Miss Wentworth's Idea

New Zealand Graphic, Volume VIII, Issue 38, 19 September 1891, Page 382

Miss Wentworth's Idea

by

W. E. NORRIS,

.ulhor of ‘Matrimony,* * My Friend Jim,’ ‘The Rogue,’ *A Bachelor’s Blunder.’

CHAPTERX Vl.— Continued. OHNNY was not so dull but that be could appreciate the significance of that hint; he had, too, a 1 udinientary chivalry in his composition which jFjjllr'; would in any case have prevented him from pressing the girl whom he loved to make further ’JgjlKs contessions than she was disposed to make. Nevertheless, so unequivocal a confirmation of his fears was discouraging, and it was in a somewhat hopeless and dejected mood that he V'** followed the butler upstairs. Sylvia, who had been informed that Mr Hill wished to speak with her, and who of course divined his errand, was waiting to receive him in the drawing room. Had he presented himself a week or two earlier, he would doubtless have met with rough treatment at her hands, for hers was not a temperament to sympathise with the sentimental woes of mankind ; but now that she was involved in love troubles of her own, her heart had become softened towards all fellow-sufferers, and she greeted this inadmissible wooer quite kindly, * Have you come to say good-bye ?’ she asked. ‘ You have heard perhaps that we are starting in a few days for some destination unknown ? Papa has discovered all of a sudden that the climate of our native land isn’t good for us and we are to move into warmer latitudes.’

Johnny signified that this was no news to him. ‘I came to say good-bye; but I wanted to say something moie than that,’ he explained—for there seemed to be no use in beating about the bush—‘ I couldn’t let you go without telling you what I daresay you don’t need to be told—that I love yon. Now I know just what you think : it’s average impertinence of a plain - headed, dullwitted beggar like me to ask you to be his wife. But I’m not asking for that; I’ve sense enough to understand that you’d precious soon send me about my business if I did. The only thing I ask for is that you’ll bear me in mind. You see, one never knows what is going to happen, and things often turn out quite different to what one expects, and I suppose that it isn’t impossible that some day you may feel as it—as if you had better marry, though you may have no special fancy for one person more than another. And then perhaps you may say to yourself, “Well, there’s Johnny Hill. Not much to look at, and a first-class duffer at most things, but well-meaning in his way and devoted to me. I might do worse than take him.” And really you might do worse ; for it’s something to have a husband who will never attempt to make himself out your superior ; besides which, there are what your father calls my special advantages —meaning that I have a comfortable income to offer. So I hope you’ll think of me in that way —as a second stiing, you understand.’ Probably this was the very longest speech that Johnny Hill had ever made in his life. It may not be considered a masterpiece of eloquence ; but it was really neither ill-con-ceived nor ill-expressed, since it produced exactly the effect upon its hearer that it was intended to produce. Sylvia quite understood all that he had left'unsaid, and appreciated the delicacy to which his reticence was due. She also appreciated his modesty and fidelity, little though such qualities appealed to her as a general rule. Still she did not herself care to be reticent, not being ashamed of her love for Sir Harry Brewster, and being unwilling to give anybody an excuse for imagining that she was ashamed of it. Therefore it was that she saw fit to reply : ‘lt is very good of you to speak as you do. I ought to be grateful to you, and so I am, ar.d I am sorry if I have ever one anything to make you believe that I could possibly marry you. But that is quite impossible, and I daresay papa has told you why it is impossible.’ Johnny shook his head. • Oh, no,’ he answered : •Mr Wentworth told me nothing, except that I hadn’t much chance of success—and I knew that before.’

* I thought he might have told you the truth ; but as he hasn’t I will tell you myself; I don’t wish it to be kept secret. lam engaged to be married to Sir Harry Brewster, and if I don’t marry him I shall never marry at all. Of course the engagement has been forbidden, and that is why we are going abroad ; but they might just as well have allowed me to stay at home. It will all come to the same thing in the long run.’ Johnny looked grave and dismayed. * I didn't know that matters had gone as far as that,* he remarked in a low voice.

‘ Well, you knew that they would go as far ; I am sure you did from what you said just now. You meant me to understand that if 1 couldn’t get what I had set my heart upon, and if I felt dull and miserable at home, I might fall back upon you. I hope I should never be such a wretch as to take advantage of your generosity; but that was what you meant, wasn’t it r * Well, something of the kind,’ Johnny confessed. * Yes ; that is really what I mean. Only lam very sorry that you have given Sir Harry Brewster a right to call himself engaged to you, because I don’t see how such an engagement can ever come to anything, and I wouldn't trust him to hold his tongue almut it.’

