Miss Wentworth's Idea

New Zealand Graphic, Volume VIII, Issue 36, 5 September 1891, Page 334

Miss Wentworth's Idea

W. E. NORRIS,

Author of ’ Matrimony,' ‘ My Friend Jim,’ ‘The Rogue,’ ‘A Bachelor’s Blunder. L - ... - — ■ -

CHAPTER XII. H, b y the wa y> Harriet,’ said Lord More If U I cambe, bustling into his wife's boudoir Nyu/tm IL I) I with a great show of haste, ‘I have 11/ illiffil I j u3 t had a telegram which concerns HUIMM I you rather more than me. _1 suppose the house isn’t quite chock full, is it?’ i -> 7 Lady Morecambe pushed her chair back from the table at which she was ■ writing letters and looked sharply at i'< {I X the speaker, whose eyes dropped somewhat guiltily under her gaze. She 'knew very well that when her husj baud pretended to be in a hurry it was because he was afraid of being scolded, and although in a general way she was the most goodnatured and accommodating of wives, there were certain prerogatives of hers to which she clung tenaciously. One of these was the right to say who should and who should not be invited to Morecambe Priory—a very necessary privilege to insist upon, owing to the indiscriminate hospitality of her lord and master, who, had he been allowed to do as he pleased. would have asked all sorts of impossible people to stay with him upon the plea that they were what he called * good fellows? * I can’t say whether the house is full or not until I have seen the telegram,’ she replied, ‘give it to me.' But Lord Morecambe did not seem disposed to part at once with the slip of paper which he held in his hand ‘ Oh, it’s only from Brewster,’ he said, in a deprecating tone of voice. ‘ Wants to come down for the ball to-night. Rather cool, I admit, but that’s just his way, you know. Of course you don’t like him ; but really he won’t trouble you much this time. One more or less among such a crowd of people can’t make any difference, can it?’ A very angry woman was Lady Morecambe when the name of this self-invited guest was revealed to her. ‘ I never heard of such impudence in my life!’ she exclaimed. ‘Most certainly the house is full—and if it was empty there would be no room in it for Sir Harry Brewster. You had better telegraph to him at once and say so. I could believe anything of the man’s impertinence, but I do think he might have known better than to imagine that he could make a cat’s paw of me in such an open way. And really, it is too bad of Sylvia Wentworth. They must have arranged it between them. Muriel cannot have any suspicion, because she wrote to me a day or two ago, begging me to keep Sylvia here as long as possible, and hinting that she wanted the girl to be removed from London on account of some flirtation or entanglement. It is easy enough to guess who the man must be. Well, he is very much mistaken if he thinks he can use this house as a place of assignation.’ ‘Oh, come,’ expostulated Lord Morecambe; ‘l’m sure you can’t mean to accuse a child like poor little Sylvia of doing such naughty things. As for Brewster, his flirtations have always been with married women, you know. Besides, he has turned over a new leaf of late, I’m told. I don’t see what chance he can have had of making assignations with Sylvia Wentworth either. In all probability he hasn’t set eyes on her since they met here.’ ‘ Unfortunately, that is just what he has ; I have heard of it from more than one quarter during the last few days. Sir Harry was seen driving Sylvia and her father on a coach and they were at the theatre together too, and somewhere else at Richmond, I think.’

‘ O well, there you are !’ said Lord Morecambe, with an air of relief. ‘lf the girl’s father allows Brewster to go about with her—and really I don’t know why he shouldn’t—it’s none of our business to take precautions.’

‘I know very little of Mr Wentworth,’remarked Lady Morecambe ; ‘ he may be a perfect fool, and I daresay he is —nine men out of ten are. But you may depend upon it that he will have sense enough to abuse me if Sylvia gets into trouble, and I don’t choose to lay myself open to justifiable abuse. Sir Harry Brewster doesn’t cross this threshold—that much I can promise you.’

