Miss Wentworth's Idea

New Zealand Graphic, Volume VIII, Issue 36, 12 September 1891, Page 358

Miss Wentworth's Idea

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W. E. NORRIS,

Author of ‘Matrimony/ ‘ My Friend Jim/ ‘The Rogue/ ‘A Bachelor’s Blunder.’

CHAPTER XIV. «■ HE reason why parents so frequently .'s Z lose all control over their children is „ ll' doubtless to be found in the inefficiI ) ency of their memories. They forget wfe \ —most of us, unfortunately, do —how MK-S"• they themselves felt when they were y°“ n B » they forget that a very few years suffice to convert a child into a nian or a won,an > they are unable to ./ realise that after a certain time it is not enou gh to hold the reins, and that / those who wish to retain authority • , must know how to drive. Mr Wentworth, being convinced as he had every right and reason to be, that a marriage between his daughter and Sir Harry Brewster was a preposterous project, anticipated no great difficulty in placing bis veto upon it. Tears, of course, he did anticipate, and there would be the nuisance and expense of going abroad for a few months ; but that this tiouble would prove anything more than a transitory one he did not for a moment imagine. It was, therefore, without any misgivings as to his power to enforce his will upon his daughter that he requested her to accompany him into his study after a dinner during which it had not been easy to keep up appearances before the servants and to maintain the customary flow of conversation. He had made up his mind to be very patient and forbearing ; he was prepared to find Sylvia unreasonable, and he knew that he would not enjoy his first cigar; but be had the magnanimity to acknowledge that he had been in some degree to blame for what had occurred, and he was willing to submit to the disagreeable consequences of his own heed lessness. ‘ This is an unfortunate business, my dear child,’ he liegan, when he had settled himself in an armchair and had motioned to Sylvia to take one on the opposite sidexrf the fi replace. ‘ I need not tell yon that it has distressed me very much ; nor, I presume, is it necessary for me to say that it cannot be allowed to go on. Brewster has behaved very badly, I think ; but that is a question between him and me ; so far as yon are concerned, there is only one thing to be done, and that is to forget as soon as possible how foolish you have been. We shall do what we can to help you to forget your folly, and you may be sure that we shall not remind you of it.’ ‘ls that all, papal’ inquired Sylvia, after waiting for a few seconds. ‘ Practically, my dear, that appears to me to be all,’ answered Mr Wentworth, smiling. ‘ Then I suppose I may have my say. I didn’t expect you to consent to our engagement; I know that Sir Harry Brewster is neither young nor rich, nor virtuous; I know that he has been divorced from his wife, and that he is in every way an unsuitable person for me to marry. Only I shall never marry anybody else.’ This declaration did not perturb Mr Wentworth, who thought that, all things considered, it was decidedly moderate both in substance and in tone. ‘You think so,’ said he ; ‘ that is what everybody thinks at first starting, and it is only after a good many years of experience that we realise our subjection to the universal and beneficent law of change. A day will come—it will not be a very distant day either—when you will get quite red in the face every time that you recollect having once fancied youiself in love with Sir Harry Brewster. You will then, I have no doubt, thank Heaven that you were not an orphan and your own mistress at the time when he had the impudence to propose to yon. Meanwhile, the less said about him the better. I have been talking things over with Muriel, and my idea is that our best plan will be to leave England for a month or two. You have no idea what an old story this chapter in your life will seem to you when we return in the spring.’ ‘ You may make any plans that you like, papa,’answered Sylvia composedly, ‘ and you can take me to any place that you please ; but I shall not give up Sir Harry Brewster, and I don’t, think he will give me up.’ Mr Wentworth laughed. ‘ You have faith in yourself and faith in human nature,’ he remarked. ‘ That is very firetty, and at your age is very becoming. It can’t hold out ong against the hard facts of existence, though. Well, I don’t know that I have anything more to say. I couldn’t say more without hurting your feelings, and I am sure I have no wish to do that-.’ ‘ You wouldn’t hurt my feelings by anything that you could say against Sir Harry, papa,’ answered Sylvia, as she dutifully kissed her father and wished him good night; ‘I have heard it all from Lady Morecambe and other people, and 1 don’t mind. It makes no difference.’ The truth was that she understood that complacent philosopher a good deal better than he understood her, and was very well aware that he was incapable of persistent opposition. If he congratulated himself upon the comparative smoothness with which their interview had passed off, so did she. He had seemed to gain his point; but in reality he had gained nothing except time, and that much it had been certain that he must gain. As a matter of fact, time was her ally, and not her enemy. Before she went to bed she wrote a letter to Sir Harry wherein she gave a full account of the manner in which the