* I don’t want him to hold his tongue about it,’ Sylvia declared proudly ; * so far as I am concerned, he is welcome to

proclaim it from the housetops. He won’t do that, though ; for he is a gentleman, and he considers me a great deal more than he does himself.’ ‘ Yet he asked you to many him,’ observed Johnny pertinently. ‘ No, he didn’t. He told me that he cared for me, and I don’t believe he would have done that if he hadn’t seen that I cared for him. What is the use of blaming people for things that they cannot help? I shouldn’t have fallen in love with a divorced man for choice, nor, I daresay, would he have fallen in love with a girl young enough to be his daughter ; but one can’t command one’s feelings and one can’t alter them. If you are sincere, you must know that from your own experience. You would be glad to put me altogether out of your head if you could, wouldn’t you ?’ Johnny pinched his lower lip between his finger and thumb dubiously ; he was not certain that he would prefer the relief of oblivion to his present forlorn condition, nor was he quite convinced that the human will is so feeble a force as Sylvia had represented it to be. But he agreed with her that there would be very little use in blaming either her or his rival. * I think I had better go now,’ said he, rising and holding out his hand. * Mr Wentworth was so good as to suggest that I might follow you abroad ; but I shan’t do that. It wouldn’t help me and would only worry you. However, it can’t be any worry to you to know that your second string will be at your service as long as he lives, and, as I said before, a time may come when you won’t be sorry to have a secjnd string.* Sylvia, while taking his hand, assured him earnestly that that time would never come ; it would be no kindness, she said, to allow him to delude himself with vain hopes. Nevertheless, he took his hopes such as they were, away with him and left behind him a better impression than he had any idea of. Probably there does not exist the woman who can remain wholly unmoved by the spectacle of desperate, disinterested fidelity—always supposing, that is to say, that she is herself its object. ‘So Johnny Hill has been offering his hand and heart and has been dismissed with a Ilea in his ear,’ remarked Mr Wentworth to his sister when he returned from his club before dinner. ‘ Yes,’ answered Muriel. * I am sorry for the poor boy, and so, to do her justice, is Sylvia. Did she tell you about it ?’ * No ; but the guileless Johnny called after luncheon to inform me of his intentions and to request that he might see her. My mother-wit enabled me to forecast the result of the interview. Well, he will live to fight another day, and I don’t suppose he will have done himself any harm by this preliminary skirmish. I recommended him to follow us to the Continent, and no doubt his mother will spur him on to make that effort. In fact, I shouldn’t wonder if she were to accompany him, which would be great fun. By the way, I rather think of trying Biarritz to start with. Have you anything against that plan ?’ All places were the same to Muriel, and she said so. It occurred to her that all places were as much open to Sir Harry Brewster as to Johnny Hill; but this she did not say, knowing that the observation would not be well received. Mr Wentworth was strongly adverse to meeting trouble half-way, and he had evidently succeeded in persuading himself that he would have no more trouble with Sir Harry Brewster. CHAPTER XVII. IN the days when a Spanish lady set the fashions and to some extent ruled the destinies of France, Biarritz, which was at that time, and is still, the favourite autumn resort of Spaniards, acquired a world-wide reputation. Indeed with its little land-locked port, its fine stretch of sands and its exposure to the whole width of the Atlantic and every wind that blows therefrom, it is a pleasant enough bathingplace for sun-wearied southerners to find within their reach ; but why the inhabitants of more northern climes should betake themselves thither during the winter months is one of those mysteries which can only be explained by the wellknown eccentricity of the Anglo-Saxon race. It is very little warmer than Devonshire, it is quite as rainy and infinitely less beautiful: the district in which it is situated is barren and shadeless, its houses are, as a rule, badly built and of course it is as impossible there as it is everywhere else in France to obtain firewood which will warm the room or even keep alight at all without constant attention. Yet a tolerably large contingent of English people have for many years past spent the cold months in that storm-vexed spot, and not a few of them are ready to affirm that they would rather do that than stay at home. With these deluded beings Mr Wentworth, bringing an unprejudiced mind to bear upon the subject, found himself quite unable to agree. The climate of Biarritz was, he admitted, a shade superior to the climate of London ; but when he had said that (and the same might be said of Brighton) what more was there to be urged in favour of the place ? Certainly there was a club ; bnt it was not much of a club ; social entertainments were few and far between, nor did it greatly console him to be assured on all hands that as soon as Lent was over there would be plenty of dancing. He wanted to dine, he didn’t want to dance, and

he bitterly regretted the precipitation with which he bad hired a villa for three months. Muiiel, to be sure, had undertaken to pay the rent of the villa ; but he did not feel himself any the less a fixture on that account. After all, one has a conscience, and there is such a thing as overriding a willing horse. He could not propose to decamp forthwith ; all be could do was to grumble, of which solace he did not stint himself.