‘ But, my dear,’ said Lord Morecambe, timidly putting forward a consideration which he had hoped would have suggested itself to her ladyship, ‘ how is the thing to be helped 1 You see, he must have started by this time, and it really isn’t possible to turn a man away from one’s door.’ Lady Morecambe replied resolutely that this was not only possible but that it should be done. It was not her fault if every bedroom in the house was occupied, nor was she bound to prove that such was the case. • We don’t keep an inn,’ she said. ‘ No ; but Judkins at the Morecambe Arms does,’ remarked her husband. ‘ Of course Brewster will go there, and of course he will turn up at the ball to-night. We can’t refuse to admit him without having a regular row—which would be deuced unpleasant for everybody.’ Lady Morecambe was constrained to admit that a regular row was certainly undesirable, and, after a few minutes of meditation, she decided that house-room had better be given to Sir Harry Brewster for the night. ‘ He shall leave by the first train to-morrow morning, though,’ she declared; ‘ if yon don’t tell him that, I will. And you may give him to understand at the same time that he will never be asked here again, in the shooting season or out of it. Of all the

wicked things that he has done it does seem to me that this is the worst and the most selfish. Women who have been out in the world for half-a-dozen years can take care of themselves; but no man who was notan absolute wretch would try to break a schoolgirl’s heart for the sake of securing a few hours of amusement.’ Lady Morecambe was perhaps justified in accusing Sir Harry of abnormal selfishness, for he was in truth as selfish a man as ever lived, yet it so happened that in this particular instance he did not deserve the censure passed upon him. He had not attempted to amuse himself with Sylvia Wentworth ; he had not flirted with her; but, by one of those odd strokes of fate against which age and wisdom afford no protection, he had fallen desperately in love with the girl. At the outset, as has been said, he had thought of her probable fortune as an acquisition which might be worth making a bid for, but of late he had put all such mercenary considerations away from him. He would have been willing to marry her if she had not had a penny, nor the prospect of one, and his only dread was that her family would never consent to her union with a divorced man. After the little scene which had taken place between him and Colonel Medhurst, it was of course his first duty to make out some sort of a case for himself with Mr Wentworth, and he had hesitated for some time before despatching the telegram which had so greatly incensed Lady Morecambe. Eventually, however, he had made up his mind to be present at the ball. For one thing, he had promised Sylvia that he would be there, and, for another, he persuaded himself that he owed an explanation to her rather than to anybody else. He was fully aware that he would not be made welcome by Lady Morecambe ; but that did not disturb him in the least. He took care to preclude the possibility of her shutting her door in his face, and, as he did not propose to remain more than one night under her roof, he was able to contemplate the prospect of a cold reception with philosophic indifference. Sylvia, meanwhile, was exercised by grave doubts as to whether Sir Harry would put in an appearance or not. She had expected to hear, directly or indirectly, of him before she left London ; but since he bad made no sign, she was not free from anxiety lest the redoubtable Colonel Medhurst should have scared him away. She did not realise what that anxiety meant; she was not conscious of being ready to forgive him for any iniquity that he might have perpetrated in the past; all she knew was that if he deserted her, her life would once more become as dull and empty as it had been in the old days which already seemed so far away, and against that outlook she rebelled with all the passionate petulance of a spoilt child. But in the course of the afternoon her fears were dissipated, for she knew that Sir Harry was coming. Lady Morecambe, who had hitherto been amiability itself, looked so annoyed and spoke so snappishly to her that she could form a pretty shrewd guess at what had occurred, and it was without any surprise that she heard herselt addressed, just before dinner, in a voice which had become both familiar and sweet to her ears :

‘May I be allowed to book two consecutive dances?’ asked Sir Harry hurriedly. ‘As you may imagine, I want to speak to you, and it is not likely that I shall be granted an opportunity before the dancing has begun.’ ‘ I will give you four and five,’ answered Sylvia, who had already possessed herself of a programme. ‘ Are we to sit them both out ? If so, perhaps you would like to have another one later on.’

