TRISTRAM OF BLENT

New Zealand Times, Volume LXXI, Issue 4394, 27 June 1901, Page 3

TRISTRAM OF BLENT

AN EPISODIC IN THE STORY OS AS. ANCIENT HOUSE. (By Anthony Hope.) [ALL RIGHTI Kl'-.’. lY RESERVED] (Copyright, S C Jl, in tho Li.S.A. liy ..:i----noiic.j “Ho was amused at you, my dear.” ‘‘Then i in giaci.'' riae meant tnab iier jufloriugs would perhaps not go uurocoiripcuscd. , •‘i'ou must bring Lady Instram to too me,” said Lady Lvonswood. “Coolly ? Uli—well, I’d try. ’ • Lady Evonswood smiled and Soutnend laughed outright. It vvus not quite the way in which Lady Evenswood’s invitations wero generally received, But neither ol them liked Mina loss. It was something to go buck to the liny house between the King’s and Fulham Load null Uie record of such adventures as these. Cecily was there, languid and weary; she had spent the whole day in tnat hammock in the strip of garden in which Sloyd had found her once. Despondency had succeeded to her excitement —this was all (|uito in the Tristram way —and she had expected no fruit from Mina’s expedition. hut Mina came homo, not indeed with anything very definite, yet laden with a whole pack of possibilities, bho put that point about the viscounty, winch puzzled tier, first of all. It alone was, enough to fire Cecily to animation. Then sho led up. through Lady Evenswood, to Mr Disney' himself, confessing, however, that she took the encouragement which that great man had given rm faith from those who knew him better than she did. Her own impression would have been that ho meant to dismiss the whole thing as nonsense. “btill 1 can’t help thinking we’ve done Borne thing,” she ended in triumph. .“Mina, are you working for him or for mop” The question faced Mina with a latent problem which .she hail hitherto^ avoided. And now she could not solve it. _ tor somo time back sho had been familiarised with the fact that her life was dull when Harry Tristram passed out of it. The accepted explanation of that state of feeling was simple enough. But then it would involve Cecily in her turn pas_ sing out of view, or at least becoming entirely insignificant. And Mina was not prepared for that. Sho tried hard to read the answer, regarding Cecily earnestly the while. “Mayn’t I work for you both?’ she asked at last. “Well, I can’t seo why you should do that,” said Cecily, rolling out of the hammock and fretfully smoothing her hair. “I’m a Husy-body. That’s it, said Mina. “You know what’ll happen if he finds it out? Hurry, I mean. He’ll be furious with both of us.” Mina reflected. “Yes, i suppose he will,” sho admitted. But the spirit of self-sacrifice was on her, perhaps also that of adventure. “I don’t care,” she said, “as long as I can help.” There was a loud knock at the door. Mina rushed into tho front room and saw a man in uniform delivering a letter. The next moment the maid brought it to her—a long envelope with "First Lord of tho Treasury’’ stamped on the left-hand corner. Sho noticed that it was addressed to Lady Evenswcod’s house, and must have been bent on post haste. She tore it open. It was headed “Private and Confidential.” “Madame, —I am directed by Mr Disney to request you to state in writing, for his. consideration, any facts widen may bo within your knowledge as to tho circumstances attendant on the marriage of the late Lady Tristram of Blent, and the birth of her sen, Mr Henry Austen Fitzhubert Tristram. I am to add chat your communication will bo considered confidential.—l am, Madame, yours faithfully, “BROADSTAIRS.” “Madame Zabriska.” “Cecily, Cecily, .Cecily!” Mina darted back aim thrust this wondqrfu' document into Cecily’s hands. “He does mean something, you see; he will do something!” she cried. “Oh, who’s Broadstairs, I wonder.” Cecily cock the letter and read. The Imp reappeared with a red volume m her hand. "Viscount Broadstairs —eldest son of tho Earl of Ramsgate!” sho read with wide-open -eyes. ''And he says he s directed to write, doesn’t he? Well, you aro funny in England! But I don’t wonder I was afraid of Mr Disney.” “Oh, Mr Disney’s secretary, I suppose. But Mina ” Cecily was alive again now, but her awakening did not, seem to be a pleasantmne. Sho turned suddenly from her friend and, walking as far elf as tho little room would ’et her, flung herself into a chair. ‘‘What’s tho matter?” asked Mina, checked in her excited gaiety. “What will Harry care about anything they can give him without Blent?” Mina flushed. Tho conspiracy was put before her —not by one of the conspirators, but by her who was the object of it. Sho remembered Lady Evenswood's question and Southend’s. She had answered that it might not much matter whether Harry liked his cousin or not. He had not loved Janie Ivor. Where was tho difference?