news of her engagement had been received by those who exercised nominal authority over her. * They did not scold me so much as I thought they would,’ she concluded, ’ and though their taking me abroad is a bore, it wasn’t worth while to make a grievance out of that. Muriel is horrified ; but I think I know how to manage Muriel. As for papa, he simply doesn’t believe that anybody can care very much for anybody else. When he finds out that he is mistaken, he will sigh~and shrug his shoulders and let me go my own way. That is what he always ends by doing, because he likes a quiet life. Of course you will have to call upon him, if only to show him that you are not ashamed or afraid. The best time would be about eleven o’clock in the morning, when he has finished his breakfast and read the paper.’ It is needless to quote further from a missive of which the wording was not quite so unimpassioned throughout as in the above extract. It was not Sylvia’s way to do things by halves, and, having given her whole heart to Sir Harry Brewster, she found it only natural to tell him without affectation of reticence bow dearly she loved him. The conscience of that elderly miscreant pricked him a little as he perused the girl’s artless love-letter. To do him justice, fear was a sensation with which he had but scant acquaintance, and he was certainly not afraid of Mr Wentworth ; but as for not being ashamed—well, that was another affair. His remorse, no doubt, was somewhat tardy, and duty now commanded him to stand by Sylvia as imperatively as it had commanded him a short time' ago, to avoid her ; still charitable persons may perhaps be disposed to count it as a sign of grace in him that he did feel remorseful. He told himself that be did not deserve her pure and unsuspecting affection; be likewise told himself that he would do what in him lay to deserve it for the future ; and these unexceptionable sentiments made him, it must be confessed, a good deal more comfortable. For the present his obvious course was to call in Upper Brook-street at eleven o’clock on the following morning, and this he did with strict punctuality. Mr Wentworth greeted. him as a man whose confidence has been betrayed is justified in greeting his deceiver. More in sorrow than in anger, he dwelt upon the injury that had been done to him and to his daughter, and regretted that one whom he had supposed to be his friend should have acted in such a manner as to render a continuance of friendly relations between them impossible. Sir Harry, he said, would probably understand that the question of a marriage or an engagement could not even be discussed ; the amazing thing was that such a suggestion should ever have been put forward.

‘ One does not quarrel with the ignorance of a child in her teens ; but I think you must allow, Brewster, that I should have some right to quarrel with you if I w ere a quarrelsome man.’

‘ My dear Wentworth,’ answered Sir Harry, ‘you have a right to say anything and everything that is bad of me. I can’t even expect you to believe me when I tell you that I love your daughter ; it was inexcusable on my part to tell her so, and I shall not attempt to excuse myself. But let me ask you, as a practical man—what, under the circumstances, is it that you would have me do?’ ‘ Nothing, except to go away. lam sorry to be so discourteous ; but you have left me no choice. For the matter of that, we also shall go away. I have decided to take Sylvia abroad for the rest of the winter.’ ‘ That is perhaps the best plan that you can adopt; but you will come home again, and if, as I firmly believe will be the case, she and I remain faithful to one another ’ ‘ Really, Brewster,’ interrupted Mr Wentworth in a tone of gentle remonstrance, ‘ I think you might know better than to talk such nonsense as that to me.’ ‘ I assuie yon I am honestly persuaded that I am talking sense. I won’t make protestations, because, as I said before, I can’t expect you to believe me ; but I suppose you will admit that so long as your daughter continues to be true to me I am bound to be true to her.’ ‘ I confess that I should not have imagined you to be an upholder of that particular form of moral obligation. However, it is of no great consequence; because, wherever Sylvia may be, yon cannot be permitted to approach her. The episode, in short, is at an end. You will very likely never see my daughter again : but if by chance you should meet, I trust that it will be a long time hence.’ ‘ I don’t dispute your authority,’ answered Sir Hany, ‘ although I may doubt whether it is in the power of any human being to enforce such a decision. You will allow me, perhaps, to see Sylvia for a few minutes and to say good bye to her.’ ‘ Certainly not. Why should I allow it ?’ ‘ I know of no reason why you should, although I think yon might make that concession without danger. I will write to her then, and she can show you my letter, if you wish to see it. I shall say nothing, or very little more to her than I have said to you ; but I think I owe it to her to explain that I have not been cowed into deserting her. My position, you understand is this. I cannot—especially in view of what my antecedents have been—persist in forcing my attentions against her father’s wish, upon a girl who is still under age; but I am entitled to tell her that, if she continues in the same mind she may count on my fidelity.’

