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THE BEAUTIFUL
MRS. DAVENANT
A NOVEL OF LOVE AND MYSTERY
BY
VIOLET Tweed ALE
AUTHOR OF “ghosts I HAVE SEEN,” ETC.
NEW YORK
FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY
PUBLISHERS


THE Hºvi Yºk
PUBLIC LIC3ARY
918.17%.
ASTOR, LENOX ANE
HTILDREN FOUNDATIONS
k 1920 L
Copyright, 1920, by
FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY
All Rights Reserved


CHAPTER
I.
II.
III.
IV.
V.
VI.
VII.
VIII.
IX.
XI.
XII.
XIII.
XIV.
..
:
:
XVI.
XVII.
XVIII.
XIX.
XX.
XXI.
XXII.
XXIII.
XXIV.
XXV.
CONTENTS
THE COMING OF MRs. DAVENANT
THE HEART OF THE MYSTERY
THE LADIES OF LITTLE GLENTwoRTH .
SUSPICION - -
THE NAMELESS FEAR .
THE LovERs - - - -
MRs. DAVENANT MEETS HARRY .
LOCAL GOSSIP - -
AGNES HowARD's SECRET
LORD LESTER’s ADVICE - - -
CLAUDE CARLTON MAKES A DISCOVERY
MRS. DAVENANT At BAY .
MUTUAL CONFESSION .
CONFRONTED -
WARBURTON'S ADVICE . - -
SAIDIE HALL SEES INTO THE FUTURE
LETTY FACES THE TERROR
MURDER .
THE ESCAPE - - - - -
DEATH COMES TO THE LAKE House
WARBURTON's TASK
AGNES HowARD's REWARD
GEOFFREY THORPE’s CoNFESSION
MRS. DAVENANT DECIDES - -
“GooD-BYE, SWEETHEART, GOOD-BYE”.
PAGE
28o
290
299
V





THE BEAUTIFUL MRS. DAVENANT


---- _- - - - - ----


THE BEAUTIFUL
MRS DAVENANT
CHAPTER I
THE COMING OF MRS. DAVENANT
THE sun was beginning to decline. The hot
September afternoon was wearing on into eve-
ning, and the three hours' dusty journey was drawing
to a close.
The beautiful Mrs. Davenant looked across at her
only traveling companion, whose name she now knew
to be Miss Letty Thorne. The girl was staring
dreamily out of the window, apparently lost in her
own thoughts, and the silent watcher concluded
they must be very happy ones, not only because of
what she had seen, but because of the tender little
smile that played over her face.
Not exactly a pretty face, decided Mrs. Davenant,
it's more elfish than pretty! The delicate features
were finely cut, but had no girlish roundness, and
there were traces of care and anxiety on the young
brow, and the large thoughtful gray eyes were shad-
owed. Even the soft hair that waved back in natural
ripples from her cheeks seemed of too pale a hue
against the colorless skin. Yet, withal it was a face
I


2 THE BEAUTIFUL MRS. DAVENANT
that some one loved, and the low tones of the gentle
voice had an underlying note of passionate feeling.
Mrs. Davenant thought of the warmth and passion
of that parting she had witnessed at the carriage door
before the train moved out of London. “How wise
they are,” she thought, as she watched their utter
indifference to onlookers. “They both seem to under-
stand that in order to seize the opportunity of a life-
time, it must be seized during the life-time of the
opportunity. They instinctively seem to realize that
they may never meet again, so they’re taking time
by the throat and damning the consequences.” -
A man, young, finely set up, with a strong, good-
looking face, had taken Miss Letty Thorne in his
arms, and quite unabashed had given her several warm,
lingering kisses.
“Good-by, my own darling. Cheer up. It won't
be so long before we meet again,” and Letty Thorne's
reply had been inaudible, muffled in a tweed breast.
Mrs. Davenant had strained her ears to catch it. All
her sympathies flew to attention. She was profoundly
interested, for she adored a love story, and believed
firmly and unalterably in love. There was nothing
to touch it in all the wide world. It was the only
gift really worth having, and those two young crea-
tures, favored of the gods, had discovered this pearl
above price, and were treasuring it as the gift of
heaven. She, herself, had known what it meant, but
only for a very short time. It had cost her dear, yet
she would not have been without it, and never had
she swerved from her belief in its superlative desir-
ability. The glimpse she had of that parting inclined
her warmly towards her traveling companion. She
longed to hear the whole story, and enter into its


THE COMING OF MRS. DAVENANT 3
miracle, for to every woman a real love affair always
is a miracle, but after making friendly overtures to
her Miss Thorne had not even distantly approached
the enthralling subject, though she had been com-
municative on others.
Whilst the train rushed along they had admired
a lovely old manor embowered in woods, and she had
smiled and said, “How beautiful, and how different
from my home!”
“Where is your home?” asked Mrs. Davenant, very
gently.
“A narrow, red brick house in the dullest street
of Hammersmith. That is my home.”
“And your father and mother live there, I sup-
pose?”
She shook her head sadly. “I have neither. They died
years ago. I live with my aunt, Miss Fanny Thorpe.”
Then she had gone on to speak quite simply and natu-
rally of her past history, of her solitary childhood spent
in a tiny London house, of her mother's death and
her father's long illness, and of the yet sadder days
when he was gone, and her mother's sister had adopted
her. A weary life that had been for the girl. Her
aunt had striven to do her duty, but it had been
sternly done, and she had neither patience nor sym-
pathy with the young. Letty Thorne knew she was a
burden, and there had been little love between them.
After all this never a hint or word of the big
young man who had so adoringly embraced her on
parting. Though now in mufti, he had obviously been
through the war. He looked a soldier, every inch of
him. In that impassioned farewell he showed himself
to be a born lover.
Mrs. Davenant was disappointed, though she was


4 THE BEAUTIFUL MRS. DAVENANT
careful not to show it, and the girl had gone on to say
that she was on her way to spend her holidays with
her uncle, her aunt's only brother, at the Lake House,
a couple of miles outside Great Glentworth. The
house, she had heard, was so named because there had
once been a big lake in its park. Now the lake was
overgrown, and had become little more than a pond.
She had seen her uncle, but never his house, and she
rather dreaded the visit. As a child he had been cross
and disagreeable to her, and the only words she could
remember his having spoken were, “Go away and be
quiet.”
Aunt Fanny always referred to him as “very pe-
culiar.” He had never married, and was domineered
over by an old housekeeper.
Mrs. Davenant listened to all this with rapt at-
tention. “How strange,” she kept whispering to her-
self. “How strange, yet I knew a Thorpe still lived
there. I’ve done with Thorpes for all time, but their
seal is indelibly imprinted on my life.”
“You say you are going to spend holidays with your
uncle; do you then work for your own living?” she
asked.
“Yes, I'm a governess. My pupil is a very delicate
girl of twelve. She's gone to the sea with her mother,
and I’m not required for some weeks. Aunt doesn't
need me at home, she's going to stay with friends.
Mr. Thorpe's only taking me in to oblige his sister.”
Mrs. Davenant smiled into the pale dreamy face,
and thought again of that parting. Life could not
really be gray with such a lover as that to see one
off by train and give one such adorable kisses.
“You must come and see me at Little Glentworth.
My name is Mrs. Davenant, and a dear friend lives


THE COMING OF MRS. DAVENANT 5
with me named Miss Agnes Howard. She's already
installed, and I’ve taken the house on lease. I am
charmed with the beauty of the country, and very
tired of town life. Probably the Lake House is only
a mile or two away. I believe we are just running
into Great Glentworth station.”
The train had slowed down, and in another minute
or two Mrs. Davenant and her traveling companion
found themselves on the diminutive platform, with a
footman and a solitary porter handling the luggage.
“Good-by, and thank you ever so much for your
kindness to me,” said Miss Thorne, offering a timid
hand. “May I really come to see you?”
“Why, yes! I'll send a note to the Lake House.
Of course you've some one or something here to meet
you?”
The girl blushed scarlet and shook her head. “Oh,
no. You see I’ve only got a tiny trunk which can be
sent for, and this suit-case is quite light. Uncle
doesn’t even know what train to expect me by, and
the short walk is nothing.” She turned aside in hur-
ried confusion, but Mrs. Davenant stopped her per-
emptorily.
“I’ll drop you, Miss Thorne. You shan’t run away
like that. No, I insist. Please don't argue with me;
I'm sure we pass your gate on the way to Little Glent-
worth.”
She put a restraining hand on the girl's arm, and
they moved out of the station together to where a
motor-car was in waiting with a top capable of carry-
ing a considerable amount of baggage.
Mrs. Davenant proved correct. The Lake House
must be passed en route, and soon they were running
through the tiny village, and emerged on to the broad


6 THE BEAUTIFUL MRS. DAVENANT
white high road. In another ten minutes the chauffeur
began to slow down, and finally drew up opposite a
very dilapidated pair of iron gates. They stood ajar,
and beyond them stretched a deeply-shadowed road
which turned out to be the short approach to the Lake
House. It was a tangled thicket of briars and weeds,
and even Mrs. Davenant's warm-hearted sympathy
was unequal to having her car badly scratched by the
heavy overhanging boughs. At the girl's earnest re-
quest, she and her luggage were deposited just inside
the gates, and with a sinking heart Letty Thorne
watched her new-found friend disappear in a cloud
of dust. Then she turned and resolutely moved for-
ward to the dreaded meeting.


CHAPTER II
THE HEART OF THE MYSTERY
N the midst of dense dark woods the Lake House
stood alone.
Letty Thorne saw it for the first time under the
most favorable circumstances, in all the luxuriant
beauty which summer could wrap around it; but when
she entered the doorway it struck her that she left
the brilliant sunshine outside. The interior looked
dark and forbidding, and as if no sun-ray had ever
penetrated its brooding twilight.
The bell was obviously broken, so she crept into
the big stone hall and stood listening intently. Not
the faintest sound of life fell upon her ear, and she
stared round her in growing apprehension.
“It is like a mausoleum, a house of the dead. How
can I live here even for one night?” she asked her-
self.
A few old portraits hung upon the walls between
strips of tattered arras. Damp and decay would soon
make an end of both. Four closed doors, two on each
side, and a crazy-looking uncarpeted staircase faced
her, and whilst she stood in miserable hesitancy the
sound of a short dry cough roused her to action.
Summoning all her courage she moved forward and
turned a door handle.
When she set foot on the oak floor of the room
7


8 THE BEAUTIFUL MRS. DAVENANT
which her uncle, Geoffrey Thorpe, chose to occupy as
dining-room and library in one—when she glanced up
at the low heavily-beamed ceiling, her courage ebbed
away; yet she had not come unprepared for the gloom
of the place.
Aunt Fanny, in her rare expansive moments, had
spoken of the old family home as desperately depress-
ing. Her brother had inherited it from a cousin, and
had passed from a life of extravagance and constant
indebtedness to considerable wealth and great penuri-
ousness. The sudden change in his fortune seemed as
suddenly to change his nature, and instead of keeping
up the comfortable establishment he had inherited, he
retained one woman servant only, dismissing all the
other old retainers and shutting up the greater part
of the house. Aunt Fanny had said that by this action
he had turned the county against him, and that his
housekeeper cowed him completely by virtue of the
power of a strong mind over a weak one. She had
added that her brother's peculiarities had given rise
to much gossip in the neighborhood. Silly folk said
the place was haunted. The peasantry would not
approach it after dark, and the gentry shuddered when
they spoke of its dreary, neglected aspect. Through
the woods surrounding the house and thence to the
willows by the lake wound a path, which tradition
said was kept bare by no mortal feet. The cottagers
called it the “Ghost's Walk.” “But don’t mention this
subject to your uncle, whatever you do,” had ad-
monished Aunt Fanny. “If you wish to live at peace
with him during your stay, avoid all mention of rumors
and gossip.”
Geoffrey Thorpe was seated in front of a table, a
mass of papers under his trembling hands. As his


THE HEART OF THE MYSTERY 9
niece entered he looked up without surprise or curiosity
and nodded curtly. It was not, however, his chilly
and casual welcome which arrested her steps, and
caused her to stand silent and motionless on the
threshold. It was partly the great change that she
saw had passed over him, and partly it was the portrait
of a man which hung on the wall behind him. A large,
defiant, aggressive portrait of a man. The eyes, filled
with stern condemnation, seemed to fix themselves
upon Letty Thorne. Yet the portrait seemed also to
dominate the room, and its fresh coloring appeared to
make the man who sat beneath it even more faded,
more withered than he really was.
It flashed across Letty's mind that her uncle had
purposely turned his back upon it, yet could not forget
it. Why had he not removed it? What had so
terribly changed him from the hale and active man of
fifty she remembered? The snows of extreme old age
were on his head and sunken jaws. His shoulders
stooped painfully, and his keen glassy eyes, sunk deep
in their sockets, were restless and suspicious. The only
familiar thing was his voice, and the words he spoke.
“So you've arrived, have you! Well! now you are
here I hope you'll give as little trouble as possible. I've
only one woman in the house, and I’d do without her
if I could. Please remember there's to be no friction
between you. Mrs. Greatrex understands my ways,
and will see you have what is necessary. You'd better
be civil to her. Do you understand?”
“Perfectly, thank you, uncle.”
So this was all that was required of her. To give
no trouble, and be civil to Sarah Greatrex. She might
have asked where the woman was to be found, but
she did not. Her pride was up in arms.


IO THE BEAUTIFUL MRS. DAVENANT
Geoffrey Thorpe had bent once more over his papers
as if to signify that their interview was ended, and she
turned and left the room as quietly as she had entered
1t.
Once more she stood in the dreary hall. A gnome-
like man, half groom, half gardener, was carrying her
luggage upstairs, and she inquired her way to the back
premises. He jerked his head in the direction of a
passage running to the left, and passing down this and
pushing open a door ajar Letty found herself face to
face with Sarah Greatrex.
The woman was seated before a log fire, upon which
steamed a kettle. The great square kitchen felt and
smelt like a vault, and the scanty furniture looked
moldering and worm eaten. Even the clock held its
hands before its face as if to say “Don’t enter. We
want no one to disturb our deathlike sleep.” In spite
of the fire, and the soft warmth of the evening the
place struck damp, chilly and utterly uninviting.
Mrs. Greatrex rose as Letty Thorne crossed the
threshold. She kept her sewing in her hands, and
responded civilly enough to the gentle “Good evening.
I am Miss Thorne.”
“You were expected some time. I've got a room
ready for you, but most of them are shut up. You'd
like a cup of tea, I suppose?”
Her tone was surly and unwilling, and without fur-
ther words she turned to the door and passed out,
Letty following her.
The appearance of Sarah Greatrex was repellent in
the extreme. She was very tall and gaunt. Her black
hair was thickly streaked with white, and very roughly
kept. Her features were harsh, the skin sallow, and
the black beady eyes furtive and restless.


THE HEART OF THE MYSTERY II
She led the way up a narrow back staircase, which
emerged on a long empty gallery. Passing down the
creaking floor she opened a door at the far end. “This
is your bedroom,” she announced abruptly.
In the middle of the floor stood the luggage, and
Letty Thorne walked forward to the window and
looked out. A lump had risen in her throat, an unrea-
soning fit of deep depression enveloped her and she
did not turn as she heard the door close behind the
housekeeper. The situation appeared intolerable to
her, but she struggled bravely against her forebodings,
and turned her thoughts to the scene before her, which
was lovely enough to banish gloom. There lay the
beauty of waving woods, and checkered green and
yellow fields. Beyond, rose up the dark red chimneys
of some distant mansion, leaf-embowered, and beyond
that again was the sky, aflame with pink and gold
and imperial purple.
In the immediate foreground lay a weed-grown,
stone-flagged courtyard, encircled by a moldering
wall half hidden by brambles and ivy, and just out-
side those confines the neglected trees and shrubs
clustered in wild luxuriance. The gate leading out
of the court had vanished, and a pathway led through
the foliage, and speedily lost itself in the dense green
gloom.
It was as fair a scene as ever worshiper of natural
beauty could wish for, but its very beauty and stillness
filled Letty Thorne with a desperate desire to run
away. She was unaccustomed to loneliness, and here
her solitude would be well-nigh complete. A dread
possessed her that when she turned round it would be
to face the emptiness of a very grim room. There
would be no voice to answer hers, no presence to miti-


I2 THE BEAUTIFUL MRS. DAVENANT
gate the solitude. The change was so absolute that
as she looked into the future, the glorious hopes and
possibilities that reigned there had vanished into a
far-off, dim obscurity.
A sound at the door roused her from out her dark
reflections, and she wheeled round to find that a tray
had been deposited upon the table, and the bearer of
it had vanished without a word.
Whilst seated at her solitary meal Letty surveyed the
large apartment. It was fast falling into darkness, but
she discovered four candles, and at once lit them with
a sense of relief in even the little light they afforded.
There was but a sullen gloom reflected from the pol-
ished wood of the wainscot. The dark green hangings
would have quenched the light of a brilliant illumina-
tion, and all the furniture was of a solid, serious kind
of antiquity.
The room itself was large and low, and the walls
were paneled with oak almost as black as ebony, while
two great beams of oak crossed the ceiling. The man-
telpiece was of the same dark wood, carved in gro-
tesque taste, and with the patient minuteness of days
gone by. There were half-a-dozen smoke-grimed por-
traits of long dead women and men. Two fine gentle-
men in ruffs, and one in a periwig. The ladies were in
farthingale, sack and hooped brocade. In the dim
flickering candlelight they seemed to move uneasily in
their tarnished frames. Against the wall stood a huge
four-poster, shrouded in dark green tattered silk.
A fine room no doubt, but one calculated to depress
the spirits of its occupant, thought Letty Thorne, as
she peered around it with anything but pleasure. The
sort of room where one might make the acquaintance
of the Green Lady, or the little old woman in yellow


THE HEART OF THE MYSTERY I3
satin, with the clicking high-heeled shoes, who comes to
the side of the bed and maliciously surveys its occu-
pant till swooning or death relieves the pressure. Or,
maybe, it is the sad and slender girl in white who
walks here. The girl with the pale distraught face,
and the blood oozing from her breast, who floats across
the floor wringing her hands, and disappears through
the wall. Or might it not be the man in armor, who
sits staring into the fireplace till the beholder in the
bed goes raving mad?
Letty laughed aloud at her whimsical fancies, and
felt suddenly very tired and sleepy, for which she gave
thanks in her heart. A wakeful night would not be
a pleasant prospect. A distant village clock chimed
nine, and she began to unpack.
For a moment or two she stood by a candle gazing
down at a photograph she held. The portrait of a
man, powerfully built, lean, muscular. The pose of
the head was full of dignity and strength, as were the
sincere, grave eyes. A face not without moral loftiness
and intellect. Youthful and betraying the primitive
nature of passion, but surely disciplined to the higher
nature of control. The eyes seemed to smile into hers,
and for a long moment she held the picture to her lips;
then she wrapped it up again in a silk handkerchief,
and with a little sigh put it back in her trunk.
“Ah! My beloved, what would life be to me with-
out you?” she whispered softly to herself.
When the candles were extinguished, and she was
in bed, sleep was slow to come to her, tired though she
was. There was not a sound throughout the house,
but through the open window drifted nature-sounds,
the hoot of an owl, and the distant baying of a dog. In
vain she repeated her prayers, and strove to fix her


14 THE BEAUTIFUL MRS. DAVENANT
mind upon their meaning. In vain she thought over
her journey, and the beauty and kindness of her
traveling companion. How lovely Mrs. Davenant
was, with her masses of dark brown hair, her delicate
features, and radiant smile. What a marvelous thing
a smile could be, when so radiant and illuminating,
and those big soft blue eyes fringed with black lashes,
and the row of glittering white teeth that seemed to
match the pearls at her throat.
Then her clothes were a dream of cut, finish and
suitability. Ah! how delicious to have clothes like
that, thought Letty, as she tossed and turned uneasily.
A little breeze had arisen, and sang the old, old lullaby
that it first sang when God divided land from water.
Always sweet and sad as summer wind must be, it
seemed laden now with dreams of the rosy future, with
Divine mysteries, as it blended with those other nature
voices of the night. Gradually Letty Thorne sank
into the unconsciousness of dreamless slumber.


CHAPTER III
THE LADIES OF LITTLE GLEN TWORTH
“T ET’S call this afternoon on Mrs. Davenant.”
Major Claude Carlton, owner of Great Glent-
worth and all its broad acres, was seated at lunch
with his mother, under conditions which approached
perfection. Superb health, above average good looks,
owner of a very fine property with still ample means
to keep it up, and not a personal care in the world.
Such were the gifts the gods had showered upon him,
and certainly he would have been duly grateful had
he ever considered his circumstances, but when a man
has known no other condition of life he is apt to take
what is his as a matter of course.
He believed that he lived a very active life and there
was no streak of indolence in his character, but after
five years at the front his activities were now confined
to doing the things he wanted to do, and thoroughly
enjoyed doing. A soldier's profession was by no means
irksome to him, and he very readily and intelligently
rendered a good account of his stewardship at home,
not so much because the good of his dependents was a
sacred duty, but because, as a boy, he had been taught
that certain courses of action would be expected of
him and meant playing the game. He had come
through the war without a scratch, and he never will-
ingly referred back to his part in the terrible enterprise.
I5


I6 THE BEAUTIFUL MRS. DAVENANT
Mrs. Carlton winked one eye, and the single monocle
dropped on its wire. She ceased contemplating through
the open window the lovely lands over which the
glamor of the bright September day was cast.
“Righto! I suppose they've settled down by now.
The companion, Miss Howard—isn't that her name?—
must have been in residence for at least a fortnight.”
“And Mrs. Davenant arrived the day before yester-
day. Webb passed the car on the road coming from
the station. Looked like a big Rolls Royce, he thought.
I’ll be shooting to-morrow. I’ve asked Jim Hall, and
I suppose you'll come out with us? Let's drive over
this afternoon. Shall it be the car or the gees?”
“I’ll drive the roans,” decided his mother, “they've
not been in harness this week. We can go to the
Webbs if Mrs. Davenant's out. I owe them a call, but
I hope she won't be out. I'm rather curious to see her.
One has heard so much of her, and she's rather a
mystery.”
“I don't know anything about a mystery. I used
to hear of her entertaining in town before the war.
She's a well-to-do widow with a beauty reputation.
I've never heard anything but good of her,” replied
Claude, helping himself to half a cold partridge.
Mrs. Carlton poured herself out a glass of Burgundy
and held it up to the light.
“No more have I, dear boy, but no one knows who
or what her husband was, or where her wealth comes
from.”
“Who cares a hang for any of those things? Blest
if I do,” retorted her son.
Mrs. Carlton smiled across at him in perfect agree-
ment, and stroked down her back hair, which was
cropped close to her head like a man's, only more so.


THE LADIES OF LITTLE GLENTWORTH 17
“I wonder she's never married again,” she solilo-
quized aloud.
“Shows she's a woman of sense, my dear mother.
What more does she want? She's got a rattling good
social position and perfect freedom. She'd be mad to
make a change, and she'll be an AI tenant. I feel we
ought to run over to-day and see if she wants anything
done. I'm willing to meet her if there is.”
Mrs. Carlton readily agreed, as she always did when
her one and only child made a reasonable suggestion.
He was master, a fact she never forgot, and whilst she
continued to act as the chatelaine of his beautiful
home, she kept ever before her the frailty of her ten-
ure. She had endured four years of agony, any day she
might hear of her son's death; now she calculated that
any day Claude might fall in love and bring home a
wife, and her reign would be over. She had done well
by the property, being preeminently a country woman
coming of sound country stock, and when she married
Squire Carlton of Great Glentworth she had entered
into his work in stable, farm and garden in a practical,
energetic and knowledgeable manner. She still rode
to hounds, and schooled her home-bred hunters, and
the Home Farm had never been let in her day, but was
run, in her son's absence with his regiment, under her
personal supervision by a competent bailiff.
When Claude had finished his thoroughly British
education, consisting of all the sports, a smattering of
the dead and no knowledge whatever of the modern
languages, he entered the Guards. He might be,
indeed he was, woefully ignorant of all social and
political questions lying outside the tiny island of his
birth, but he was a gentleman in the true sense of the
word, and he understood that not to play the game was


18 THE BEAUTIFUL MRS. DAVENANT
an unforgivable disgrace. During his periods of leave
which he always spent at home, he was well content
to signify his approval of his mother's work, and leave
his business affairs more than less in her hands. He
was proud and extremely attached to his ancestral
home. Those three sides of a square of old red brick
masonry, with a tower in the center, and the long, wide
grass terraces running down to the trout stream below,
could hold their own against any of the minor seats
of the English nobility. He loved that side of English
country life which is so invigorating and healthy for
mind and body. He had always been keen on sport,
and had been brought up in the saddle by his mother,
and shown the way “over the sticks” before he was
ten. She had seen to it, that before he left Eton he
rode straight, and could bring down a woodcock or
rocketer. That she had made a thorough man of
her son was the fulfillment of her proudest ambi-
tion.
A deep friendship existed betwixt mother and son.
When the squire died, the result of a chill caught at
the cover-side, Claude was only seven years old, and the
widow knew she had now to fill the rôle of both
parents. The boy was thoroughly normal, daring, wild
as a hawk, and up to any form of mischief, and so long
as there was no tendency to vice the mischief was en-
couraged.
Sybil Carlton was enabled, owing to her splendid
health and physical fitness, to share in all her son's
pursuits, and they rode to hounds, stood at the cover-
side, and strode the stubble side by side in perfect
comradeship. The five years' nightmare was now a
thing of the past. Claude had done well and come
through. Mrs. Carlton did not think more of those


THE LADIES OF LITTLE GLENTWORTH 19
five years than she could help, and her son helped her
to banish the hideous memory.
Now, at the age of thirty, Claude still looked upon
his mother as his best pal. There had, of course, been
other women in his life, but so far they had been but
episodes, and he seemed in no hurry to marry. He
had just let his mother's dower house to Mrs. Davenant
for a term of years, without giving her possible need
of it a passing thought, and Sybil Carlton had not
deemed it necessary to put in the smallest suggestion of
her claim.
As mother and son entered the drawing-room at
Little Glentworth, Mrs. Davenant was also entering
it by the conservatory door, and the two women as
they shook hands presented a striking contrast.
Mrs. Carlton's naturally dark skin was tanned by
wind and weather to the shade of a ripe chestnut, her
lean face was a network of fine wrinkles, but her large
brown eyes and excellent teeth were still in first-rate
working order, and in its slender uprightness her figure
was still that of a girl. The holland suit she wore was
cut on the severest masculine lines, and the soft shirt
and neat tie were the same in style and pattern as those
of her son. In her hand she held a brown Homburg
hat, which she always removed on entering a room,
displaying an exceedingly smooth head of closely-
cropped, iron-gray hair, white on the temples.
She stripped off her loose doeskin glove as she took
Mrs. Davenant's soft palm in hers, and quite uncon-
sciously surveyed her through the single monocle with
the same appraising observation she bestowed upon her
horses and cattle.
“So pleased to meet you. Hope you're shaking
down and finding all you require,” she said genially.