Had he been less occupied with his own causes for dissatisfaction he might have noticed that his daughter was in no better case than he was. Sylvia, in truth, was bored to death. It was not only that the accjuaintances whom she had made or who had turned up in Biarritz failed to amuse her ; it was not only that she had nothing to do, except to take long walks —probably of all forms of physical exercise the most unserviceable and depressing—but it was beginning to dawn upon her that she had miscalculated her strength. It was one thing to feel sure of her fidelity to Sir Harry'and another to count with equal confidence upon his fidelity to her, now that they were separated and deprived of all means of communication. In spite of herself, she could not help remembering what she had heard about his numerous loveaffairs ; she could not help doubting whether it was possible for her to be to him all that he was to her, and sometimes, while she lay awake at night, she was oppressed by painful misgivings as to what had at first seemed to her to be the futility of the measures adopted by her relatives. Now, it is a very bad thing for young people to lie awake at night; it is a still worse tiling for them to be careworn ; and what perhaps is the very worst thing in the world for the health of both young and old is suspense. Sylvia, who had never been robust, distressed her aunt by growing thin and pale, as well as by the petulance of her temper, which had led her to spurn all efforts at sympathy and resent any allusion to her fragile looks. There was one subject, and only one, with regard to which sympathy would have been welcome to her; and upon that subject Muriel was not prepared to touch. Yet what was to.be done with the girl? What had been attempted was evidently not proving effectual, and the dread of that contingency which Compton had foreseen was ever present to her perplexed aunt. Crnel though it might be to hope for it, the best thing to hope for seemed to be that Sir Harry might show himself worthy of the character which he had earned, and might take up with somebody else.

Mr Wentworth, at all events, was cynical enough to hold that opinion, and if any gossip to the above effect had reached his ears, he would have hastened to impart it to his daughter. In the absence of any such good news, he had to content himself with an article in a society paper, the writer of which, commenting upon the announcement that Sir Harry Brewster was about to retire from the turf and that his diminished stud would shortly be brought to the hammer, was pleased to dwell in a tone of virtuous severity upon the sins and follies of the ill-starred baronet. It was melancholy, this stern censor of public'morality declared, to contemplate the wreck of a life which twenty years ago had seemed full- of the brightest promise. Sir Harry Brewster had started with almost every advantage that a fairy godmother could have bestowed upon him ; he had had good birth, good looks, wealth and capacities which, if he had cared to make use of them, would probably have proved to be much above the average. He had chosen to squander his money, to devote all his talents to the equivocal purpose of trying to get the better of the ring, and as for his handsome face (now a thing of the past), the manner in which he had seen fit to turn that to account was, unhappily, only too notorious. It was impossible to feel anv compassion for one who had so persistently shown himself his own enemy ; but it w’as permissible to regret the degeneration and probable extinction of an ancient family. Mr Wentworth could not resist reading this admirable extract aloud to his sister and his daughter whom he found sitting upon a couple of wicker chairs near the shore, and trying to persuade themselves that because they were in latitude forty-three degrees north of the equator they were not shivering with cold. ‘ The press is not over and above merciful to our friend Brewster,’ he remarked ; ‘ but who is merciful to a bankrupt ? The first duty of every civilised being is to avoid bankruptcy.’ Sylvia made no rejoinder; but Muriel, after a pause, observed that bankruptcy was not the only or the chief offence laid to Sir Harry Brewster’s charge. She was sorry that her brother had been ill-advised enough to introduce a topic which would have been better left alone, and after he had strolled away she said so. ‘ Only,’ she added, ‘ 1 can’t pretend to think that there was any injustice in the newspaper article.’ ‘ Who asks you to think so or pretend to think so ?’ returned Sylvia, irritably. ‘What does it matter whether you think so or not ? Papa is quite right; the one unpardonable crime that he has committed is losing his money. But, you see, that is a crimq, for which I don’t feel the slightest difficulty in pardoning him.’ Muriel sighed. ‘ And the othors ?’ she asked. ‘ Can you pardon those so easily ?’ * Yes, of course I can, because he hadn’t even seen me in those days, and they are over and done with. At least, I hope they are.’ There was an interrogative ring about the last words which was not devoid of pathos, and of which Muriel quite understood the meaning. ‘ Isn’t it better not to hope when there is so little ground for hope?’ was all she could bring herself to say by way of consolation. Sylvia turned upon her half fiercely, half tearfully. ‘ I knew you would say that!’ she exclaimed. ‘ You don’t want me to marry him, and you think that if you can’t carry your point in any other way, you may do it by making me jealous and suspicious. You are wrong, though ; for I am not such an idiot as you suppose.’ Then, with the characteristic inconsequence of her sex, she suddenly burst out crying, and, between her sobs, besought her aunt to take her away somewhere—anywhere. * I can’t bear this horrible place any longer,’ she declared ; ‘it is killing me ! If I had something to do or something to see, it would be different; but here I can only think and think and—and sometimes horrid thoughts come into my head. I don’t really doubt him, I would rather die than doubt him ; but it is so dreadful to know nothing !’ She broke into a somewhat hysterical laugh as she added, * Wouldn’t you like to take a tripinto Spain ? I don’t think I should ; but at all events Spain nas one immense merit—it isn't Biarritz.’