* I am not sure,’ answered Mr Wentworth, with a smile, * that you are entitled to tell her anything ; but probably

your saying that will do no harm. After all, one must say something.’ And indeed, it was in a very tolerant and self-satisfied frame of mind that this peremptory parent bowed his visitor out. His victory had been achieved with singularly little difficulty or unpleasantness, and he was beginning to think that a trip to the south of France might not be quite such a nuisance as he had represented it to be. He spent the remainder of the morning in consulting guide-books and iailway time-tables, and became mildly interested in his studies. There were plenty of places, it seemed, which he had not visited and amongst which a few months might be spent agreeably enough. If the guide-books were to be trusted, creature comforts were obtainable at Pan, Biarritz, Nice, Cannes, and numerous other winter resorts of invalided Britons. *lt is all settled,’ he told Muriel later in the day. ‘ Brewster retires—under protest, of course, still he retires ; and Father Time will now step in and perform his customary work. We are well out of it at the price of an expensive journey and a more or less dreary sojourn in foreign hotels.’ Muriel intimated — as possibly she may have been expected to do —that she was prepared to take the lion’s share of the expense upon herself; but she was a good deal less sanguine than her brother as to results. Syivia had always been wilful; but her wilfulness had hitherto been displayed after a very different fashion, and it was not a little disquieting to find that the girl had no complaint to make on being informed that Sir Harty Brewster had allowed himself to be turned out of the house without even insisting upon a farewell interview with her. And when Sir Harry’s promised letter arrived, Sylvia at once handed it to her aunt, merely remarking that it was the letter of a gentleman. It was a letter, Muriel thought, which had obviously been written with the knowledge that it would be inspected by others besides its recipient; but what was the use of saying that? Exception could not be taken to its terms, which were scrupulously correct. The writer disclaimed any idea or intention of fettering the girl whom he loved and of whom he admitted himself to be utterly unworthy. He was bound, but she was free, and her freedom would never be interfered with, directly or indirectly by him. He would only ask her to believe that his enforced absence and silence did not and never would imply any lessening of his love.

‘lt is quite hopeless and quite impossible, you know,’ Muriel said, as she handed this admirably worded document back to its rightful owner. ‘ Would you think so if you were in my place and if you loved him ?’ inquired Sylvia quietly. ‘ Yes ;I am sure I should. I might not be able to help loving him ; but 1 should feel that it would be disgraceful to marry him while his wife was still alive.’ ‘ Well, I suppose I am not as good as you are ; for I don’t feel in that way about it at all. Lady Brewster, if that is what she calls herself, isn’t his wife any longer, and he never cared for her, and- he does care for me. That is all that I want to know. I don’t mind his having been wicked ; everybody is wicked in one way or another, and I daresay I am quite as bad as he is in reality, though I haven’t had the chance of doing anything scandalous. I think I might become downright wicked if he were to abandon me to my fate ; but he won’t abandon me. He is willing to wait for me, and lam willing to wait any length of time for him.’ Distressed though Muriel was by this speech (for of course nothing was more likely than’ that Sir Harry Brewster would abandon the girl who so blindly trusted him), she was nevertheless more drawn towards her niece by it than she had ever felt before. Sylvia, it seemed, was by no means the heartless and selfish flirt that she had sometimes appeared to be, and although one might deplore her infatuation, it was impossible to help sympathising with her. • Oh, my poor child,’ she exclaimed almost involuntarily, ‘ I wish I could help you ! I wish it were possible to give you what you want!’ ‘ I know I can’t have what I want at once,’ answered the girl; ‘ but it is quite possible for you to help me, and I believe you will when you have got over the first shock of the thing. You are not like papa ; you understand that I am in earnest-.'

Then the two women kissed each other, and there was a tacit agreement between them that the trouble which the younger had brought upon herself should at least he no longer made a subject of reproach by the elder. It will be perceived that Sylvia had indulged in no very extravagant boast when she asserted that she knew how to manage her aunt.