‘ I must leave that to your generosity; I don’t know whether you will be inclined to dance with me later on. I suppose it will depend upon whether you are satisfied or not with what I have to say to you.’ This was all that passed between them ; for now Lady Morecambe abruptly put a stop to their colloquy by leading Sylvia away to the other end of the room. But nobody knew better than Lady Morecambe that it is impossible in a ball-room to separate two people who are bent upon coming together. She aid what she could ; she kept Sylvia beside her until the guests began to arrive ; she introduced more young men to her protegee, than there were dances on the programme, but she could not erase Sir Harry Brewster’s name from the card which was attached to Miss Sylvia’s fan, nor did her duties as a hostess permit her to quit her post in the doorway.

And so it came to pass that when the band struck up the opening bars of the fourth dance Sylvia, on Sir Harry Brewster’s arm, was being conducted out of the ball-room into an adjacent conservatory, where comfortable seats and subdued light and privacy were obtainable by those in search of such advantages.

‘I am going to tell you nothing but the truth,’ he began, plunging at once and without preface into the midst of the subject of which they were both thinking. ‘ If I don’t tell you the whole truth, you will understand that it is because some things can’t be put into plain words. That man Medhurst had a right to call me all the bad names in the dictionary ; his sister had a right to divorce me, and all that I have to say for myself is that I was never guilty of physical violence against her, except in a technical sense. She was one of those good women who make everybody about her miserable. She made me miserable, and I have no doubt that 1 made her miserable. The fact is that I hated her. Perhaps I might be able to show that there were some excuses for me, though I don't pretend that they were

sufficient excuses; but, before I attempt to do that, I should like to ask you whether, after what I have admitted, you can possibly continue to treat me as a friend.’ Sylvia made the answer which his knowledge of her character may have led him to expect. * I don’t make it a condition that my friends should be sairfts,’ she said ; *as a rule I don’t like saints. I think 1 can understand that there weie excuses for you ; but really 1 would rather hear no more about it. It is all over and done with, and—and I daresay you are sorry. Only I wish that your—your enemy weie anybody but Colonel Medhurst !’ ‘ You are very kind, and very generous,’ answered Sir Harry ; * but why do you say that? Is Colonel Medhurst a more formidable enemy than any other man could be ?’ * Yes ; because Muriel believes in him, and, although she isn’t exactly mistress of the house, she can close it against visitors whom she doesn’t choose to see. She has given orders that you are not to be let in again ; I know that from my maid, who was told by the butler.’ ‘ If it bad depended upon you, then, that order wouldn’t have been given.’ ‘ No; it wouldn’t. What have Ito do with Colonel Medhurst and his grievances ? And why should I deprive myself of one of the very few friends I have in the world ?’ Sir Hany's rejoinder was somewhat startling, and in truth he himself had not contemplated coming to the point quite so soon ; but such success as he had had in life had been chiefly due to audacity, and he had acquired an instinctive knack of striking while the iron was hot.