2O THE BEAUTIFUL MRS. DAVENANT
She liked what she saw. Yes! Mrs. Davenant de-
served the epithet “beautiful” that was generally be-
stowed upon her, and though the antithesis of herself,
Mrs. Carlton liked womanly women. There was too
much of the male in her own composition to do other-
wise. “A dangerous neighbor,” was her first im-
pression; then she laughed aloud at her own thoughts,
and shot out her cuffs. “Well! why shouldn't he if
he fancies her? It's time he settled.” As she silently
came to this conclusion, she turned to the introduction
of Miss Howard, who just then entered. “An unusual
pair of women,” she decided as she sat down and dis-
cussed practical details, whilst her son conversed with
Mrs. Davenant.
Miss Agnes Howard was not young, she was at least
thirty-five, but she could scarcely have been handsomer
at any time of her life than now. A big, grand-looking
woman, with a clear olive complexion, no color, regu-
lar features, fine blue eyes, and dark brown abundant
hair.
“Whatever the mystery may be they're both gentle-
women,” concluded Mrs. Carlton, as she talked shrewd
generalities, for though not choosing to argue out the
subject with her son, she had made her own
private inquiries from several generally well-informed
SO111 CeS.
“Yes,” wrote her sister, Lady Tadcaster, who knew
every one and went everywhere, “of course I know the
beautiful Mrs. Davenant. Every one dans le monde
does, and every one admires her immensely. She calls
herself a widow, so I presume she is one, but I have
never met any one who knew the late lamented. He's
something of a mystery. A Miss Howard lives with
her as companion, but not one of the Howards. You


THE LADIES OF LITTLE GLENTWORTH 21
will find Mrs. Davenant charming, well bred, rich and
very good looking, also very attractive to men.” The
four latter words were heavily underlined and certainly
conveyed a warning. “The companion—I wonder,”
speculated Mrs. Carlton, as she studied Miss Howard,
and noted the cut of her cream flannel coat and skirt,
and the two fine diamond hoop rings she wore on her
slim brown finger.
Meanwhile, Mrs. Davenant with her much quicker
vision was taking in, as a complete picture, Major
Carlton. She rather liked that quiet composure of
manner which suggested the lord of the soil, though
it was an absurd pose in these democratic days, she
thought. She admired the big, strong type, the rather
roughly cut features, the fair mustache and straight-
looking blue eyes.
“I hope we're not disturbing you too soon after
your arrival, but we thought perhaps we might be of
Some use to you. Possibly you might want some small
alteration in the house or garden. I’d be glad to do
anything that would add to your comfort.”
He spoke rather slowly in a pleasant voice, and his
smile was as slow as his voice. She was conscious that
he addressed her with a certain freedom, though with-
out a trace of familiarity, and by that she understood
instantly that he was a man accustomed to women, ac-
customed to share with them the beginnings and end-
ings of varied experiences, thus finding, perhaps uncon-
sciously, a freemasonry in his most casual meetings
with a woman who has passed through similar phases
of life. His knowledge of women in the past assisted
his knowledge of women in the present.
“That's very kind of you,” she answered with her
sudden flashing smile, “but we're very comfy. The


22 THE BEAUTIFUL MRS. DAVENANT
house is in excellent repair and quite up-to-date in
essentials. I don't mind telling you I shouldn't have
taken it otherwise. The domestic situation is far too
strained to admit of water carriers or lamp cleaners.
Every labor-saving contrivance helps in these modern
times.”
He nodded comprehendingly. “Yes! I felt that
when I put in the baths and electricity. I didn't want
Little Glentworth to remain empty. I’m glad you like
the old place.”
“I adore the old-fashioned non-essentials, Major
Carlton.”
He turned his head and looked round the walls,
that slow smile dawning on his face. He was back for
the moment in his boyhood. His surroundings exhaled
upon his spirit the atmosphere of a past generation.
“You’ll like most of the neighbors,” he told her.
“Some of them may go a bit slow for the times we
live in, but take them all round they’re not a bad lot,
and we're all on good terms.”
“I’ve met a neighbor already, and I want to hear
more of her. We traveled down from town together.
She's a Miss Thorne, a niece of Mr. Thorpe of the
Lake House.”
“Oh! Old Thorpe!” Carlton laughed drily. “You
won’t like him. That's to say if you ever meet him,
which is extremely unlikely. He's a most peculiar
old chap, mad of course, who owns one of the finest
black and white timbered houses in England. He
inherited it from a cousin, and though I believe he's
absolutely rolling he lives like a pauper. So, a niece
of his has arrived It's the first time I’ve ever heard
of any one staying at the Lake House. What's she
like? I’m sorry for her.”


THE LADIES OF LITTLE GLENTWORTH 23
“An interesting-looking girl and a lady. Very fair,
and quiet in manner. She's a governess, and now she's
having a holiday.”
“Lor! What a place to spend a holiday in,” laughed
Carlton.
“Let us form a conspiracy to make it a pleasant one
for her,” suggested Mrs. Davenant.
Major Carlton looked incredulous. “Whyl you
don't know what old Thorpe is,” he exclaimed, “he
won't allow any of us to cross his threshold. We've
all had notice to keep our distance. Not that any of
us want to beard the old idiot in his den, but when he
first went into residence we offered him the usual
neighborly attentions. He accepted those civilly
enough, then there came a sudden change in his atti-
tude. I did hear he had some sort of illness; anyway
he changed utterly, and all of a sudden, and now he's
never seen or heard of, and his door's closed to all and
sundry.”
Mrs. Davenant was listening very attentively, her
deep blue eyes fixed on the speaker.
“That's all very interesting and very mysterious,”
she said. “One would like to fathom the reason for
the sudden change, for, of course, there is a reason.”
“The only reason is that Thorpe's a mad old ass,”
commented Carlton a trifle impatiently.
“Forgive my saying that shows rather a lack of
imagination on your part, Major Carlton. However,
what you’ve told me only confirms my determination
to dig out Miss Thorne. Her uncle can't prevent her
from crossing this threshold. I shall write to her to-
night and ask her to lunch. Perhaps Mr. Thorpe
will leave her all his money and she'll end a great
heiress.”


24 THE BEAUTIFUL MRS. DAVENANT
Carlton was listening with a sort of unwilling
admiration. He liked her interest in the poor little
governess, but old Thorpe as a subject of conversa-
tion bored him. He shook his head.
“There's an heir already on which the place is
entailed. I've not seen him, but I’ve heard of him
in the neighborhood. A man somewhere between
twenty-five and thirty, unmarried, an engineer by
profession, and a Thorpe by name. You're right about
my not being an imaginative chap, that isn't my line,
but you'll be able to exercise any imagination you’ve
got, for you'll hear the wildest rumors about the
Lake House. It's got a splendid Christmas num-
ber reputation for being alive with ghosts. Half
the folk here would refuse to set foot within its gates,
the other half are simply aching to begin investigations,
but old Thorpe can be trusted to keep them all at
bay.”
“I know which side I'll join,” Mrs. Davenant told
him, and her eyes had a dancing sparkle. “I’m for
investigation. Meanwhile I’ll write to the girl, and
find out if she's had any weird experiences. Now do
tell me of the other neighbors.”
“We are your nearest and I hope we'll see lots of
you, Mrs. Davenant. Don't let's stand on ceremony,
there's nothing stiff about us, and I hope you’ll look in
as often as you can. My mother's a busy woman, but
she's never very far away from the stables, and she's
nearly always in to tea. It'll cheer her up to see you.
Then there's Parson Warburton, a rattling good chap,
whose sister lives with him at the vicarage, and there's
the Halls, he's Master. You ride, of course?”
“No,” confessed Mrs. Davenant, “not now, but
I'll keep a mount in the stables for any friend.”


THE LADIES OF LITTLE GLENTWORTH 25
“That's right. Nothing like encouraging local sport.
Hall's a first-rate Master, and Mrs. Hall's not to be
despised across country, hard as nails and any amount
of pluck. They’re a young couple with a brace of
kids. She's an American with a pile made out of lin-
seed, and she's very good to Jim.”
Mrs. Davenant's butler at that moment opened the
door and announced “Captain and Mrs. Hall.”
Carlton rose to his feet with a laugh. “By Jove,
talk of angels and they're sure to appear. You're
going to have the whole county down on you.”
Mrs. Davenant glanced over her shoulder at him
with one of her flashing smiles. It was her gaiety that
up to now had impressed him most.
“The more the merrier. How do you do, Mrs.
Hall. Major Carlton was just telling me what a flyer
you are across country.”
“The Master's wife's got to have a look-in some-
where, or she'll find herself nowhere,” retorted Mrs.
Hall practically, “besides, I’ve had to keep the pack
together more or less whilst he was soldiering.”
“Hullo, Jim P” “Hullo, Claudie!” remarked the
two men, smiling broadly at one another, each vastly
comforted by the presence of the other.
Saidie Hall seated herself beside Mrs. Davenant,
crossed her exquisite little feet, and her white-gloved
hands over a jeweled lorgnette, and opened huge black
eyes upon her companion. She had not been born
good looking, but she had achieved good looks.
“I’ve just been perishing to see you, Mrs. Davenant.
I’ve heard so much about you.”
“I shan’t reply with the obvious,” laughed Hilda.
“I think it kind of you to come and see me so soon.
That's how I feel about it. Isn't paying calls in the


26 THE BEAUTIFUL MRS. DAVENANT
country different to calling in London? There, the
dread is that the lady'll be at home. Here, the dread
is she'll be out.”
“That's only because in town there are so many
tea shops,” retorted Saidie Hall briskly. “At Ter-
lingham, that's our place, every one who calls is offered
tea whether I’m out or in. The country's a very
fatiguing place to live in.”
“I should have said the reverse,” Smiled Mrs.
Davenant. “I’ve come here to rest. I'm tired of
town and its rush.”
Mrs. Hall looked astonished. “Why,” she cried,
“what happens directly I come back to Terlingham
after a holiday abroad or in town? Constant streams
of visitors, from the vicar to the village blacksmith,
and all wanting something. Teas, treats, clothing,
subscriptions, giving prizes, opening bazaars, mothers'
meetings and local clubs. My life here is one long
sacrifice.”
“Come, now, and have some tea. We have it in
the morning-room. I love to sit round tea of the
nursery order, don't you?” laughed Mrs. Davenant.
“Will you lead the way you know so well?” she added,
turning to Mrs. Carlton.
“By Jove! how ripping the old place looks! I haven't
been in it for years,” said Captain Hall, who had
maneuvred himself into a seat next his hostess. “I’m
not sure I don't prefer it to Great Glentworth. A big
house isn't all beer and skittles, even if you have got
lots of the needful to keep it up.”
Hall was a neat, small man, built like a jockey;
clean shaven and in feature almost effeminate, but
there was nothing feminine in his nature. He glanced
round approvingly at the faded rep curtains, the old


THE LADIES OF LITTLE GLENTWORTH 27
dumb waiters and the sideboard, on whose shining
mahogany Georgian silver shone. He considered
Saidie's taste was much too French. She had packed
several lumber rooms with all the grand old wine
coolers and clawlegged tables she could collect, and sub-
stituted what he called “spindle-legged foreign trash.”
Now he looked enviously at the dark red walls clothed
with the old-fashioned flock paper, at the few old
family portraits shining out of heavy carved frames,
and the tea table with its bright-colored Crown Derby
and dainty edibles. All contributed to touch him with
many subtle associations, and Mrs. Davenant herself.
seemed to fit the period. She might have stepped out
of a Romney portrait, in her soft white chiffon frock,
belted with blue, the blush roses at her breast, and
the richly piled dark brown hair framing her delicately
tinted face.
“A real beauty and no mistake,” thought the cap-
tain. Aloud he said, “The old squire used to call this
the Red Parlor . Lady Alicia—she was his wife—used
to sit in it. I can see her now, though I was a mere
kid at the time, seated by the window sewing. She's
been dead for the last twenty-five years at least. Do
you play bridge, Mrs. Davenant?”
She shook her head. “No, I don’t, but Miss Howard
does. You may rope her in if you like. The fact is,
Captain Hall, I don't do anything.”
“You seem to do nothing jolly well. I suppose we
are rather a busy lot hereabouts. Anyway we were
busy before the war, and we're beginning to be busy
again, I'm glad to say. When hunting's off there'll
be a bit of season to get through. My wife enjoys her
theaters and dances. Then there's the shooting and
the cubbing season on before one's time to turn round.


28 THE BEAUTIFUL MRS. DAVENANT
I believe in lots of work; keeps a man fit, don't you
think? Carlton's a busy chap, too, always about when
he's on leave. Great Glentworth takes a bit of looking
after.”
Miss Howard was pouring out tea at the other end
of the table, and the rest of the party were chattering
together very vigorously. Under cover of their con-
versation Mrs. Davenant lowered her voice and leaned
towards her companion.
“I rather wonder Major Carlton let Little Glent-
worth. It's the Dower House, isn't it? Why, it
might be needed any day.”
Captain Hall thought a moment. He had not caught
the drift of the remark.
“Oh! I twig now. Why, of course. I hadn't thought
of that, but Claudie don't seem in any hurry to make
up his mind.”
“Falling in love isn't making up your mind, it's
having your mind made up for you, Captain Hall.”
The Master again pondered this proposition. “By
Jove! I believe you're right. What a clever lady
you are!” he conceded admiringly, and involuntarily
he glanced at his wife with a broad smile. “Takes
you all of a heap, you mean?”
“If you like to put it that way. I think falling
in love's the best occupation there is for both women
and men. As a matter of fact if we want to develop
the best in us, we ought always to be in love with
some one. Love is so progressive, so educative.”
The Captain opened his blue eyes, and instinctively .
there shot into them a question he had almost forgotten
how to ask since he married his Saidie and went to the
war. Formerly he had not troubled to be sure of his
ground. If knocked down he knew how to get up again.


THE LADIES OF LITTLE GLENTWORTH 29
Now he was more wary. Was it possible that Mrs.
Davenant was out for adventure? He met her dancing
eyes; then he knew where he stood. “Straight as a
die. Right as rain,” was his swift conclusion.
“I’m with you. Yes, rather! Keeps us out of
mischief. Yet falling in love is sometimes rather
dangerous,” he ended with a reversion to caution.
“All fascinating pursuits are dangerous. They
wouldn't be fascinating if they weren't,” retorted Mrs.
Davenant.
As the Master met her eyes, he felt in sudden need
of assistance.
“Hear that, old chapf” he exclaimed, turning to
Carlton, who had fallen into silence beside Mrs. Hall.
“Mrs. Davenant thinks the best occupation for us is
falling in love.”
“You’re out of the running, Jim,” chaffed Claude
with his slow smile.
“Captain Hall has localized my remark. I spoke
in generalities,” she retorted. “Love's a joy we're
all the better for. It's a poor life that's lived without
it. That’s what I tried to infer.”
“You seem to have hit on a rather intimate sort
of topic,” suggested Saidie whimsically.
“Love is the commonest topic, bar one, in the
world,” retorted Mrs. Davenant coolly, as she took a
cigarette from the box in front of her.
“And what is the commonest topic of all?” asked
Saidie.
“Hate! Do you smoke, Mrs. Hall? Pass round
the box, please, Major Carlton, and don’t think me
ridiculously old-fashioned.”
“I think there's much less falling in love now than
there was in my young days. Men have grown so


30 THE BEAUTIFUL MRS. DAVENANT
selfish,” said Mrs. Carlton, hunting one capacious
pocket after another for cigarettes and matches.
Mrs. Davenant shook her head gently, as she rose.
Her smile was almost regretful, and her shining eyes
looked dreamy and full of reminiscence.
“I simply adore men,” she said.
“That was my grandfather.” Claude felt compelled
to throw into the pool of silence something blatantly
unemotional. It was not what he wanted to say, but
it was the first idiotic remark that floated through his
brain. He turned his back upon every one. He felt
a shyness he could not understand and pointed to a
portrait of a man of about twenty-five, clad in a
jockey's dress and about to mount a sleek and well-
bred horse. His hand was on the reins, but his face
was turned round to the spectators as though giving
some final order before he set out.
Mrs. Davenant stood by Carlton's side, and looked
up at the picture. She seemed to speak quite mechani-
cally.
“I love those old-fashioned portraits of squires with
their favorite mounts.”
“That was his famous mare that won so many
steeplechases. She realized four thousand pounds in
stakes in one year, though she cost my grandfather
thrice that sum in lost wagers. He backed her against
anything. She was a clinker, and though, as you see,
she'd one white stocking which was thought a blemish,
he'd never allow she wasn't perfect. She’d a box and
paddock to herself, and a couple of grooms to wait on
her, and during one very hard winter he had a straw-
yard roofed in for her, so that she might exercise
under cover.”
“She broke his neck for him. However, it's the


THE LADIES OF LITTLE GLENTWORTH 3.1
death he would have chosen,” remarked Mrs. Carlton
grimly. “Do you use the room we call the Squire's
den? It's hardly suitable for a woman.”
Mrs. Davenant walked to the end of the room and
threw open a door; Carlton followed her.
It was a cosy little den, decorated after the family
fashion with portraits of horse and hound, the posses-
sion of which had at various periods dignified the
Carlton race. Stuffed fish of portentous size that
had fallen victims to rod and landing net decorated
the walls. The bell ropes were foxes' brushes, and on
the mantelshelf was a mighty drinking horn with
silver rim, the contents of which Carlton's ancestors
had been wont to empty at a draught before being
helped to bed. The window looked out on a fine old
stone court. Perhaps it was of all the rooms in the
house the one most redolent of the family fragrance,
and when Claude walked in a crowd of memories
rushed forth to greet him, memories which although
hardly hallowed had a certain impressiveness. All
those jolly sportsmen, dicers and drinkers, that he had
so often heard of had been his kith and kin, and were
now dead, though their memories seemed ever green.
“It was in this room I smoked my first cigarette,”
he said, with a slow smile of recollection. “Lor! how
ill I was after! And one of my earliest interests was in
that old print of the prize fight. That old boy is Old
Q. at ninety years of age. I'd like to take just a turn
round the garden if it won't bore you too much. I’ve
got such ripping recollections of the gardens here. In
summer and autumn there was always a jolly scent of
thyme and old-fashioned flowers; a fine old English
aroma of sweet smells, and a bee hum and murmur
from morning to night in the lime walks leading to


32 THE BEAUTIFUL MRS. DAVENANT
the river. Do you keep this door locked?” He pointed
to a heavy curtain.
“On the inside.” She was listening to him in a
curious meditative melancholy; her voice was almost
somber, but she slipped behind the curtain and in
another moment they stood outside together.
“I say! Don't you want a hat or something?”
Her gay air returned suddenly.
“Not I. Let us stroll down the lime walk and
listen to the bees humming.”
At first their conversation consisted of inevitable
commonplaces, but he was receiving new impressions
of her which had nothing to do with what they said.
The sun blinds had been down outside the rooms
they had been in, and he had not noted that her skin
was free from the least trace of cosmetics, yet it had
the fresh and delicate tints of a girl's complexion.
Her dress also, now that he saw it in the full sunset
splendor flaming in the west, roused in him a new
train of thoughts, that in the last few years he had
almost forgotten. Small details in it for which he had
no name, brought whiffs of Monte Carlo and Nice,
casinos and moonlit terraces.
But such thoughts were blent with others of a
different order. There was something tragic in her
face. A shadow seemed always to lie under the sur-
face of her gay light-heartedness, and the expression
of her eyes was sometimes somber even when her lips
smiled.
“I’m glad you wished to come out into this heaven-
born evening,” she said. “I think I was beginning to
feel a little shy.”
He glanced quickly round at her with a trace of
astonishment.


THE LADIES OF LITTLE GLENTWORTH 33
“That is the last failing I should have accused you
of. You appear to me to be a perfect woman of the
world.”
There was a little sparkle between her eyelashes as
she answered in her sunny voice.
“Not of your world, Major Carlton. I am shy of
country life just as I am shy of church.”
“But not, I trust, of me?” he retorted quickly,
watching her down-dropped head.
“No, but then you are different. I’m at home with
you, because you've known lives somewhat similar to
mine. Men's lives.”
Her face grew full of memories, the fibers of her
nature seemed unstrung. He watched her puzzled
and fascinated. What did she mean? He hardly
knew what to make of her.
“I’m glad we've got something in common,” he
said rather gravely, “though I don't know that men's
lives, even the best of them, are up to much. I fear
you place us on too high a pedestal. More is always
expected of women than of men.”
He was thinking now of her words “I adore men.”
He saw her shoulders shrug.
“Oh! not now so much as formerly. Men are fairer
now to women. They do begin to acknowledge that
human nature is similar in both sexes. You do
permit us to own up to the same passions with which
you are liberally endowed.”
Their eyes met and he was conscious of an undefined
intimacy. They fell to a sudden silence as they strolled
together with slow paces, their feet rustling amongst
the brown leaves of the previous year.
It was a day when the beauty of nature made itself
felt like tender music that yet had no sound. The air


34 THE BEAUTIFUL MRS. DAVENANT
was warm and fragrant, and of ethereal clearness
which draped the landscape in the softness of velvet.
The old grassy street through which they walked was
arched by giant limes, and beneath their emerald arches
shot slanting Sunbeams. At the end of the green alley,
flashing in the sheen of sunset, flowed the river, but
even as they walked, like the sigh of a spirit, swept
from out the west the first intimation of waning light,
of the mysteries of coming darkness.
“Listen to the humming of the bees.”
They both stood still and listened to the wonderful
volume of sound, like a grand rhythm of praise rising
up to the illuminated heavens.
“Isn't it ripping to be away from all the infernal
botherations of ordinary life?” he asked involuntarily.
She looked at him in silence. She wondered how
he contrived when he chose to drop ordinary life by
the wayside. She had found it impossible to do so.
“I shan't forget this evening in the lime walk.”
His voice dropped almost to softness as he quoted:
“It may be it shall please you to remember
Those silver stems, this shadowy woodland way.
To think upon one sun-perfumed September
Perchance—some day.”
“Do you know the lines? They are Watson's. The
British army discovered poetry in 1914.”
She kept her eyes upon his face. Everything else
seemed to have stopped except the action and influence
of two souls, one upon the other.
“And this is what I was thinking,” she almost whis-
pered:
“And in that forest synagogue
Whose aisles are paved with bloom and sod,
A broken heart may haply find
The tenderness of God.”


THE LADIES OF LITTLE GLENTWORTH 35
He withdrew his eyes from hers and stared straight
before him, as if he had not heard her. A little frown
had gathered on his brow, and he felt unaccountably
stirred. He had learned to love poetry for its own
sake, not for the emotions it could arouse. He was not
given to feeling emotional. He hated the word, and
thought he despised such feelings. A vague irrita-
tion stirred him.
“Come! I must be returning,” he said, glancing
at his watch. “It’s getting late.”
From the distance came the faint sounds of voices
and happy laughter.
“Yes,” she echoed, “it is getting late.”
They turned with one accord. As they retraced
their footsteps they were silent. “It is getting late.”
The simple words took on another significance in
Claude's mind.
Was he letting time run on and life slip away from
him before he had realized what it held P. Her words
assumed a warning. It was getting late. Soon it
might be too late. His thirtieth birthday was an hour.
in the past.
“Come along, Claudie. We must be getting back.
The roans have got the fidgets and are digging graves
in the gravel.”
Mrs. Carlton with her single eyeglass firmly fixed,
and her Homburg hat cocked at the correct angle,
stood by her horses. She shook hands genially with
her hostess and gathered up the ribbons preparatory
to mounting the high mail phaeton.
“Hope to see you soon at our place, Mrs. Davenant.
So long, Jim, we meet to-morrow for a day in the
stubbles,” she called out from aloft, giving a loose
rein to the roans who were poised on their hind legs


36 THE BEAUTIFUL MRS. DAVENANT
ready to spring forward. The gravel spurted in show-
ers, another moment and the carriage had disappeared,
only the fast even trot of the roans racing home to
their evening feed was borne back to the onlookers.


CHAPTER IV
SUSPICION
RS. DAVENANT'S simple avowal of her
adoration of men produced a strong and last-
ing effect upon her select little audience. Indeed, it
may be said to have supplied the keynote to the
county's understanding of her individuality. Such
remarks have a way of their own in spreading broad-
cast. This particular remark was like a pebble dropped
in a pool. It sunk to hard bottom and sent out rip-
ples towards the shores where crouch the harpies who
batten on human wreckage. Those three simple little
words became the pivot round which swung public
opinion.
As the Carltons drove home they were at first very
silent, both minds engrossed with the same conundrum.
“What did those words mean?” Mrs. Carlton asked
herself. What did they portend? They seemed to
stand out in letters of fire and obliterate all other im-
pressions. Was it merely a silly pose, or a throwing
down the gauntlet of defiance in the face of the coun-
ty, or again was it nothing more than the innocent
admission of a very simple woman?
Mrs. Carlton reflectively stroked the backs of the
roans with her whip, then she shot a sidelong glance
at her son, who appeared to have fallen into a brown
study. Was Mabel Tadcaster right? Was Mrs.
37


38 THE BEAUTIFUL MRS. DAVENANT
Davenant very attractive to men? Undoubtedly!
Conviction clutched at Mrs. Carlton's heart. What
better means to emphasize her attractiveness could
she have taken than in uttering those words, “I adore
men,” and of course it was a stock phrase she used
universally.
Certainly myriads of women adored men. Why
shouldn't they? But they didn't say it. Or, here lay
the core of the matter, if they did say it they didn't
look like that when they said it.
| Mrs. Carlton rather irritably flicked off a fly from
the near roan's back, and the “thanks awfully” of
the pair roused Claude.
“Rather jolly women, don't you think? I like 'em
both.”
The mother detected just the faintest tinge of
anxiety in her son's voice. She hastened to allay it.
“Yes, so do I, immensely. They're a decided ac-
quisition to the neighborhood, and how good-looking
they both are.”
Now there was distinct relief in Claude's happy
little laugh.
“By Jove! aren't they, and so well turned out. I
like to see a woman very simply dressed in the coun-
try, and I like Mrs. Davenant particularly. She's so
simple in herself.”
Mrs. Carlton winked her off eye and let her monocle
drop.
“Yes! isn't she, perfectly simple. Refreshing, isn't
it? That little remark about adoring men was de-
licious. Why shouldn't she adore men? I’ve always
loved ’em. We'll agree on that point, anyway.”
Captain and Mrs. Hall did not discuss the situation
on the way home, for the simple reason that the Master


SUSPICION 39
insisted on driving his own car, a thing he very rarely
did, having a profound contempt for man-made modes
of locomotion. Saidie never drove in anything that
had not a limousine top. The weather was never
right for an open car. The sun was either too hot and
the dust too thick, or the wind was too cold and the
mud too liquid. She never permitted herself to be
blown about in any other attire than in strictly ortho-
dox riding kit, which so transformed her naturally
elaborate appearance that she constantly escaped rec-
ognition. Indeed, she was generally known in the field
by the horses she rode.
“That's the Master's high-flyer. Mrs. Hall must
be up,” was a common enough remark heard at cover-
side.
At dinner Captain Hall was well aware that Mrs.
Davenant would be “threshed out,” and he appeared
at the table in a very cheerful and conciliatory mood.
“Well, Saidie! What's your paddock final on the
ladies at Little Glentworth?” he inquired, dashing at
once into the thick of things.
“What's yours?” retorted his wife pertly.
Jim was in no way disconcerted. “Oh! I fancy
they're all right so far as one can judge, but a woman
understands those sort of things better than a man,
I always think.”
His voice was careless and slightly patronizing, and
he did not specify what “those sort of things” were.
He left that to the imagination.
“Did you notice her pearls? They were real, and
if there was one there were fifty; only half the rope
showed, the rest was tucked inside her gown.”
“Pearls! Whose pearls?” inquired the Master, rais-
ing his boyish, innocent face.