Muriel, however, was not conscious of having taken any step towards countenancing an alliance which she still considered to le absolutely out of the question. What she did fully realise was that there was going to be a good deal more difficulty and a good deal more unhappiness over this affair than her brother imagined, and she foiesaw that if she was to be of any service to Sylvia, she would have her work cut out for her for a considerable length of time to come. Meanwhile, what was to become of the other work she had undertaken ?—and what would Mr Compton think of a residence in continental watering-places as qualifying her for ultimate admission into the society of St. Francis ? Well, the shortest way was, no doubt, to ask him ; and this she did on the earliest opportunity, though she could not refrain from answering for him before he had opened his lips. ‘ I know exactly what you are going to say,’ she declared ; * you told me from the first that I had home duties to attend to and that I had no business to neglect them. Well, I don’t mean to neglect them, you see ; I don’t mean to leave Sylvia until she is— consoled ; but if you are at all fair, I think you will admit that I shall be sacrificing myself far more by consenting to a kind of life which I shall hate than I could be by working under you in London, which I should love. ’ ‘ By what sort of hateful life do you propose to console your niece ?’ Compton inquired. ‘ Oh, by going as much as possible into society, I suppose, and by making as many new friends for her as we can. Don’t you think that is our best chance ?’ * I am without the means of forming an opinion ; but, from what you tell me about her, I should say that she might very probably beat you. If her will is stronger than yours, and if Sir Harry Brewster behaves himself, this is what will happen. Some fine morning you will say to yourself that you can’t bear to see people miserable, that you have money enough to overcome financial objections and that divorce, after all, is sanctioned by the law of the land.

Then you will proceed to despoil yourself in favour of your niece and you will come to me to ask whether you haven't given as convincing proofs of unworldliness as any rules of ours could demand.’

* You are very cruel and very unjust!’ returned Muriel, the colour mounting into her cheeks. * You have no right to say that I shall act in that way, and one thing I can promise yon—if ever I ask you again to let me join your Society, I will not come to you empty-handed.’ Mr Compton smiled. ‘ You will not find me cruel or unjust when you are empty-handed or in any real trouble,’ said he ; * if I make cruel predictions now, it is only because I want -to put you on your guard against verifying them. The danger is real, though you don’t believe in it—we’ll say no more upon the subject. The children will miss you terribly and you may be sure that we shall all welcome you if you care to come back to us on your return home.’ This was cold coinfort; but it was all that poor Muriel could obtain from her hard-hearted clerical adviser, and she was fain to make the best of it. CHAPTER XV. A.RTISTS who have reached a certain age—painters or musicians or whatever they may be—will remember that, in the days when they were still students and were ignorant of the existence of that great gulf which separates mere promise from proficiency, they had to pass through a period of profound discouragement and disappointment. Of students some are diffident from the outset, while others, whose intelligence moves more quickly, make light of preliminary obstacles and outstrip their competitors by sheer force of self-confidence. Teachers, as a rule, prefer the latter class, because there is better work to be got out of them at starting, yet it may be doubted whether their lot is an enviable ■one. For sooner or later the inevitable time must come when they find out that they are only just beginning to face - difficulties instead of being within sight of their goal, and the re-action which sets in after this discovery is fatal to not a few amongst them. Somewhat analogous is the lot of those who have fondly and prematurely imagined that they understood their own characters and knew exactly what they were worth. All of a sudden something occurs which opens their eyes ; they see themselves as others see them ; they realise that they are not in the least what they had supposed, that they do not possess the qualities upon which they had plumed themselves ; and then, if they are in any degree sensitive or conscientious, they are very apt to jump to the conclusion that they are worth nothing at all.