‘Shall I tell you something?’ said he. ‘Circumstances will never admit of my being your friend. 1 must be more than that or nothing at all.’ And as she diew back with a half-frightened look, and made no answer, he went on : ‘ I know it is ridiculous for a man of my age to flatter himself that he can obtain what he might have hoped for twenty years ago, and even if I were younger, I should be heavily handicapped by the events that you have been told of. Nevertheless, 1 can but say that I love you with all my heart and soul. Now give me the coup de grace quickly and put me out of my misery.’ Sylvia was taken by surprise ; yet if ample time for deliberation had been accorded to her her reply would, no doubt, have been the same. She had not until that moment been aware that she loved Sir Harry Brewster; but she was aware of it now, and that being so, it was neither his age nor his history that could deter her from answering: ‘I can’t send you away; I —l care too much for you. There will be a terrible fuss about it; but—l don’t mind, if you don’t.’ Wbat followed was what presumably always does follow a declaration of that nature. Lady Morecambe, released by the lateness of the hour from the task of shaking hands with a multitude of people whose names she could not recollect, and noticing with alarm that neither Sir Harry Brewster nor Sylvia Wentworth were in the ballroom, reached the conservatory just in time to discover the former in the very act of embracing the latter. Wrath and dismay rendered her speechless for an instant; but only for an instant. ‘ Sir Harry,’ she exclaimed, advancing with rapid steps upon the delinquents, ‘ you are worse than wicked ! • I will never forgive you for this—never. If you have an atom of honourable feeling left you will at least keep silence about what has happened ; but 1 am afraid your honour would be a bioken reed to lean upon. You will be so good as to leave us now and to go away by the first train to morrow morning. ’ ‘ 1 will go away to-night if you like, Lady Morecambe,’ answered Sir Harry composedly. ‘ All the same, I don’t quite understand what you aie so angry about.* ‘ You don’t understand,’ returned the irate lady ; ‘ you don’t understand that you have committed an abominable outrage. But of course you do understand, and I have nothing more to say to you. Please leave Miss Wentwoith to me.’ Sir Harry bowed, smiled slightly and retired, throwing a re-assuring glance back at Sylvia, who thereupon observed : ‘ I think it is you who do not understand, Lady Morecambe. Sir Harry Brewster and I are engaged to be married.’ ‘ Oh, you foolish child ! Don’t you know that the man has a wife living ?’ ‘ I know that he once had a wife, and that he is divorced from her.’ ‘ Good Heavens ! what is the world coming to ? In my young days some people used to call me fast; but I am sure I never could have spoken of divorce in that cool way. You must have taken leave of your senses, Sylvia. Well, I am not responsible ; I neither asked nor wished Sir Harry to come here, and I wash my hands of the whole business. To morrow I shall send you home to your father, who, I hope and trust, will have the decency not to blame me for a catastrophe which 1 have had no share in bringing about.’ ‘ I will take the whole blame upon myself, Lady Morecambe,’ answered Sylvia submissively but firmly. ‘ I know I shall have a bad time of it, and I don’t care. Papa may forbid me to marry Sir Harry Brewster now ; but I shall marry him as soon as I am of age. ’ Lady Morecambe was a little staggered. She had not been prepared for the girl’s quiet determination, which she was unable to shake by a brief but vivid sketch of Sir Harry’s career. The fact was that Sylvia had all her life been accustomed to impose her will upon those about her, and it ■was not likely that her self-confidence should desert her in so important a crisis as this. She was happy and she was triumphant ; in her heart she was persuaded that Sir Harry had never loved anyone but her, and if she thought at all of the woman who had been his wife, it was only with a sort of contemptuous pity. Before the evening was over she contrived to exchange a few more words with him. She was returning home on the following day, she said, and she would of course communicate the news of her engagement at once to her people. Perhaps he had better not call until he heard from her. ‘I will do just what you tell me,’ Sir Harry replied. ‘ We must make up our minds to a good deal of opposition, you know.’ ‘ Oh, yes ; there will be opposition at first. But they wil give in after a time—they must. Even if they succeed in separating us for years—but there is very little fear of their doing that—l shall not change. Will you ?’ He said what everybody else would have said in bis place and said it with as much sincerity as anybody else could have felt. Like Lady Morecambe, he was astonished at Sylvia’s calm decision of purpose and, unlike her, he was

touched by it. If it were true that a reformed rake makes the best husband, there would perhaps have been no great reason -to pity that self-willed and inexperienced young woman ; but in all probability it is not true. At any rate, a man of Sir Harry Brewster’s age is not much more likely to make a fresh start than habitnal criminals are to earn an honest livelihood, and it may have been some dim perception of this fact that caused him to sigh in the moment of victory.