40 THE BEAUTIFUL MRS. DAVENANT
“Mrs. Davenant's, of course. I can't quite get to
rock bottom of her. Is she very deep or very shallow?”
Jim Hall knew perfectly what was in his wife's
mind. Those three little words, “I adore men.” Well!
no doubt the compliment was returned with compound
interest. She was a stunning beauty and a rattling
good sort. He was sorry she didn't ride. There were
so many little opportunities of being civil to women in
the field, in which a Master could indulge with perfect
circumspection. However, there might be other oppor-
tunities.
“Rather soon to form any definite conclusions on
that point,” he answered airily. “Miss Howard's a
fine specimen of a ‘has been.’ Wonder why she never
married.”
“I wonder why Mrs. Davenant never re-married.”
“Once bitten, twice shy,” observed Jim foolishly.
“That proverb never applied to any living soul over
ten years old,” retorted Saidie with conviction. “When
a woman's made a bad shot she always wants to re-
cover her losses. It's like playing at Monte. You
know how we always try to get back. If I make a
good shot I always want to double it. Another thing,
women are getting so much like men, nowadays.
They like variety.”
“Oh! my dear!” expostulated the Master.
Saidie laughed wickedly. “Well! don't men take
what they like? No, there's some other reason why
Mrs. Davenant remains a widow. When a man doesn't
marry it's because he's waiting for some other
man to die, and when a woman doesn't marry it's
because she's waiting for some other woman to snuff.
It doesn't always come off, of course. It's a pure
gamble.”


SUSPICION 4I
“To which time has much to say,” put in the Master
jauntily.
“Oh, no, my dear. Age is merely a question of
mental outlook,” his wife assured him, “and really
if a woman makes a mistake in her second husband she
doesn't deserve to have lost her first.”
Thinking the matter over in bed that night, Jim
came to the conclusion that Saidie had been very non-
committal over the ladies of Little Glentworth. He
was hanged if he knew what she thought of them,
but he made up his mind he'd call in on his way home
from shooting on the morrow, and offer his services
to Mrs. Davenant over the matter of hunters. Poor
things, they had no man in the house, and it would
be neighborly to do what he could. He had picked
up one or two quite decent mounts since his return.
When Hilda Davenant and Agnes Howard found
themselves once more alone that evening, a change
crept over them both. That flashing smile, that gay
air of content vanished, and the lovely face of Mrs.
Davenant grew almost somber.
The sunset hour was passed, and the fading light
in the shadowy room seemed to reflect its pale melan-
choly on her thoughtful features. It was very quiet,
the world seemed already to fold its hands in slumber.
It was the hour which brought to Hilda Davenant
revolt, not peace.
“Nice people, nice kindly disposed people,” she
soliloquized, and her low voice was a little tremulous.
“What a type apart they are, those country-bred folk
with generations of fine tradition behind them. They
are really the only gentle-people left in England, and
they'll die hard. The war has simply passed over their
heads.”


42 THE BEAUTIFUL MRS. DAVENANT
Miss Howard was lighting a cigarette. She looked
curiously at the idle attitude of her companion, half
reclining on the sofa, her hands clasped behind her
head.
“Don’t forget that they and their retainers poured
out their blood like water in the war,” she demurred.
“Isn't it natural that they desire to revert to 1914?
I always felt sure they would. We were told there
would be an end to men-servants. All that survive
are back again in their old places. There were to be
no more men selling ribbons and laces. Every shop
swarms with them again, and never were there so many
motor-cars on the roads. Britain's one desire is to
forget the war, to jazz it out of their minds and revert
to pre-war conditions. Personally I think they are
wise. There's a deal of wisdom in the saying, ‘Let’s
eat, drink and be merry, for to-morrow we die.’ Those
who condemn it are those who can't follow it.”
Hilda seemed to be following the bent of her own
thoughts rather than listening to her companion.
“What wonderful revelations there are in a woman’s
face! Life writes its biography there, and every face
is a history in the making. The open street is a gallery
telling the history of the noble and the mean, the sad
and the joyous. What a smart, good-looking woman
Mrs. Carlton is. A regular masher!”
“Just what she isn't, my dear,” retorted Miss
Howard. “That get-up is only a signboard marked
“No road this way.” Once she must have been a
wonderfully pretty woman. When she was widowed
I guess she adopted that dress to save trouble. She
didn't want to marry again. She had her precious
only son.”
Hilda gravely considered the subject for a moment.


SUSPICION 43
“The interesting point about masculine women is
that it's impossible to imagine they ever were young.
Effeminate men never seem to age.”
Agnes laughed. “Yet Mrs. Carlton was once young
and was made love to. She's actually given birth to
a male child.”
Hilda looked round. Her face was quite serious
and deeply interested.
“It does seem preposterous, almost indecent, and
what a blessing the boy wasn't a girl. Now I could
imagine her laying an egg, as is the independent habit
of some mateless fowls. But a son! and such a son!
I'm sure her first question was ‘colt or filly, doctor?’”
“How can you be so flippant,” expostulated Miss
Howard. “So you do admire the son?”
“I admire them both immensely. If there was
such a thing, which there isn't, I'd say he was a
thoroughly English type, whose entire character rests
on the noiseless conviction that he's a man and a
gentleman.”
“A sort of John Bull?”
Hilda shook her head. “No, J. B. belongs to the
lower middle classes. He's a son of the soil. Major
Carlton is very much Lord of the Manor, and he actu-
ally quoted poetry to me which wasn't Kipling. If I
were writing a novel I'd make him fall madly in love
with the beautiful mysterious widow. I'd love him
passionately, divinely, and utterly blast his career by
producing a husband who for years has been confined
in a mad-house. I’ve often thought I’d write a novel
on my own life, not that there would be much novelty
in it except it's truth.”
“You’d be quite safe. No one would believe it.”
“No,” replied Hilda gravely. “You’ve got to im-


44 THE BEAUTIFUL MRS. DAVENANT
agine something quite inhuman if you want the critics
to cry ‘How true to life.” As if anything was ever
true to life! Life's as divergent as the human face,—
out of countless millions, no two alike. Have you
run across the parson yet?”
“The parson!” echoed Agnes in a bewildered tone.
Hilda waved an impatient hand. “Yes! the par-
son. How could there not be a parson in a scene like
this? Why, he's as necessary to the picture as the
village pond, and the ducks in the middle that stand
on their heads, and the geese who are always so
rude to strangers. I shall cultivate the parson.”
“Perhaps he won’t be cultivated,” suggested
Agnes.
“That won't matter or alter my determination. The
very word cultivate means taking trouble and strict
attention to detail. What's he like?”
“One whom it would pay to cultivate. A splendid
variety, Hilda, but don't overdo it.”
“My dear, if one means to do a thing then either
do it thoroughly or leave it alone. By the way, where
is that silver-bound prayer-book of mine, with the
long chain that hangs on the arm? I shall use it every
Sunday. I wonder if Major Carlton and the Master
go to church and pray into their hats in the good old-
fashioned way. I liked both these men. They're the
clean-bred country type that has a real standard to
live by. I sometimes think it's really rather wonderful
how we get on so well in our manless existence.”
“We get on all right without men because we've
got to,” retorted Agnes dogmatically.
“I fail to see the necessity.” Mrs. Davenant's voice
was dry. “We are really a triumph of art over nature,
but sometimes I think we're rather foolish not to take


SUSPICION 45
some of the very tempting things that come along.
Other women would.”
“Granted. We may be foolish to have no entangle-
ments, but remember it means freedom. It’s better
to live alone than in company with some solid facts
I could mention. What a woman of moods you are.
You were so gay and alluring this afternoon, and
now you are so inconsistent.”
Mrs. Davenant shrugged. “Only the dead are
consistent, and when one is either very happy, very
miserable, or deeply in love, one has to be superlatively
silly. I'm in that sort of humor that I could fall in
love in a station waiting-room.”
Miss Howard was accustomed to Hilda’s whimsies.
“You’re old enough to know better,” she laughed.
“Women are never any age till they cease to matter,”
she retorted, “and that's what nursemaids say to three-
year-old urchins who have got well astride a mud pie.
I daresay I'm silly, but I'd rather be a foolish widow
than a wise virgin, any day. I’d like the evening post
to bring me a letter beginning, ‘Dearest woman in the
world.’” *
“I should have thought that by now your appetite
for such epistles would have become somewhat jaded,”
retorted Agnes drily.
Mrs. Davenant jumped up and walked to the win-
dow, then she looked round.
“You thought nothing of the sort, my dear, because
you know as well as I do that there's no sound so
enchanting as the crackle of a love letter inside your
corsets. You know that to every right-minded woman
a love letter is the best pick-me-up invented. It
raises one's soul above even such sordid details as bills
and the water rate. If I was Postmaster-General I’d


46 THE BEAUTIFUL MRS. DAVENANT
institute a sacred delivery for love letters, and dress
the postman like Cupid, with wings.”
“What would you do in a frost, Hilda?”
“The supreme letter writer is the lover,” continued
Mrs. Davenant, scornful of the interruption.
“I’ve often heard that the most wonderful letters
are written in lunatic asylums,” persisted Agnes.
“That's because the really sane people only are
shut up. We who are at large are all mad on some
things, and most of us on most things. Ah! how
lovely it would be if I had a dearly beloved whom I
knew was thinking of me and loving me from day to
day. How heavenly to look forward to those hours
when my lips would say all that my pen failed to
express.”
“Do you feel lonely, Hilda?”
Mrs. Davenant shook her head emphatically. “No,
I've never felt lonely because I've dared to live. I
happen to be dead at present, but if ever I do feel
lonely, why, I shall come to life again and begin to
live afresh.”
“It's getting late for such adventures,” observed
Miss Howard drily.
“It's getting late,” echoed Hilda very gently, with
reminiscence in her eyes; then she flung out suddenly
and impatiently. “Oh! women might really have a
much better time if they weren't so wedded to lost
opportunities.”
“And lost causes and half-forlorn hopes,” put in
Agnes quietly. “You said some little time ago that
you'd finished with men, and that marriage was really
throwing up the sponge and crying Peccavi.”
“Ah! that was in a fit of boredom over Tristram,
or was it Fielding, I really forget. What I'm sure I


SUSPICION 47
meant was that there is no bargaining with love. If
a man isn't everything to a woman, then he's nothing.
That's where I’m so handicapped. I dare not take
everything which would include marriage.”
Agnes smiled rather bitterly. “Marriage is so con-
stantly a prison to a man and a workhouse to a woman.
She never really knows what work means till she mar-
ries.”
“Let's go for a stroll,” suggested Hilda. “You’re
in one of your “love is a mere matter of liver' moods.
Let us tramp it off.”


CHAPTER V
THE NAMELESS FEAR
“OUEER sort of old place, ain't it, miss?”
-. Letty Thorne started, and turned round
nervously at the sound of a human voice in the si-
lent wood. All she saw was the old gnome-like
gardener eating his dinner on a log of felled tim-
ber.
“Yes, it's a curious old place, but it might be very
beautiful if it was properly kept up, and not allowed
to fall into decay.”
The gnome nodded. “Most folks think the same.
I’ve knowed it man and boy for fifty years, and my
father knowed it longer before me, but he's gone and
the old house is going after him.”
“You mean it's dropping to pieces from neglect.”
The gnome wiped his clasp knife on his knee medi-
tatively.
“Aye, the house is going, and the fambly's going.
They’re wore out. I’ve seen three squires and none
of them bided long. There was Mr. Marmaduke
Thorpe. Then came his son, Mark. A rare wild one
he was, but as fine a man to look at as ever stepped,
and now there's this one, Mr. Geoffrey Thorpe. A
fambly's always on its last legs when it gets next heirs
in distant cousins. There's but one left after squire,
and he's single. Beggin' your pardon, I knows you're
48


THE NAMELESS FEAR 49
squire's niece, but you're only a woman, ye see, and
squire, he won't last long. He's never been the same
man since the fit he had.”
“I didn’t know he ever had a fit. When was it?”
inquired Letty suppressing an inclination to laugh at
the gnome's reflections.
“Oh! it must be nigh on seven years now, miss.
He'd been out to dinner, and he's never been out to
dinner since. He rose from his bed a changed man,
and wouldn't have any one nigh him but Mrs. Greatrex.
There must have been something queer happen. Maybe
he saw the ghost, any way he was a changed man.”
“Have you ever seen the ghost?” inquired Letty,
unconsciously dropping her voice.
“No, miss. I’ve seen nothing worse than myself,
but I’m not going to go the length of saying there's
nothing to see. Ghost or no ghost, there's summat
wrong, summat not quite right about the Lake House.
Maybe what I've not seen 'as been made up by what
I’ve 'eard.”
Letty shivered. She had a sudden disinclination to
pursue the subject.
“It must be kind of lonely for you 'ere, miss, with
nothing to talk to but Mrs. Greatrex. She ain't got
so much conversation as Balaam’s ass. Saving Mr.
'Arry Thorpe, there's not a livin' soul ever sets foot
in the Lake House, and ’e don't come very often.
They do say at the White Hart 'e's expected shortly.”
“Oh, I manage to get on all right,” replied Letty
hastily, unconscious of a brilliant blush, “but of course
it is lonely.”
Then she nodded pleasantly and walked on.
The old man stared after her. “A thrush down the
chimley this morning, which means a death,” he


50 THE BEAUTIFUL MRS. DAVENANT
muttered, nodding his head in a satisfied manner; then
he seated himself on the felled trunk. For a few
moments the delightful anticipations uppermost in
Letty's mind were quenched in mental pictures of that
night, seven years ago, when the strong man was
stricken down suddenly, and his strength taken from
him forever. It was not strange that she had heard
nothing of this before. Evidently Miss Fanny Thorpe
had not known of it, and who would be likely to speak
of it in that dumb house, where the very sound of her
own voice was beginning to strike the girl with a
spectral strangeness?
She had discovered nothing concerning the ghost
that was said to haunt the place. Yet in these first
long days of her residence in the Lake House there
had arisen, by degrees out of her solitude, a senseless
dread of something to which she could give no
11a1116.
It was a dread that followed her like a shadow
through the passages, that hovered in the dark corners
of the room, at night. Yet she could not explain, even
to herself, what it was she feared. She knew that
nervous fancies are apt to grow up in the brains of
those who live in solitude, and she could detect in her
uncle many evidences of secret troubles or weird
hallucinations, but she had only dwelt a week under
his roof, and it was early days for the demons of
isolation to fasten on her.
The reasoning powers with which she was liberally
endowed forced her to confess that this shadow which
haunted her had nothing in common with superstitious
fears. Something hateful which impregnated the
atmosphere roused an intangible back current of
thought, and the grim forbidding silence of the woman


THE NAMELESS FEAR 5I
in the kitchen mingled significantly with it like a con-
stant accompaniment. Not only at night, but in
broad daylight her footsteps were dogged by some
shadowy terror of a thing unseen but present, and it
compelled her when walking about the house, or in
the woods, to turn every now and then and stare behind
her. In short it was the presence of something she
could not understand, and having reasoned the matter
out thus far it remained all she knew concerning it.
She found her position a very strange one. She
went and came as she chose. No one asked her where
she had been or where she was going. No one con-
sulted her convenience or opinion. She did as she
pleased, and Sarah Greatrex ruled supreme.
She had no idea how Geoffrey Thorpe spent his
time. To her cheerful “Good morning,” he responded
with a curt nod, usually directed towards the table,
and very rarely he would echo her salutation, and
that was the extent of their daily intercourse. All
her efforts towards natural conversation were thwarted
by indomitable silence.
Her one joy in the day was the walk to the village
post office, where she found a letter awaiting her.
But for the comfort and solace of that daily gift of
love, she would have found it very hard to remain
amid such desolate surroundings.
It touched her to see how the old post-mistress
offered her a welcome, and encouraged her to sit down
and rest awhile, and how the villagers coming in and
out of the shop saluted her with a quiet sympathy in
their attitude.
It was quite clear to Letty that everybody in the
neighborhood regarded her as an object for sincere
pity, but no one ever mentioned the reason for this pity


52 THE BEAUTIFUL MRS. DAVENANT
in her hearing, and her sense of loyalty to her uncle
kept her silent on the subject of her loneliness.
That evening, as she reëntered the house the words
of the old gardener recurred to her, and taking up her
work she quietly seated herself by the window in the
chair she had adopted on her arrival.
Cautiously she watched her uncle, taking care that
he should not become aware of her doing so. As usual
he had not raised his eyes when she entered. He sat
by the table, his papers littered in front of him. A
pen was in his hand, but he did not use it. His back
was towards the portrait and when anything startled
him, and the slightest noise had that effect, he glanced
swiftly back over his shoulder at it. The trick puzzled
and fascinated Letty Thorne, for when in the room
she sensed in herself a strong impulse to do likewise.
Purposely she seated herself where the portrait was not
visible to her, but she never lost the consciousness of
its dominating presence.
The door opened suddenly, and the old man started
violently and repeated the habit, yet it was only Mrs.
Greatrex who entered.
She walked up to the mantelshelf where a purse
lay, took out some silver and said, “for the gardener.”
As Letty lifted her eyes she met those of Sarah full.
Her expression was strangely malignant, and it came
to Letty that her smallest action was known to this
strange, silent woman.
The hours passed as usual, in silence. The silver
dusk began to fall over fields and woodlands, and the
owls and bats stole forth on silent wing. A more
profound silence seemed to descend upon the old house
with the sinking of the sun, and Geoffrey Thorpe sat
motionless as if graven in stone. When the room was


THE NAMELESS FEAR 53
veiled in darkness Sarah entered with the one lamp
which she set upon the old man's table, and then came
the simple supper of bread, cheese and beer. Letty
had asked the housekeeper if she might have a lamp,
and had been curtly told that there was not one avail-
able, so directly after supper she went to her room with
the customary “good night,” so rarely responded to.
To-night she thought again of the old gardener's
words, “Maybe he saw the ghost.”
Somehow, Letty associated the ghost with the long
dark gallery outside her door. She pictured it passing
by there, slipping silently downstairs, and from thence
out into the coppice, where Geoffrey Thorpe might
have encountered it in the ghost's walk, that night
seven years ago.
Was it a male or female ghost? she wondered, then
in half-fearful scorn at her own weakness she resolute-
ly turned her mind from the haunting subject. She
told herself that there was that in her life for which
she had reason to be profoundly thankful. The future
was really full of infinite joy and happiness, and at last,
bathed in happy anticipation, she fell asleep.
Later on something happened which was to
banish slumber.
It seemed to Letty Thorne as if she had been un-
conscious for but a few moments, when she was broad
awake again, listening intently to footsteps in the long
gallery outside her door. They were stealthy, soft
steps, as if fearful of detection. Then came a sound
like a hand being quickly passed backwards and for-
wards along the wall at the head of her bed, and a click
which suggested a heavy key striking against a brass
candlestick.
For fully five minutes poor Letty lay bathed in a


54 THE BEAUTIFUL MRS. DAVENANT
cold sweat of pure fear, and her heart beat suffocatingly.
Then her strong common-sense came to her aid. She
took herself in hand and smiled at her own childish
fears. Had not Geoffrey Thorpe a right to walk about
his own house? Was not Sarah Greatrex free to
move about where and when she pleased ?
Then, suddenly the clock in the village church tower
struck two, and her fears leapt alive again. Instead
of a few minutes she had been asleep for about three
hours. Was it likely that the only two other occu-
pants of the house would still be up? Even if they
were what could they possibly be doing in the gallery
at such an hour? Both Sarah and Mr. Thorpe occu-
pied bedrooms in another part of the house. Letty
had discovered that the gallery only led to her own
room, and several of the others that were disused and
shut up, and which were reached by a dark passage
striking off at right angles from her door. The back
of the house, looking on the flagged court and ghost
walk beyond, was built in very irregular fashion, and
there were several little winding staircases leading to
rooms now crumbling to decay. She had considered
the situation of the rooms lying beyond her own, and
discovered that they must all necessarily look out on
the copse where the ghost walk took its rise. Standing
in the copse and looking back at the old house, she had
noted that the windows of those rooms were all closed
up, and apparently never opened, and several great.
trees had been allowed to extend their branches,
blocking up the window panes and spreading over
portions of the roof. t
Two o'clock in the morning and alone, and life at
the Lake House had not been calculated to strengthen
her, so far, against such thoughts as now assailed her.


THE NAMELESS FEAR 55
The shadows that lurked under the fine reasoning with
which she strove to satisfy herself, gave the lie to their
efficacy.
Unsolved mysteries drifted through her mind, and
she halted on the threshold of problems that had never
yet been elucidated, and to the consideration of which
both the timid and the daring bring a certain awe.
At that hour she could not have truthfully affirmed
a disbelief in the supernatural, though she might have
done so in broad daylight.
If, she argued now to herself, no such appearances
were possible, how was it that from the remotest ages
of man the very air around had been endued with a
subtle power to threaten the living with the dread
presence of the dead? The fact of her uncle's sudden
change from prodigality to penuriousness had now
become invested with a tragic interest, and somehow
its mysterious cause was connected with her present
fears.
No further noise broke on her ear, save the scratch-
ing of a mouse in the wainscot, and the hooting of the
numerous owls that built and reared their young un-
checked through the years. -
Counting the hours, Letty lay awake till a lovely
dawn called to her to rise and shake off the nightmare
dread of the Lake House.


CHAPTER VI
THE LOVERS
“(YH! Harry, I'm so indescribably happy.” Letty
raised her face from the tweed breast in which
it had been buried.
“Let me see, darling, how it looks to be indescribably
happy.”
Harry Thorpe took her face between his hands,
smiled into her eyes, then kissed her very long and
tenderly.
“Glad to see me, darling?” he asked in a hushed
voice of utter contentment.
“Words can't answer that question, Harry.”
“Lips can, Letty. No need for words.”
In a passion of love she surrendered herself to his
embraces. Never had her lover been so dear to her,
never had meeting been so precious to Letty as now,
when her nerves were shaken and jarred by the pre-
vious night's experience. Yet she dreaded speaking
of those fears which, even in his presence, she could
not wholly banish. Harry was nothing if not practical,
he was so full of strong common sense that she felt
heartily ashamed of her weakness. Added to which
the Lake House would be, if all went well, their future
home, and Letty was so alive to all its great possibil-
ities as a delightful residence that she shrank from
throwing upon it the smallest shadow. Harry loved it,
56


THE LOVERS 57
in spite of its gloom, for his imagination could readily
picture what it might become under new ownership
and she was intensely desirous of viewing the future
through his eyes.
“If only last night could be blotted out,” she
thought miserably through her smiles. In one of his
daily letters Harry had announced his coming, and
had arranged the place of meeting by the lake, where
stood a half-ruined summer house. It was a desolate
enough spot to all but lovers, who are or ought to be
impervious to their surroundings, but Harry knew
they would be quite undisturbed there. He was
perfectly well aware that the place was shunned by
all the countryside, but under the present circumstances
that was a distinct advantage, and he could have his
White Rose all to himself without fear of interruption.
He was as loth to speak to Letty of the mystery
attached to the place as she was loth to mention it.
to him, and for similar reasons. He had known for
some long time of the rumors, and that they were
freely discussed in the village, but he treated them with
a good-natured contempt, and attributed them to his
kinsman's great eccentricities.
The sheet of water, still called the lake, was now
nothing more than a large pond. The ghost walk led
straight to it through the thick wood tangled with
undergrowth. The weeds had encroached upon the
water year by year, there were deep portions still, and
the thickly-wooded edges were boggy and treacherous
to walk upon, but the side on which the summer-house
stood was high ground and perfectly dry.
With his arm about her they strolled along the edge
of the water till they reached the dilapidated arbor,
and seated there amidst crumbling wood, rank fungoid


58 THE BEAUTIFUL MRS. DAVENANT
growth, and blanketing moss. Letty looked out and
thought how lovely it all was and how exquisite were
the sky gleams of autumn sunshine that filtered
through the branches and fell upon the water like
golden javelins.
“How long can you stay, Harry?”
“I’ve only got a week, darling. I must set to
work with a will, now I'm home. We'll spend, how-
ever, every hour of it together that we can. Even if
the old chap does discover how much we mean to each
other I really don't care a hang.”
Alarm leapt into Letty's eyes. “Oh! but he mustn't,
Harry. You've no conception how he'd scoff and
sneer at us. I couldn't bear it.”
Harry hugged her closer to him. “He can't part
us, anyhow, and what would his sneers matter to us,
sweetheart? Another year and I’ll have saved enough
to make a nest for my beloved and we'll be married
and live happily forever after. I’m not one of those
chaps who are content to wait for dead men's shoes.
I prefer my own energy, but I want you to love the
Lake House, for if I survive Geoffrey Thorpe it will
be our home, and we’d soon make it look very different
to what it is now. It's the people who live within the
walls who make or mar the home. Now, tell me how
you're hitting it off with the old boy? Your letters
are very non-commital.”
Letty raised a suddenly troubled face from the
shoulder on which it rested.
“Oh! Harry, darling, I’m not hitting it off.
There's nothing to hit off. I might as well be the
guest of a mummy that has been buried a thousand
years. Both Mrs. Greatrex and Uncle are dumb crea-
tures.”