Such, at any rate, was the melancholy conclusion at which Muriel Wentworth arrived when she reached home and pondered over the conversation of which a part was recorded in the last chapter. It was not that she believed in the fulfilment of Compton’s prophecy ; he himself had as good as admitted that he was only warning her against a possible danger, though he had called it a real one. But what hurt her was the idea that she was a person about whom a prophecy of that kind could be made, and what caused her to despair was an inward conviction that the keen witted little Superior of the Society of St. Francis had not wholly misjudged her. He had always refused to take her seriously, and it might very well be that he had been right. Perhaps she was not of the stuff of which his followers must needs be composed ; when she examined herself she felt almost sure that she was not. She had too many misgivings; she was too much given to looking back after putting her hand to the plough; the world, in short, was a very complicated place of habitation, and it was no such simple matter to retire from it and all its complications. Of course she was determined that she would never under any circumstances be a consenting party to anything so monstrous as Sylvia’s marriage with Sir Harry Brewster, yet something whispered to her that'she was not altogether incapable of such criminal weakness, and so she lost faith in herself and in her strength of purpose. When all was said, what was she but a discontented woman who, for no better reason than that she was discontented, had fancied herself fitted to fill a more lofty position than the very commonplace and uninteresting one which had been assigned to her by Providence ? Self-knowledge is doubtless salutary; but self-distrust and self-disgust can do nobody any good ; so that it was just as well for Muriel that she was interrupted in the midst of these gloomy meditations by the entrance of a visitor who had always recognised and rendered full justice to her virtues. ‘ I thought I might venture to look in upon you, since your niece is away from home,’ Colonel Medhurst said. ‘ You told me the other day that you didn’t wish me to meet her.’ ‘ Did I ? I only meant that you probably would not wish to meet her,’ answered Muriel. ‘ She has come back ; but she isn’t in the room as you see, and I am glad of it, because I have something that I must tell you about her.’ ‘ Indeed ?’ said the Colonel with a startled look. * Surely not that she—but I know that cannot be so, I spoke to your brother—perhaps he told yon about it!—and although I could not get him to say that he would turn his back upon Brewster, lie seemed to be quite alive to the fact that the man is a scoundrel. It is inconceivable that he can have consented to give his daughter to such a brute. Besides, she has been out of London. ’ * Yes ; and so has Sir Harry Brewster. I had better tell you the truth at once, though of course we do not wish it to be talked about. Sir Harry deliberately followed Sylvia to Morecambe Priory, where she was staying, and he has proposed to her and she has accepted him. It is horrible and shameful; but that is what has happened, and I would rather that you heard of it from me than from somebody else—as I suppose you would have been almost sure to do, sooner or later. Naturally, James has forbidden the engagement, and will not allow her to see Sir Harry again ; still I am afraid we must not Hatter ourselves that the affair can be put an end to in that summary way. Sylvia submits after a fashion ; but she declares that she will marry the man as soon as she is of age, and he has given her a release which is nothing more than nominal. My brother is persuaded that it will be all right; I wish I could think so !’ Colonel Medhurst bit his moustache and frowned. Mr Wentworth had apparently done his duty as a father ; but that there should be any question of Sir Harry Brewster’s according a release, nominal or otherwise, to the girl whom he had insulted by an offer of marriage was surely evidence that indulgence bad been stretched a little too far.

* She can’t possibly marry him, you know,’ he said in a somewhat sharp tone of voice. * I hope not,’ answered Muriel despondently; * but even if the marriage never takes place, her youth will have been spoilt all the same. What can we do! We are to go abroad immediately and we shall be away for some months I believe: but I don’t know that the change will make much difference.’

Colonel Medhurst’s face fell. * You are going abroad !’ he echoed disconsolately. * And when you return, I shall have gone back to my regiment, 1 suppose. Will you like it? —the going abroad I mean.’ *I ? Oh, no, I shall not like it at all; but it is not on my account that we are going. Perhaps it is the best thing we can do for Sylvia, though it seems a doubtful sort of remedy. At all events, by taking her away we shall prevent her seeing or hearing of Sir Harry Brewster.’ * I should have thought you might have prevented that without leaving home. And it does seem to me that your wishes are entitled to some slight consideration. Won’t it be rather a wrench to you to have to give up your visits to the children’s hospital and—and all that ?’ * Yes; but lam not sure that I mind quite so much as I thought I should. Although I liked being with the children and helping to amuse them, that wasn’t the kind of work that I could have gone on with for an indefinite time, and I never intended to stop short there. To tell the truth, I looked upon myself as a sort of probationer ; but this afternoon Mr Compton has completely undeceived me. He never had any idea of admitting me into the Society ; he does not think me fit for it.’

‘.Well, if you come to that,’ observed Colonel Medhurst, smiling, * nor do I. I think you are fitted for something better than such a life.’ -

‘ That is absurd. What can be better than to give all that yon possess—your money and your labour and your whole heart —to your fellow-creatures ? Mr Compton is convinced that I should never give my whole heart to them ; and I can’t feel certain that he is mistaken.’

‘I sincerely trust that he is not,’ declared Medhurst, who for the moment had forgotten all about Sylvia and Sir Harry Brewster and who was decidedly of opinion that a portion of Miss Wentworth’s heart ought to be reserved for less general purposes ; ‘it is easy to serve one’s fellowcreatures without taking vows or wearing a poke-bonnet, and though the life of a Sister of Charity may be the best for some exceptional persons, I am sure it can’t be the best for everybody.’ ‘ Exactly so. I fancied, .myself an exceptional person, whereas lam nothing of the sort it appears. Yon and Mr Compton may have judged me quite correctly ; but I can’t pretend to feel exhilarated by your judgment, and that is oner eason why I don’t so very much object to leaving the country.’ ‘ I understand,’ gravely observed Colonel Medhurst—who, however, did not understand in the least. ‘I am sorry that you should have been disappointed ; but I confess I shan't be sorry if your disappointment causes you to give up the notions that you have had. I wish you weren’t going away though !’ ‘ Thank you ; but I should imagine that there can hardly be another individual in London whose absence would be less noticed or less regretted. I am taking with me the only two human beings who want me ; and it is doubtful whether even they are conscious of wanting me. There’s no use in wondering ; still I do wonder for what possible purpose I can have been sent into the world I’ Colonel Med hurst was deeply and honestly in love; but perhaps he had passed the age at which lovers are blind to any absurdities that can be uttered by the objects of their adoration. ‘All that,’ he exclaimed, laughing, ‘because Compton is wise enough and kind enough to forbid you taking a leap in the dark.’ ‘ No; not because of that, but because I feel that lam useless and that I always shall be useless. You, being a man, can’t understand what I mean or what there is to make such a fuss about. A man has his profession ; if he doesn’t distinguish himself in it, at least it gives him work, and perhaps he doesn’t paaticularly care about being distinguished. But women—or, at all events, women who are like me—must either be something out of the ordinary or else nothing at all. Is it a sign of inordinate vanity or ambition that I can’t submit very cheerfully to the prospect of being nothing at all!’ ‘ It is certainly no sign of vanity, and there isn’t anything to be ashamed of in ambition. Only I should like to convince you, if I could, that the prospect before you is not in the least what you say it is. ’ Muriel shook her head. * I’m afraid you won’t be able to do that,’ said she.

