etc.

CHAPTER V. IN DIFFICULTIES. To the unsophisticated inhabitants of the little seacoast village the Mildmays of the Paiif; and the Dodsons of the Cedars, were very grea-t folk, indeed, but we have now to do with far greater, with no less a personage and family, indeed, than the weli-knovm Earl of Lackland and his children. A very great man was the Earl of Lackland. His ancestors had fought at Cressy, and at Hasting?. Lackland Hall was an immense place in the Midlands, a grand old house, with famous association*. You could not turn a page of English history without coming directly, or indirectly, upon Ihe deet'.s and doings of the Lacklatids. It was a question with some politicians whether if by some dreadful chance the house of Lacklauds had ueen extinguished, the history of England could have been written at all! TTiero were men who. when they wanted to illustrate the. grandeur, the nobility, the importance of England, would point the admiring finger at Laoklauds and exclaim. "There is one type! Look at Lackland", and sec epitomised the glory of our land!" Certainly the Earl of Lackland was a most, important individual. Besides the great Lackland HaTl there were also the great mansion iv Grosvcnor Square, the castle in Scotland, the villa on the banks of the Arno, and the fishing boxes in Ireland and "Wales. The present earl and countess wore blessed, in addition to the places of residence above enumerated, with a son and daughter. The former, Lord Fitz Plantagenet Boisdale. was a young man just passer! the majority. Fair—insipid he woul.l have been called had he not been heir to Lackland —somewhat simple-minded, certainly not clever, and extremely fond of dress, billiards, his betting-book, and his cigar. Lady Ethel Boisdale. his sister, presented a marked contrast to him. She. Mas tall. dark, by no means insipid, and if not positively clover, certainly possessed of the average quantity of brains. To say in what direction her tasto inclined would be perhaps at present rather premature. It is difficult to analyse the lady's disposition, and probaby the reader at some future time might be dissatisfied and inclined to pooh, pooh our opinion of LaCiy Ethel if we pronounced it thus fairly. Suffice it to say she was fond ot lYMdir, was deeply attached to her intitL'tr, and would have been equally i-o to her parents had they encouraged or even permitted her to be so. Perhaps such great personages as the Tlarl and Conntess of Lackland were too exalted to posi(?~s those emotions of affection and tenderness which fall to the lot of. commoner people. }{ they did possess them they managed to conceal them with iniluitu art. and no one could accuse them of the folly of wearing their hearts upon their •lecvos. Assuredly Lady Ethel must have had a warm heart, and a generous nature or ♦he coldness 'of her exalted parents would have chilled her and rendered her cold likewise. That she was not. the readpr will soon perceive. Thousands of persons envied my Lord and Lady Lackland. Never did their carriage roll through the streets, or their names appear in the paper among the fasWonable intelligence, but hundreds exclaimed: "I wish I were a Lackland." But not one of the envious ina'ny knew what they were really envying. There is a skeleton in every house; there was one ever present in all the great and small houses of Lackland. Sometimes he kept discreetly to hi.s cupboard: at others he stepped boldly out and rattled his bones, and grinned iv ;< manner horrible to see. Oh, ye?, reader, other people besides yourself have a skeleton, and there arc some persons unfortunate enough tc have two. I i we entered the Grosvcnor Square mansion, say on the morning after that memorable, little dinner party- at Mildmay Park far away in Penruddie, we might perhaps have caught a glimpse oi i hat skeleton starting out of the cupboard. Lord Lackland was seated at the mo-rocco-lined writing table in his own room, with a few newspapers, a decanter of light wine, and a box of biscuits before him. The door opened, and a young man. nc other than Lord Fitz Plantagenct Boisdale, entered. There was a Hush on