THE LOVERS 59
Harry laughed. “Why? Is not the old boy
communicative? He must surely talk sometimes. I
know he's beastly crusty, and he loathes the sight of
me because I’m his heir and he's powerless to disin-
herit me; and I’ve come through, but perhaps that's
only natural. I’m coming to lunch to-day.”
“To lunch, Harry?” Letty gasped. “You don't
mean to say he's invited you? How thrilling!”
“No, I don't mean to go quite so far as that,
darling,” retorted Harry rather grimly. “I mean that
I’m going to invite myself and see what happens.
I'm not going to behave in any secret underhand,
manner. The Lake House is still his property, and
it's only right that he should know of my arrival, so
I’m coming back with you to lunch. I’m rather in a
blue funk. He'll be in a deuce of a rage, but it'll be
rather fun to see how he takes it.”
“I’m not so sure that it'll be exactly fun, Harry.
There's nothing in the least funny about Uncle
Geoffrey.”
“So you seem to think, darling, but I’m rather
big for him to kick out, and I'm so happy to-day that
I feel like bearding Beelzebub himself. Besides, it'll
be a sort of satisfaction to get a rise out of that old
hag, Sarah. If I live to inherit she'll go in double
quick time.”
“But if we go back together, Harry, Uncle will
wonder how we met and there will have to be ex-
planations,” demurred Letty.
“Leave that to me, sweetheart. All you've got
to do is to follow my lead. I must first of all see in
what direction the wind blows.”
“It’s always in the bleak north here, Harry.”
“Except at such moments as this.” -


THE LOVERS 61
awfully kind your are to her and what a ripping time
she's having and all that sort of thing, and knowing
your hospitable nature I’ve come to ask for a bit of
lunch.”
“My niece did not invite you?”
The words dropped like ice from the old man's
parched lips. He was literally being consumed by the
fires of his own fury, and his eyes blazed from out
their sunken sockets like those of a wild animal.
Harry had turned apparently quite at his ease and
tossed his cap into a chair. Now he wheeled round
again and his expression was smiling and guileless as
that of a child.
“Invite me, sir! Why, no,” he laughed reproach-
fully. “She knew I needed no invitation. Haven't
you and I known each other for years and aren't we
kinsmen? How jolly well you look, sir. Been enjoy-
ing this fine summer?” -
Mr. Thorpe made no reply to the question. He
was choking with rage, and his voice was husky and
quivering.
“How long do you mean to stay?”
“Oh! I am in no hurry. The White Hart is most
comfortable and every one's so jolly kind. It's really
not such a bad world as some folk make out. Don't
you find there really is a lot of kindness knocking about
in unexpected places?”
Geoffrey Thorpe turned petulantly aside as Sarah
Greatrex entered, and Letty, who was consumed with
suppressed merriment when she looked at Harry, and
with actual fear when she looked at her uncle's face
distorted with rage, seized the opportunity to make
her escape.
Mrs. Greatrex stalked aggressively forward, bris-


62 THE BEAUTIFUL MRS. DAVENANT
tling with anger, and scowling at the intruder from
under her shaggy brows. She was about to speak
when Harry forestalled her. He bowed flippantly.
“Morning! Ripping day, isn't it? The sort of
day that makes you feel at peace with all the world,
purifies the temper and kills the slugs. Mr. Thorpe
has kindly asked me to stop to lunch, but I’d be vastly
obliged if you'd draw me a tankard of ale straight
away. I'm as thirsty as the Sahara. The bacon at
the White Hart's as salt as Lot's wife. Or would
you rather I saved you the trouble and drew it my-
Self P”
He made a step towards the door, and the two
pairs of eyes met as in a duel. Then the woman's
eyes fell before the implacable, bright determination
they encountered. Without a word she left the room
to do his bidding.
Harry sat down and fixed his young eyes upon the
haggard face of his kinsman. The sun was moving
westward. It poured into the old room through the
western window, where the escutcheon of the family
shone down in stained glass, and the name of “Thorpe”
glowed in ancient lettering. Geoffrey Thorpe had
lowered his head and was fumbling nervously amongst
his papers. His clawlike hands shook like withered
leaves, and betrayed strong emotion which Harry
suspected to be anger. He glanced away and round
the room, waiting for that anger to subside. “What a
pitiful old age,” he thought. “What has come to the
old man to make him look like that? He might be
so happy if he'd let me look after him, and pull the
old place together and arrest this awful decay. Is there
something to hide, or is it a brain disorder?” Harry
concluded it must be the latter. What could Geoffrey


THE LOVERS 63
Thorpe have to hide? He could think of nothing,
knowing all his circumstances.
The walls of the room he sat in were paneled in
diaper-patterned oak, and some fine pictures hung in
places. They accorded ill, in their mellowed beauty,
with the portrait hanging behind Geoffrey Thorpe's
chair. Harry hated it. The furniture, bookcases
choked with dust-laden volumes, and heavily carved
chairs, were fine specimens dating from Jacobean days.
A couple of richly carved chests gaped open, dis-
gorging rolls of yellow parchment heavily sealed.
“What a room for an antiquary to be let loose in,”
thought Harry.
Then Mrs. Greatrex entered carrying a foaming
tankard of battered silver bearing the Thorpe
COat.
Harry rose and took it from her with a word of
thanks, then, as the door closed behind her again, he
turned to his kinsman.
“Sir! Your very good health.”
There was no acknowledgment of the toast and
Harry took a long draught.
“By Jove! What ale!” he exclaimed; “it’s nectar
of the gods, drawn pure and cool straight from the
cellar. The beer the outside world drinks now is sorry
Stuff.”
The old man took no notice of the remark but con-
tinued to fumble amongst his papers. “So this is
what Letty has to put up with, is it?” thought Harry.
“I’ll have another try. Nothing like patience and
perseverance.”
“I suppose you take a stroll every day this fine
weather?”
“I never go out.”


64 THE BEAUTIFUL MRS. DAVENANT
The reply was rapped forth so sharply that Harry
almost jumped.
“That seems a pity,” he commented. “Surely it
would do you good to get out into the sunshine?”
No reply was vouchsafed to this suggestion, and
at that moment Letty entered, and with a swift smile
walked to her chair by the broad latticed window.
Harry followed her, and took a seat near, watching
her as she sat looking out with hands folded in her
lap. The sunshine gleaming on the pale gold threads
of her hair added a vivid calmness, like flowers at
evening, to the delicate face. The picture of her
seated there amid age and decay stayed with Harry
long afterwards. The wide gray eyes had that liquid
look which speaks of a mind full of untold things
rather than external objects; nothing blurred or un-
finished, but only like a perfect white flower with a
faint tinge of color in its petals.
The midday dinner, though strictly plain, was ex-
ceedingly good and well cooked. A leg of tender
home-grown mutton, served with potatoes that were
balls of flour, and a rice pudding to follow. The
whole washed down by ten-year-old brown ale in a
foaming goblet.
During the meal Harry was thoroughly at his ease.
He looked, talked, and acted like one who took for
granted the courtesy which he would have exercised
himself, had the circumstances been reversed. The
old man's impenetrable exterior and harsh rejoinders
made no more impression upon him than Sarah's face,
which was bitter beyond words as she condescended
to set the food before them on the table. He kept
up a light, running conversation with Letty, who ably
seconded his endeavors to be cheerful, but there was


66 THE BEAUTIFUL MRS. DAVENANT
young man, remember, would not be recognizable now
if he were still alive.”
Harry smiled indolently and shrugged his shoulders.
“I’m afraid, sir, you can't stop people talking. How
old was Mark Thorpe when he left this country?”
“I don't remember,” was the gruff retort.
Harry changed the subject, turning to Letty and
asking her if she had heard any news of her pupil.
“Yes! I had a letter yesterday from her mother.
Gladys is not well, and there is just a chance of their
not returning to London for some months. In that
case I should at once look out for another situation.”
“There will be no necessity for you to do that.”
It was Geoffrey Thorpe who spoke, and both the
young people glanced at him in undisguised amaze-
ment. The tone of his voice had utterly changed—
it was conciliatory, almost suave.
“I’m well aware, niece, that this is no cheerful
abode for the young, but you are welcome to remain
here so long as it suits your convenience.”
Letty had never heard her uncle make so long a
speech before, and she stammered out her thanks in
rather haphazard fashion. She had been under the
firm conviction that he was counting the days till her
departure. Now he offered her unlimited hospitality.
“You know my ways by now, and you do not in-
terrupt me. I am old and a recluse, but if you can put
up with these conditions I shall be pleased if you will
remain,” he concluded almost gently.
The girl's heart was touched, and she instantly
reproached herself for the utterly wrong view she had
formed of her uncle's character. She thanked him
again most warmly, and, the meal being over, she rose
and left the two men alone.


THE LOVERS 67
Geoffrey Thorpe's manner had indeed undergone a
startling change, which Harry noticed with secret
amazement. He talked now as his kinsman never
dreamed he could talk, in a nervous excited voice,
and two spots of scarlet shone on his pallid sunken
cheeks. He hobbled to a cupboard and brought out
with tender care an old cobwebbed bottle, pressing
its contents upon Harry. He seemed terribly anxious
to make full amends for his former incivility.
Meanwhile Letty had made her way back to the
trysting-place by the lake, and, as she surmised, her
lover was not very long in joining her.
“Wasn't it a success?” he exclaimed boyishly. “Why,
the old chap was simply tumbling over himself to be
civil before I tore myself away. Asked me to shoot
as many partridges as I liked, and showed me where
I’d always find a gun and cartridges. The only stipu-
lation was, I wasn't to disturb him more than I could
help. It seems he's awfully busy over some old papers
he's sorting out and does not want to be interrupted.
Says it breaks the thread of something or other. Of
course I assured him I shouldn't intrude. I’d just
take the gun and hook it, if I wished to shoot.”
“What can have changed him so suddenly, Harry?
I feel utterly bewildered.”
Harry laughed cheerfully. “Oh! of course the
old chap's awfully dotty,” he explained, “and dotty
people are never of one mind two minutes together.
I don't much fancy your being here, darling; at the
same time I’m jolly glad he's invited you to stay on.
That was an enormous concession for him to make,
and it shows he likes you. I'm his heir and you're
my future wife and future mistress here, and that
makes me feel that if you can do anything to make


68 THE BEAUTIFUL MRS. DAVENANT
life pleasanter for the poor old boy, it's a sort of duty
to do it.”
Letty pondered those words in her heart. Out-
wardly she fully agreed, but a little spark of suspicion
had leapt alive in her, and now she was not so sure of
Geoffrey Thorpe's good intentions. She hated herself
for it, but she could not help seeking for ulterior
motives. That swift change from surly, angry an-
tagonism to almost cringing civility was too sudden
to be convincing. Such thoughts she determined to
keep to herself. She had no intention of spoiling her
lover's holiday by sowing in him the seeds of suspicion
which would lead to anxiety on her account.
“I told him I’d be here a week, and that I was
putting up at the White Hart,” went on Harry in his
Happy voice, “and that I’d like, if he had no objection,
to come and have a look round every day, and he
was quite agreeable to that suggestion, so we'll meet
here as usual at eleven a.m. and spend our few
precious hours together. Oh! Letty, what a joy
you are to me and how you banish the gloom of the
old place.”
“Yes! I don’t think I could have stayed on but
for you, Harry.”
He noted the sudden seriousness of her voice. “It’s
so awfully lonely, you mean?”
“It’s not so much the loneliness as
“Well, darling! Out with it,” he urged.
For a moment there was silence, then she smiled
rather wistfully and shook her head.
“Let us talk of something else. You'd only laugh
at me, Harry.”
“Have I ever laughed at you?” He looked at her
now with an anxious expression on his face.


THE LOVERS 69
She slipped her hand into his. “I don't mean that
you'd scoff, but it would be hard for you to under-
stand how curious life is here. However, I mean to
stay on because I fully agree with all you've just been
saying. Now don't let us waste any more time. I
want to ask you a question.”
“Ask on, darling.”
“Do you think there's any foundation for that
gossip you spoke of at dinner? Could it be that Mark
Thorpe is still alive?”
“Foundation? Certainly not. Mark Thorpe's as
dead as mutton. If I thought he might be alive, how
could I look upon myself as this old man's successor?”
“Tell me about him, Harry. How did he die, and
where?” she persisted gently.
“He was last heard of on board a ship that never
reached port. That must be over ten years ago, and
it must be over twenty since he left this country. He
was an awful scamp, Letty. At one time he was in
prison, but that's about all I do know. I was too
young at that time to trouble my head about family
ſhistory. I just remember my father telling me the
story before he died.”
“And did he live here, Harry?”
“Yes, and squandered a considerable amount of
money before he went abroad. I’ve heard he was
wonderfully attractive and plausible. A chap who'd
charm a bird off a tree; but that's all old history,
finished and done with. Why are you so interested
in him, darling?”
Letty smiled. “I’m not really interested in him,
but in his portrait. It worries me. The eyes follow
me about the room.”
“I’ve heard that's a sign of a really good portrait,”


7o THE BEAUTIFUL MRS. DAVENANT -
declared Harry. “You must try, darling, not to let
the gloom of the place get on your nerves. Remember
how long it's been neglected, but it's capable of great
improvements, and some day I hope to make it look
very cheerful.”
They smiled into each other's eyes and then fell to
silence. The sun was moving westward and threw
a radiance upon their young faces. They both felt
what a wonderful thing in their lives was this deep
love for each other, and every fresh meeting brought
greater joy than the last. By the pool lay a hush as
if all nature extended to them sympathy and under-
stood their bliss. The trees threw great purple
shadows on the blue breast of the water, where moor-
hens swam and dived, and the fish, rising to the flies,
cast ring after ring and ripple after ripple to the banks.
The sky was silver gray and brooded like a dove above
them. The silence of the lovers seemed more full of
meaning than any words they had ever whispered.
Flop! A big fish, curved like a half moon, hurled
itself out of the water and dropped down again in a
shower of silver spray.
Harry sighed and looked at his watch.
“I must be off now, sweetheart. I've promised to
look in on one of the old farmers and have tea with
him. To-morrow at the same hour and place.”
They strolled together to the dilapidated iron gates
and Harry took her in his arms again. His love for
her was unbounded, a love which had leapt alive in
that first hour they met in Miss Thorpe's prim Ham-
mersmith parlor five years ago. In his way he was
as alone in life as Letty was, and the few hundreds a
year his dead parents had left him were not enough
on which to keep a wife; but his natural energy and


THE LOVERS 71
perseverance were spurred to their greatest effort by
the promise of the future, and in glowing colors he
pictured it with the girl of his heart enthroned as wife,
in the house his labor would win for her.
Letty re-entered the Lake House with a light step.
For the first time she forgot how dark and dismal it
was, and a tell-tale radiance was upon her face as she
opened the living-room door. The presence of her
uncle recalled her instantly to all the old difficulties.
His secretive, angry glance was full upon her, and his
passion seemed to rise as he noted the signs of happy
youth in her shining glance and delicately flushed
cheeks. His former conciliatory manner had vanished,
and it flashed across Letty that she had only dreamt it.
“How dare you invite that young cub into my
house?” he flared out violently. “I thought you under-
stood your position better. I deny you nothing in
reason, but I won't permit you to invite people inside
my property, my house. Recollect that,” he added,
banging his bony fist on the table.
“I never invited Harry Thorpe here, and he told
you so, Uncle.”
He disregarded her quiet denial. “I’ll not have
any one here,” he continued furiously. “I tell you
it's strictly forbidden. I won't have any one spying
about me and my belongings. You can tell Thorpe,
next time you see him, to keep his distance. He's
no right here till I'm dead. Now that's all I have to
say. You understand?”
Her lover's words came back to her. She had
been convinced from the first that her uncle's mind
was deranged and Harry thought the same. It made
her accept his violent onslaught with quiet, unruffled
dignity.


72 THE BEAUTIFUL MRS. DAVENANT
“Yes, uncle, I quite understand, and so far as T am
concerned your wishes shall be strictly respected,” she
replied gently; then she seated herself quietly in the
window and took up her sewing. Not another word
passed that night between uncle and niece.
Later, when she went to her room, her solitude was
lightened by the memories of the day and the blissful
hours she had passed with her lover. She could still
feel his kisses on her lips, and the strength of his
sheltering arms. -
His adoring words came back to her, and touched
ther with the consciousness that she was young and
devotedly loved. The future lying before her was
radiant with hope. Life was not always to be silent
and gloomy, and meanwhile she must bear with the
old man's whims, and strive to do all in her power to
lighten the sadness of his old age. Filled with these
thoughts she undressed and went to bed and to sleep.
She was roused thoroughly and completely. In
the actual room all was quiet, the window was wide
open and a splash of pale moonlight fell athwart the
black oak floor and heavy furniture. It was the same
story of the stealthy footsteps down the gallery, the
sliding movement of the phantom hand on the wall
behind her bed, and then the steps dying away again
into the distance. In her startled imagination she
followed them along the Ghost's Walk, through the
dark tangled wood to the lake. She measured the
tread of the furtive footsteps in the gallery, wondering
if they would return.
The lonely night wore on. The clock in the village
church tower tolled off the leaden-footed hours. The
pale moon set and the east grew rosy with dawn, but
the footsteps did not return.


THE LOVERS 73
Gradually her thoughts slid away into that other
world through which she loved to wander. Such
heavenly dreams covered with fresh spring fragrance,
the grave of the dying and the dead in which she now
seemed buried.


CHAPTER VII
MRS. DAVENANT MEETS HARRY
M RS. DAVENANT did not forget her promise
to write to Letty Thorne. She dispatched a
charming little note to her containing an invitation
to lunch for a couple of days ahead, and she found
herself looking forward with interested anticipation
to their meeting. She was eager to see the girl again,
not only because she liked her, and was curious to
know if she had been through any psychic experiences,
but because of an interest she took in Letty's present
surroundings.
There had been incidents. in the life of Mrs. Dave-
nant which had brought her into touch with certain
members of the Thorpe family. They were incidents
of long ago, and had no connection with the present
day, but they had been painful enough to leave scars
on her memory which would never be obliterated.
On mentioning her traveling companion to Miss
Howard, that lady had answered uncompromisingly—
“I told you so. You insisted on taking this house
and coming to live in this neighborhood in spite of
my warnings. Of course you were bound to come in
contact with some member of the Thorpe family.”
“What does it matter?” retorted Mrs. Davenant,
imperturbably. “I’ve done with them many a long
year ago.”
74


MRS. DAVENANT MEETS HARRY 75
“They may not have done with you.” Agnes
Howard spoke calmly, but she thought to herself that
it might matter a very great deal, and lead to endless
complications, but she did not say so. It might, on
the other hand, lead to nothing at all. Why anticipate
trouble? They had both gone through so much in the
past, and the present was so tranquil.
So the letter to Letty was written and posted, and
the girl at once showed it to her lover.
“Of course you'll go, darling,” he concluded.
“I thought of refusing. It'll be your last day,
Harry, and I don't want to lose a moment of you,”
she demurred.
“You won’t lose a moment, sweetheart. We'll
meet here as usual at eleven, and then I'll walk with
you as far as Little Glentworth, and after lunch we'll
meet again at some spot arranged. I'd like you to
make friends in the neighborhood. Though the old
man bangs his doors in the face of all and sundry, that
need not affect you. Go about as much as you can.
It'll ease the tedium, and every one about here knows
what he is. They'll understand that you can't invite
them back.”
Letty pondered on this sound advice. She was
depressed, and rather sad because of another letter she
had received making it clear that her pupil would not
require her services any longer. The girl was too ill
now to receive any tuition. This probably meant that
she would remain on at the Lake House for some
weeks longer. It was what Aunt Fanny advised, and
it seemed her fate. Harry broke in on those musings.
“I hear Mrs. Davenant has taken a long lease of
Little Glentworth. It's a lovely old place. What's
she like?”


MRS. DAVENANT MEETS HARRY 77
its wide main street, which was more a glorified lane
than anything else, and with one accord they paused
at the crowded little window of the one and only shop.
“Let’s buy some bull's eyes, they’re always ripping
in a place like this,” suggested Harry.
Letty hesitated. “Don’t you think it would be
wise to wait till after lunch?” she urged.
“I certainly think it would be wise,” said a laugh-
ing voice behind them, and, swinging round, they
found themselves face to face with Mrs. Davenant.
Harry laughingly uncovered, whilst Letty, with a
brilliant blush, shook hands.
“We were on our way to Little Glentworth—at
least I was. Harry—Mr. Thorpe was only taking me
as far as your gates,” explained Letty, rather inco-
herently.
Mrs. Davenant offered her hand to the young man
and her eyes danced with fun.
“Mr. Thorpe will, I hope, take us both to the
house and remain to luncheon. You are a relation of
Mr. Thorpe of the Lake House, I presume?”
“I am only his kinsman,” answered Harry, modest-
ly, “and also, of course, a kinsman of Miss Thorne's.
I’m spending a few days at the White Hart over
yonder. It's a nice, comfortable old inn. It's aw-
fully kind of you to invite me to lunch.” -
“So you're not stopping at the Lake House; I
wonder why not,” thought Mrs. Davenant. Aloud
she said smilingly: “I wish I'd known you were in
the village. I believe I'd have come to call. How
long are you staying?”
“I regret to say I go back to-morrow, and I’d
have been indeed honored to have received you in
the White Hart best parlor.”


78 THE BEAUTIFUL MRS. DAVENANT
She looked at him with her beautiful smiling eyes.
“I’m sorry you go so soon, and it's all the more reason
that you should accept my invitation now. Come!
Let's walk on, it's nearly half-past one, and you can
buy your bull's eyes after luncheon.”
She turned, as though the subject needed no further
discussion, and Harry, nothing loth, thanked her and
marched alongside.
For a few moments they kept up a running fire of
platitudes, then Mrs. Davenant glanced up at the six
feet of her companion and said demurely—
“I think I’ve seen you before, haven't I, Mr.
Thorpe?”
Harry steadily met the blue eyes innocently raised
to his. For a second or two he looked inquiringly into
them, striving to make up his mind upon a very im-
portant matter. Then he decided what action to
take.
“Yes, probably you saw me saying good-by to Letty
at Paddington, Mrs. Davenant.”
“Yes, that was when I did see you. In fact I could
thardly have helped seeing you, could I?” There was
demure fun in her voice. She had lowered her
eyes.
For a moment or two there was silence as the three
walked briskly forward, then Harry plunged. What
was the use of fencing with a woman towards whom
his instinct urged him to be perfectly open.
“I believe you're to be trusted, Mrs. Davenant,
but even if you aren't you've got the whip handle of
us. You saw us say good-by to one another, and I
freely own that what you saw was—well, implicating,
to say the least of it.”
“I did see you, and I thoroughly entered into the


MRS. DAVENANT MEETS HARRY 79
y
meaning of what I saw,” she retorted quite gravely.
Then she glanced up at him. “Mr. Thorpe, I’m to
be trusted, anyway where a love story is concerned.
You'd better make a clean breast of yours and no
more ado about the matter. You'll find me thoroughly
sympathetic.”
“I Wonder!”
“You don't really. Try me and prove it. Why
should I be different to others? Look at any book-
stall you like and you'll soon see what the popular
literature consists of. The pictures wrapping the
majority of the books represent a man and a woman
embracing, or about toº embrace. Love is the subject
that never palls, that never loses its infinite attractions.
Kingdoms and kings may rise and fall, but love goes
on forever. It is the only subject that has ever been
known to hold the sustained interest of the British
race. People marveled at the welcome given to
Hawker. They didn't see through the Daily Mail's
consummate understanding of human nature in giving
us daily pictures of Mrs. Hawker and the baby. It
was love, the young wife and baby waiting at home,
that really roused that ovation. The public didn't
care twopence about the Atlantic. All they cared
for was to see love re-united.”
Harry capitulated amidst laughter. “It’s most aw-
fully decent of you to take an interest in us, Mrs.
Davenant, and I don't mind telling you exactly how
Letty and I stand,” he went on recklessly. “You see,
we love each other. We're engaged, but privately,
that's all there is to it.”
“Privately! That means you've met with opposi-
tion which, after all, is only set up to be knocked
down. Who opposes you, Mr. Harry?”