“He won’t want anything if lie can’t have Blent. Mina, did they say anything about mo to Mr Dsneyf” “ho,"’ cried Mina eagerly. “lint they will, they mean top’’ Cecily was leaping forward eagerly now. Mina had iio denial ready. She seemed rattier to hang on Cecily’s words than to feel any need of speaking herself. She was trying to follow Cecily’s thoughts and to trace the cause of the apprehension, tho terror almost that had come on the girl’s face. “He'll see it—just ns I see it!” Cecily ■went on. “And,, Mina ” She paused again. Sill Mina had no words, and no comfort for her. This sight of the other side of the question was too sudden. It was Harry, then, and Harry only, who had been in her thoughts; and Cecily, her friend, was to bo used as a tool. There might be little ground for blaming Southend, who had never seen her, or Lady Evenswood, who had been brought in purely in Harry’s interest. But how stood Mina, whfi was Cecily’s friend ? Yet at last athought flashed into her mind and gave her a weanon. “Well, what did you come to London for?” she cried defiantly. “Why did you come, unless you meant that, too?” Cecily started a little and lay back in her chair. “Oh, 1 don’t know,” shh murmured despondently. '‘He hates me, but if he’s offered Blent and me he’ll—he’ll take ns both, Mina, you know he will.” An indignant rush of colour came on her cheeks. “Oh, it’s very easy for you!” In a difficulty of tlifit sort is did not seem that even Mr Disney could be of much avail. “Oh, you Tristram*!” Mina cried in despairCHAPTER XIX. IN THE MATTER OF BLINKHAMPTON. Pity for the commander who, while engaging the enemy on his front with valour and success, breaking his line and driving him from his position, finds