his fair face, and a look of doubt and distrustful nervousness in his rather simple blue eyes. "Gco morning, sir." he said,"holding out his hand. "Good morning. Fitz," said the earl extending two fingers and glancing cold ly at a chair which stood near the table for any visitor on business. "You arc ten minutes behind your time." "'I am very sorry, sir," said the boy, for he was little more in years or appearance, "but I'd proinised'to ride witli Ethel this morning, and 1 forgot it until after 1 left you. so I went down tc the stable to tell Markham to saddle the two bays, and he kept mc to talk about that chestnut " The earl interrupted wh:;L promised fr be a lengthy explanatory excuse with hi~ cold, little bow, and gianced at the ormolu timepiece on the table. "It is of little consequence to mc; 1 ant obliged to leave at ihe half hour tc meet an appointment, therefore I shall only be able to give you the time I pro mised to give you. You wished to to mc." "Yes. sir." said Lord Fitz. looking down at his boots nervously, and then up at the coiling. "I wanted to ask you if you could let mc have a couple o! hundred pounds beyond my allowance to—to—pay a few debts, which—which, of course, 1 could not help running intc while 1 was in Paris." Lord Lackland walked to the bureau, and took out a bundle—a 'very small bundle—of banknotes: from ihis In counted a hundred pounds' worth, and holding them in his iiand, said: "Hero art; a hundred pound-;- 1 cannou give you any more, for a. vrrv cSxx - reason I cannot afford to do so." *

—pecuniary position. ' I ought, perhaps, to have informed you of the condition of my affairs long earlier, but consideration for your feelings deterred mc. Fitx. the estates in London, in Italy, in England, ara mortgaged to their fullest extent. The revenue is nearly swallowed up by the interest, and there is so little ready money in the house that if the servants were to demand their wages I should not be in a position to pay them." Lord Fitz stared, pale and agliast. The skeleton was out grimly walking before them. For ; the first time Lord Boisdale learned that he was heir to a rich crop of embarrassments, iind that the great Earl of Lackland, his father, was a poor man. "Great Heaven!" he exclaimed. "You ilon'l mean to say that, sir!" unlike his father, showing his emotion unmistakably. "i have said it," replied the earl, "and now you know my—our —reaj position. Credit, Fitz, has kept our heads above water for :>. pre.at many years—crediL alone. How much lunger it may do so I cannot say, but 1 can estimate if your bills for necessaries amount to the sums which they here represent." "What—what's to be done?" asked Lord Fitz. staring at his calm parent with bewildered horror. "We must sell some ci the places, the horses, the diamonds, by jinsro!—the—the—everything!" "We cannot sell what is sold or out of oi:r hands already. You do not understand business matters, unfortunately, or you would at once comprehend that the houses, the land, being mortgaged, and the diamonds at the —ahem —pawnbroker's, it is simply impossible to make, further money of them." The young man jumped np and took three, paces up and down. "But," , said he. suddenly, and with incredulity upon his face, "I saw my mother wear the diamonds at the last drawing-r00m. ,, "Xo< exactly." said the early, "paste imitations only; the real are in the possession of a pawnbroker. But if you have any taste or inclination for au investigation <or examination of our finances, yon have my permission to examine live documents which you will i find in this eflse —" "ilreat Heaven, no!" said young Fitz. "I don't doubt your word, my lord; I'm only stunned, knocked all of a heap as one may say. It seems so incredible! Why. by jingo, thp. fellows arc always asking mc to lend them money—and— and saying liow rich we are; and you say that—'' "That 1 cannot sfl'ord to Jet you have, the other hundred pounds." said the. earl, replacing the bundle in the bureau. "While we. are upon the subject, which is too painful to be renewed, I will remind you that you are heir to the esta-ic, and that it is in your power to clear it of the. encumbrances." 