80 THE BEAUTIFUL MRS. DAVENANT
“Miss Thorpe. She's warned me off the Hammer-
smith premises, and made the deuce of a row over our
meeting, even when I was over on a day or two's
1eave.”
“The devil she did,” laughed Mrs. Davenant. “Sup-
posing she should continue to refuse her con-
sent?”
He shook his head and set his lips. “It won't
make the smallest difference to us in the long run,
but as her house is Letty's only home, we have to be
cautious in the meanwhile till we can afford to defy
her.”
“But why should she object to your engagement?”
persisted Hilda.
“Oh! just dog in the mangerism and pure cussed-
ness. She doesn't want Letty herself, and she doesn't
want any one else to have her if she can prevent
it.”
“What an attractive character Miss Thorpe is
possessed of,” laughed Hilda. “She seems to share
some of Uncle's peculiarities.”
“Oh! Uncle, he's much worse,” burst out Letty.
“He must never know we're engaged. Our love for
one another is far too sacred and precious a thing to
be trampled upon and sneered at by him. He'd be
hideously sarcastic if he knew. Oh! you don't know
what he is!”
“I can imagine, even though I’ve never seen the
old gentleman. I think of him as a sort of old
Scrooge. Now tell me, when do you propose to get
married? Remember, even love's not enough to begin
on, and much less is it enough to live by.”
“The first moment I’ve earned enough to keep a
wife,” declared Harry, promptly. “I hope that'll be


MRS. DAVENANT MEETS HARRY 81.
in about another year to eighteen months. It's not
so long to wait.”
“Not so long to wait! Why, a year's a lifetime,
and you’ve lost five already, and even love's young
dream hasn't solved the problem of perpetual youth,”
exclaimed Mrs. Davenant.
“It’s not a lifetime when you're in love. Then a
year's only about ten minutes, and our meetings are
only about one second. This week's passed like wink-
ing.”
“I suppose, after all, it would be like that,” mused
Hilda with a trace of melancholy.
“You won't give us away, Mrs. Davenant?”
“I’d die sooner. I’m as safe as a safe deposit.
What's more, I’ll do all I can to help you. The vicar,
Mr. Warburton, is coming to lunch. So we'll have
to bluff a little in his presence, but there'll be no need
to bluff in mine.”
“I know Warburton and like him awfully,” de-
clared Harry, “and it’s extraordinarily good of you
to be so friendly towards us. When I'm gone it'll be
a great comfort to me to think Letty's got a friend in
you. It's a sad sort of life for her at the Lake House.”
“Are you friendly with Mr. Thorpe?” asked
Hilda.
“Hardly friendly,” confessed Harry. “He has to
tolerate me to a certain extent, because I succeed him
in the property.”
“Ah! that does make the situation much more
thrilling,” she exclaimed, looking up more seriously
at him. “So you're the next-of-kin. That's really
very interesting.”
“Yes! I'm the next-of-kin. Had my father lived
he would have succeeded. Mark Thorpe was still


82 THE BEAUTIFUL MRS. DAVENANT
alive when I was a lad. Geoffrey, the present man,
succeeded him, and my father would have been the
next heir had he lived.”
“And what happened to Mark Thorpe?” asked
Hilda, deeply interested.
“He was drowned in a shipwreck years ago, and
I'm afraid he wasn't much loss. He was always a
real rotter, and we never heard very much about him.
Luckily he left no progeny to inherit his villainies.”
“That was a mercy,” exclaimed Mrs. Davenant;
“but there's always a black sheep in every family.
Sometimes there's even quite a large flock. Well!
I hope when you and Letty marry and succeed to the
Lake House you'll turn out all the ghosts. I’m told
there are flocks of them.”
Mrs. Davenant, as she spoke, glanced gayly at the
girl, and a queer little thrill ran through her.
“She's actually seen something,” she thought in-
stantly, as she met full the wide gray eyes. If ever
fear was expressed on any face it was expressed on
that of Letty Thorne.
“Oh! that's all tommy rot, Mrs. Davenant,” Harry
assured her smilingly. “The truth is, Geoffrey Thorpe
himself sent abroad the rumor that the old place is
badly haunted, just to keep away the neighbors. He's
a hermit and hardly sane.”
Letty Thorne said nothing, and they turned in at
the lodge gate of Little Glentworth and walked briskly
up the half-mile drive. Mrs. Davenant apparently
accepted Harry's explanation and changed the con-
versation. When he had departed she would find an
opportunity of discovering all the girl knew.
When they entered the drawing-room they found
Miss Howard entertaining Mr. Warburton. A tall


MRS. DAVENANT MEETS HARRY 83
intellectual-looking man, who had a quiet fund of
humor and a very broad outlook on the world.
“I’ve brought Mr. Harry Thorpe to lunch,” said
Mrs. Davenant as she shook hands and made her
guests known to one another. “He’s been staying at
the White Hart, and I'm so sorry I’ve only discovered
him as he's leaving.”
“And I’ve had bad luck in missing you. When
you came to see me, and I went to see you. They told
me at the inn that you were away at the Lake House,”
said Warburton.
“I was very busy enjoying a holiday,” laughed
Harry a trifle self-consciously, “and I’m off back to
work to-morrow; however, I hope to return before
very long, sir.”
Warburton turned and sat down beside Letty, re-
garding her with interested scrutiny. He had heard
of her arrival, but had not chanced to see her before.
She suddenly appealed to the tenderness of his nature.
The smooth skin, almost waxen in texture, had a
suggestion of delicacy, and the wistful glance of the
large gray eyes in repose made up an effect which
Warburton found touched him a good deal.
“I wish I could offer to be of some use to you,
Miss Thorne. I heard of your arrival, but you prob-
ably know that your uncle bars us all out.”
“Alas! yes, I do know that. He makes no secret
of it. I wish he wasn't so very peculiar,” answered
Letty, regretfully.
Warburton smiled reassuringly. “Oh! well, after
all, Mr. Thorpe has a right to be peculiar, so long as
he doesn't harm any one else in being so. If he prefers
perfect solitude, why shouldn't he have it? But I
fear it's rather a dull life for you, and I was delighted


84 THE BEAUTIFUL MRS. DAVENANT
to hear from Mrs. Davenant that she's persuaded you
to come here to-day.”
“Oh! I don't mind dullness in the least,” declared
Letty, earnestly, “and Uncle gives me perfect liberty.
The fact is, he's not normal, poor dear; that's the real
root of the trouble.”
“Does he know you are lunching here to-day?”
asked Mrs. Davenant.
Letty blushed suddenly, and looked startled and
distressed.
“Oh! no. I never dreamed of asking him if I
might come.”
“And he won't ask where you've been on your
return ?”
The girl shook her head, and answered with a pretty
little touch of defiance—
“He hardly ever speaks, and he doesn’t take the
faintest interest in my movements. If he did ask, of
course I should be perfectly frank with him. Why
should I not?”
“Why, indeed; but what a strange existence for .
any man to lead,” murmured Warburton. “I am
profoundly sorry for him.”
“So am I,” responded Letty, quietly, “because he
always seems so terribly unhappy.”
They went in to lunch, and the Lake House was
forgotten in the gayer topics that were introduced by
Mrs. Davenant and ably seconded by Agnes Howard
and Warburton, but every now and again the vicar's
eyes strayed first to Letty and then to Harry in a
puzzled way. He was clearly trying to decide upon
their relationship. Mrs. Davenant was more inter-
ested than ever in her young friend. She had expected)
her to be shy and nervous, with the gauchiness of


MRS. DAVENANT MEETS HARRY 85
youth and an obscure life, but Letty had serenity, a
rare quality in a girl of her age. She could be merry
upon occasion in a gentle, tranquil way, and as her
self-confidence expanded under the shelter of their
growing intimacy she disclosed plenty of initiative and
individuality. Hilda also felt much admiration for
Harry Thorpe. She liked his quiet, self-respecting air,
as of one who, having thus far won the battle of
life, has the longing for wider conflict. She felt in-
stinctively he was a true and earnest soul, and she
suspected he set a high value on the future, and what
life would be worth to himself and others. He would
neither be seriously thwarted nor trifled with, and
he would prefer self-help to being helped.
“Even I could not tear him away from the pale
little girl he loves,” she thought, with a backward
glance into her past, “but I’d never try. I've always
tried to play the game, and I’m too much in love with
love to wound it.” Then she looked at Harry with
calm, clear eyes, prematurely old in the experience of
life.


CHAPTER VIII
LOCAL GOSSIP
“Whº a dream place,” said Hilda Davenant
to herself, when for the first time she gazed
upon the Lake House.
Hilda was an excellent walker and she loved ex-
ercise. The fact had helped materially to preserve
her youth and beauty. Clad in short tweed skirt,
sports coat, and low-heeled, stoutly soled boots, she
had just covered three miles, and felt no fatigue or
reluctance to cover another three on the return jour-
ney.
“Yes, what a dream place!” she repeated softly
and meditatively, as, leaning on her stick, she sur-
veyed her lonely and beautiful surroundings.
She had gradually come to know exactly where
the Lake House was situated, and had mapped out
its geography for herself. She concluded that by
following certain lanes and paths across the fields,
she could come within sight of the place, and avoid
all high roads and established approaches. Quietly,
and without mentioning the fact to any one, she had
learned how to reach the spot she longed to look
upon.
It was early on a brilliant October afternoon that
she had carried out her plan, and now she felt reward-
ed. Across bare stubbles, across dry ditches still blind
86


LOCAL GOSSIP 87
with luxuriant foliage, through narrow, overhung
lanes and wide green pasturages she had reached her
destination, and not once had she ‘needed to inquire
her way, which was lucky. She had met only one
very infirm old laborer, and numerous cattle and graz-
ing horses that had lifted their heads and stared in
astonishment at so unusual an apparition.
Hilda found herself on the opposite side of the
lake to that on which the house was situated. She
stood amidst very rough ground, grass-grown and
starred with large brilliant scarlet fungi. Sparse and
ancient firs rose at intervals, and numerous dead giants
of the forest lay prone where the wind had laid
them.
Immediately in front of her the land shelved
abruptly down towards the lake. Here and there
were narrow tracks made by poachers, sheep and
rabbits, amongst the confused wilderness of great
bowlders, enormous plumes of ferns, and a network
of branches. The lake lay like a sheet of dull silver,
not a breath moving its surface, long purple shadows
of trees and cloud motionless upon its bosom. On
the other side of the water from where she stood lay
the remains of a summerhouse. Once it had pre-
tended to be a Greek temple, now it was nothing but
a confused heap of rotting timber. It stood on higher
ground above the lake, and its back was turned to a
dense wood which lay between the lake and the Lake
House.
From the elevation upon which Mrs. Davenant
stood, and the angle at which she chanced to catch
it, she could see the house around which so much
mystery had gathered. The sun fell full upon the
long beamed frontage, of what Claude Carlton had


88 THE BEAUTIFUL MRS. DAVENANT
spoken of as one of the finest examples of black and
white architecture in England. Sunshine bathed the
great smokeless chimney stacks, and latticed windows
in a blaze of shimmering gold, yet over all there seemed
to hang an atmosphere of profoundest melancholy.
It lay there so silent, so bereft of all those cheerful
stirring sounds of life attendant on a great property.
At Great Glentworth on such a golden afternoon the
guns would be popping in the stubbles or at the cover-
side. Foresters would be busy with the ax, the saw
and the pruning knife. There would be the jingle of
harness from that old sloth, the plow, as she crept
across the chocolate-colored furrows. There would
be the lowing of the Jersey herd at the approach of
milking time, and the neighing of one horse to another
across the pastures. The whistle of Claude Carlton
to his dogs, as they investigated the rabbit holes in the
hedges and ditches, and the voices of men and women
working in orchard and garden.
Here were no signs of human life, though wild life
was present in abundance. A pair of herons fished
knee-deep at the edge of the water, and the white
scuds of rabbits flashed everywhere. Above, motion-
less on outstretched pinions, a hawk was poised, and
a raven sailed by on indolent wing, pursued by a flock
of foolhardy little birds, whose pugnacity was strong-
er than their sense of preservation.
Mrs. Davenant gazed long and earnestly on the
scene, and her face was very sad and tragic. It
brought back to her certain incidents in her life that
she never cared to dwell upon. They were closed for-
ever, but the memory remained and it hurt. She had
so often in days gone by pictured the Lake House to
herself. Now, actually face to face with the reality,


LOCAL GOSSIP 89
it seemed to bring back with startling clarity incidents
she fain would have forgotten.
She shook herself clear of her dreams at last and
peered in front of her.
“Yes, I think I might venture. There doesn't
seem to be a living soul about,” she said out loud to
herself, and then she began to make the rough, steep
descent to the edge of the lake. In another ten
minutes she stood on flat ground, rather breathless
and untidy from the stern opposition nature had
shown towards her intentions, but comfortably trium-
phant at having carried out her object. She walked
slowly round the bend of the lake till she reached
the summerhouse, into which she penetrated, and
sat down on the crazy seat to rest and think
awhile.
One could dream here in the warm hushed silence.
One could make love here, secure from observation.
Was this where Harry and Letty came to pour out
their mutual adoration? Was this where the ghost
walked, and who was the ghost, she wondered? It
was surprising how uncommunicative Letty was on,
the subject. Mrs. Davenant could and did appreciate
the fact that Miss Thorne was the future mistress of
the Lake House, and naturally would not desire to
add to the evil reputation of her home, but she thought
that Letty might have confided to her some little
thrills, some little gray mystery. The truth was that
though Mrs. Davenant was so keen on hearing all
about the ghost, she did not really believe in its exist-
ence, and she had unconsciously adopted Harry
Thorpe's explanation that the old man had himself
set afloat the rumors to defend himself against all
intruders, and frighten all and sundry from his doors.


90 THE BEAUTIFUL MRS. DAVENANT
Why he should desire this utter solitude was doubtless
explained by insanity. Claude Carlton always spoke
of him as insane, and such seemed to be the general
opinion.
Now the utter peace of her surroundings began to
sink into the very heart of her being, and she was
conscious of a sense of contentment hitherto unknown.
She told herself that she was really happy at Little
Glentworth, happier than she had ever been. Country
life seemed to suit her, and she adored lovely scenery
and wild life. The placid, dignified existence of the
landed gentry had always appealed to her in the pre-
war days when she paid country visits. There was
such an atmosphere of freedom from worry and care,
and again such homes were being reconstructed upon
their original lines. There were once more the
numerous well-trained domestics under the tyranny
of efficient housekeepers, and the same staffs of soft-
footed men servants, who had returned slightly dam-
aged and grateful for peace. To be waited upon, hand
and foot, and only have to interview the head game-
keeper, and the land agent who drew the rents was
an ideal arrangement.
The wonderful unpunctuality of such lives was
attractive. None now dreamed of getting up early,
unless sport demanded an effort. Breakfast hung
about till all hours, and the groaning luncheon boards
humbly awaited the pleasure of the trenchermen to
lighten their weight.
On those big estates food was no real difficulty.
Fish in the river, cattle and sheep on the pastures,
game and rabbits in the covers, grain, vegetables,
roots and fruit, home-grown in abundance. A dairy
with a safe supply of butter, milk and cream. Doubt-


LOCAL GOSSIP 9I
less there had been a certain respect for the Food
Controller's orders, but there had never been any real
dearth. That sense of freedom from the law, and the
prevailing economic conditions appealed strongly to
Hilda's independent soul.
The life at Little Glentworth appealed to her also.
She enjoyed having no engagements to keep, save an
occasional luncheon or tea. She was free to dispose
of her days as she pleased. She had become bored with
London through sheer fatigue.
Before the war she had racketed persistently and
pertinaciously, because every one else racketed, and
she wished to keep step with the world. London
liked her, and with ample funds, a knowledge of the
ropes and but few prejudices, she had kept pace with
the rapidest.
Then war broke. “Business as usual” was con-
strued into pleasure as usual. The license of the times
at first appalled her, then amused her, more often it
repulsed her. She saw all moral sense scattered to
the four winds of heaven, all classes abandoning them-
selves to unbridled freedom of moral action. She
looked on, secretly wondering, whilst a stupendous
avalanche overtook her sex and altered their entire
future. Her set had but one object, to forget the
horrors of war, and to assist the men on leave to
forget their misery.
The last two years had brought about great
changes. Automobiles were slung up in private
garages, and there were no taxis. Her set went to
work.
Hilda Davenant did her bit in a hospital war depôt
all day, and walked to her evening entertainments.
She dined, and danced, and supped at night, bringing


94 THE BEAUTIFUL MRS. DAVENANT
What was she here for, anyway? Where was she
aiming for? What was her object in life? There
seemed to be no answer to these questions.
She had become aware of a great void, with no so-
lution offering itself as to how it might be filled. As
physical languor wore off in the new peace and health-
ier life, other thoughts obtruded, and looming large
was the oppression of a future empty of natural in-
terest.
Meanwhile she was simply drifting, but the void
was there. Her temperament was warm and impul-
sive, and capable of great and lasting devotion, and
she knew that her powers of loving were being ruth-
lessly wasted. She had always been in love with
love, but the outflow of her nature was checked at its
source by some inexorable destiny.
The shadows were lengthening and the sun was
nearing the brow of the cliff. Another minute or two
and it would dip behind, and the lake would be plunged
in gloom.
Mrs. Davenant roused herself from out her medi-
tations, and prepared to stroll homewards. From
where she sat she could discern a tiny pathway winding
round the face of the cliff, and by which she could
regain her former route, with the long stretches of
pasture and ragged hedges lying between her and the
village of Great Glentworth.
“I shall come here often again,” she told herself,
looking back upon the scene she had just left; “there's
something strangely attractive to me in its silent ruina-
tion, it's so like my own life.”
She walked slowly, pondering over those problems
with which her mind had been filled all afternoon,


96 THE BEAUTIFUL MRS. DAVENANT
off into quite a new track. I’ve left all the fun and
frolic, and the reckless sort of comradeship one forms,
and I’ve come down to this sleepy hollow to gain fresh
experiences of a wholly different kind.”
For a moment she looked full at him, and he at her.
There was a hardly repressed excitement in her bear-
ing and aspect, and he was conscious of responding.
The monotony of his parish work, the pettiness of the
lives he lived amongst, fell away, becoming for the
moment as if they were not.
There was nothing of the sentimentalist about Am-
brose Warburton, and the sudden appeal she made to
him was hardly sensuous, still less sensual; neverthe-
less an almost passionate desire of earthly beauty
seized upon him. Of the beauty of things seen, the
beauty of the human form, of things he had read of
but never beholden. Beauty of unknown distant lands,
of arid deserts and snow-peaked mountains, of ancient
cities with cool courts where fountains played, and,
above all, the beauty of youth and the illimitable hori-
zon of youth's hopes.
What was there in his companion that had flooded
him over with such vision? He struggled against it,
as against a rising tide.
Her voice recalled him. “Some day I want you
to tell me things, Mr. Warburton. There are so many,
many things I want to know.”
“That we all want to know. There are so very
few answers to our questions,” he replied gently. “I
can assure you I am always being humbled by the
knowledge of my own ignorance.”
She looked at him intently, questioningly, hesitated
a moment, and then spoke again.
“I think you'd find my questions very simple and


LOCAL GOSSIP 97
ordinary. I know nothing about your religion, any
religion. I probably wouldn't care about it even if I
did understand it, but I’d like to know anything there
is to be learned. I dare say it's only idle curiosity.”
He looked at her from beneath his drooping eye-
lids. There was much speculation in his glance, but
his voice was untinged by any sort of emotion.
“There really isn't very much to learn, Mrs. Dave-
nant. My faith is so little a matter of words, and
so much a matter of deeds, that it is impossible to
deal with it in a mere, casual conversation. If you
want words, I can sum it up in one—Love. Please
don't expect too much of me. I’ll do what I can when
you're ready, but my whole life is one long regret for
my poverty of achievement, and that poverty is, I
suppose, all the more apparent to me because twice
to-day I've been in the presence of those about to say
farewell to this bewildering and astonishingly beauti-
ful world. It often comes home to me how little I
know, how little I’ve seen, and how little I’ve profited
by my very limited experiences.”
Mrs. Davenant was conscious of a chill. She had
felt impelled to say what she had by some mental
conflict within her, which she had not yet classified.
The vicar had discouraged rather than encouraged
her.
“It is understood that what I say to you is in
strictest confidence,” she said rather abruptly.
“Naturally so. Have no fear, Mrs. Davenant. I
also expect you, and all to whom I speak on serious
matters, to treat such conversations as private.”
There was silence between them for a moment or
two, then she spoke again.
“I suppose we really are expected to profit by our


98 THE BEAUTIFUL MRS. DAVENANT
experiences, but it's awfully difficult. You see, it's
so hard to regret having been happy.”
“You mean even at the expense of others?” he
questioned. “I think that's very human, and, after
all, what are we but human? I should like to have
profited more by my sojourn here, and yet I’m so self-
seeking that I’ll be glad when my hour strikes. I'm
frightfully keen to see the other side of the veil. My
curiosity is intense. I've been balked of rich experi-
ences and high endeavor, but I've still got the supreme,
the crowning experience, which no one can ever take
from me.”
Hilda laughed. “Well, don’t be in such a frantic
hurry to gratify your curiosity. You've got to in-
struct me first, and I’m sure there are many who love
you.”
“Many” His voice was dubious. “Why should
they? I know there are some, thank"God. The sad-
dest thought for me would be not to be loved. I
hope a few will love me as long as I'live,” he ended
quietly.
“But you would put your religion before love?”
she asked.
“My religion is love, Mrs. Davenant. It stimulates
and enjoins love, since only through love can the high-
er spiritual attributes of our nature be developed. We
say Love is God and God is Love, but there is a won-
derful little prayer of a Kempis, “Heal my heart of all
inordinate affection, that I, being healed within and
thoroughly purified, may be made fit to love.' I have
come to be very shy of taking the word love in vain,
for I really know nothing at all about it, except that
it is God.”
“Do you really believe that?” she asked gravely.


LOCAL GOSSIP 99
“Why, then, does love bring such penalties? There
is something wrong somewhere. You know that with-
out legal sanction love between woman and man is
called a sin. No matter how much her mate by suit-
ability and instinct a man may be, the woman may
not give him the natural fulfillment of her love without
the benediction of Church and law, yet”—she uttered
a sharp laugh of inutterable scorn—“and yet there
are women who ask and receive the blessings of the
Church on a marriage which is a palpable black lie,
a mockery of love, and therefore, according to your
beliefs, a mockery of God. Such unions are nothing
but legalized prostitution. The woman who really
loves a man demands to be completed in him, else she
is not worthy the name of woman. She demands
that, no matter how things are in heaven, she shall be
bound to her love by the earthly tie of the flesh.”
Her voice vibrated with strong feeling, and as he
watched her closely he saw the delicate color deepen
on her cheeks, but his voice was utterly unemotional
as he answered—
“And that woman would be right.”
She threw back her head, and there was a swift chal-
lenge in all her attitude.
“Surely you would not say that in all cases?”
“There is a very simple rule, Mrs. Davenant, that
all of us can follow. If our love cannot obtain the
benediction of the Church, then, before condemning
the Church, let us ask of ourselves this simple question:
In giving my love in its entirety shall I wrong any
fellow-creature by so doing? If, after really serious
consideration the answer can be honestly given in the
negative, then I should certainly say such lives are
justified in union. Let us remember in speaking of
918.177


LOCAL GOSSIP IOI
Mrs. Davenant. When I was more or less free to
contract earthly ties I found—well! I had grown into
the fixed habit of pouring out all my very humble
adoration at the feet of the God I seek to serve.”
“I think you have been sacrificed to your family,
Mr. Warburton. Such adoration as you speak of
lacks the human touch, and you are very human.”
She saw a wave of color sweep over his face.
“Oh! indeed you misunderstand. I am very hu-
man, but no one who has not experienced it can know
what the love of God can be to a lonely man. A
love ‘closer is it than breathing; nearer than hands
and feet.’” -
Then for a while both were silent again as they
neared the village.
“You’ll come in some time and have a quiet chat
with me?” she asked, as they shook hands at the cross
roads.
“Whenever I can be of service to you only let me
know and appoint the hour,” he answered, and with
that they parted.
“What can her life have been?” he wondered, as
he walked on towards home. “She’s a type I’ve never
met with before. Knows nothing of any religion,
and wants to learn. I wonder? Certainly my in-
stinct to be slightly discouraging was a wise one.
Any signs of eagerness on my part would have made
her swing round in the opposite direction. What's
she going to do in Great Glentworth? Make history
for us, of that at least I’m certain.”
“Tea is ready,” called a voice through the open
window.
He entered the Vicarage and walked straight into
the parlor where his sister stood before the tea-tray.


IO2 THE BEAUTIFUL MRS. DAVENANT
She might have been his twin in petticoats. A tall,
dignified, and even stately figure in the shadowy room,
with thick iron-gray hair, dark eyes and rather large,
finely cut features. Great strength of character was
the impression the brother and sister conveyed to even
the most casual observer.
“How is old Miles?” she asked.
Warburton sat down at the table and helped him-
self to bread and butter.
“Going fast, but quite happy and contented, as
they all are at the very last. Lucky beggar, he'll
know all about it before to-morrow morning. I met
Mrs. Davenant in Miles' meadow and walked back
with her.”
“Mrs. Davenant! Well?” There was a note of
keen questioning in her voice. Emily Warburton was
deeply interested in the newcomers.
Her brother laughed frankly. “Well? What more?
That's all there is to it, I know no more than you
do.”
“She's a profound mystery,” said Emily with con-
viction.
“It's not our business to probe it.”
“Luckily not,” retorted his sister rather
drily. “Oh! What a bother. Here comes Mrs.
Luckett.”
A silence fell, only to be broken a minute after
when the caller was shown in.
“I just ran in for a second to tell you I've some
old clothes for you to distribute in the parish,” ex-
claimed Mrs. Luckett, accepting the chair and the
tea Warburton set before her. “If you could kindly
manage to send for them. Oh! by the way, I've just.


LOCAL GOSSIP IO3
met the Little Glentworth mystery in the village, look-
ing more mysterious than ever.”
“I take that to mean that Mrs. Davenant was look-
ing if possible more beautiful than ever,” suggested
Warburton with a slow smile.
Mrs. Luckett flushed all over her gaunt cheek
bones.
“I don't quite catch your meaning,” she retorted
austerely, and with a slightly offended air.
“Do you think if Mrs. Davenant had been a very
plain woman any one would have suspected a mystery
in connection with her?” asked Warburton.
Mrs. Luckett considered the question seriously.
Not finding any answer worthy the occasion she
said—
“But I don't consider her so beautiful, and I'm
only echoing what every one else says, that she's a
mystery. My Sarah is an old friend of the Little
Glentworth kitchen-maid's mother, and she says there
isn't a single photo, or anything at all lying about to
hint at who or what the late Mr. Davenant was like.
You must own that's rather suspicious?”
“I should be inclined to put that down to extreme
sensitiveness, Mrs. Luckett. The lady in question
does not desire to have her sacred memories exposed
to the prying gaze of the public. Le portrait que l'on
ne voit pas est le seul qui compte.”
Mrs. Luckett eyed the vicar suspiciously, but could
detect no trace of sly humor in his grave face and
voice. She understood no French and mistrusted
those who did. She turned to chaff by way of escape,
and shook her scraggy head and forefinger roguishly.
“Ah, Vicar! I fear you are very much of a man.”


104 THE BEAUTIFUL MRS. DAVENANT
He was laughing now with genuine amusement.
“I sincerely hope so, Mrs. Luckett; but why ‘fear’
to pay me such a compliment? I’m all for womanly
women and manly men.”
“Well, anyhow,” exclaimed the lady by way of
winding up that particular subject of conversation,
“they say Major Carlton's very much on the spot,
and that Mrs. Davenant cares for nothing but men.
This place is simply teeming with mysteries. There's
the Lake House mystery. What do you make of that
now, Vicar?”
“I’ve never made anything of it but the not un-
common eccentricities of a lonely old man,” smiled
Warburton.
“But look how the plot has thickened lately!” ex-
claimed Mrs. Luckett.
“I wasn't aware of it.”
Mrs. Luckett shrugged her shoulders with irritable
impatience, and turned her back on him.
“Your brother is in one of his stone-wall moods
this afternoon,” she said to Emily Warburton. “You
are, of course, aware that a young lady has come to
live at the Lake House, and report says she is very
friendly indeed with the heir, young Mr. Thorpe.”
Emily smiled delightfully. “I’m so glad to hear
that. It must be very lonely and depressing for any
young creature to live alone with such a peculiar old
man as Mr. Thorpe. I think Harry Thorpe is particu-
larly attractive. He's not only very good looking but
he's such a good sort.”
Mrs. Luckett looked down on her plate and crum-
bled a piece of bread thoughtfully.
“It seems a curious position, doesn't it? No
chaperone, and those two alone together all day long.


LOCAL GOSSIP IOS
Now, in my young days such things weren't done in
decent society.”
“Ah! we live and learn, Mrs. Luckett. Where
is decent society found? It is surely one of those
suppositious conditions of life which no nation has yet
achieved. Have you ever found a monopoly of good-
ness in any one particular sect? Do try some honey.
Our bees have done so well this year,” urged Emily;
and then she adroitly turned the conversation into less
contentious lines, much to the vicar's relief.