himself assailed in the rear by an unexpected or despised foe, and the prize of victory suddenly wrenched from him! His fate is more bitter than if he had failed in Ids main encounter, his self-re-proaches more keen. Major Duplay was awakening to the fact that tlds was his situation. Triumph was net his, although Harry Tristram had fled from tho battle. Ivor’s carefully guarded friendliness and the touch of motherly compassion in ids wife’s manner, Mrs Trumblcr’s tacit request (conveyed by a meek and Christian simplicity) that ho should bow to tho will of Providence, Miss S.’s malicious question as to whore ho meant to spend the winter after leaving Merrion told him the- opinion of tho world. Janie Ivor had begun to think flirtation wrong ; ami there was an altogether new and remarkable self-assertion about Bob Broadley. The last thing annoyed Duplay most. It is indeed absurd that a young man, formerly of a commendable humility, snould think a change of demeanour justified merely beeaunc one young woman, herself insigullcant, chooses for reasons good or bad to favour him. Duplay assumed to despise Bob; it is often better policy to despise people than to enter 'into competition with them, and it is always rash to do both. These and other truths —as, for example, that lor some purposes it is better not to be forty-four—the Major was learning. Was there any grain of comfort ? It lav in the fact that he was forty-four. A hypothetical, now impossible, yet subtly soothing Major of thirty routed Bob Broadley and carried all before him. In other words Duplay was driven back to the Aast Ditch of Consolation. What wo could have done is tho latest-tried plaster for tho wound of what we cannot do; it would be wise to try it sometimes a little earlier. From the orthodoz sentimentalist he could claim no compassion. He had lost not his heart’s love but a very comfortable sotitement; he was wounded more in his vanity than in hhj affections ; he had wasted not his life, only one of his felt remaining effective summers. But the more lax, who base their views on what men generally are, may spare him one of those less bitter tears which they appropriate to the misfortunes of others. If the tear it falls meets a smile, -r-why not? Such encounters are hardly expected and may well prove agreeable. There was another disconsolate person in the valley of the Blent—little Mr Gainsborough, left alone in the big house with a note from his daughter commanding him to stay there and say nothing t° anybody. He was lonely, and nervous with the servants; tho curios gave him small pleasure since he had not bought them, and, if he had, they would not have been cheap. For reasons before indicate?!, Blentmouth and the curiosity shop there had become too dangerous. Besides, he had no money; Cecily had forgotten that detail in her hurried flight. A man cannot spend more than a portion of his waking hours in a library or over pedigrees. Gainsborough found himself regretting London and tho little house. If we divide humanity into those Who do things and those who have to get out of the way while they are being done (just as reasonable a division as many adopted by statisticians) Gainsborough belonged to the latter class; like most of us perhaps, but in. a particularly unmistakable degree. And he knew he did—not perhaps like most of us in that. Ho never thought even of appealing to posterity. Meanwhile Janie Iver was behaving as a pattern daughter, cherishing her mother and father, and making home sweet, exercising, in fact, that prudent economy of wilfulness which preserves it for one great decisive struggle, and scorns to fritter it away on the details of daily life. Girls have adopted these tactics from the earliest days (so it is recorded or may be 'presumed), and wary are the parents who are not hoodwinked by them, or even if they perceive, are altogether unsoftened. Janie was very saintly at Fairholme; the only sins which she could have found to confess (not that Mr Trumbler favoured confession—quite the contrary) were certain suppressions of truth touching the direction in which she drove her dog-cart—and even these were calculated to avoid the giving of pain. As for the Tristrams —wjfere were they? They seemed to have dropped out of Jame’s story. Iver needed comfort. Thsra is no disguising it, however much tho admission may damage him in the eyes'of that same orthodox sentimentalist. He had onco expounded his views to Mr Jenkinson Neeld (or rather one of his expositions of them has been recorded, there having been more than one) —and tne present situation did not satisfy them. Among other rehabilitations and whitewashings, that of the cruel father might well be undertaken by an ingenious writer; if Nero had had a grown-up daughter there would have been the chance. Anyhow, the attempt would have met with some sympathy from Iver. Of course a man desires his daughter’s happiness (the remark is a platitude), but he may be allowed to feel annoyance. at the precise form in which it realises—or thinks it will realise—itself, a shape that may disappoint the aim of his career. If he is provided with a son, he has the chance of a more unselfish benevolence; but Iver was not. Let all be said that could be said—Bob Broadley was a disappointment. Iver would, if put to it, have preferred Duplay. There was at least a cosmopolitan polish about the Major; drawingrooms would not appal him, nor the thought of going to Court threw him into a perspiration. Iver had been keen to find out the truth about Harry Tristram, as keen as Major Duplay. At this moment both of them were wishing that the truth had never been discovered by them, nor flung in the face of the world by Harry himself. “But darling Janie will be happy,” Mrs Iver used to say. She had surrendered very easily. He was net really an unnatural parent because he growled once or twice, “Darling Janie be hanged!” It was rather his wife’s attitude of mind that he meant to condemn. Bob himself was hopeless from a parent’s point of view. He was actually a little touched by Mrs Trumbler’s way of looking at the world; he did think—and confessed it to Janie—that there was something very remarkable in the way Harry Tristram had been, cleared from his path. He was in no sense an advanced thinker, and people in love aro apt to believe in what are called interpositions. Further, he was primitive in his ideas; he had won the lady, and that seemed to him enough. It was enough, if he could keep her; and in those days that really depends on herself. Moreover, he had ho doubt of keeping her; his primitiveness appears again; with the first kiss' he seemed to pass- from slave to master. Many girls would have taught him better. Janie was - not one. She seemed rather to acquiesce, being, it must-.bo presumed, also of a somewhat primitive cast of mind. It was terribly clear to Iver that the pair would stand to one another and settle down in inglorious contentment together for their lives. Yes, it was worse than Duplay; something might have been made o'f him. As for Harry sensible a man old Mr Neeld was; for Mr Neeld had determined ,to hohj, his toneue. There was another vexation, of a different kind indeed, but also a check in his success. Blinkbampton was hot going quite right. Blinkbampton was a predestined seaside resort on the South