1 'Tn mine!"' exHnimed Lord Fitz. "Exactly." fhe earl. "By a judicious marriage. You must marry an heiress. Fitz. There are a number of them to be met w-ih; and a threat many are extremely anxious to purchase position with their money. I speak plainly because the matter is too serious for mere insinuation. You must marry well, and—ahem— 30, of course, must. your sister. ,. Ho glanced at the timepieoe significantly. The young lad rose at the hint and took tip his hat. "I won't detain you any longer, sir." he said. "I paw very much obliged for— for the money, and, of course, I'm very sorry to hear such a bad account of the estate." '•Exactly." said the earl. TFitb a cold smile, looking out of tire window. "You are riding , that bay, I see. and I trust you will take care of it. I had to pay a heavy bill for th-e mare whose knees you cut last month. Let mc beg of you (o be careful with the bay.' 5 "Certainly, sir.'* said Lord Boisdale, and with a very uncomfortable air lie left the room. As he passed into the corridor a sweet, clear voice rose from the hall. "Fitz. are you coming?" Fitz smothered a sigh, and as cheerfully as he could, replied: "All right: here I am," and ran down the stairs. In the hall stood Lady Ethel Boisdale. "How long you have been!" she said, with a smile. "Are you not ashamed to keep ;i lady waiting? Well. I think brothers imagine they are privileged to take advantage of a sister.' . As she spoke her eyes noted the disappointment and embarrassment on his countenance, and when they were mounted and turning out of the square she said: "What is the matter.-Fitz? Will not papa aive you the money?" i "Xo.' , said Fitz, with an uncomfort- | able laugh: "no. ar.d supplies an excel- ! lent reason for not complying with my j modest request. Oh. dear mc. I'm j very miserable. There! don't ask mc what about., because I shan't tell you. It would only worry you, and you're too good a follow—l mean girl—to be worried. Lei's put these lazy animals into something sharper; I hate this square and those streets.' , . Lady Ethel touched her horse gently, and in silence they cantered into the j park. "Look." said Ethel, presently, ""who is that lifting his hat?" "Eli, where?" said Lord Fitz. "Oh. it it's Bertie Fairfax and Leicester Dodson —capital fellow. Bertie. Let's pull up a minute, Ethel."' J And with n smile of welcome he steerI ed his horse neor the rails, upon which [the two gentlemen who had raised their I hats wero leaning. j One of them. Leicester Dodsou, we know, the other was a tall, splendidly built fellow, with a frank, genial face, j and a noble yet peculiarly free and I graceful bearing. j '"Hello, Bertie! Good-morning, Mr Dodson. Delighted to see you. Ethel, you will let mc introduce my friends, Mr Dodson. Mr Bertie Fairfax. Bertie, Mr Dodson. this is my sister. Lady Ethel Boisdale." Both the gentlemen raised their hats: j Lsdy Ethel bent her beautiful hi>a<i i with her rare smile. j She always liked to know any friends of her brother whoTn hs- chose to introI ducc, for with ail his simplicity be was I too wise to fall into the mistake of showing her any but the most unexceptionable of them. Bertie Fairfax'looked up at tthe lady and then at the horse. He vras a connoisseur of both. I "It is » boaotiful *»£>" iuj *uud. ogea-

' ing the conversation with the usual j ', ! weatherwise remark. "''Tour horse looks I ! as if be enjoyed it." j i "Which he does," said Ethel. "I am ! ! sure I do. It is delightful—walking or : riding-"" ; I "I should prefer the latter,"' said j j Bertie Fairfax, "but my horse is lamed I temporarily, and I am compelled to I pedestrianise." j '-What a pity," said Ethel, adding, I with her sweet smile. "Perhaps the j change will be good for both of you."' •' Bertie Fairfax looked up at her with ' his frank eyes to see if she was quiz- ■ •! zing him. then laughed musically. "Perhaps he thought so and tumbled • ! down on purpose. It doesn't much matter —I like walking, but not here: like more room. My friend, Mr Dodsou, ; however,, insisted upon this promenade. ! He is an observer of human nature —a cynic, I regret to say—and finds material for bitter and scornful reflection in the gay and thoughtless crowd. Are i you sroins to Lady Darcfield's hall to- i night?" "Yes, , ' said Ethel. "I presume you, also, by your question, are going?" j ""Yes." said Bertie Fairfax. "I am f glad so say." j Five minutes before he had sworn to I Mr Leicester Dodson that he wouldn't I : go to my Liidy Darefield's ball for five i I hundred pounds, and five hundred : pounds were of some eousequenee to Mr 1 Bertie Fairfax. I "It is very Itot for balls, but one must j do his duty. I hope 1 may be. able to I persuade you to give mc a dance?" "I don't know,"' said Ethel, with a smile. At* that moment her horse walked j on a little. Mr Fairfax moved further j up the rail, and then conversation, no ■ more confidential than we have already : srivenSl continued until Lord Fitz waa ' heard to exclaim, "Good-bye/ , and then ! joined his sister. j j Both the. gentlemen on. foot raised i ! their hats, Bertie Fairfax with his cor- j ' dial, pleasant smile, Leioe-ster Dodson j ; with his grave and also pleasant- grace. , and after a return of the salutations j the four young people parted- ' "Well," said Lord Fitz. from whose ! i mind thp recent meeting had expunged the unpleasant remembrances of his, i morning - interview, "what do you think i of them ?'' I Ethel was silent for a moment. I "I don't know whicli was the hand- ; i socier."' she said, thoughtfully. : "That's just like you women, Eth; ', ■ you always think of the graces first." ; "Well." , said Ethel, "there was no ' : foiint? to know anything more aibout j \ them. I think Mr Fairfax is very plea- j j sant—he lias a nice voice and such j j frank eyes. There, are some men with j j whom you feel friendly .n the first ten | I minutes; he's one of them." ! "You're right,"' said Lord Fitz. '"Ber- ! tie's the. jolliest and dearest old fellow j going. Poor old Bert!" ' 1 "Why poor?" .said Efliel. "Because he is poor, deuced poor.'* said Lord Fitz. muttering under his J breath, with a sigb, "Like some more j Of v.s." "How do you mean?" said Zt'ie!. ; : ''Well."' said Lord Fitz. "he has toj i work for his living. lie's a barrister ' I or somethiug of that. sort. But he : writes and draws things for books, j you know. ] don't quite understand. He ca.xi sing like a nightingale, and , tell a story better than any man 1 know." "He looks very happy," said. L'tbc.l, "although he is poor/ : •■Kappy!" said Lord Fitz. "He's always happy. He's the best company I going-" "Atiil who is his friend? Mr Dod- ! son. is not his name?"' aske£ Ethel. "Yes, Leicester Dodson,"' said Lord j T Jr:c. "He's one of your clever men. I You can't understand whether he's i serious or joking sometimes, and I've J often thought he was malcing fun of ! mc, only " I "Only what?" his sister. '•On I didn't think he'd have the impudence,' , said Lord Fitz, proudly.' "It isn't nice to be sneered at by a : j tallow chandler." "A what:, said Ethel. "Well, the son of a tallow chandler. That's what his father was. A nice, ! quiet old hoy. Haven't you heard, of I'e-ru? They Jive at Penniddie, wliieh . j U about nine miles from that st»~><,ing . ', box in Herefordshire—Coombe Lodge.' • "So near." said Ethel. "Xo. 1 had \ nol heard of him. He looks to be a ' I gentleman, but J did not notice him I J very much. 1 like his friend's faer j best, yes, I am sure I do, though both i tiie fares were nice." "You don't, take iuto. account Lei- . I eester Dodson *s coin," said Lord Fitz.' "His people are immensely rich: tnl- | L low turns into gold, you know, if you ' only melt it long enough." ] ! '•That's a joke or a pun. Fitz." laugh- \ * ed Lady Ethel. "And really rather [ i rlever for you. And where does Mr I • ; Fairfax live?" :" , ! "Oh, in chambers in the Temple— quite the clever bachelor, you know. '■ . j "\ cry snug they are, too, much more \ ; comfortable than any of the places. ■ . He gives good dinners soroaßimes— . when he"s in,lui.-k. as hu calls it. Eth, i you ought to have been a man, then ' ; I you could have known some jolly srood ! 