CHAPTER IX
AGNES HowARD's SECRET
A FTER Mrs. Luckett had taken her departure
Warburton retired to his study, and his sister
proceeded to wash the tea dishes with the help of her
little maid.
Emily Warburton worshiped lovely things, and
it was a pleasure to her to use the old Worcester cups
and saucers, and keep burnished the old Georgian and
Queen Anne plate. She put to daily use all the few
beautiful articles the house contained, and she took
care of them personally. There were never any do-
mestic troubles at the Vicarage, because the two
maids were well aware of the big share their mistress
took in the household work.
Miss Warburton's life was in many respects a
narrow and restricted one, but she was a very happy
woman, despite the fact that her heart was buried in
the grave of her dead lover. She had never sighed
after any other man, resigning herself to her memories,
and the duties of her daily life in her brother's parish.
She adored Ambrose, and insensibly, since her loss,
her love for him had become more maternal than
sisterly. His welfare was the first consideration of her
earthly life, and she would willingly have relinquished
her position, as mistress of the Vicarage, had she seen
any symptoms of a desire on his part to marry. She
IO6 -


AGNES HOWARD’S SECRET Io.7
had detected none. Attractive young women of her
own class seemed non-existent in the neighborhood,
and it had never occurred to her that his fancy might
fall upon some rosy-cheeked farmer's daughter.
The Warburtons had blue blood in their veins, and
the consciousness of this doubtless worked as a bar-
rier to mésalliance, though there was no sign of pride
of birth to be detected in either brother or sister.
Emily had no conception of that which Ambrose
hid so skillfully from her, his putting aside of all
thought of marriage on her account. Now, as he sat
in his study alone, he took himself severely to task for
the small admissions he had made to Mrs. Davenant.
He was pondering over the conversation that had
passed between them, as they strolled across the fields,
and he remembered with sudden shock that he had
spoken of something which hitherto he had kept secret
in his own breast. He had told her that after his
mother’s death Emily had become his special charge,
and that death had also robbed her of her lover. Mrs.
Davenant had replied, “I think you have been sacri-
ficed to your family.” Supposing this should reach
the ears of Emily, what would she think of him? It
was unlikely that Mrs. Davenant would betray his
rash confidences, yet, on the other hand, she might do
so. He did not place much reliance upon her discre-
tion. He felt he hardly knew her, she was so illusive.
There was nothing simple in her confidences to him,
always he was conscious of big reservations. A wave
of color, due to pure annoyance with self, flooded his
cheeks. He rose and began to move restlessly about
the shadowy old room.
He could not understand himself, or how he had
ever been led to make such dangerous admissions.


IO8 THE BEAUTIFUL MRS. DAVENANT
Never, even to so dear and old a friend as Mrs. Carl-
ton, had he confessed as much, and Mrs. Davenant had
parted from him in the belief that he had been sacri-
ficed to his family.
That was not true, and he hated untruth. He knew
that if he had ever really loved a woman well enough
to ask her to marry him, he would have permitted
nothing to stand in his way. It was true that he had
thrust aside all thoughts of marriage, because of his
sister, but he had never really been tempted to act
otherwise. Life, in that respect, had been made very
easy for him. He rarely left home, and here he had
met no woman whom he would have cared to install in
the Vicarage as wife.
Suddenly he pulled himself up sharply, and stood
still in the middle of the room, staring into vacancy.
Was it literally true that he had seen no woman whom
he could remotely conceive of as a desirable wife? A
curious self-revelation was welling up within him.
It seemed to arise from unplumbed, enormous depths,
to be the insistent revelation of another and deeper
self clamoring to be heard, and slowly it took mental
shape in the form of a woman—Agnes Howard'
“Let the counsel of thine own heart stand, for there
is no man more faithful unto thee than it.”
The words from the Apocrypha floated through his
brain, as he stood there staring through the open win-
dow to where a thrush was joyously bathing in a
stone basin on the lawn. The beauty of the physical
world struck potently upon those new revelations,
bringing with them a wild gambler's zest in the ap-
preciation of their fleeting tendencies.
Agnes Howard | Yes, he had liked her from the
first, and he had seen a good deal of her from time to


AGNES HOWARD’S SECRET Io9
time, since her arrival in their midst. She had con-
tracted quite a warm friendship with Emily. The
two women “hit it off,” as he expressed to himself
their apparent sentiments. He had seen much more
of Miss Howard than of Mrs. Davenant. They were
of totally different natures. There was a lightness
and frivolity about the latter that was lacking in her
companion. Agnes Howard suggested greater self-
reliance and steadiness, and she had shown to him
that she possessed a deep fund of sympathy, and con-
siderable worldly knowledge.
Yes! he had been greatly attracted towards her
from the first, and now he knew that this attraction
was developing into something infinitely warmer.
Subconsciously he had been aware of this. Now the
knowledge had crept over the threshold, and arrested
the startled attention of his ordinary waking con-
sciousness.
For a moment or two he abandoned himself to its
sweetness, telling himself, what matter—she was un-
attainable; and besides, had he not decided never to
marry? Surely he might give rein to his imagination
for a few moments? Surely he might dream of what
such a love would mean in his gray life?
Then a little serpent of fear crawled about his
heart. His gray life! Supposing this new feeling
grew into unmanageable dimensions? Supposing a
love developed in him which was stronger than his
self-control? What then? -
His gray life! Did he really think thus of his
pleasant, leisurely existence? Was a man's life neces-
sarily gray if bereft of the love of woman?
The answer flashed back instantly, unhesitatingly,
Yes! It was true. Gray was the soft, sober color


I IO THE BEAUTIFUL MRS. DAVENANT
of peace, of the dove's wing. A lovely, meditative
tone. Really the absence of color, but—it was half
mourning.
Life to be full and perfect must be tinged with
rose. He could think of married lives that had begun
in clouds of rose, and now had faded into old rose.
An exquisite color, reminiscent of by-gone loves and
joys, of loves sobered by age and life's realities, but
still rose. Faded tints of love's young dream which
he had never known.
The old saw recurred to him, “It’s better to have
loved and lost than never to have loved at all.”
He took up his pipe, filled and lighted it mechani-
cally, and sat down in an armchair by the empty grate,
then he fell to wondering about Agnes Howard's life.
Why had she never married? Had she loved and
lost? A woman so obviously desirable must have had
many lovers. She was still very handsome, once she
must have been beautiful. Some very strong reason
must have held her single. What was the mystery,
lying at the heart of those two lives dwelling within
the old Dower House? Some mystery he was sure
did exist, though he had never dreamed of probing
it, and discouraged the belief in others of its existence.
He had become very sensitive of late to all idle gossip
relating to the two ladies. Now he knew why, and
he shrank back from the knowledge as a new born
discovery with which he dreaded to deal.
He stared about the shadowy, paneled room, and
the twilight silence of it struck him suddenly as a
rousing sensation, more trying to his nervous organiza-
tion than any jangling would have been at the moment.
For the first time in his life the lack of marital
relations smote his brain with a strong sense of per-


AGNES HOWARD’S SECRET III
sonal loss. “Man was not made to live alone.” The
words surged through him, as if clamoring to imprint
their true meaning, which even yet he hardly realized.
He had lived a placid and ascetic life, thoroughly
healthy and free from morbid longings—the life of
an unthinking animal, afar from temptation. Suddenly
he seemed to feel the need of a soul's companionship.
A crowd of confused sensations assailed him, doubt,
happiness, misery, wrangling together discordantly.
His soul, aspiring always towards spirituality, was pro-
testing against the material instincts of the body.
From out the peaceful unthinking past had sprung up
a new set of impressions, electrical, and to him terri-
fying in their persistency. His nervous system was
unhinged, something foreign had entered in and was
making itself strongly felt.
A new side of his nature had slidden uppermost,
which the religious temper of his life had bidden him
suppress. Human nature, deeming it a crime that
violence should be done to its strict fidelity, was in-
sidiously pointing out hazardous and pernicious
COurSeS.
In his scrupulous idealism he had always looked
upon himself as a part of a great faith, which had
grown through and through his life, as the roots of a
tree bind themselves round some finite structure. Sud-
denly his foundations were shaken from under him,
and a vision almost beatific of new possibilities of life,
opened out before the rent secrecies of his soul.
It seemed to him that he had paid too high a price
for the life of celibacy he had lived. He had sacri-
ficed a myriad sympathies and hypothetical joys.
“At last I know what it would mean to live,” he
whispered below his breath.


II2 THE BEAUTIFUL MRS. DAVENANT
Only the pregnant silence answered him, and as its
voiceless echoes eddied round the room the dark cur-
tain fell again. Life was gray.
A pause—voices were drifting in to him from the
garden. He stiffened, listening intently. Then he
leapt to his feet. and taking his hat, he passed through
the back of the house into the village.
Meanwhile Emily Warburton had strolled out
amongst her flowers, and began gathering a nosegay
of everything sweet she could find. She was a noted
gardener, and the work of her hands and the joy of
her heart was one of those things visitors in the
neighborhood were always taken to see in the time
of the roses.
To-night she was intent upon a little service of love
she constantly offered up, and with her scissors she
carefully cut off two white moss roses and added them
to her bunch. -
“May I join you for a few moments?”
Emily glanced up and met the smiling eyes of Miss
Howard fixed upon her from the far side of the sweet-
briar hedge.
“Why, of course, do come in. Have you had
tea P”
Agnes replied that she had, and was out for a stroll
in the cool of the evening.
“I’ve been getting rid of a headache all day, and
Hilda was tired. She's been off on one of her long
tramps, so I sallied forth alone,” she said, passing
through the little wicket and joining Emily on the
wide turf walk. She threw up her head and smiled
appreciatively.
“How heavenly! All the scents blended together


AGNES HOWARD’S SECRET II3
make one absolutely perfect perfume which I suppose
can never be bottled. Are you making a bouquet for
some one?”
“Yes, I'm making a bouquet for some one, to whom
I always give my best. I’m going to take it to him in
a moment. Will you come? It isn't far.”
“I’d love to come,” Miss Howard answered as she
moved about amongst the flowers, bending over the
tall lilies, then over the roses and drinking in their
fragrance.
Agnes Howard was looking very well in a perfectly
cut holland coat and skirt. In the creamy laces at
her breast she had fastened a bunch of crimson roses.
On her dark hair was set a wide-brimmed leghorn hat,
trimmed with a simple black velvet band. Emily
noted the supreme elegance of her companion's attire,
but with no touch of envy. She was quite aware that
her simple cotton frocks were of rustic cut and make,
but that never disturbed her. She was always exqui-
sitely neat, but she had no natural love of fine clothes
for herself, though she immensely admired those worn
by other people.
“I’m ready now,” she called softly to the idly stroll-
ing figure at a little distance.
The old gray Vicarage stood on rising ground which
looked across a softly undulating valley. The Great
Glentworth woods sheltered it behind from the north-
ern blasts. The southern frontage looked out over a
wide expanse of copse, pasture land, and winding river.
Closely adjoining the house was the little Norman
church, with its low arched roof, its quaint carvings,
its solid square tower—its round-headed leaded win-
dows.
The two women took a short cut by a path leading


114 THE BEAUTIFUL MRS. DAVENANT
to the churchyard, dark with the shadows of venerable
yews, yet singularly peaceful in the golden glory of
the autumn evening, and as they walked up the narrow
path between many an unnamed grass-grown grave,
Emily paused and bent her head. For ten years she
had never failed to pause there in passing. When
first she had bent her head before the white cross
her hair had been glossy, black as the raven's wing,
now it was banded with white, white as the marble
upon which was inscribed:—
“To the undying memory of
“CLIFToM CAREw,
“Major, 18th Hussars.”
“There is no Death! What seems so is transition;
This life of mortal breath
Is but a suburb of the life Elysian,
Whose portal we call Death.”
Both women stood in silence looking down on the
grave, Agnes Howard reading the inscription for the
first time.
“Did you know him?” she asked gently.
Emily had stooped to pick up a bunch of fading
flowers that lay on the green mound. She laid her
fresh nosegay in its place and straightened herself.
“Yes! I knew him well, and loved him dearly.
We were to have been married, but he died a fortnight
before our wedding day.”
She was smiling, and her voice was just the same,
calm and composed, but for a few seconds Agnes
Howard gazed at her in absolute confusion. Then,
she felt herself in the throes of a great emotion. When
she came to search for words she could find none that
were consecutive. The reality of the tragedy over-
whelmed speech.


II6 THE BEAUTIFUL MRS. DAVENANT
fruitlessly against the iron walls of the human breast,
their entreaties falling on deaf ears, their memories
hidden away under the weight of costly stone and
marble in the cemeteries of the world. How cruel it
seems to let the beloved souls go out into the unknown,
mourned by futile tears which dry so soon and are so
soon forgotten. Have you ever thought, Agnes, how
sadly the departed must mourn over the broken bridge,
deliberately severed by those remaining on earth?”
“I can understand such thoughts coming to you,”
replied Miss Howard earnestly.
“They are thoughts coming to many more now,
since the war desolated so many homes,” went on
Emily. “It was whilst I stood by this open grave
on a clear winter morning, whilst I looked down into
the tomb where they had lowered the coffin, that some-
thing bade my thoughts look up and my heart gave
a sudden throb of joy. I had looked on death, and
death had looked back and smiled on me from a land
full of life and vigor, love, and sunshine, and I real-
ized that life and death are one. I knew I had not
left my beloved lying there cold and alone, and I no
longer felt the same towards the freshly made grave.
Never again did I call death by the name it was known
by on our earth, for it no longer symbolized to me
tombs and corpses. It was given to me to know that
death is not death to the dying, but only to the blind
ones left behind.”
They stood silent and very still a moment or two,
amid the singing of the birds. A lark had carried its
music out of sight high up against a gray cloud, as
larks so often do before gathering and departing, and
as they listened to the exquisite rain of song Emily
spoke again very softly.


II8 THE BEAUTIFUL MRS. DAVENANT
“No, we are British born, but my brother became
an American citizen. I adored him, and looked after
him as you look after your brother. He died un-
married. Why, is his secret, not mine.”
“But you are happy now, are you not?” asked
Emily rather anxiously. “I am quite happy, and cheer-
ful, mothering Ambrose.”
Miss Howard laughed rather mirthlessly. “Oh!
yes, quite happy, even though I’ve got no Ambrose
to mother. I wonder he's never married. I suppose
you make him so comfortable he doesn't feel the need
of a wife?”
“He’s never seen a woman he cared to marry,”
declared Emily with conviction. “I would not have
stood in his way if he ever had. I don't suppose he'll
ever marry now, bless him.”
They had reached the gates of Little Glentworth,
and she paused and held out her hand.
“We are agreed that our conversation shall be re-
garded as absolutely private?” she asked.
“Yes,” answered Miss Howard. “I would not have
spoken as I have, if I hadn't felt you were to be
trusted. Good-night, Emily.”
“Good-night, Agnes.”
Miss Warburton had walked on but a very few
steps when she heard her name called softly, and
turning round, she perceived Agnes Howard running
back to her.
“Emily,” she whispered rather breathlessly. “I feel
there is one person whom I should like to share my
confidence with you. I know he is so entirely trust-
worthy.”
“My brother!” Emily knew instantly to whom


AGNES HOWARD’S SECRET II9
Agnes referred. It seemed to her a very natural feel-
ing. Every one told their secrets to Ambrose.
“It shall be as you wish, dear. He is absolutely
trustworthy,” she answered.
With a smile and a wave of her hand Miss Howard
walked quickly away.


CHAPTER X
LORD LESTER’s ADVICE
M AJOR CARLTON was enjoying one of his little
week-end shooting parties. Only eight guns
made up of four brother officers, himself and three
neighbors. There were sixteen people stopping in the
house altogether, the number Claude considered just
right. Not a crowd; yet enough to amuse one another.
They had enjoyed excellent sport on Saturday, and
now a bright October Sunday intervened. The shoot-
ing was to be renewed on Monday, and on Tuesday
most of the guests would depart. It was Claude's
last week of leave, and he was due back with his regi-
ment on Saturday week. That morning the mother
and son had conveyed several of their guests to church,
amongst others Lord Lester.
Lord Lester was a man who had achieved European
fame, not indeed because of his own gifts, but because
of his untiring interest in the gifts of others. He
had been a diplomat by profession, but temperamen-
tally he was so utterly unsuited to any work which
necessitated holding his tongue, that after a short and
hot career he retired into private freedom again, and
gave free rein to his natural verbosity. He was as
well known in certain European capitals as he was in
London; he rarely saw the interior of the Lords, and
never made a public speech that he could possibly
I2O


LORD LESTER'S ADVICE I2I
avoid. He had never written anything but a couple of
volumes of very indiscreet reminiscences, and he knew
the histories, public and private, of half the celebrated
males and females in Europe. His memory was well
nigh perfect, upon the particular subjects which really
interested him.
The Carltons were renowned in pre-war days for
“doing” their guests very well. They had now re-
constructed on the old lines. There had been the
usual admirable breakfast served from nine to ten
o'clock, and the usual groaning board at one-thirty
luncheon. After which the party had split up and
gone their different ways to work off the consequences
of heavy indulgence, and prepare itself for afternoon
tea and eight o'clock dinner. It was towards half-
past three that Claude, strolling alone on the terrace,
came upon his uncle doing likewise. As usual Lester
was perfectly turned out. He was a very tall, ex-
tremely thin man, who gave the impression of being
strung on live wires. He was rarely quiet for more
than five minutes at a time, and rarely remained in one
house for longer than three days. He hated being
alone, and ran up to his nephew with palpable relief.
“Ah! my boy! This is opportune,” he exclaimed,
linking his arm in Claude’s. “You’re game for a
walk, aren't you? We've had no exercise to-day, and
we've got dinner looming ahead. By the way, how
excellent that homard à la crème was at lunch. Hope
you'll stick to this cook, she's a ripper. The smoking-
room's full of lazy devils snoring disgustingly, and
the women have all gone to scratch the pig's back
with your mother. I wish we were all as ready to die
as your Tamworths. The fact is, Claudie, I want to
make a call.”


I22 THE BEAUTIFUL MRS. DAVENANT
“A call!” echoed his nephew blankly. “Who the
deuce do you want to call upon?” -
“Mrs. Davenant,” returned Lester with a confi
dential drop in his voice. -
“You know her, then, do you?” exclaimed Carlton,
with surprise and interest.
“I believe I've met her. I recognized her in church
this morning. Wonderful how one meets people in
the most out-of-the-way unexpected places. One of
the most beautiful women I ever knew, I rescued
out of a leaking boat on the Danube. We were both
quite alone. I’ve no doubt Mrs. Davenant will re-
member me, besides she's tenant of your Dower
House, and I was your guardian. I really think it
would be only civil to call.”
Claude required no pressing, but he smiled inward-
ly at the feebleness of the excuses.
“Right you are! Let's start at once,” he answered,
and with one accord they turned, and made for the
short cut across the fields to Little Glentworth.
“I didn't mention to your mother my desire to
visit those two ladies,” Lester went on to confide to
his nephew, as they walked briskly along. “I thought
it better not, until I had formed an opinion of my
own. I didn't detect any particular signs of enthusi-
asm when I referred to the presence of Mrs. Davenant
and her friend in church. I didn't pursue the subject,
recollecting that I had no personal impression to fall
back upon. I hope to be able to speak of them in
future as everything that is delightful and correct.”
“You met them in London, I suppose,” hazarded
Claude, who was secretly irritated by the tinge of
doubt conveyed in his uncle's voice. He did not know
that Lester was given to assuming that he knew every


LORD LESTER’S ADVICE I23
one, till events proved the contrary, and that he then
formed a new friendship on discovering it was not
an old one.
“Somewhere in town. I really forget where, for
the moment,” he muttered vaguely; “but, of course,
Mrs. Davenant was a well-known figure in a certain,
clique of London society. Not, be it understood, in
our real old aristocracy, but in that delightful suburb
of the old, where extremes meet, and where the pace
is often a little too hot to last. I think also, I remem-
ber her at Marienbad, or was it Karlsbad? I really
forget. You are satisfied with her as a neighbor P”
“I find both ladies delightful. I also had heard of
the beautiful Mrs. Davenant in London, but I never
chanced to meet her. She and my mother seem to
hit it off all right together.”
“Sibyl would,” retorted Lester dogmatically. “She
is a thoroughly sensible woman, and doesn't concern
herself with the private affairs of others. I suppose
Mrs. Davenant has never mentioned her late husband
to you?”
“Never! Why should she?”
“Why, indeed, dear boy. There is probably every
reason why she should not. Mrs. Davenant arrived
in London a certain number of years ago with what
I might call a Near-Eastern reputation. No one knew
lier except through having met her in fashionable
Continental resorts. The Continental watering-places
where one encounters delightful English people, with
whom one soon becomes intimate if one is rich, and
who express the hope of meeting again in London.
From such beginnings the beautiful Mrs. Davenant
picked up quite a respectable circle when she arrived
in London, and settled down in the West End before


I26 THE BEAUTIFUL MRS. DAVENANT
ful, and her welcome as cordial as that of Mrs. Dave-
nant, only more subdued and ethereal. She was in-
deed a very striking-looking woman, and instinct with
a graciousness which showed itself in every move-
ment, and focused itself in her dark intelligent eyes,
whilst her voice had a pathetic note in it which vi-
brated with sympathy.
“I want to hear about yesterday,” she said. “We
thought of you all lunching out—the day was so beau-
tiful. It was awfully kind of you and Mrs. Carlton
to ask us to join you, but that sort of thing is hardly
in our line, and we always think outsiders are looked
on rather as intruders by a house-party.”
“I don't think either you or Mrs. Davenant are
ever likely to be looked upon in that light,” he an-
swered. “We had a ripping day's sport, and we
lunched in a shed erected for the purpose in a field.
The weather was ideal, we were very cheery, it was a
good wind-up to my leave. I am off this week.”
“But you'll return again shortly?”
“I’ll get Christmas leave,” he told her. “Probably
I'll get back about the 12th of December. We gen-
erally finish off the pheasants then, and I do a bit of
hunting.”
“You’ll be here for Christmas?” he added.
Miss Howard nodded. “Hilda seems so enamored
of this place that she has no desire to go away any-
where. Perhaps, when February comes she'll get her
usual longing for the Riviera. I'm sure I shall.”
“Let's all do a month together at Monte,” he sug-
gested suddenly. “I generally run out there about
March or for Easter.”
“That would be delightful,” she agreed. “By then,


LORD LESTER'S ADVICE 127
traveling will be cleaner, and things in general may
have settled down.”
He shrugged. “Things won't settle down again in
our lifetime, Miss Howard. But here one can live
in tolerable comfort. I blot out the last five years, and
try to revert to 1914.”
He felt his imagination stirring, as it always did in
the presence of those two women. They somehow
suggested to his mind the movements of gay crowds,
lamp-lit gardens, shady nooks with blazing sunshine
beyond, a blue sea, and snowy villas nestling amid
olives. The wild oats of his early youth seemed to
flourish afresh, whilst all the time he talked trivialities
about the neighborhood and his coming absence, and
watched the evening light fall on Agnes Howard's
slim hands and graceful form.
But attractive as she was the room held a still great-
er attraction for Major Carlton. As he was begin-
ning to think the visit was rather a waste of time, and
as he was about to consult his watch, the conversa-
tion became general. He caught the eye of Mrs. Dave-
nant, who threw him a very bright glance of encour-
agement.
“Lord Lester is a mine of reminiscences,” she said.
Lester gave a modest disclaimer with his hands.
“Oh! I keep my eyes and ears open, and everything
that concerns my fellow creatures interests me. I was
just about to tell Mrs. Davenant of a most amusing
supper party we had last week. We sat down twenty,
and every one of us had been in prison.”
“I never heard that you had done time,” laughed
Carlton.
“I confess I was rather a fraud amongst genuine
cases,” admitted Lester. “I heard of the party being


I28 THE BEAUTIFUL MRS. DAVENANT
arranged by an old friend of mine, Mrs. Jessop, old
Gladbrooke's daughter. She used always to be in and
out of prison in 1913 and 1914, where prison was the
rage. I wished to go to the party, but the only claim
I had was the fact that I had been arrested in Petro-
grad, in mistake for a well-known anarchist, and did
twenty-four hours in “Peter and Paul' till our Em-
bassy got going. I mentioned the incident in my book,
“The Indiscretions of a Diplomat.” All the other
guests had an intimate acquaintance with English pris-
ons, and their antediluvian methods. There was Lady
Penrose. She had six weeks for throwing squibs into
letter boxes, and burning all the housemaids' love let-
ters. Then Willie Waters was there. He had done
six months for leading a mob down Piccadilly, and
looting all the shops on the way.”
“How one forgets,” laughed Carlton during a pause
in which Lester recovered his breath. “I remember
now. He's been a Cabinet Minister since.” -
“White-washed and warranted highly respectable,”
went on Lester. “Then Galen Orchard was there.
He's one of those Irish chaps, always in and out of
prison, a regular gaol-bird and a most charming fel-
low. One of our greatest classical scholars. He
brought with him that very handsome Mrs. O'Connal,
who's such a revolutionary. She's had at least two
husbands shot. Then, by the way, Lady Mary Allen
came. She's a connection of mine. She got three
months as Mary Brown, but they found out she was an
earl's daughter, and chucked her out after a week or
two. Finch, M.P., was another guest. He was once
sentenced to be hanged, but he continued somehow or
other to escape, and now he's in sanctuary at West-
minster. To crown the evening's entertainment Lady


LORD LESTER’S ADVICE 129
Coleman was carried in on a stretcher decorated with
suffragette ribbons. She was got up to look as if she'd
just been released from a hunger strike, under the cat
and mouse bill.”
“Those thrilling days seem very far removed from
our present conditions,” said Mrs. Davenant.
“But we'd never have gained the vote without
them,” chimed in Miss Howard.
Lester shrugged his shoulders. “All those topsy-
turvy incidents made London so much more amusing
than it is now. Men home from Russia say they've
seen nothing so Bolshevist as London. It has all the
appearance of being the capital of a nation that has
gone crazy from Bolshevist rabies. The restaurants
are merely banditti strongholds. The busmen are
frenzied corsairs in charge of juggernauts. The shop
girls are replicas of the women of the French Revo-
lution. Even the dustmen are terrorists. Ah! I
often sigh for Victorian days. After King Edward's
death I feared we would all become too good to live.
We were threatened by a most painful wave of puri-
tanism, but all sorts of thrilling novelties cropped up
and saved us.”
“The women, for instance,” suggested Mrs. Dave-
nant. “You find now that you can't generalize about
our sex. That's their charm, Lord Lester. Each is a
law to herself, and they have such wonderful recupera-
tive powers. In their youth they pass through the
most appalling tragedies, which by middle age have
become mere mirages draped in heliotrope memories.”
Lester watched her sharply, then laughed. “Yes,
yes! We owe the suffragettes a debt for presenting
us with new sensations. I was never in favor of
suppressing them. Certainly woman's day has dawned,
y


130 THE BEAUTIFUL MRS. DAVENANT
and now the House of Commons has decided to be
funny, and has dropped its absurd pose of pompous
superiority we are getting along much better. I al-
ways say we're all right as long as we have a govern-
ment that makes no attempt to govern.”
“You’ll stop to teaf” asked Mrs. Davenant, seeing
that Carlton had risen, and was trying to arrest his
uncle's verbosity by laying a heavy hand on his
shoulder.
“I fear we can't to-day, thanks! I must be get-
ting home to my guests,” he answered, his thoughts
busy with her beauty and charm of manner. He held
the hand she gave him lingeringly. “I was very dis-
appointed about yesterday,” he found himself saying,
with a sort of unconscious shyness. Then, hearing
Lester talking volubly to Miss Howard, he added in
a low voice, “it made all the difference to my day.”
She seemed not to hear his last words. Her tones
were merely kind and friendly.
“Ah! but even if we had come we shouldn’t have
had many words with you. I know what real business
those shoots are—no lingering behind after lunch on
those short afternoons. The host is always more or
less pre-occupied.”
He shook his head dissentingly. “I may come to
say good-by ? I’m off at the end of next week.”
“Why, of course! Come when you like. We shall
miss you when you go,” she said.
During the walk home Lester monopolized the
whole of the conversation. Carlton listened, and
smoked one cigarette after another in moody, silence.
His uncle was sentimental and cynical by turns, as
was his wont.
“Perfectly charming and undoubtedly lovely.