CHAPTER XIII. Man is born to labour and sorrow, but is so constituted that the first of these conditions of bis existence is more often a palliative than a cause of the second. To lie perfectly idle and at the same time to be able to enjoy life is to be a very exceptional specimen of humanity ; yet some such there are, and it was Mr Wentworth’s good or evil fortune to be one of them. He not only never did a stroke of work, but was singularly devoid of those resources by means of which moneyed men commonly seek to persuade themselves hat they are busy. He read a little, but not very much he knew a little about art and a little about music and a little about old oak and old silver; he was fond of attending sales, and he liked dining with his friends and asking them to dine with him. By far the larger portion of his time was spent at his clnb, where he would sit contentedly for hours together, chatting with this or that fellow member and covertly amusing himself by drawing out the weaknesses and idiosyncracies of his companion. But it was little amusement that he conld get out of Lieutenant-Colonel Med hurst, C. 8., who called upon him one afternoon at that establishment and gave reasons for having done so with military brevity and precision. It was perhaps rather funny that Colonel Medhurst should attach the importance that he did to those reasons; still the man was almost too earnest to be laughed at; besides, he was, in a certain sense, right. One could scarcely contradict him, although one might think him impertinent, when he asserted that Sir Harry Brewster was no fit associate for two young ladies. Mr Wentworth having heard the Colonel out, answered him with perfect courtesy and with only so much of irony as he really could not help. ‘ I quite agree with you, my dear Mellinrst,' said he, ‘ that Sir Harry is a very bad mau. It may very well be that he deserves to be kicked downstairs, and I’m sure I don’t wonder at your thinking so. Only, you see, if I were to begin kicking all the bad men of my acquaintance downstairs, 1 should be undertaking a task to which my physical powers are quite unequal. In this wicked world we are compelled to forgive and forget many things ; especially we are compelled to close our eyes to offences which have not been committed against ourselves or members of our family.’

‘ It is an offence against members of your family that that man should be allowed to make his way into your house,’ interrupted Colonel Medhurst. ‘ You may have forgotten some of the facts which were brought to light during the divorce case, and I have brought a full report of the proceedings in my pocket to remind you of them.’ ‘ Thanks ; but I won’t trouble you. It would be painful for you to d well upon such a subject, and I think my memory serves me pretty well. It was a very bad case—as bad as you please—still I can but feel, as the rest of the world has felt, that I am not personally concerned with it. The rest of the world hasn’t thought it necessary to cut Sir Harry Brewster ; nor do I.’ • I should have thought that every decent man and woman in England would have cut him’ growled the Colonel. ‘ Yes; but isn’t that due to the circumstance that you are personally concerned with the case ? That you should object to entering a bouse in which Sir Harry Brewster is received is quite natural, and if you tell me that you decline to enter my house again I must bow to your decision deeply though I should regret it. But may I make so bold as to point out to you that ordering me to turn another man away from my door is rather a different thing ? I wouldn’t for the world ask you to meet Brewster, and I am very sorry that you should have met him under my roof; but I am afraid I can do no more than promise that I will take every reasonable precaution against your meeting him there a second time.

Obviously Colonel Medhurst could demand nothing more. It was open to him to say that, under the circumstances, he must cease to be a visitor in Upper Brook-street; but that was just what he felt unable to say, and it was not for him to place restrictions upon Mr Wentworth’s visiting-list. He did go so far as to express some surprise that a notorious scoundrel should be admitted into respectable society ; but all he gained by that was a bland assurance that respectable society contained quite an appreciable percentage of notorious scoundrels. The impression that he carried away with him was that respectable society stood in urgent need of reform and that he individually did not possess the gifts requisite for a social reformer. Mr Wentworth, for his part, was slightly annoyed and perturbed by this interview. For reasons of his own, he would not have been greatly distressed by an intimation that Colonel Medhurst proposed to decline the honour of his future acquaintance ; but no such intimation had been conveyed to him. He had merely been given to understand what was probably the case that be was lending his countenance to an intimacy which most parents would have nipped in the bu I. For he knew very well that a good many people did ent Sir Harry Brewster, although a good many continued to leeeive him. He was wondering vaguely whether it might not after all, be as well to civilly dismiss a friend whose friendship seemed likely to be productive of more trouble than it was worth, when a card was brought to him, together with a message that a gentleman who would be glad to see him for a few minutes, if he was disengaged, was waiting in the hall. Mr Wentworth raised his eyebrows on examining the ard, which bore the name of Mr John Hill. • What the euce does that young idiot want with me ?’ he muttered ; * Has he come to make a formal announcement of the sentiments with which he has been inspired by my daughter ?’ Such was, in point of fact, Johnny Hill's errand, and deep was the confusion with which he discharged himself of it. When he had been conducted into a quiet corner of the smoking-room and had been given a cigar, which he at once allowed to go out, he embarked upon a rambling statement of which the only intelligible upshot was that he wished to apologise for his intrusion. He bad not been able to think of any other way of securing Mr Wentworth’s undivided attention, he exclaimed. *