1 fellows." ' " ' . i " Thank you, if I were not on horse* . i back I'd curtsey." said Ethel. "Can't 1 - i know good fellows as I am?" i i : "Xo," said simple Lord Fitz. "you ! :; can't! They won't let you: it's dan-' . ; gerous.. You must oniy know men' > J with long handles to their names like I . i ours, and with their pockets full of j > j money—unlike ours. You mustn't I - J know Bertie Fairfax, for instance. The ! j mother wouldn't allow it." i , J At that moment Ethel's horse start- ! i j cd —his rider liad. in reality, touched ! I him with a spur—and got in front of j , Lord Fitz, so that the blush which ! suddenly crimsoned Ethel's ibeautiful ; t face was hidden from her brother's ! light bine eyes.- - Now, why should Lady Ethel Boisdale blush at the simple' little speech J . of Lord Fitz? It could be of little! , consequence to her. surely, v her eves ' r were fated never to rest'on Mr Bertie i Fairfax again. Why did sbe blush, i j anrl why. during tiie remainder of that ' - park gallop, did she look forward to I Lntly Dareiield's little ball? . i 1 "Well," said Leicester, a-s the twoj equestrians rode, away, and left the .. pedestrians looking after them, "'what do you think of the Lady Ethel Boisdale? You have been wrapped in silence unusual and remarkable for the j last three .minutes; unusual becauso j on such occasions as the present you Ugenerally indulge iv a rhapsody of i i admiration, or a deluge of candid ' 4 i abuse, extraordinary because silence! jut any time is extraordinary in you." i 3 \ "Elold yor.r tongue. you cynical "! fellow. , -" exclaimed Bertie, still looking j J (after the brother and aister. "So! f j that is the sister of whom Fitz is al- j • ! ways talking—Lady A pretty: name, and it suits her. An Ethei j ' should be dark, or at least bro-wn sha- - do wed; an Ethel should hare deep, thoughtful eyes, a pleasant, tather v,,«heaarj[ smile, and a touch,-of hauteur

! over face, figure, and voice. She has ! all these——" I "'And fifty more virtues, attributes, j ] ! and peculiarities which confound- j led imagination can endow'her with!. ; '. 'Nonsense! She's a nice-looking girl,! j with a sensible face, and the pride j < proper for her station. You can't j make anything more of her." ; : "Can't I?" said his friend; "you can't. '■ 1 you mean. I call her beautiful. She • : is going to Lady Darefield's ball "to- I < night; I—l shall go, after all, I think, j j Leicester." "t thought so," said Leicester Dod- \ sort, with a- smile of ineffable wisdom ' j and sagacity. ''I thought somebody ! j said they wouldn't go to the confound- j ed ball for five hundred pounds, and j that the same somebody was pitying I mc for having promised to grace it •with j my presence." " J "1 thought you'd die if I didn't keep I ' you company, and so, as I like to bor- j I row your money, and don't want you ! I to die, I'll go. I say. Leicester, haven't ! the Laeklands a small place in Here- ; fordshire near you? What do they call i : I it—Coombe LodgcV" ' i \ "Perhaps they have," said Mr Leices- i ; Her. "1 believe tSiat there arte few : 1 counties which arc not honoured by j ; the Laeklands in that way. Why do J you ask?" "Oh, merely for idle t-un'ositv." 'H'ra! you promised to come and! j spend a week or two with mc." said J Mr Leicester. "'Will you come?" "Oh, chaff away." said Bertie Fair- ! ' fax, good-temperedly. "But I'll take you seriously: I win come." j "Done," said Leicester, still chaffing ! as his light-hearted friend called ir" i "I'm going dowu next week. Come with I mc?" J "Thanks," said Bertie, 'Til think it j over. I'll come and cut you out with i I the Mndmay heiress! Hah! hah!" | j He laughed as Leicester turned to I ! him with a look of mild surprise. ■ "You didn't know ihat I was posted I up in that iti-eUigeneel I've a dozen j ■ little birds who brins: mc news uisht J and morning, and I've heard " " ! "Pshaw!" interrupted Leicester. "I've i dined with mamma and papa at Mild- • may Park, and that-thaf* < all. My dear Bertie. I am not a marry- if ; ing man; now you are, but, mark mc | j Lady Ethel Boisdale is not meant for v i you. -• j t 1 "Thank you, , ' said Bertie. "I'm very h much