Muriel was unable to hold out against that piteous appeal. It was doubtless desirable that the poor girl should forget Sir Harry, and it might also be desirable that she should suspect him, since there was every reason for suspecting him ; but it could not be desirable that she should make herself ill. Accordingly it was suggested, the same evening, to Mr Wentworth that three or four weeks spent in Madrid, Seville, and Granada, would form an agreeable break in the monotony of their present existence, and Mr Wentwbrth, on receiving comforting assurances as to the expense of the proposedjourney, jumped at the suggestion. He had not liked to complain, he said, forgetting, perhaps, that he had complained pretty loudly, but be must confess, that of all the beastly holes he had ever found himself in in his life, Biarritz was far and away the bexstliest. Muriel could not possibly long for a change more than he did. So it came to pass that, a few days later, this discontented trio set forth under the charge of an experienced courier for a country which can boast of infinite attractions and is replete with the small discomforts which in the eyes of travellers who, like Mr Wentworth, value their personal wellbeing above all things, more than outweigh any enjoyment that can be derived from pictures or architecture, or scenery. They spent a day at Burgos, and two of them admired the cathedral and visited the Cartuja, while the third bemoaned himself over the barbarous fare provided for them; then they went on to Madrid, where they fonnd a comparatively luxurious hotel, and where Mr Wentworth, in some degree comforted, proposed that they should remain for at least a week.

• You can’t possibly do justice to the place in less time than that,’ he declared ; *it takes every uneducated person a full week to appreciate Valasquez, and without incivility I may say that you have neither of you received a thorough education in art. Then you will want to make excursions to the Escorial and Aranjuez, and I suppose it will be our duty to witness a bull fight. Besides how do we know what horrors await us further south ? Let ns at least fortify ourselves by a course of moderately decent dinners before we start again upon this voyage of adventure and discovery’’ He met with no opposition from the ladies, to both of whom it was in truth a matter of indifference whether they were at Madrid or Seville. They were not in a mood for sight seeing ; yet sight-seeing gave them an occupation if it did not precisely furnish them with entertainment, and the colour began to return to Sylvia’s cheeks after a day or two of the hard labour which their conscientious courier would not permit them to shirk. That benevolent tyrant refused to listen to their prejudiced remonstrances upon the subject of bull-fights. In every country, as he justly pointed out, there existed national sports, and it is not more cruel to kill a bull than to kill a fox or a hare. The horses?—well, to be sure, it was not very pretty to see the poor horses dying, and many ladies disliked it; but they were only broken down old animals, doomed to be slaughtered by the knacker even if they escaped the horns of the bull. He concluded by affirming, truly or untruly, that no English lady ever passed through Madrid without paying at least one visit to the Plaza de Toros.