LORD LESTER’S ADVICE I31
Makes one realize how many pretty women there are,
and how very few lovely ones. Mysterious! Yes,
my boy, that's undoubtedly where the real charm lies,
in the mystery of her. I can remember, in the good
old days, one winter at Nice, a lot of us were held
there for months by one veiled woman—she was
American, and went everywhere, but no one ever saw
her face unveiled. We sat in her opera box, we played
bridge and trente et quarante alongside her, we danced
with her—she had a divine figure, but not one of us
ever saw her face. One chap bet a thousand guineas
to one he'd unveil her in a week—he lost his money.
Probably she was hideous, but she was the rage, be-
cause it got rumored about she was so lovely no man
could look upon her and live. She had a husband,
by the way, and he managed to survive. Who is
Mrs. Davenant? What is she? What's her game?
Has she had a sickener of conquests, and come here
to find something easy to practice upon, just to keep
her hand in? One doesn't meet with such beauty every
day, certainly not hidden away in the country. That
adds to the mystery. Now, if she's really a widow,
why hasn't she made a brilliant second marriage?”
Lester paused for the first time to get his second
wind. He seemed to expect an answer to his numer-
ous questions.
“How the devil should I know?” was Claude's
rather sulky retort.
Lester noted the hardly suppressed irritation, and
proceeded to rub it in relentlessly.
“One can see at once that she's had any amount
of experience, and the terms of experience are invari-
ably very high. Damned old usurer, experience isl
She's kept young, so clearly her life's been a success.


132 THE BEAUTIFUL MRS. DAVENANT
She seems to have settled down, which, as a rule, re-
quires the deuce of a settling up, and she's the type of
woman who could make any man under and over forty
a doddering imbecile. I don't mean that every man
would lose his heart to her. I mean that most men
would lose their heads over her, a very different
matter.”
Carlton thought of the smile he had caught Lester
bestowing upon the lady in question. It was the smile
with which certain men will always smile at something
lovely, whether their wives approve or not.
“I was always a free lance,” went on Uncle Lester
in lingering and sentimental tones, “simply because
I was clever enough to recognize my own limitations.
I have always considered marriage as a most difficult
profession, for which one ought to have a stiff appren-
ticeship. The great thing is not to expect more of
marriage than there is in it. Some one must get the
worst of every bargain. It is absurd to rush into so
very complicated an adventure without any prelimi-
nary training. That is why women on marrying must
always submit to guidance. They haven't had our
advantages.”
“Looks as if a widow might not be such a bad in-
vestment,” struck in Carlton with dry humor.
For just a second Lester was nonplussed. “Widows
are charming,” he conceded readily, “but widowhood
has become such a vocation. It's quite overdone. And
they all begin by refusing in the same words the man
who proposes to them—“No, thanks! I know when I'm'
well off, a most painful beginning. I believe I did hear
of one variation. “Once bit, twice shy, equally offen-
sive, I consider. Widows as wives have two serious
drawbacks. You've always to keep in active competi-


LORD LESTER’S ADVICE I33
tion with defunct number one, and widows are so
devilish independent. Directly a woman knows the
ropes she's off down the course with the bit between
her teeth. Widows are never domesticated. My
contention is that no women, not even charwomen, are
domesticated. We liked, in Victorian days, to pre-
tend they were, but the death struggle going on,
drawing-room versus servants’ hall, has exposed the
fallacy. If I were a woman—I put it to you, dear
boy—should we enjoy having babies, and depend-
ing for our orgies on the linen cupboards and store-
room?”
“No, you bet we wouldn't,” laughed Carlton. “I
do sometimes remember that it must be rather a bore
for women always to be thinking of how they can best
feed us. Women themselves don't care a damn what
they eat.”
“They seem to share with the Zoo bears a passion
for buns, so I’ve been told,” agreed Lester, then con-
scious that he had not quite accomplished his original
intentions, he dashed off again on to the subject of
matrimony. -
“No man, if he wishes to keep young, should dream
of marriage before he's forty. He should be content-
ed till then with other men's wives. They'll teach him
what marriage means, and always remember that a
reputation for success in love is a tremendous asset
with women. They tumble to it like nothing else.
Of course to be a lover and husband combined is a
fine art, which few acquire, but there you are! Lov-
ers are born, not made. A born lover has his own
methods of making love. He treats the art with the
respect it deserves. He studies his part, taking into
consideration his personal appearance, his staying


134 THE BEAUTIFUL MRS. DAVENANT
powers, etc. For instance, a man of my build, and
the short, stubby, thick-set man should make love in
totally different ways. I could always rush an affair,
with a fair chance of success. The short, stubby chap
has to plod. His hope of success would lie in dogged
perseverance, and a stubborn wearing down of op-
position, but he gets there, if only he can stay the
course.”
Carlton laughed rather grimly. He was getting
rather bored by the veiled lecture.
“I’ll remember all your tips, if ever the day does
come when I contemplate matrimony,” he said drily.
“Oh! you!” Lester waved an airy hand. “Of course
I spotted at once that you weren't running in any mat-
rimonial stakes when you left the Dower House.”
Carlton turned sharply round and stared at the
speaker. “By Jove!” he exclaimed, “how extraordi-
nary. I simply never thought of that before.”
Lester's eyes followed a covey of partridges; he said
nothing.
Later on that evening Lester seated himself beside
Mrs. Carlton and Mrs. Hall at the far-end of the long
drawing-room. The rest of the party were out of ear-
shot, chattering in groups together around the bright
wood fire. No card games were ever played on Sun-
day at Great Glentworth, but often a neighbor or
two drove over to dine in a friendly, unceremonious
fashion. *
Captain Hall was really too vigorous a sportsman
to dine out on any other day but Sunday. He was
inclined to be sleepy and tired after many hours passed
in the open air in hard exercise. Saidie enjoyed those
informal evenings. She enjoyed showing off her


LORD LESTER’S ADVICE I35
latest Parisian novelties to the house party, and Mrs.
Carlton was always such a splendid foil in her eve-
ning uniform of black velvet, high to the throat and
cut on the severest lines. Even the magnificent dia-
mond cross upon her breast failed to detract from the
strictly masculine appearance she affected, and which
somehow suited her as no other style of dress could or
would.
“Did Claudie tell you where we went this after-
noon?” asked Lester, drawing up a low chair close to
the two women.
Mrs. Carlton put her glass in one eye and answered,
“No. Where did you go?”
“To call on Mrs. Davenant.”
For a moment she answered nothing, and Mrs. Hall
struck in. “I like Mrs. Davenant, but I’ve told Jim
pretty plainly that I won't have any fooling around
in that quarter. There's no real harm in Jim, but folks
might think there was, if he got into the habit of al-
ways dropping in at Little Glentworth, just as some
men drop into every inn they pass. Though I like her,
I think she's dangerous.”
Mrs. Carlton seemed to have been thinking hard,
and Lester guessed her thoughts. She sat with her
close-cropped head slightly bent, and her thin brown
fingers mechanically smoothing her black velvet lap.
“I’ve an impression, though I’ve really nothing to
go on, that it would be useless for any man to fall in
love with Mrs. Davenant, because she isn't free.”
Lester grinned. “Oh! my dear Sibyl, what an ar-
gument,” he expostulated. “As a matter of fact, to
love some one you've no right to love is by far the
most enthralling love of all. It adds more gilt to the
gingerbread than anything else I know. As a bachelor


136 THE BEAUTIFUL MRS. DAVENANT
I can speak from experience. Certainly, if you are
right in your supposition, we may safely place the lady
outside the danger zone, but I shouldn't say it would
be useless for any man to fall in love with her owing
to the reason you suggest. Women who are unat-
tainable have an enormous attraction.”
“But if one were only certain that no man could
marry her ” suggested Mrs. Carlton with uncon-
cealed anxiety.
“Ah! If | Of course there are lots of men who
will simply do anything for a woman, except marry
her. Conceivably that may be why the lady in ques-
tion remains a widow.”
Mrs. Carlton smiled incredulously, and silently
shook her head.
“She prefers men to women. She's practically said
so!” resumed Saidie with a certain warmth. “Oh!
I know men are under the ridiculous delusion that
women can't admire one another. That's pure non-
sense. The truth is we don't always believe that a
beautiful face implies a beautiful nature. Mrs. Dave-
nant's got one of those intensely feminine faces that
add so much to beauty of feature. They cause a man
to realize the strong contrast between the sexes.”
“God be praised,” ejaculated Lester piously. “Helps
one to bear with this new gender that the war has
produced. Mrs. Davenant's all right for women, but
I maintain she's dangerous for men.”
“I think, Saidie, Mrs. Davenant's openly expressed
devotion to men was intended as a warning,” said Mrs.
Carlton, speaking very deliberately. “It was meant
as a warning to women to keep away. She doesn't
want any of us about her. We might find out some-
thing.”


LORD LESTER’S ADVICE I37
“She may only have divorced her husband,” sug-
gested Mrs. Hall, but Lester shook his head.
“Only ugly women are so recklessly improvident,”
he declared seriously. “Foolish creatures, they never
think of how their men are to be replaced. Where
does Mrs. Davenant get her money from ?”
“Ask me another,” laughed Saidie.
“Why does no one ever discuss Miss Howard?
She's quite as mysterious as the other, and a very
handsome woman,” mused Mrs. Carlton aloud.
“I hear the Vicar's enormously attracted in that
quarter,” struck in Mrs. Hall, maliciously. “He ad-
mires them both because they don’t jazz.”
Lester looked serious. “I approve of the clergy
marrying. Though rather out of date as husbands
they make most useful relations. I remember they
used to be fashionable as husbands in the old Queen's
reign, at least the muscular Christian type were, but
I’ve never heard that they'd come in again. Shouldn't
wonder if there was an after-the-war boom in them
now.”
“What are you three discussing so mysteriously?”
demanded Claude, who had strolled up to them unper-
ceived.
“Family affairs, dear boy, and the decay of reli-
gious observance in the stately homes of England,”
rapped out Lester flippantly.


CARLTON MAKES A DISCOVERY 139
did not release her hand but turned it round, palm
upwards.
She looked down on it and laughed. “Entirely self-
inflicted. I can't own up to any desperate encounter,
Major Carlton. You may tie that handkerchief round
it if you like.”
In his unembarrassed way he knotted the wisp of
cambric she gave him. “Thanks! that looks much
more respectable.” She sat down again and began to
pour out the tea, and in the half light of the dying
day he looked at her more closely. Her face, so tired
and pale, was at variance with her gay air.
“I’m sure you ought to go and rest. Where have
you been?” he asked, tactfully taking no outward note
of the fact that her skirt was liberally sprinkled with
burrs and thorns.
“Over the fields and stiles, and ditches and through
innumerable hedges. As a matter of fact, I’m not in
the least tired. I'm a splendid walker, and as to
sleep!”
She raised her beautiful eyes dramatically to the
ceiling.
“I sleep here like the dead, until the last trump,
in the form of my maid with early tea, recalls me to
this mundane sphere once more. I hadn't slept prop-
erly for years until I came here. I used to keep awake
on what I’d done, now I sleep on what I’m going to
do.”
She heaved a contented little sigh, and began to nib-
ble a piece of cake.
“That's the best news I’ve heard for a long time.
It means you'll stay on here,” he exclaimed with a
touch of eagerness.
“Probably, till I’m turned out,” she answered.


140 THE BEAUTIFUL MRS. DAVENANT
For a second he did not gather her meaning, then
he remembered she had taken the Dower House.
“That's a contingency we needn't trouble to con-
sider.” As their eyes met he caught once more a re-
flection of that mental pain and weariness he had seen
when entering a few minutes before.
He told himself, in the brief silence that fell between
them, that there was something curiously incongruous
in this woman. At moments, she gave the impression
of a light-hearted mondaine who had no thoughts be-
yond her own beauty and the comfort of her surround-
ings. Yet he could not help feeling the certainty that
she had been through the mill, as he expressed it. She
had done some rough traveling in her day, and her
cheery light-heartedness suggested to him a great re-
serve of courage.
“I’m sorry I’ve got to return so soon to town.”
“So am I,’” she agreed promptly, smiling back at
him. “We shall have to depend for our male society
upon Mr. Warburton, Colonel Webb, and Captain Hall.
Probably I’ll run up for a week's shopping before
Christmas. Perhaps London won't be so horrid by
then, but I hear people have begun economizing again
in everything but lovers.”
She gave him a very frank opinion of London. She
had sold her town house and hated hotels, and in such
times, however kind people were, it was not really kind
to pay visits. Then there was always a coal crisis
or a butter famine. Taxis would only come out at
night to take jazzing ladies to balls at five pounds a
head. Dressmakers were now blatant thieves of the
first water, and in town no kind Samaritan called with
home grown pheasants, to ease the monotony of Chi-


CARLTON MAKES A DISCOVERY 141
nese fowls and three-years-dead Australian mut-
ton.
She smiled her thanks again at him, her blue eyes
full of sparkling gratitude.
“I’m most awfully pleased that some one appreci-
ates the old rocketers. I’ll see you're kept supplied
whilst I’m away. We get a few woodcock, too, and
an occasional bunny might come in handy in these
times of stress,” he promised her. “The kitchen gar-
den here was always a good one, and we've always
managed to keep a few of the houses going. My ten-
ants must not want for anything in this land of plenty.
Country folks have had a big pull over town folk dur-
ing the last five years. You were wise to chuck the
town, Mrs. Davenant.”
“I’ve proved that already up to the hilt,” she agreed,
“though your reasons for saying so sound rather
greedy. Agnes says that when rationing came in,
little Mary became the most important personage in the
kingdom.”
Her gayety was infectious, it made him smile. What
spirits she had Here was the cheery chatter of a
woman who hadn't a care in the world. There was no
trace left of the pale, weary woman whom he had sur-
prised on his arrival. He dwelt mentally upon that
fleeting impression. He would not so greatly admire.
her pluck had he not also seen that momentary deso-
lation of sadness.
“Do tell me the latest county scandal!” she de-
manded.
He shook his head. “For the time being there is
actually none that I’ve heard. We all seem to be
behaving pretty well. I’ve been too overcome by Les-
ter's town yarns to pay much attention to the neigh-


142 THE BEAUTIFUL MRS. DAVENANT
borhood. By the way! What about the Lake House?
Have you begun to unravel that mystery? I hear
young Thorpe's been staying at the White Hart. Is
old Thorpe's niece still with him?”
She glanced up quickly. “She is. I saw her only
yesterday. Don't you know Harry Thorpe?”
He felt the sensation of being challenged. “No,
we've never happened to come across one another,”
he replied indifferently. “We dropped the Lake House
as a going concern years ago. You know him?”
She nodded. “Yes! We've met, and I like him
enormously. He will be a great acquisition when he
steps into his kinsman's shoes. It's rather hard on
him to be dropped because of his relative's peculiari-
ties.”
He was puzzled by her championship. “If I chance
to be on leave I'll look him up when he comes down
here again. I said a moment ago that I’d heard no
scandal. I forgot about young Thorpe. He and Miss
Thorne are said to be deeply interested in one another,
if not absolutely engaged. As you seem so interested
in them, perhaps you've already heard this tit-bit?”
She ignored his query, “That's a delightful tit-bit,”
she exclaimed. “Oh! I do hope it's true.”
“But why on earth should you be so keen?” he
persisted, struck by the ring of actual enthusiasm in
her voice.
“Firstly, because it's romance, and I adore romance.
Secondly, they're young and I’m so horribly tired of
old age. For five long years the old have had the time
of their lives. Now, I’d like to see them all buried,
and youth come into its own and rule the world, as it
should.”
He laughed with quiet enjoyment. “I’m absolutely


CARLTON MAKES A DISCOVERY 143
with you. I'd bury the House of Commons first.
Worse luck we've got a Government that defies every-
thing, even the tooth of time. So you're keen on ro-
mance!”
“Rather! I'm keener on romance than on anything
else. Why! it's the only thing worth living
for.”
“How would you define it?”
“Something one hasn't the slightest right to. That's
what makes it so heavenly. Real romance must never
be obvious. It must always be sub rosa.”
“Not so fast, please,” he raised a protesting hand.
“I’ve got to assimilate that. Sub rosa sounds, well—
dangerous. Would you call marriage romance?”
She looked reflectively out of the window on the
autumn glory of a herbaceous border.
“Some one has to get the worst of every bargain,
and isn't that all marriage is?” She spoke as if to
herself, then she turned and looked at him. “Of
course it so much depends. I’ve always believed that
the ideal husband dwells only in the imagination of the
woman who never had one. A first marriage is hardly
ever a romance, a second marriage conceivably
might be.”
He laughed ironically. “On the whole you evi-
dently don't think much of matrimony, Mrs. Dave-
nant.”
She shrugged her shoulders smilingly. Her voice
was dry.
“I’m rather inclined to take heaven's view. It
isn't thought much of in the other world. It's a thing
that's not done there. It was the only thing the Gov-
ernment forgot to make compulsory, a deprivation they
forgot to popularize.”


144 THE BEAUTIFUL MRS. DAVENANT
He wondered many things as he smiled at her cyn-
ical little quips. What could her history be? he asked
himself for the hundredth time, for though he would
deny it strenuously to others he was convinced in his
mind that she had left a stormy past behind her. Sud-
denly he thought of something.
“Won't you and Miss Howard dine with us on Fri-
day night, the night before I go?” he asked. “Only a
small party, Lester goes to town with me, and the
Halls and Warburtons will dine with us. My mother
will, of course, send you the conventional note, but do
promise me now that you'll come.”
She flashed her charming smile upon him. “Thanks
ever so much. We will be delighted, and pray tell Mrs.
Carlton not to bother about writing. Conventionali-
ties bore me, as you may already have discovered.
We'll be with you on Friday at eight o'clock.”
“That's ripping. Thanks awfully,” he answered,
meaning every word he said. “Now I'll take myself
off, and leave you to have a rest.”
When Hilda Davenant heard his retreating steps
on the gravel she lay back in her chair and closed her
eyes.
“I think he's warned off, but one never can tell,”
she murmured below her breath. A clock struck six,
the room was full of shadow, the silence of the house
was profound. Memories had rushed upon her ruth-
lessly that afternoon. They flooded in on her now.
Her vision of the old black and white Lake House had
roused in her unbidden recollections, which tested her
courage to the utmost. There were connected with it
certain facts in her life which held a sudden terror for
her. Then that hard-won fight of hers through long
years came back to her. Up to now she had won out.


CARLTON MAKES A DISCOVERY 145
Why should the future hold more fears than the past
had done, and there was always Agnes—the steadfast
friendship of Agnes Howard. The thought brought
a glow of comfort to her, and she rose and gathered
up her gloves.
She smiled suddenly. “I’ll go and have a bath. I
believe all the greatest thoughts in this world are first
conceived in a hot tub.”
Carlton mounted his horse in the stable-yard and
rode slowly away through the twilight towards home.
His thoughts were full of the woman he had just left,
and he now frankly acknowledged to himself that she
meant more to him than any other woman he'd ever
met.
Yet the shadow of non-possum was over him and
sobered his ardor. Before he had even seen her mys-
tery had enveloped her, and the constant hints of some
hidden secret in her life had colored his thoughts,
damped his spirit and restrained his impulses. Was
she, or was she not, free to re-marry? The latter
somehow seemed the likelier possibility. Why, he
could hardly have told. It might be that he was sat-
urated with the hinted and half-expressed beliefs of
others. A husband in the background was the most
generally accepted and propounded theory. Tragedy
seemed to dog the steps of great beauties in history,
and all the world over, and always their beauty seemed
to stop short of giving them their hearts' desire. Sad-
ness, solitude, poverty was so often their bitter portion
at last. His friendship with Mrs. Davenant seemed
to bring home to Claude Carlton the tragedy of the
professional beauty's life. The standard of living was
not for her as for her less lovely sister. Her actions
were always in the limelight, and invested with strong


146 THE BEAUTIFUL MRS. DAVENANT
significance. Her slanderers multiplied in ratio with
her lovers, and no one ever remembered that no great
beauty was ever half so good, or half so bad as she was
painted by hand or by God. It came to Carlton that
where such women failed was in their mental power to
store in waiting a substitute for the beauty filched by
time. Their unwillingness to ring down the curtain
on physical fascinations, and ring up a curtain on men-
tal attractions brought infinite tragedy to those whose
day was done. They clung to life's morning glory,
and turned shudderingly aside from the mellow love-
liness of eventide.
What Mrs. Davenport had chaffingly remarked
about marriage might have been said as a warning to
him. He had been vaguely conscious all the time that
veiled beneath her light banter she had some definite
purpose. How well versed she must be in warding
off lovers! The beautiful Mrs. Davenant must have
had them by the score.
Carlton told himself he cared nothing for her past.
He would please himself in choosing a wife, and if
Hilda Davenant was free he would let himself go for
all he was worth, and win her if it was humanly pos-
sible. How was he to find out the truth? Only by
asking her the question. At present that seemed the
only way.
As he left his horse in the hands of his groom and
struck off towards the house, he caught sight of his
mother and Lester walking on ahead of him, and a
smile broke over his grave face.
Accustomed as he was to the male attire Mrs. Carl-
ton affected, her neat manliness caused him constant
amusement.
This evening she was markedly more immaculate


CARLTON MAKES A DISCOVERY 147
than her companion. Her riding breeches were cut by
a master hand. Her “tops” fitted to perfection, and
the long coat she wore became her boyish slender lines.
Her bowler hat had a single eyeglass screwed into its
brim. Mrs. Carlton's white doeskins were unbuttoned.
To-day no smart man buttons his gloves—such is the
whim of the moment.
“Hullo!” shouted Claude lustily.
The pair stopped and waited. “Hullo! where have
you been since tea-time? I saw ‘the Guy’ was out
when we left our gees in the stable,” inquired his
mother.
“I took Mrs. Davenant some game and found her
at home. She'd just returned from a long tramp.
Seems she's a first-rate walker. By the way, whilst I
remember, I’ve asked both ladies to dinner on Friday,
and you might invite the Halls and the Warburtons,
mother. Let's have a final burst before I go.”
Mrs. Carlton smiled upon him. “Right you are,
dear boy, and I’ll also send a line to Mrs. Davenant.”
“Thanks! but you needn't bother. She told me to
tell you so,” returned Claude, carelessly.
His mother made no remark. She accepted the fact
that Claude was the autocrat of his own house, and
his invitations sufficed in themselves.
“And how did you find your attractive neighbors?”
inquired Lester, genially.
“Miss Howard wasn't there. Only Mrs. Davenant,
and she looked rather tired I thought.”
“But as beautiful as ever, I presume?”
Claude smiled. “Yes, that goes without saying.
She is a beautiful woman.”
Lester did not like the expression. He would rather
Claude had called her “a topper” or something else


148 THE BEAUTIFUL MRS. DAVENANT
equally inelegant and indifferent. He'd even have
borne without reproof the iniquitous “Top hole.”
“By the way,” he went on casually, and beginning
to search in his pockets for something, “I got a letter
yesterday. Was it yesterday? Yes! I think it was,
from a Yankee chap whom I saw a lot of in Washing-
ton at one time. I wrote him a p.c. the other day, and
asked him if he'd ever come across any one of the
names of Mrs. Davenant and Miss Howard. I en-
deavored briefly to sketch with my feeble pen the per-
sonal charms of both ladies. I placed a hypothetical
date at about twelve years ago.”
“What on earth makes you think they lived in
Washington?” exclaimed Carlton, frowning and tap-
ping his leg impatiently with his crop. “They aren't
Americans.”
“Perhaps they aren't, but they ought to be,” re-
torted Lester, inconsequentially. “Here is what my
friend, Colonel Bellows, says in answer. I think
there's just light enough to see. You understand this
letter is written in American, not English, but doubt-
less you'll be able to translate enough of its meaning.
Yes! here's the place—
“‘I guess this is some proposition, but I remember
in the days when I was at a loose end, a pair of lady-
birds in Washington. One was called Agnes Howard,
but the other wasn't called Davenant, she was Hilda
Lambert. No relation to each other. Agnes Howard
was the very topmost straw on the swim in Washing-
ton, but the knowing ones were on to her because they
said Brother Howard kept Mrs. Lambert, or what-
ever her name was, and she got away with most of
his money when he died. Seems to me Hilda Lambert
was a widow, but since this little old war my brain's


CARLTON MAKES A DISCOVERY 149
gone blank—absolutely, and maybe I've sent you a
dud and been barking up the wrong tree. Henderson
has just blown in, and we're off to have a bit of lunch
at the Cri.’
“That's all, I think, upon that subject,” remarked
Lester, tranquilly, as he neatly folded up the letter and
replaced it in his pocket. “Good chap, Bellows. They
say he really was Wilson's right hand man in Paris,
and according to the vernacular of the day he's a
multi.”
“What extraordinary language,” exclaimed Mrs.
Carlton, uneasily, as she began to walk on again.
Lester shrugged. “Not really more extraordinary
than the English language has become. Bellows has a
suite of rooms at the Ritz, but I gave up going there
after being accosted three times in half an hour, with
“Glad to see you in the pink, old son!' It's quite possi-
ble Bellows is blowing, or is it barking up the wrong
tree, as he euphemistically expresses it.”
“Sounds a most unlikely connection with the ladies
at Little Glentworth,” exclaimed Claude, contemptu-
ously. “Agnes Howard is quite a common name, so
is Hilda Davenant or Lambert. Davenant's Irish, I
fancy. However, their names are no concern of ours,
and in themselves both ladies are charming.”
“Quite charming,” hastily and warmly agreed Les-
ter. “What's in a name? No one ought to be chris-
tened till they're twenty-one. Names rarely fit their
owners. Women called Fay and Daphne have faces
like the Marble Arch, and always address you as if
you were a public meeting. I've known of Marma-
dukes and Jaspars who have faces like gargoyles, who
roar like bulls of Bashan under Reformer's Tree, and