obliged, but who said that she was?" L I And with a light laugh the subject 'J I was drop|>cd. ! ] That night when Lady Ethel BoisI dale entered the magnificent «aloous of ' ! Lady Daretield's mansion in Park Place ' ( i she looked round the room with calm. i] j yt't expectant eyes, and dropped them j' ; very suddenly as,they met the also 1 ' searching and expectant gaze of ilr ' Bertie Fairfax. "" h It is one thing to exchange glances '' and smiles with a belle in a ballroom, ! but quite another matter to get a dance ! with her. "" ' ' The saloons wpre crowded by the best j ] of \\\c land, eligible parties were hi ' abundance, and Mr Bertie Fairfax. :1 i■ -haiidpomp. swoet-nature.'i and lovable \'\ though he was. found himself somewhat " our, iv the cold. It was not an unusual position for him. nnd on other occasions he had i laughed good-naturedly in the smokinsr- j room of vis club, saying that there had j 8 been too many iron pitchers going down i' thr stream for such a frarrile. unsatis- h factory delf affair as himself to hope i for success. \' Bat to-night it was different. I E He. wanted 10 dance with La4y Ethel j ! Boisdale: why he ooulrl scarcely have r told. ' ' 1 f She was very beautiful: but lie had U seen faces far more lovely even than '.< hers; she was very graceful, tall and jj full of a sweet, proud dignity, but Ber- J^ tie Fairfax had seen some of the ladies h of the Papal Court, and re-membered j their faces. j j She was, a= it happoried. just the rea- j 6 I lisation of the young fellow's ideal, • 1 an d —yet it must be written—he was r already half in love with her. |1 Round her, forming a sort of body- \ guard, or watchdog, continually horered ! r in majestic grace the Countess of Lack- I 1 I land, her mamma. \ i I Bertie was aware that her ladyship J 1 j know all about him. and that it* was f ! utterly vain to hope that he might bo ! ! allowed To fill a vacant line in the Lady • Ethe,l's little dancing programme. * 1 J lip watched her dancing for some ' I time, watched her as she spun round in ' two waltzes with Leicester Dodson for c her partner. Then the disappointed P>ertie made his way out on to the corri- c dor and leaned against the balustrade. ' gnawing his tawny moustache and try- 1 ! ing to make up his mind to co to his } ] club. 1 Just then, as he had almost decided. : Leicester Dodsou came out. hot and . flushed, but with his usual grave reserve ' about his mouth and eves. ■ "Ah! Bert!" he said. '"'Taking a % . cooler: you're wise in your generation. .' I They ought to keep a weighting machine i' I outside in the lobbies, so that a man | could see bow much he'd lined down after each dance. I've lost pounds since the ! Larders. It's hotter than a siesta hour ' 1 in Madrid. You look ecol." ! ' i "I don't feel particularly hot. T i haven't been dancing. I feel like thn • i j skeleton at the feast: I think I shall i » ■ carry my bone? to the club. Will yon . t : come?" ' 1 * i '"I'm engaged for another turn with i . I Lady Ethel Boisdale." said Leicester; < I Dodson. leaning over the balustrade and' = ! skilfully concealing a yawn. j ■ "Lucky dog," said Bertie, enviously. * I "Eh?" said Leicester. "By the way,'] j you said she'd half-promised you "a -, j dance: you don't mean to say you haven't j j called for payment. Bert; she's the best- r j locking woman in the room, and the most j j sensible " |' "Too sensible to dance with Mr Fair- f j fax, or her mamma has bad all her train- j *, , ing trouble for nothing." said Bertie. < i -'Nonsense! She's looking this way:' j go and ask her, man. I'll wait until the ' = j waltz is over, then we'll go on to the^f i club. for. between you and mc and that : 1 . liideons statue, which is all out of draw- ]\ ' ing, by the way, I have had pretty well | \ j enough : :.ad you seem, to judge by your : face, to have nad a great deal too much/'JE ! Bertie, without a word, left his friend, j fought his way through the crowd, and. j 1 after manoeuvring, gained Lady Ethel's j '■ side. * ' 1 "Have you saved mc that dance which ! you half-promised mc this morning?" he j < said. '" j j Lady Ethel turned—she did not know i that he was so uear—and a smile, bright,! but transient, passed across her face. ! s "There is one danee —it is only a 11 1 quadrille," she said; "all the wahies'are j: ' gone." ; 1 i "I am grateful for the quadrille only. ! i ■ and do not deserve that," he said. " i j "T thought you hnd gone." said Ethel. 11 : "My brother was looking for you just 1 i now, and I told him thatl had "seen jon ; i go out." * I j "I was in the corridor eooiine:." said 1 Bertie Fail-fax. " 1 "Is it cool. thene?" she "I j thought it could not be cool anywhere h to-aiphi," _ y