Influenced by these representations, the two English ladies with whom this narrative is concerned took their places one Sunday afternoon, amongst several thousand other spectators, in the amphitheatre which is as essential to the existence of the Madrilenos of to-day as ever the circenses were to the Roman populace of old. A bull-fight is probably a degrading spectacle. It may not be actually more cruel than battue-shooting; but there is certainly a difference as regards moral effect between what is generally understood in this country by sport and merely looking on at an encounter in which some animals are sure to meet with a painful death, while several human beings may possibly do so. Perhaps, too, the size of the animals engaged should be taken into account; for it is never wise to familiarise crowds with the sight of blood. At the same time, it is only fair to admit that those who have succeeded in over-coming (and nothing is more easily overcome) the physical sensation of faintness which may have been bestowed upon them by Nature, as some protection against their ferocious instincts, are not likely to get much additional harm from witnessing the final struggle between the matador and the bull. An infuriated bull is an ugly customer ; to despatch him artistically, or even to despatch him at all, is a feat demanding great skill, nerve and presence of mind. These are manly qualities ; the exhibition of them can hardly be demoralising, and although in nine cases out of ten the result of the duel is, of course, a foregone conclusion, it may be hoped that such is not the view taken of it by the bull, who, when all is said, is killed in no unmerciful or inglorious fashion. However, Muriel Wentworth will never be able to deliver a dispassionate judgment upon the point ; for when she had seen three horses disembowelled she could bear it no longer and had to be taken back to the hotel by the courier, who was much annoyed at being thus defrauded of his afternoon’s amusement. Sylvia, though sickened, managed to stand to her guns, and her philosophical father experienced no inconvenience. ‘ It is a butchery,’ he remarked ; ‘ but butcheries take place every day in the shambles with our full consent and approval. Muriel, I imagine, is not more tender-hearted than you and I; she is only afflicted with a rather weaker stomach. * They accordingly saw two bulls killed, and were to some extent infected by the frenzied enthusiasm of their fellowspectators, although they scarcely knew enough about the conditions of the combat to appreciate the display of courage and dexterity which had evoked it. But the third bull was sulky and gave trouble. He would not play the game ; he refused to charge when he was expected to charge, and he had to be goaded and tormented before his spirit could be aroused. All this was not very pleasant, nor, when the beast had been maddened up to the required point, were the results such as could have been wished. The wearied horses, whom their riders made no effort to protect, were gored one after the other in a manner which caused even the case-hardened ladies in the mantillas to put up their fans, and when an overthrown picador had been carried, dead or insensible, from the arena, Sylvia suddenly started up, saying that she had had enough of it.

* Very well,’ answered her father, looking somewhat alarmed and a good deal vexed. * I’ll take you away then ; only for the love of Heaven don’t be so inconsiderate as to faint! Remember that I can’t speak a word of the language and that that fool of a courier, who ought to have

been back long ago, isn’t in sight. I suppose we shall be able to get a vehicle of some sort or kind outside.*

Sylvia was by no means sure that she was not going to faint. She stumbled after Mr Wentworth, who hastily made his way down to the entrance of the bull-ring, and could do no more than nod when he asked her whether she was capable of remaining upon her feet for a few minutes while he went to look for a carriage. But one kind of emotion is often cured by another, and a shock was in store for Sylvia which at once banished all memory of bulls and mangled horses and picadors from her mind. For it was Sir Harry Brewster’s voice that whispered in her ear, * Don’t be frightened ; I'll take care of you until your father comes back.’ And it was Sir Harry Brewster's face that was close to hers, and his arm that was extended, as though to support her. But no such suppoit was necessary. * You !’ she exclaimed, the colour rushing back to her cheeks and lips—* Oh, how glad I am! Where have vou come from ?’ Then, recollecting herself she added, • But you ought not to be here, ought you ?’ He laughed a little and shrugged his shoulders deprecat - ingly. ‘No ; I ought not; but what would you have ? All my life I have been doing things that I ought not to have done and leaving undone things that I ought to have done. How am Ito explain it all ? I suppose they wouldn’t let me call upon you ?’ Sylvia shook her head despondently. * Ob, no,’ she answered, *I am quite sure they wouldn’t. But I must see you once ; I want to hear—l want to tell you—oh, I can’t help its being wrong ! Can you be at the picture-gallery to-morrow afternoon between three and four? I think I could persuade Muriel to leave me there, because she is going to visit some orphanage or other ; but of course I can’t promise. ’ * 1 will be there, at all events, upon the chance,’ he answered. ‘ Then go away quickly now before papa sees you. lam quite well ; I don’t require anybody to look after me. Go at once, or you will ruin everything.’ Sir Harry obeyed only just in time ; for now Mr Wentworth hurried up saying : ‘ I’ve secured a shandrydan ; come along, Sylvia. Well, I’m glad to see that you are looking a little less ghastly than you did ; but I shall not be found escorting two women to view the favourite pastime of this enlightened land again.’ CHAPTER XVIII. The Museo of Madrid contains, as everybody knows, one of the finest collections of paintings in the world, and Mr Wentworth had been quite justified in representing that a week is not too long a time to devote to the study of its treasures. But it was not of Murillo or Velasquez that Sir Harry Brewster was thinking as he uneasily paced the gallery in fulfilment of his tryst with Sylvia Wentworth, nor in truth did he bestow a single glance upon the works of those great masters of their art. What he was thinking of, and what made him decidedly uncomfortable, was that he was about to commit an underhand and dishonourable action ; for he was, after a fashion which it is unnecessary to analyse, an honourable man. He would have been the first to admit that he was an unscrupulous sort of sinner ; but he was hampered—who is not ?—by a few scruples, and he could not behave as he was now behaving without doing violence to one of these. Yet he had not been allowed much choice in the matter; it had been Sylvia, not he, who had made an appointment which he almost hoped that she might be prevented from keeping, and, by his way of thinking, it would have been altogether out of the question to meet her with a refusal.