* I’ll have a try, anyhow, though I know that in about an hour’s time I shall repent of having said what I am going to say. Now, Miss Wentworth, what is the matter with you is just this—isn’t it ?—that you think nobody cares for you. I wouldn’t for the world accuse you of a yearning to be loved, which I suppose you would consider a very maudlin and school-girlish sort of sentiment; but when you come to think of it, it amounts to pretty much the same thing, and it’s a wish which is common to all mortals whether they admit it or not. You say you want to be of use ? but isn’t your real meaning that you want to feel yourself essential to somebody or other’s happiness ?’ ‘ To the best of my belief. I only mean what I say,’ answered Muriel ‘ But Mr Compton has put me out of all conceit with myself, and if you demonstrate to me that I am a humbug you won’t astonish me. Well ; to whose happiness am I essential ?’ ‘ Oh, only to mine, so far as I know ; but my reason for making that ridiculous confession—because of course it is rather ridiculous—is thatit may suggestconsolatory inferences to you. If, without making any effort to do so, and indeed without the faintest suspicion of what you have done, you can win the heart of an elderly well-seasoned colonel of cavalry and can reduce him to such a condition of idiocy that he worships the very ground you tread upon ; doesn’t it seem to follow that you can win other people’s hearts, easily enough ? Other people, you may be sure, will turn up. The right person may not be the first or the second or the third, but he will make his appearance some day, and when he does —well, I presume that you will feel very grateful to Compton, and very thankful that you are not a Sister of Charity.’ Never, perhaps, was a declaration of love worded in a manner more awkward to respond to. Muriel was genuinely surprised and taken aback ; but her annoyance was greater than her surprise. Colonel Medhurst, she thought, nad no

business to place her in so embarrassing a position. Au offer of marriage may be declined, with suitable expressions of sympathy and regret; but what is to be said to a man who avows himself a lover, yet abstains from putting himself forward as a suitor ?

‘ I can’t imagine that you are speaking seriously,' she said at length, in default of any bettei rejoinder. *lam as serious-as it is possible to be, although I don’t wonder at your scepticism. Falling in love is what nobody can help ; it may be a blessing or a misfortune, according to circumstances ; but 1 don’t deny that a man of my age who falls in love with a girl of yours deserves to be laughed at.’ ‘ Age has nothing to do with it,’ returned Muriel ; ‘ look at Sylvia and Sir Harry Brewster ! Only—’ * Only if I were five and twenty, that wouldn’t help me ! Well, that may or may not be so; one can’t tell. In any event, I am quite aware that I am not the right person of whom I was speaking just now, and I only mentioned my case by way of an example and illustration. However, since I have mentioned it, I shan’t make matters worse by dwelling upon it for one minute more. There is a sort of satisfaction, which I am sure you won’t grudge me, in telling you what I believe to be the truth, that nobody can ever love you more than I do. I won’t say that nobody will ever love you as much, because that would be nonsense, I suppose ; but I want you, if you will, to let me be your friend still and to remember that if at any time I can be of service to you, you will do me the greatest of kindnesses by telling me so. I shall be quartered at Colchester for the next two years in all probability. Now I’ll say no more about myself. I wonder whether I have comforted you at all by letting you into my secret.’ By this time Muriel had recovered her self-possession and was able to frame something in the shape of a fitting reply. She did not say that Colonel Medhurst’s avowal had comforted her, nor did she think it worth while to point out to him how wide he was of the mark in his estimate of her requirements ; but she assured him that she was not ungrateful for the high compliment that he had paid her, and she expressed the hope which every woman who refuses an offer is bound to express, that he would soon meet with somebody more worthy of his affection than she could pretend to be.