Then Lord Fitz came up, his simple I face all flushed with the heat and the J last dance. J "Hello, Bert. I've been looking for you. i I say : ' ' I "You must tell roe when the dance is { over/ said Bertie, "there is no time." And he led his partner to her place in a. set. j\. quadrille has the advantage over its more popular sister, the waltz: it allows of conversation. I Bertie could talk well; he had always I something light and pleasant to say, and | he had a musical voice in which to su> ; it. • "I He was generally too indolent to talk: much, but neither his natural laziness j nor the heat seemed to weigh upon him! to-night, and he talked abont this matter and on that until Ethel, who was not only beautiful but cultivated, was delighted. Too delighted, perhaps, for my Lady Lackland, from her place of espionage in ! a corner, put up her eyeglass and scan- I ned her daughter's rapt and sometimes i smiling face with something that was not altogether a pleased expression. "Who is that good-looking young fel- I low with whom Ethel's dancing?" she! asked of the dowager Lady Barnwell. a noted scandalmonger, and an authority i on every one's position and eligibilities." "That is young Fairfax. Handsome, is j be not? Pity he's so poor." I "'Poor, is he?" said the countess,' grimly. j "Oh, yes. dreadfully. Works for his j living—a writer, artist, or something of I that sort. Really. I don't know exactly. He is in the Temple. Very amusing com- | panion. evidently. Lady Ethel .looks charmed with her partner/ "Yes," said Lady Lsekland, coldly, and i in her heart of hearts she determined that her daughter should receive a lee-' ture upon the imprudence of wasting a | dance upon such doubtful and dangerous i men as Bertie Fairfax. j Meanwhile. Ethel was enjoying herself. | and when Bertie, whose handsome face, was beaming with quiet satisfaction! and pleasure, softly suggested that they should try the corridor, Lady. Ethel, after a moment's hesitation, 1 on the score of prudence, replied with an I affirmative, and they sought the lobby. I Here there were' a sea}, for the lady j and a leaning-post for Mr. Fairfax, and the conversation which hud been interrupted was taken up again. Bertie was in the midst of an eloquent ! defence of a favourite artist, of whom \ Lady Ethel did not quite approve, when j Lord Fitz again appeared. "What, an eel you are. Bert! I've been everywhere lor you. I say, we're going down to Coombe Lodge; it's so beastly hot up here in town, and we're going to make a little summer picnic party: you know, just a nice number. Cecil Carlton, Leonard Waltham and hi? sister, and two or three more. My sister i.-; going, ain't you, Ethel? Will you come';" \ "Thanks." said Bertie, with something like a flush, and certainly a sparkle in his light eyes. "But 1 am booked to Leicester Dodson. ,, '•Oh. yes. the Cedars: what a bore foi n=. Never mind, the Lodge isn't, far oIT. and. if you <ro down, we shall all be together." "Yes." safd Bertie, glancing at the fair face beneath him. which was turned, with a quiet look of interest, to her brother: "yes. When do you go?" "Next week, if Ethel ran pot herself away from this sort of thing."' "1 shall be very glad to ' go." said Ethel: "£ am longing for the green trees 1 and a little country air." j "it's dono. then: all the odds taken.' , ' i said simple Lord Fitz. At that moment came up Ethel's next pnrttier. • Bertie relinquished her. with a smoth- ■ ered «igb. lie knew that he should not i sec her again, that night, for her programme was full. '"We may meet in ;i country lane next ffwfc," lie said, softly. ' "We may," she said, with a smile that I parted her lips bewitchingly, and then j she wa.