‘ Delighted to see you anywhere or at any time, my dear fellow,’ that gentleman replied reassuringly. * You wanted to speak to me about something or other ?" Johnny, with red cheeks and watery eyes blurted out the truth. The terms in which he expressed himself were somewhat incoherent; but he managed to make his meaning clear. He loved Sylvia, and he wished to know whether he had her father's permission to propose to her. Mr Wentworth could not help laughing. • You are very punctilious,* he remarked. * I thought that in these days it was customary to propose first and then face the possibly indignant head of the family. You will be glad to hear that lam not indignant—far fiom it. To the best of my belief, you possess sufficient means and an irreproachable character; what more could 1 desire ? It only remains for you to obtain Sylvia’s consent.’ ‘ Ah —that’s just the difficulty,’ observed Johnny ruefully. • I'm afraid I can’t help you out of it. That is, unless a few words of sage counsel would be of any assistance. I wouldn’t be in too great a hurry, if I were you. I should trust to time, which seldom fails to show young women how great is the value of the—er —peculiar advantages that you possess. For the present you would do well to remember that Sylvia is onlyj-ist out of the schoolroom, that girls, like boys have a natural curiosity to see something of the world before settling down, and that she has as yet met scarcely any men at all.’ ‘lt strikes me that she has met one too many,’ said Johnny, with a gloomy emphasis which rather astonished his Mentor. *Of course she can’t know what a brute that fellow Brewster is ; but she has found out that he can make himself most confoundedly agreeable when he likes.’ For once Mr Wentworth’s equable temper almost gave way. After submitting to the officious remonstrances of Colonel Medhurst was he going to be lectured by this raw hobbledehoy 1 ‘ My good friend,’ said he, ‘ in your condition it is usual and excusable to be jealous; but it is neither the one nor the other to be idiotic. Do you really imagine that I should allow my daughter to marry a man who is ruined and divorced, and who is more than twice her age into the bargain ?’ ‘ No, I don’t,’ answered Johnny bluntly ; 1 but I imagine that, if yon allow him to follow her about wherever she goes, you may not be able to prevent her from falling in love with him.’ Johnny Hill might be a hobbledehoy and his apprehensions might be idiotic, but it was impossible to deny that this last observation of his sounded very like common sense. Mr Wentworth was so far impressed by it that he rejoined in a much less contemptuous tone : ‘ He does not follow her about wherever she goes. At the present moment, for instance, she is staying down in the country with Lady Morecambe and is likely to remain there for some little time, I believe. ’ • It was at Lady Morecambe’s that she first met Sir Harry Brewster,’ remarked the suspicious Johnny. ‘I am aware of that; but he does not reside permanently with Lady Morecambe. However, if it will make you any happier to know that we shall probably see less of Sir Harry in future than we have done lately, I can give yon that comfort. My sister doesn’t like him, and when a man has the misfortune to be disliked by the de facto mistiess of a house ’ —Mr Wentworth shrugged his shoulders expressively. The truth was that he was beginning to be just a little bit alarmed. Improbable events do sometimes occur, and it is never worth while to run unnecessary risks, and Sir Harrythreatened to become a nuisance. As he strolled homewards, after getting rid of Johnny Hill, who went away much re-assured, he said to himself that he would give Brewster a hint. That, after all, could be easily and inoffensively done. Brewster, as a man of the world, would understand that any repetition of the scene which had taken place between him and Medhurst must be guarded against ; there would be no occasion to discuss the merits of the quarrel or to blame either party to it. Having arrived at this decision, Mr Wentworth had leisure to turn his mind to other subjects and to laugh softly over the memory of Johnny’s mingled embarrassment and audacity. ‘ I suppose the poor boy really came to lodge a formal objection against Brewster,’ be mused. *He can’t have thought it incumbent upon him to ask my consent before offering that big, red hand of his to Sylvia Who put him up to it, I wonder? Not his mother ; she is too delightfully stupid to believe that her ugly duckling could be cut out by any swan. Sylvia is sure to refuse him ; but then he is siire to propose again and again. Men of that type always do, and almost always end by getting what they want. Meanwhile it will be as good as a play to watch him and his mamma during the progress of the wooing.’ It was in his accustomed good spirits that Mr Wentworth reached his house, and he was only a little put out to find Muriel waiting for him in his study. However, he thought it due to himself to greet her with a plaintive sigh. ‘ Everybody seems to have entered into a conspiracy to worry me to day,’ he remarked. ‘ I need not ask whether that is what you propose to do ; your presence here is sufficient evidence of it. Added to which I can read your fell intentions on your face.’ ‘ James,’ said Muriel, ‘ a dreadful thing has happened. Sylvia came home this afternoon.’ ‘An unexpected occurrence,’remarked Mr Wentworth, ‘ but scarcely to be called dreadful in itself. Afterwards?’ ‘ She has come home because Harriet Morecambe wouldn’t keep her any longer. It appears that that wretch Sir Harry Brewster invited himself down there and actually made an offer of marriage to Sylvia, who has accepted him.’ Mr Wentworth gave a low whistle. ‘ This is serious,’ was his comment upon the news imparted to him. ‘lt is very serious indeed. I can’t understand Sylvia; she seems to feel no shame at all about it. and she coolly declares she will marry the man with or without your consent. ‘ Oh, nonsense I she can’t marry him without my consent. Nevertheless, it is deuced awkward, and I confess that I am amaze lat Brewster’s impudence. Muriel, my dear, if it would relieve your feelings to crow over me, you can do so. I acknowledge your right to crow.’ • I don't want to crow over you, James ; I didn’t believe any more than you did that such a misfortune as this could happen. The question is what are we to do ?’ ‘ Well, there isn’t room for much hesitation upon that point. 1 forbid the banns, and there's an end of it.’