He made her feel somewhat ashamed of her trite phrases by ignoring them and merely answering that his back was broad enough for his burden. ‘ As you said just now, a man has always his profession, and I have been tolerably lucky in mine, so that there is no great danger of my being superannuated. 1 shall reconcile myself to my fate somehow or other, and I hope and think that you will reconcile yourself to yours. Only, if I might ask a small favour of you, it would be that you will allow me credit for knowing my own mind.’ She might have retorted that that was more than he had been willing to allow her ; but she did not, and she cried a little after he had gone away. It was not that she regretted the refusal which he had taken for granted ; she did not love him, and for marriage in the abstract she had no inclination. Still it seemed a great pity that she could not be satisfied with what would satisfy the generality of women, and she was more sorry for herself than she was for the man who had proclaimed his ability to reconcile himself to his fate. To grumble because one differs from the rest of one’s species is, no doubt, a form of complaint to which the rest of the species find it difficult to listen with patience ; yet we, who enjoy the blessings of being commonplace, should not be too hard upon those who do not share our advantages. After all, they are not to blame. Their peculiarities result from heredity or from the conformation of the skull or from some cause for which poor human nature cannot be held responsible, and we are still as far as ever from being able to answer that queer question, ‘ Did this man sin or his parents that he was born blind ?’ CHAPTER XVI. The average young Englishman of the present period is, as all fair-minded observers will acknowledge, equal as regards manly attributes to his predecessors. He is probably not much moreofafoolthantheyusedtobe; if he cannot besaid to have made any great advance upon their intellectual level, he seems to have scored a point or two against them in a physical sense, and when called upon to hght he is seldom found wanting. There are, of course, exceptions ; but the smooth-shaven pseudo-sportsmen of to-day are not more representative of their class than were the Dundrearys of a former epoch, and a fair proportion even of these, it may be, formed of more solid stuff than might be inferred from their manners and appearance. It was for instance, far more poor Johnny Hill’s misfortune than his fault that the greater part of his time was spent in loafing aimlessly about the streets of London, that he was a frequenter of music-halls, a diligent reader of sporting papers and that he did what in him lay to earn the enviable reputation of being no end of a dog. In early life one must needs have ambitions of one kind or another, and that his had taken this somewhat ignoble form was chiefly due to circumstances beyond his control. His home was in London ; he was very well off; he had passed through public school and university life without having the good luck to secure any friends whose friendship was worth possessing ; he had a mother who worshipped him and of whose wisdom and knowledge he entertained, by one of those strange perversities for which there is no accounting, an exalted opinion: finally, he was rather stupid and unaffectedly humble. Something might have been made of him it he had been put into the army ; but nothing was likely to be made ot him now except an oaf—which indeed was the unflattering description that was too often given of him by his acquaintances.

It was the description that had always been given of him by Miss Sylvia Wentworth, to whom in all probability, he would never have dreamt of raising his eyes, had he not been urged thereto by maternal anxiety. Mrs Hill rather liked being told that her son belonged to a fast set, and her pride was gratified when she heard that he was upon terms of intimacy with certain harum-scarum young noblemen ; but as she did not wish him to ruin himself, even in aristocratic company, she had made up her mind that the best thing to do was to provide him as speedily as might be with a charming wife, by whose aid he might hope to achieve social successes of a less perilous order. It was by her instigation he had begun to pay his addresses to Sylvia, and of

this duty be bad at tirst, it mast be confessed, ae<( uitted him - self grudgingly and of necessity ; for, unassuming as he was hedidnot particularly enjoy beingsnubbed, sordid the young lady find favour in his eyes. But by degrees his point of view underwent a change. Sylvia, who was nothing if not eapricion.-, did not always snub him ; sometimes—when she wanted to annoy somebody else—she even gave him marked encouragement : moieover the difficulty of the task which he had taken in hand, and which became every day more perceptible to him, affected him as difficulty is apt to affect the majority of human beings. He was now as determined to win Sylvia Wentworth for bis wife as a diffident and not ovei sanguine youth eould be, and it had been of his own accord, not as the result of any promptings on his mother's part, that he had sought out Mr Wentworth for the purpose of denouncing Sir Harry Brewster. His mother, in fact, knew nothing about Sir Harry Brewster; for he had refrained from mentioning that graceless personage to her, being aware that she was ca|>able of serious indiscretions when excited, and fearing lest she ~honld rash straight off to I’pper Brook street and say things which it would be more prudent to leave unsaid. It was not from Mr Wentworth that Mrs Hill was likely to obtain any information upon the subject of Sylvia’s escapade; but he did call upon her one afternoon for the sake of seeing what sort of a face she would make on being told that be proposed to take his family to the south of France for a few months, and the conseonence of this visit was that her son found her ranch agitated at breakfast time on the following morning. • At what time did you come home last night?’ she began. * Well. I won't ask : though I do think it must be injurious to health to keep such late hours. I sat up for you as long as I eould ; but one can’t sit op until daylight. At least. I can t.’ •Of course not,’ answered Johnny, ‘and I wish you wouldn’t sit up for me. What’s the good of it f • I wanted to see you. because I had some news to give you. Very unpleasant news too, I call it. Mr Wentworth was heie yesterday afternoon. He came to say good-bye, for it seems that they are all going abroad immediately and won’t be back much before the summer ’