But it must be confessed that all his doubts and self-re-proach were forgotten when, after waiting for a quarter of an hour, he saw the slim, girlish figure which of late had always been present to his mental vision advancing towards him with quick steps. He knew now how terribly disappointed he would have been if she had not come, and he said as much while he pressed her hand and drew her away to a bench as secluded from public observation as any that he could discover.

• Ah, you might have been sure that I would come,’ she answered. ‘ I was afraid that there would be some bother about it, but fortunately there was none. Muriel knows that orphanages are not in my line, and she believes that pictures may be. If the carriage doesn’t come for me in an hour, I anr to find my own way home; so it is all right. Now tell me what extraordinary chance has brought you to Madrid.’

‘ There’s nothing very extraordinary about it,’ Sir Harry replied. ‘ I came here to see you, and I came because I found that I couldn’t live without seeing you—that’s all. I went to Biarritz, knowing that you were there, and thinking that I might perhaps get a glimpse of you now and then —for I give you my word of honour that I never meant to accost you—and when I heard that you had left for Spain I followed. My meeting you yesterday was a pure accident; I shouldn’t have thought of speaking to you if I hadn't been really afraid that you were going to faint. ’ Sylvia took no heed of his apologies; apologies might be due to her father, but for her own part she did not require them. ‘ Is that really true ?’ she asked, for the pleasure of hearing him say it again ; ‘ couldn’t you really live without seeing me ? Well, do you know, that is just how I was beginning to feel myself. It seemed to me that unless I could see you again I should die.’ Sir Harry made the reply which everybody else in the world, good, bad ot indifferent, would have made. These two persons were doubtless culpable ; they had no business to be exchanging vows of eternal fidelity ; they had bound themselves tacitly, if not in so many words, to refrain from doing anything of the kind ; but they loved one another, and it would be absurd to demand of any mortal couple, so situated, that they should meet without reiterating at great length what both of them already knew. Of the two, Sir Harry appeared to be the more conscientious ; for, after a considerable lapse of time, he Baid : * This is all wrong, you know. If Mr Wentworth were to walk in here all of a sudden, I should look uncommonly like a scoundrel.’ * He won’t walk in,’ answered Sylvia, composedly ; * he has received a batch of newspapers from England and he has fallen asleep over them. Besides people shouldn’t expect impossibilities. I thought I could get on for two or three years without a sight of you ; but I find that I can’t