= called away. j Bertie looked after her, then slowly | descended the broad stairs, got his crush ' hat, and strolled into the open street. I "That's the most sensible thing you've ! dono for tlip last two hours. , ' said Leiees- ! ted Dodson's voice, behind him. "I'll ; follow your example." and he took out 1 his cigar e;ise. "Here, my man." he add- j od. as hi« new brougham drove "up. "Let us walk."' said Bertie. And They started slowly for the club. It was very hot there, however, and the pair wore soon in Leicester's chambers, which wore in the same inn and only oiie fioor below Bertie's. Leicester Dodson wn== n wealthy man. . and quite able to afTord luxurious apart- > menis in the Albany, or at but he preferred a quiet set of chambers near those of hi? fa.-t friend. Bertie He did not work in them, but he read a groat deal, ami he enjoyed half an hour now and then spent in watching his hard-working friend. lie would sit in Bertie's armchair, ' with his leers extended befor c him. watching Bertie engaged on some article or poem or drawing, and. as he watched, would almost wish that he also had to work for bis living. [ So Mr. Leicester was somewhat of a ' philosopher and a cynic, as Bertie had ; said, and at times found life rather ! wearisome. j To-night lie drew himself a chair ! Bertie was extended upon an or.eient, I but comfortable, sofa. and. lighting a ! fresh cigar, rang for claret and ice. "Dreadfully, hot. Bertie. What on j earth makes us about this horrible ! town, in this terrible weather., Fanev : staying in London when all the green ■ fields are holding out their hands and '■ shouting. 'Come, and roll on u<! , Fashion is a wonderful thing—so are I you. Why on earth don't speak? I ■ never knew you so silent 'for so many minutes together, in my life. Are you j asleep';" "No." said Bertie. "Push the claret j aero?? ihe table with the poker, will | you? When did you say you were going down to the Cedars. Les':' , ''When you like." 1 said Leicester Dod- \ ?on. colouring slisMJy and turning his ; face away from his companion. "To-mor- ■ row. if you like: 1 was gome to say l! wi=h I\i never left it. but 1 ca-nc up this week because '" "Because what";" asked Bertie, as lie i stopped. ; "Because." said Leicester Dodson, j looking hard at the lire in bis grave, j sedate way, "discretion is the better part of valour." ""What on earth do you mean?" exclaimed Bertie Fairfax. "You never mean to tell mc you were afraid of a mar.?" j "No," said Leicester, -with his cynical I smile: ''of a woman. There, don't a-slc j mc any more. I am not going to make | a fool of myself. Bert, but, while we're j on the subject, I'll say that it would \ never Ho for cither of us to'do that." ! "No," said Bortie Fairfax, with an • unusual bitterness. "We can never! marry. Les. You, because you are 1 too —" "Selfish," interrupted Mr Dodson. ! placidly. • : "And I, because I am too poor—" J '"Yon will be rich enong-h some day, you clever dog," said Mr Dodson. sententiousis;. 5

[ ci Yes. when I'm an old man .grey-head-led and bent double. Never mind." ' ! "I won't. Don't you, either/ said j Leicester: "and now for the Cedars, j i Suppose we say the end of the week?' 1 . I ''Yes, that will do,-', said Bertie. "The J Laeklands—at least, some of them—are | going down io Coombe Lodge next | week." "Oh," said,. Leicester, significantly, •rlaneiug at the frank, pleasant face of Jhis friend. f "Yes/ , retorted Bertie, "and the Mild- j 'mays are still at the Park, I suppose?" i i '"Yes." said Leicester, shrugging his | ,' shoulders with an air of indifference he j i was tar from feeling. : 'So that we j J shall be all together—like moths round j I a candle." he added, cynically, as Bertie j rose, with, a yawn, to mount to his j own chambers. ; Yes, all together, and near the meshes j of that web which a skilful, cunning , j spider was weaving for them. j | ! Captain Murpoint had laid his delicate ; \l 1 web ready for his flies. j jj (To be continued on Monday.) 1 jj I