‘Quite right,’ muttered Johnny meditatively. ‘ Very glad to hear it.’ ‘Glad to hear it, you extraordinary boy I What do yon mean ’ I do trust there has been no foolish quarrel between you and dear Sylvia.' ‘ Oh, no, nothing of that sort,’ answered Johnny, somewhat confused ; ‘ but—but she isn’t very strong, you know, and it’s as well to get away from the spring east winds.’ ‘ Rubbish ! she is as strong as I am : I never saw a girl with a better colour. Now, Johnny, mark nry words: if Sylvia Wentworth leaves England without being engaged to yon, it will be your own fault and I won’t answer for the consequences. You must remember that she has a fortune, or the prospect of one, and that there are sure to be plenty of needy fortune hunters at such places as Cannes and Nice. The time ha« come for you to assert yourself, unless you wish to be elbowed out of the way by somebody else.’ Johnny was by no means sure that he had not already been elbowed out of the way; yet he recognised that his mother’s advice was sound in itself, although offered in ignorance of all the circumstances, and he resolver! to act upon it. If the worst came to the worst, he conld lose nothing by having made his own position clear. Sylvia would very likely reject him : but at least she should know that, whatever might bap|>en. she would have his unalterable love to fall back upon. He therefore fortified himself with an additional glass of sherry at luncheon and immediately afterwards drove to l/pper Brook street, where, as he had anticipated would be the case, he ascertained that Mr Wentworth was at home. He was shown at his request into that gentleman’s study, and was offered a cigarette, which he declined. However certain one may feel of beine refused, it is but pmdent to refrain from smoking upon the eve of making an offer of marriage. • It sounds rather rude to inquire what has procured me the pleasure of your visit,’remarked Mr Wentworth (who in truth conld have answered his own question without any difficulty), ‘ but you so seldom honour me in this way that I mu»t plead guilty to a shade of curiosity.’

1 Yon remember what I said to yon the other day,’ reClied Johnny. ‘You advised me not to be in too great a urry. Well I don't know that I should be in any hurry if there were time for me to feel my way ; bnt it seems that there isn’t. My mother tells me that you are going abroad, and I think I can guess why you are going." Mr Wentworth did not care to confirm or refute any conjectures that his visitor might have formed ; but he smilingly acknowledged the accuracy of his information. * Oh, yes, we are going abroad.' said he. *ls there any particu lar reason why you shouldn't go abroad too?'

* With you, do you mean !" asked Johnny, flushing suddenly. * D °" *‘*** s^ nt ■» your company would be I could hardly recommend in your own interests that you should oner it to ua But I should think that yon might follow us without too much indiscretion. Every British citizen is entitled to travel in foreign lands, and a tolerably large number avail themselves of the privilege." ‘ b es : bnt upon the whole I think I would rather speak before vou go, and get it done with,’ answered Johnny doubtfully. • I daresay that may not be the best policy'; but it seems to me to be the most straightforward. Is Miss Sylvia at home may I see her?' * I believe she is at home, and you can see her in the drawing-room, because Muriel has gone out. Only I warn you that you must be prepared for the results of precipitation. * I am quite prepared for them,’ Johnny declared. ‘ I only want her to know the tenth. I'm not the sort of fellow to change my mind, and although I suppose she will have nothing to say to me now, a day may come when she will think differently about it. Anyhow, I mean to tell her that I love her before she leaves the country. ’ * As you please,’ returned Mr Wentworth, ringing the bell. *I am quite inclined to agree with you as to the main question ; I would only venture to suggest that for the present yon should be content to accept such an answer as you may get, without inquiring too closely into motives.’ <TO BE COXTIXVKDJ