—and you can't get on without a sight of me. After all, what harm can there be in our meeting, since separating us doesn't make us forget each other ?’ * Well, we know that separating us is useless ; but others, naturally enough, don’t agree. Anyhow, I think we ought to be open and above-board about it. How would it be if 1 were to go straight back to your hotel with you now and tell your father exactly how matters stand ? Most likely he has discrimination enough to understand that 1 am not a liar, and he will believe that 1 didn't come to Madrid with any intention of arranging clandestine meetings. Of course he will forbid me to dog your steps ; but then 1 shall answer frankly that I won’t undertake to be within reach of you and to look the other way if accident should bring us together. I don’t know that it would be altogether fair of me to make such a speech ; but at least it will be straight, and, after making it, 1 shall feel that I am deceiving nobody.’ This was essentially a man's view ; perhaps Sylvia did not differ very greatly from the rest of her sex in that it struck her as a ridiculous and unpractical one. She protested against it with great vehemence and earnestness ; she said (and this was obviously the fact) that the only effect of defying Mr Wentworth in such a manner would be to exasperate him and to condemn her to a life of virtual imprisonment. * And we are not really deceiving him,'she urged; ‘we told him from the first that he would not be able to part us permanently. The only difference is that he hasn't been able to pa>t us even temporarily.’ Then she brought forward her own plan of action, which was not devoid of temptation to an easily tempted man. In a few days th'ey would be moving southwards ; they were to spend some time at Seville, Granada, and Cordova; what was to prevent Sir Harry from visiting these historic cities? And if, by the kindness of the Fates, an opportunity should offer for some surreptitious meeting in the Alhambra or the Alcazar, what injury could be done to any human being by two true lovers availing themselves of it ? A cynic might have been tickled at the spectacle of a middle-aged man of the world allowing his better judgment to be overruled by the sophistries of a girl in her teens ; but Sir Harry Brewster was not a cynic ; added to which, veryfew men have a sufficiently keen sense of humour to derive amusement from their own weaknesses. He ended by yielding, though he did not disguise the reluctance with which he yielded. ‘ We are sure to be found out sooner or later,’ he remarked, ‘ and I can’t help thinking that the sooner we are found out the better.’ ‘ For you perhaps it might be, but not for me,’ returned Sylvia. And indeed it was obvious that there was a grain of truth in that assertion. Meanwhile, their present interview was perforce brought to an end by a solemn official who came to announce to them that the gallery was about to be closed for the day. ‘ Good gracious !’ exclaimed Sylvia, glancing at her watch, * 1 had no idea how late it was. The carriage must have been waiting ever so long. Don’t come to the door with me, please. If the coachman saw us together he would very likely tell the courier, who would tell papa, and then I should be cross-examined. Good-bye till we meet again at Seville; I will find some way to send you a note or a message there.’ Sir Harry accepted his dismissal and fell back among the other visitors who were now trooping out of the building. He did not, however, lose sight of Sylvia; so that on reaching the entrance, he perceived that there was nobody there to receive her and that she was looking about in perplexity. ‘ Haven’t they sent for you ?’ he asked, stepping up to her side. * Oh, they must have sent,’ she answered ; * but I can see no sign of the carriage. I daresay the man got tired of waiting. Well, I must stay here till it pleases him to come back, that’s al).* * You can’t possibly stand about in this bitter cold,’ Sir Harry returned; for indeed one of those icy winds which render the climate of Madrid about the most dangerous in Europe had begun to sweep down from the Guadarramas and was driving clouds of dust before it. Sylvia, who had omitted to provide herself with a wrap, shivered. * Then I will walk home,’ she said. ‘ltis no great distance, and I can’t mistake the way.’ Sir Harry agreed that this was the best thing to do ; only he would not hear of her going through the streets of Madrid alone. In Spain ladies were never allowed to go out unattended, he declared that he must insist upon seeing her safely as far as her hotel. There was really no danger in his doing so ; for neither her father nor her aunt were in the least likely to have left the house in such weather. Sylvia did not quite like it ; still of two evils the less seemed to be that she should take advantage of the escort offered her. She hurried her companion along at the top of her speed, being anxious to reduce the period of risk within as narrow limits as might be, and anxious also, if the truth must be told, to escape from the furious, piercing wind, which made conversation almost impossible. Now it so happened that the coachman, who had been sent to fetch her, had some time before this experienced a similar natural anxiety. He had therefore driven back to the hotel to report the senorita was not at the Museo and to inquire whether she had returned home. Thus it came to pass that when Sir Harry and his charge arrived in the Puerta del Sol they ran full tilt against Muriel who, on receipt of the above intelligence, had hastened downstairs and was in the act of entering the carriage to proceed in search of her missing niece. She was too much amazed and horrified to say a word ; she could only stare interrogatively at Sylvia, who was also struck dumb by this most untoward encounter. But Sir Harry was neither confused nor greatly distressed. Being as he had already stated, convinced that discovery was only a question of time he was not sorry to be detected while there was still comparatively little to confess. ‘ You must try to forgive me, Miss Wentworth,’ said he, smiling. • 1 met your niece in the picture-gallery, and as she was unable to find her carriage, I could do no less than offer to see her home. Of course I could neither leave her there standing in the cold nor let her walk back all by herself.’