Muriel shook her head. ‘I doubt whether you will make an end of it quite so easily,’ said she. * You don’t know how calm and resolute Sylvia is about it ; I never knew her so resolute about anything before She is quite aware that you won’t give your consent; but she says she is willing to wait until she is of age.’ ‘ln that case you need not bring premature wrinkles upon yourself by drawing up the skin of your forehead as you are doing now. Before Sylvia is of age she will have seen many men more fascinating than Brewster, and long before that date he will have forgotten her. For the time beino there will be trouble though, I sup>>ose. It is an abominable nuisance, but I am afraid there is nothing for it but change of air. One would fain be permitted to finish the winter in one’s own more or less comfortable house ; still, at the call of duty one must not be found wanting. I wonder whether it wouldn’t open Johnny Hill’s mind to join us somewhere in southern Europe in the course of the spring.’ ‘ Oh, Johnny Hill,’ ejaculated Muriel, disdainfully. ‘Why not? He is eligible, and Sir Harry is reputed to be fickle. Pique, my dear, has been the means of helping many an honest man over a stile before now. And Johnny, I may tell you, is very much in earnest. He interviewed me this afternoon for the purpose of stating his intentions explicitly. It will all come right in the end I think ; the most disagreeable part of the business is that I shall have to be extremely rude to Brewster. It is true that he deserves it; but I detest being rude.’ Muriel did not much like her brother’s light way ot treating an affair which he himself had called serious ; still it was a relief to find that he did not dream of sanctioning the engagement; for indeed she had not felt sure that he would express himself so decisively. ‘ I don’t think Sir Harry Brewster can give you much trouble,’ said she ; ‘ you need not even see him, unless you like. But you will have to see Sylvia.’ ‘ Well, yes ; that is unavoidable, no doubt. Perhaps, however, I may be allowed to eat my dinner before going through the painful duty of pronouncing sentence. It is humiliating that one’s equanimity should depend so much upon the condition of one’s stomach ; but we are mortals, not angels, and we must accept the disadvantages of our position. What consoles me is that Sylvia, being as much of a human being as I am, will outlive the sorrows and follies that belong to early youth. It doesn’t, as a rule, take very long to outlive them/ (TO BE CONTINUED.)