Coast, and Ivor, with certain associates, meant to develop it. They had bought it up, and laid it our for building, and arranged for a big hotel with Bircn and Company, tho famous furnishers. And all along in front of it—between where the street now was and the esplanadcwas soon to be —ran a long narrow strip, forming the estate of an elderly gentleman named Masters. Of course Masters had to be bought out, the whole scheme hanging on that. Iver, keen at a bargain, hard in business hours (had not Mina Zabriska discovered that?), confident that nobody would care to incur his enmity—he was powerful—by forestalling him. had refused Masters his price; the old gentleman would have to come down. But some young men stepped in, with the rashness of their youth, and acquired an option of purchase from Masters. Iver smiled in a vexed fashion, but was not dismayed. Holet it bo known that anybody who advanced money to tho young men—Sloyd, Sloyd and Gurney was the firm—would be hi* enemies; then he waited for the young men to approach him. They did not come. At last, pride protesting, prudence insisting, he wrote and suggested that they might probably be glad to make an arrangement with him. Mr Sloyd—our Mr Sloyd—wrote back that they had found a capitalist—no less than that —and proposed to develop the estate themselves, to put up their own hotel, also a row of boarding-houses, a club, a winter garden, and possibly an aquarium. Youth and sense of elation caused Sloyd to add that they .would always be glad to co-opcrato with other gentlemen interested in Blinkbampton. Iver had many irons in the fire; he could no more devote himself Exclusively and personally to Blinkbampton than Napoleon could spend all his time in the Peninsula. The transaction was important, yet hardly vital; besides, Iver himself could keep his ear to the telephone. It was an opportunity for Bob to win his spurs; Iver proposed to him to go to town and act as his representative. “I’m afraid you’ll lose the game if I play it for you, Mr Iver,” responded Bob, with a shako cf his head and a good-humoured smile. “I’m not accustomed to that sort of job, you know.” "It would bo a good chance for you to begin to learn something of business.” “Well, you see, farming’s my business. And I don’t think I’m a fool at that. But building speculations and so on ” Bob shook his head again. Tho progressive man gazed in wonder at the stationary. (We divide humanity again.) “You’ve no desire for—for a broader sphere?” ho asked. “Well, I like a quiet life, you see — with my horses, and mv crops, and so on. Don’t believe I could stand the racket.” So far as physique was concerned, Bob could have stood penal servitude and a London Season combined. "But it’s an opening,” Iver persisted, by now actually more puzzled than angry. “If you found yourself at homo in the work, it might lead to anything.” He resisted the temptation to ’ add, “Look at me!” Did not Fairholme, its lawns and green-houses, say as much for him?

“But I don’t know that I want anything,” smiled Bob. “Of course. I’ll have a shot if it’ll oblige you,” he added. “But—Well, I’d rather not risk it, you know.” Janie was there. Iver turned to her in despair. Sho was smiling at Bob in an approving, understanding way. “It really isn’t what would suit Bob, father,’’ said she. “Besides, if he went into your business, we should have to be so much in town and hardly ever be at home at Mingham.” At home at Mingham! What a destiny! Certainly Blent was in the same valley, but Well, , a “seat” is cue thing, and a farm’s another; the world is to blame again, no doubt. And with’ men who want nothing, for whom the word “opening” has no magic, what is to he done? Abstractedly they are seen to be a necessary element in tho community; but they do net make good sons Or sons-in-law for ambitious men. Janie, when she had seen Bob, an unrepentant, cheerful Bob, on his way, came back to find her father sitting sorrowful. “Dearest, father, I’m so sorry,” she said, putting her arms round his neck. He squared his shoulders to meet facts; he could (always do that. Moreover, he looked ahead —that power was also among his gifts—and saw how presently this thing, like other things, would become a matter of course. “That’s settled, Janie,” he said, "i ve made my last suggestion.” (To be continued on Saturday).