This was putting the case as well as it could be put ; but the explanation failed to satisfy Muriel, who guessed from Sylvia's scared look that there must be more behind.

* You met her at the gallery ?’ she repeated gravely. ‘Do you mean me to understand that your meeting her there

was a mere accident * How ia it that you are in Madrid at all* '

Thus challenged, Sir Harry spoke out plainly. *I am here because I heard that you were here,’ be replied. * You probably won’t believe me, but it is nevertheless true that my only object in following you abroad was to obtain a chance glimpse of Sylvia, every now and then, from afar. 1 had no intention of speaking to her ; but circumstances as you see, have been too strong for me.’ * I am not at all surprised at your having followed us. Sir Harry,’ returned Muriel coldly—for indeed she did not believe his word and was highly incensed against him— * it is no more than I expected of you. I think you have behaved in a very unmanly and ungenerous way ; but that also is only what might have been expected of you. I shall not make any appeal to you ; it would be a waste of breath. All we can do to protect ourselves from this persecution is to prevent Sylvia from meeting you again.’ M ith that she turned and left him, drawing her niece, whose arm she had taken, into the hotel with her. It was about half an hour later that Mr Wentworth, who had been dozing peacefully before the fire in his sittingroom, was aroused from slumber by his sister, who said in a determined voice: ‘James, we must leave this to-mor-row.’

‘Must we?” he returned, with a yawn. ‘Well, if you say so, I suppose we must, though it will be very easy to go further and fare worse. But may I ask why we are to depart in such a desperate hurry ?’ ‘ Because Sir Harry Brewster is here, and because he met Sylvia by appointment at the picture-gallery this afternoon. She has confessed that she made an appointment with him, although he led me to believe that they had met accidentally, and the worst of it is that neither he nor she are in the least ashamed. The only thing we can do is to start for

Seville. No doubt he will follow us ; but at least, now that we are forewarned we can take care that be doesn’t speak to Sylvia.’ Mr Wentworth was now wide awake, and when he had heard all that Muriel bad to relate to him, he expressed his great surprise that Brewster should have been guilty of such ungentlemanlike conduct. ‘But I think,’ he added, • that we can checkmate our friend by means of a very simple stratagem. Of course be has been told that we are bound for Seville, and I shall give Sylvia to understand that that is our destination ; only when we get to the railway station I shall make so bold as to change my mind and take tickets for Biarritz. How long we shall remain there after our return it will be for you to decide; but at all events we shall gain time by this little innocent mami-uvre, and I am glad to think that Brewster will have the expense and fatigue of a fruitless journey. Meanwhile, if you send Sylvia to me, I will endeavour to give her the scolding that she deserves.

Mr Wentworth was not quite the beat man in the world at scolding. When he was put to personal inconvenience he was angry, and under such circumstances he could say disagreeable things ; but much as lie disliked Biarritz, he thought that the appliances of civilisation would be more readily obtainable there than at Seville; so that he was not seriously annoyed at being compelled to retrace his steps. Moreover, duplicity did not shock him particularly, and he was, in his own way, fond of his daughter. Therefore it was that Sylvia met with much more lenient treatment at her father's hands than she was entitled to expect. He said that this sort of thing was really a great deal too bad. It was unladylike, it was improper, and it must not occur again. Indeed he would take u|ion himself to assert that it should not again. He wished to hear no ex-

coses and would be influenced by no arguments ; he intended to leave for Seville on the following day, and she would be so good as to make her arrangements accordingly. Sylvia, who, as we know, had already made her arrangements, felt that nothing could become her so well as silent submission. She had got out of this awkward scrape far more easily than she had ventured to anticipate ; she bad not been asked to bind herself by any promise with regard to the future, and she inwardly resolved that it should be no fault of here, if she did not contrive to exchange a few words with her lover in one of the southern cities to which it had been signified to her she was about to be i emoved. After all, Sir Harry had perhaps been right ; fortune favours the audacious, and open war is in some respects preferable to the wilqg of diplomacy. Mr Wentworth, however, had the laugh on his side when the train began to move out of the station on the morrow and when he politely directed his daughter’s attention to the fact that they were shaping their course due north. ‘ Merely a little measure of precaution,’ he remarked. ‘ I feel persuaded that neither you nor Brewster can have contemplated coming across one another again in Andalusia ; yet, since there seemed to be a chance of your doing so without thought or design—which would have been embarrassing for you both—l thought we might as well trot humbly back to Biarritz.’ [to be continued.)