CHAPTER XII
MRS. DAVENANT AT BAY
HEN the ladies from Little Glentworth walked
into the Carltons' library they found the rest of
the party assembled, and a subdued hum of conversa-
tion was going on.
The family party had been augmented by the arrival
of Lady Tadcaster, Mrs. Carlton's sister, and the Halls
had brought two American guests, Major Griffith and
Colonel Lycett. The little party had expanded into
twelve persons, and as was her invariable habit Mrs.
Carlton introduced the last comers to those unknown
to them.
Claude Carlton had been standing up before the fire
feeling curiously restless, until the door opened to ad-
mit the last of his guests. It was a fine moonlight
night, and he had congratulated himself on the fact,
as he looked out a few minutes previously from the
windows upon the wide expanse of wooded park lands
stretching down to the river. The roads would be
good going for Mrs. Davenant's Rolls-Royce. Neither
he nor his mother attempted to use the large drawing-
room, even when receiving a number of guests.
Claude said it looked chilly and unlived in, which in
truth it was, and he preferred the spacious, stately pro-
portions and comfortable aspect of the library, with its
yawning fireplace, the rich clothing of beautiful bind-
152


MRS. DAVENANT AT BAY I53
ings lining its walls, giving it that air of completeness
nothing can supply so satisfactorily as books. Palms,
ferns, azaleas and camelias in full blow were grouped
in dark corners. The room looked beautiful, as even
Carlton himself had acknowledged when glancing
around him.
As he stood up before the blazing logs waiting for
the woman he was impatient to see, the butler an-
nounced, “Mrs. Davenant, Miss Howard,” and he fol-
lowed his mother down the room to welcome them.
He held Mrs. Davenant's hand, perhaps for a mo-
ment longer than was necessary, looking down on her
with eyes eloquent in admiration, and she certainly was
very good to look upon, with her starry eyes raised to
his, her white skin shining like satin against the folds
of her dark gown. Then he turned to greet Agnes
Howard, brilliantly handsome in dark red velvet.
Mrs. Davenant passed down the long room by Mrs.
Carlton's side, with that perfect grace and composure
which characterized all her movements; shaking hands
first with one then another of her acquaintances.
“I want to introduce to you Colonel Lycett and Ma-
jor Griffith,” said Mrs. Carlton.
Both men bowed low, and as they held out their
hands they said—
“Very pleased to meet you.”
“Very pleased to meet you.”
A close observer might have noticed that on hearing
this mode of address Mrs. Davenant paused involun-
tarily, and looked more attentively at both men, but
Mrs. Carlton was saying—
“Now I want you to know my sister,” and the two
ladies passed on together.
Lady Tadcaster greeted Mrs. Davenant with great
N


154 THE BEAUTIFUL MRS. DAVENANT
cordiality. She was a widow of importance in her
world, owning the unique reputation for never having
compromised herself. The truth was, that being very
plain no one would believe anything against her. Her
female relations were always extremely affectionate to
her, as her lord had left her the family pearls, and the
power to will them to whom she pleased. It was ma-
liciously said that she devoted herself to French novels
and being rude to her relatives, but to the Carltons,
mother and son, she was devoted, and she had con-
trived to reach Great Glentworth the night before, at
her sister's earnest request.
“Well! how do you like settling down in the coun-
try?” she asked pleasantly, as she and Mrs. Davenant
seated themselves side by side.
“Immensely! so far it's been a great rest cure.”
Lady Tadcaster smiled wryly. “I can't say I've ever
found that, because people insist on going to town to
be amused, and going down to the country to be amus-
ing.”
“Town birds feel it incumbent upon them to dis-
perse agricultural depression,” supplemented Captain
Hall, who had drawn a chair to their side, looking very
much at home in his well-worn “pink.”
“Personally I find rest and oblivion in a crowd,” de-
clared Tadcaster, “more especially if it is a musical
crowd, when every one talks at once and no one ever
says anything. I found the “Peace' season the hard-
est I ever went through. We were always told that
after the war everything would be different. Natural-
ly we thought that meant things would be quieter and
more subdued. The difference I found was in the
wildly reckless expenditure, the wild desire for amuse-
ment of all sorts, and the prices willingly paid for all


MRS. DAVENANT AT BAY I55
luxuries. The gulf between Society and Labor was
never more pronounced. The harder Labor struck, the
harder Society jazzed and raced.”
“Saidie says it reminds her of the insane spending
of the San Franciscans when their insurance money
was paid after the earthquake,” remarked the Master.
“Come and have some dinner, Aunt Clara,” said
Carlton, offering his arm. -
Captain Hall led in Mrs. Davenant, who found her-
self next one of the Americans at the round table.
Mrs. Carlton faced her with Lester and Warburton
on her right and left. The Master was in first-rate
form.
“I’m in luck to-night,” he told himself with a quiet
chuckle, as he turned a beaming face on his com-
panion.
“I say, what an awfully pretty frock you've got on.
You don't mind my saying so, do you? What's it
made of P”
“Satin brocade,” answered Hilda. “I’m glad it
meets with your approval.”
“Suits you down to the ground,” he declared, sur-
veying the dark blue and gold triumph of a French
artiste.
She colored slightly under his too obvious apprecia-
tion of her beauty, and indeed he thought her wonder-
fully attractive and lovely.
“I didn't dare hope I'd find myself seated next you,”
he half whispered. “What a thing it is in life, to be
sure to find some one who never palls.”
Mrs. Davenant laughed outright. “We hardly see
enough of each other to tire, if such a thing were pos-
sible. How well your wife looks to-night.”
The Master pulled himself up, and took the hint,


156 THE BEAUTIFUL MRS. DAVENANT
glancing round at Saidie who sat on one side of her
host. She wore a white satin sheath that showed off
her smart little figure. Diamonds sparkled in her hair
and on her breast, where a knot of weird-looking
orchids clustered.
“Yes! I suppose she is what one would call a
smart-looking little lady,” he conceded, “she's a rat-
tling good sort too. I couldn't bear to be henpecked.”
“Don’t you think it entirely depends upon the hen?”
suggested Hilda, with a gleam of mischief.
Hall grinned. “Perhaps it does,” he conceded.
“What's so clever about Saidie is she quite understands
that to look pretty very nearly means I am pretty. I
never cared much for big women, they look too much
as if they could take care of themselves. That chap
who took her in is a first-rate rider. He's got no end
of trotters and chasers on his place in Virginia.”
“An American P” inquired Mrs. Davenant casually.
“I didn't catch his name when he was introduced.”
“Lycett, Colonel Lycett. His town house is in
Washington. He and Major Griffith only arrived this
afternoon, so we brought them along. Good chaps,
both of them. Don't tell you they won the war, and
can cut off our bacon with a stroke of the pen.”
“Old friends of Mrs. Hall's?” suggested Hilda.
The Master shook his head. “No, they brought
letters from friends of hers, so we asked them down
here for a few days.”
Colonel Lycett was a tall, wiry, gray-haired man
of about fifty, clean shaven and admirably groomed.
Griffith was also clean shaven. He was the clear cut,
fine featured type which is now so essentially Ameri-
can. He was seated on Mrs. Davenant's left, but so
far he was immersed in conversation with Emily War-


MRS. DAVENANT AT BAY I57
burton, and she could not see him distinctly. Lady
Tadcaster was chattering with Carlton.
“Griffith's got all sorts of rum opinions,” whispered
Hall, under cover of the buzz of conversation.
“What sort of rum opinions?” whispered back
Hilda, suddenly interested.
“Oh! extraordinary opinions as to our having lived
in a previous existence and astral bodies. I don't sup-
pose you know what they mean any more than I do?”
He glanced across the table with a little laugh. “Did
you ever sit at a dinner-table where they managed to
keep off it?” he asked.
Mrs. Carlton was talking volubly, and leaning for-
ward as she addressed Major Griffith.
“No, we haven't a ghost here, but there's said to
be a good one in the neighborhood.”
The whole table suddenly paused to listen.
“Where's that, Sibyl?” asked Lady Tadcaster.
“The Lake House. Old Mr. Thorpe's place.”
“Thorpe. Thorpe! I once knew a Thorpe in Wash-
ington, who owned a place in England called the Lake
House,” broke in Major Griffith, abruptly.
“It was probably the same eccentric individual who
lives near here,” observed Mrs. Davenant, smiling
suddenly round at him.
Griffith shook his head. “No, the man I mean is
dead, and a good job too. He was an out and out
rascal.”
“But what about the Lake House Ghost?” broke
in Colonel Lycett, impatiently.
“No one seems to know very much about it,”
laughed Carlton. “Mrs. Davenant proposed to investi-
gate it. I don't know if she has made any progress.”
“Keen as I am I'm afraid I’ve made none,” she


158 THE BEAUTIFUL MRS. DAVENANT
answered. “I’ve never even passed the threshold.”
She met the stern blue eyes of Lycett and held them
for a moment, then Griffith again claimed her attention
eagerly.
“I’m so glad to find so many British are keen,” he
exclaimed. “I wish you’d come over to us and put a
little enthusiasm into Washington. We're all off on
the wrong track there, but perhaps you know Wash-
ington already?”
“I’ve been there,” replied Mrs. Davenant, “but
many years ago. I cannot find out what is supposed
to haunt the Lake House; no one seems to know.”
“How clever,” thought Lester, as he listened intently.
“She’s steered him clean off Washington, and she's
never turned a hair.”
As Mrs. Davenant confessed to having been in that
city his eye had instinctively turned to Carlton, who
was also listening. They had exchanged glances which
were more hostile than friendly. Carlton's expression
conveyed a contemptuous indifference to any proof,
however strong or slender, against Mrs. Davenant's
fair name.
Warburton had now joined in the conversation rag-
ing round ghosts, and the Americans evidently re-
garded him, for a parson, as rather an amazing
proposition.
“First you must prove that the so-called dead
actually leave us,” he quietly remarked to Lady Tad-
Caster.
“What a very unpleasant suggestion,” she retorted.
Warburton looked at her with perfect gravity, tak-
ing no note of the laughter echoing round the table.
“You’ll agree, Lady Tadcaster, that I'm not here
to minister to bodies, but to souls. Would you make


MRS. DAVENANT AT BAY I59
me out a disbeliever in the object to which I am pro-
fessed? If souls do not exist in a post-mortem state
then my labor is in vain. There is no sense in my
ministry.”
He spoke smilingly, but all could see that he was
absolutely sincere.
“Our contention was not that souls cease to exist
after death, but that they do not return to earth,”
insisted Lady Tadcaster. “We have no proof that
they do return.” -
“We have no proof that they do not return,” mildly
insisted Warburton.
In the general laugh which followed the little duel,
the conversation drifted off into other subjects. A
sudden constraint had fallen upon Mrs. Davenant and
she sat in dreamy silence, only half listening to the
light little stream of remarks the Master trickled into
her ear. She felt as if she had received warning to
guard the sacrets of her life even more closely than
before.
“Yet if they knew every detail would I really care?”
she asked herself in a weary disdain. “Is there one
exception that I dread?” She glanced involuntarily at
Carlton and their eyes met. He smiled at her, and
she felt she needs must smile again.
Yet a thrill of apprehension ran through her. How
unmistakable was that proud faith in his glance. He
had heard something yet he trusted her. What had he
ineard?
When the women once more found themselves in the
library, Hilda left Mrs. Carlton and Lady Tadcaster
talking to the others by the fire, whilst she moved over
to a sofa and seated herself by Emily Warburton.
She had no desire to be drawn into the conversation


I6O THE BEAUTIFUL MRS. DAVENANT
which had reverted back to ghosts. Every now and
again a sentence or two was wafted over to her ears.
Mrs. Hall was referring to the vicar—
“It’s so bad for a man not to be absolutely normal,
don't you think so?”
Hilda and Emily exchanged smiles. “By normal
she means absolutely material. Ambrose never could
be that,” said his sister quietly.
The entrance of the men prevented their exploiting
the subject further, and Carlton at once drew her to a
far corner of the room to show her some old pottery
which had just been dug up in a neighboring field.
“How beautiful your room looks to-night,” she said,
glancing away from him and round its spaciousness.
She bent her head over some violets, and lifted their
heads with her slender finger.
“Will you accept those from me?” he asked. He
lifted a bunch of white violets from a glass, and dried
their stalks with his handkerchief.
She took them at once without a trace of hesitation,
and held them for a moment to her face. -
“How good of you, Major Carlton. Of course I'm
delighted to have them. How sweet they do smell.”
She bent her head and placed them in a fold of
her dress, where they lay against her breast, and he
stood silently watching her, and thinking how beautiful
was the setting of her head upon her lovely shoulders.
“I’ve not had a word with you yet, and I’m off
to-morrow morning,” he said, drawing up a chair
under a bower of azaleas, and throwing himself down
by her side. “Will you promise to let me know if you
come up to town?”
“Why certainly,” she responded. “Shall we do a
play together?”


MRS. DAVENANT AT BAY I61
“Rather! two or three plays! That'll be ripping. You
do promise to come, don't you—I mean to town?”
“I can't absolutely promise,” she replied with a gay
little smile, “I hate making plans. I love to act on
the spur of the moment. Look upon it as a possi-
bility, but not a certainty.”
She saw his face fall. “It was all I had to look for-
ward to,” he said below his breath, but she caught the
words.
“When do you return here?” she asked.
“Oh! not for ages. Not till the second week in
December. How am I to live without seeing you till
then P”
He bent down and looked into her eyes; there was
something in his face she had never seen before, a
new expression, but she knew the meaning of those
tones in his voice.
She looked full at him with her soft speaking eyes.
Her face was very grave, her voice very kind.
“Just as you lived before we ever met. I don't
want to lose your friendship, Major Carlton.” She
rose as she spoke. “I fear you are forgetting your
duties as host.”
He jumped up instantly, and they moved across
the room together, and as they passed Lady Tadcaster
that lady detained her, and he mingled with his other
guests.
When the last carriage had driven off, when Mrs.
Davenant's motor had rushed away into the silence of
the night, Claude Carlton retired to his own private
den, and lighting a cigar gave himself up to thought.
He had received a rebuff, but he did not acknowledge
defeat.
Hilda Davenant might imagine him defeated, but


I62 THE BEAUTIFUL MRS. DAVENANT
he was far from being hopeless. He did not believe
in giving in, till he was absolutely compelled. It was
in the nature of his temperament to be very slow in
desire, but once desire was awakened, to be tenacious
and fight to the death for what he really wanted. Carl-
ton did what all men will do till the Day of Judgment.
He made up his mind that he had found his mate, and
he had no intentions of losing her again.
Meanwhile a little family circle conversed softly
round the fire in the library. Lady Tadcaster was sip-
ping her second cup of tea, and smoking her before-
bed cigarette.
She spoke decisively and dogmatically. “There's
not the faintest doubt as to his infatuation. The mat-
ter really resolves itself into this: Is she free to marry
him or is she not?”
“You think it a certainty she will accept him if she
is free?” questioned her sister anxiously.
“I think it so certain that I made a point of being
extremely agreeable, almost affectionate to her. I
always am very nice to pretty widows and pretty girls.
One never knows who they will become.”
“I’m not so sure, Clara,” chimed in Lester, rubbing
his thin hands up and down his long thin legs. “I’m
inclined to think there's an impediment somewhere in
the background. I tried to draw Lycett, but found
him very uncommunicative. He didn't yield to my
blandishments, though I spotted at once he could say
a lot if he chose: “What is that lady's name? I didn't
catch it,” he asked, indicating Miss Howard. ‘Miss
Agnes Howard. She and Mrs. Davenant live together.
I suppose before they came here they lived together in
Washington,” I answered casually, and watched his
face. Even his iron-gray mask wasn't proof against


MRS. DAVENANT AT BAY 163
the stunning surprise he felt. I caught him glancing
at her in a curious puzzled way, several times during
the evening.”
Mrs. Carlton put down her teacup with a little
clatter.
“Oh! I do so hate all this suspicion and prying,”
she exclaimed, rubbing up her monocle vigorously.
“If only I could be sure that Claudie couldn't marry
her I wouldn't care a straw what her past life had been.
I’d gladly accept her for what she now appears to be,
a gentlewoman, and a pleasant member of our little
country circle.”
Lester smiled grimly. “Of course we all know that
a woman can change her character with her hat—after
all, what are most heads?—merely hat pegs. I don't
think you’ll be kept long in suspense, Sibyl. I guess
matters will very rapidly come to a head. I have
rarely passed so interesting an evening. Women
ought to be studied like meteorology; they're a distinct
science, and, like the weather, of infinite variety;
Claudie and the beautiful Mrs. Davenant; the Master
trying to avoid his wife's gimlets, and making the run-
ning on his own account. Poor Warburton and the
mysterious Agnes Howard. I really am very lucky;
some people never meet anything interesting. They
may found a new faith, and lead a forlorn hope with-
out encountering a thrill, whilst I can't even take a
taxi to Paddington without encountering matter
enough for a Shilling Shocker.”
“I never really feel well when nothing's going on,”
remarked Lady Tadcaster, sympathetically. “Men of
to-day have a passion for celebrities, a sort of relent-
less hunting after notoriety. We've got so confused
by the war that we're always doing the wrong thing


164 THE BEAUTIFUL MRS. DAVENANT
without knowing it, and knowing the right thing with-
out doing it. The worst kind of women are always
the most attractive. They take such pains over their
nails and their eyebrows.”
Mrs. Carlton got up hastily. “I’m going to bed.
There's cubbing to-morrow morning, and it's just on
midnight. Good-night, Clara. Lester, you'll see to the
lights.”
Lester closed the door and returned softly to the
hearthrug.
“Poor Sibyl. She's got a rough time before her, I
fear,” he whispered as he lit a cigarette.
Lady Tadcaster shrugged her shoulders, and began
to hunt for a shoe which had gone astray.
“Oh! I don't know. It may come all right. Mrs.
Davenant gives me the impression of being self-made,
and she's taken a lot of trouble over her work. The
really hopeless people are those who have been made
by some one else.”


CHAPTER XIII
MUTUAL CONFESSION
“TNAON'T let us talk till we reach home.”
Hilda Davenant lay back in her luxurious
seat, and closed her eyes, as the car ran swiftly down
Great Glentworth avenue. Apparently Agnes Howard
was equally disinclined for conversation, for she also
drew back into her corner and was silent.
In the few minutes it took to complete the journey
both brains worked hard at their different problems,
which were complicated enough, and Hilda Davenant's
steps were almost weary as she led the way to the little
boudoir adjoining her bedroom.
“You can go to bed, Marie, I won't require you any
more to-night,” she said to the maid, who stood at
the dressing-table awaiting her. Then she shut the
communicating door, and lit a cigeratte. “I suppose
we ought to talk over matters,” she said in a dull,
indifferent voice.
Agnes made a gesture of irritation.
“Oh! I suppose so,” she echoed. “Let's stir up
the fire.” She threw on a log, and the two women faced
each other. “But after all, Hilda, why should we?
..What can it really matter to you or to me?”
Mrs. Davenant shrugged indifferently, and drew
forward a chair.
“Absolutely nothing at all,” she agreed, “but whilst
165


I66 THE BEAUTIFUL MRS. DAVENANT
we are on the crest of the wave of a new crisis isn't it
better to face it, dissect it, and decide our future pro-
cedure?” They looked straight into one another's
eyes. “Agnes,” went on Mrs. Davenant, “are you pre-
pared to lay all your cards upon the table?”
For a second or two Miss Howard hesitated. She
did not pretend to misunderstand the meaning of the
question, and a faint color rose in her olive cheeks.
“Yes! Hilda! If you are prepared to do likewise,”
she replied quietly.
“Right! Then let us begin to arrange them in order.
What are you going to do about Ambrose Warburton?
What am I going to do about Claude Carlton? How
much is Colonel Lycett going to reveal to the Halls?
What does Carlton already suspect? How much does
Griffith know?”
Agnes listened, staring meditatively into the fire.
There was silence for a few minutes, then she spoke
slowly, weighing each word that fell from her lips.
“Firstly, dear, I think we must eliminate any per-
sonal feelings. Both men must be discussed from a
purely impersonal standpoint. We may accept the
fact that Ambrose Warburton cares for me. He has
not said so, but my experience in the past makes me
certain of the present. He may never ask me to be
his wife, believing that duty to his sister requires him
to remain single. If he did propose to me then he
would have to be told certain facts. How would they
affect him? He and Emily know that once I was en-
gaged to a man who left me for another woman, but
they know nothing of the facts connected with my love
affair—the facts that really matter, and that make our
friendship so strange and yet so sacred.”


MUTUAL CONFESSION 167
Mrs. Davenant watched her attentively. A faint
smile curved her lips.
“You see, dear,” she said very gently, “we cannot
eliminate the personal note. Ambrose would only need
to be told facts in the event of your considering his
offer of marriage. Would you, under normal circum-
stances, take that possibility into consideration?”
Again Miss Howard did not finish. “Yes, I would,”
she replied, candidly, “I suppose there is always in us
the passion for the unattainable. The desire of the
moth for the star. Incongruous as it may seem that I
could contemplate becoming the wife of a country par-
son, Ambrose is intensely sympathetic to me. Even the
life appeals to me, after all the buffeting I have been
through in the past. I have sometimes dreamed that
even yet I might drink of that love which was the ideal
of the universal spirit, when women and men were first
created. Having said so much, let us leave it at that,
Hilda, so the question really doesn’t arise.”
There was no bitterness in her voice. It was quite
cold and calm. Years ago she had made a certain
choice, which she knew would in all probability militate
most seriously against any future hopes of marriage.
“He is not going to be told by us, but he may be
told by some one else,” was Hilda's dry retort. “Lord
Lester is hot foot on some scent, and Mrs. Carlton is
uneasy enough to make her cautious, and prone to
listen to him. As to Claude Carlton, I will be as frank
with you as you have been with me. Had it been pos-
sible; if I could marry any man I would marry him.
If he knew all, I believe he would still wish to marry
me. Of course one is apt to think bachelors would
make the best husbands, just as one often thinks what
good bachelors married men would make. Still, I


I68 THE BEAUTIFUL MRS. DAVENANT
think Claude Carlton a great gentleman,” she went on
musingly. “I have always looked forward to meeting
once again some one who was really my ideal of what
a great gentleman could be, and Claude Carlton comes
up to that ideal. I have schooled myself to look upon
true happiness as an improbability. I had it for just
long enough to know what it meant, and then it was
wrenched from me. Yet, in my heart, I have always
felt that the pendulum of fate must some day swing as
far back towards joy as it has swung forwards to-
wards misery in the past. The world really belongs
to woman, owing to man's incapacity to do without
her. The only advantages men possess are those women
don't want. I can't really tell you what I feel for
Claude Carlton. I'm not sure that I know, but I
guess it's nothing but the longing to feel again a man's
head on my breast. Ah well! You, who know all
there is to know about me, must be aware how weak I
am in all real temptations.”
Agnes shook her head. “Not weak, Hilda, but al-
ways swayed by impulses of the heart, which in you
are so much stronger than impulses of the head.”
There was bitter sweetness in Hilda’s smile. “I
would do the same could I have my life over again.
I regret nothing in the life I’ve lived after I knew you.
My trust, and the honor I held you in, restored my
own. Oh! my dear, never in this world were the in-
most spirits of two women so entirely in harmony.
We have both come through great suffering, and what
I owe to you can never be repaid. Such nobility as
yours, Agnes, can only be its own reward. None other
is worthy of it.”
“Oh! my dear! my dear!” cried Agnes in a voice of
expostulation. She waved her hand, as if to banish


17o THE BEAUTIFUL MRS. DAVENANT
and I used always to promise myself that if ever I
succeeded in life, I would help the friendless—a fellow-
feeling, you understand, and their young enthusiasm
is so delightful to me. How strange that so charming
a man as Harry should belong to the Lake House, how
curious to think of Letty living there in years to
come.”
She sank into a listless posture in her chair, and
folding her arms behind her head stared up at the
ceiling; then she drew a long breath that was half a
sigh.
“The Lake House has a fascination for me. I feel
drawn towards it, yet I hate it. Do you know what it
is to feel as if your heart were wrinkled, Agnes? I
suppose I have the sort of nature that invites suffering.
They say suffering is so good for us, don't they?”
“Possibly it is, up to a certain point, but I've reason
to know how it can cripple and dwarf.”
“It hasn't hurt your real self, Agnes. You have
never played the butterfly as I have; or chosen to be-
long to the mindless many, for whom life has no other
use than to provide them with the largest share in ani-
mal pleasures, which they can always attain by hook,
crook or cook.”
“The trouble is, my dear, that by nature you are
subject to moments of hideous clarity,” laughed
Agnes, “and it was those moments that poisoned town
life for you. For five years your duty towards the
men with whom you lunched, dined and supped, was
to keep thought at bay, and skillfully hide away any
show of intellect. You've quite wisely remembered
that Mars loved Venus, not Minerva, and that the
average man dislikes a brainy woman. You are hardly
that, but you're extremely intelligent, so much so that


MUTUAL CONFESSION 171
all through your life you've succeeded in disguising the
fact at will. You rather remind me of Mr. Wells'
Joan in ‘Joan and Peter.' You remember her hideous
moments of clarity at the night clubs. For years
you’ve tried to be rapid and vapid, now the reaction
has come, the strain has begun to tell.”
“Ah! how I agonized in my moments of clarity,”
Mrs. Davenant spoke dreamily, almost to herself. “I’ve
always been subject to them, throughout all my very
checkered career. They always arrived at the wrong
time; just when I had settled down at some revue,
that had been swept clear of all lucidity and coherence
to suit mob mentality. Just when suitably dressed, or
rather undressed, to match the place, the diners and
winers; when I had schooled myself to utter vacuity—
then my mind would begin to work. Then came that
devastating sense of utter isolation through which I’d
to play up. I found it increasingly hard to play up,
yet I was only doing the same as hundreds of other
pretty women, whose war-work was the cultivation
of oblivion of war. I began to do it badly. I needed
a rest. I knew all along that certain glib fallacies were
pure nonsense. ‘The men went singing and laughing
over the top. The soul of the war, and the joy and
pride of dying in a just cause.’”
She laughed scornfully. “I always knew that the
soldier had thought, when he had time to think, of
something absolutely different. That is why he had
to be doped, why his short leave had to be robbed of all
reality. The things he really did think of had to be
blotted out. That is why no man now speaks of his
war experiences. Ah! Well, those horrors are passed,
and I’m happier here and now than I’ve ever been be-
fore. I’ve got that delightful contentment which


172 THE BEAUTIFUL MRS. DAVENANT
is ambition run to seed. I’ve got a past that streams
behind me like a comet's tail, but I’m going to shut
the door on it, and live in the present for the future.
I'm going to be a mother to Letty and Harry, and
damn the consequences, as some brilliant creature once
said in the House of Commons.”
“I believe that is our best line to take,” returned
Agnes quietly. “Our sense of humor ought to save
us from tragedy, the tragedy of meeting two men
whom we would marry to-morrow if we could.”
“If we dared,” echoed Hilda.
Mrs. Davenant lit another cigarette, and a silence
fell between them. A few hours before, and the past
had been as if forgotten. Now it had stirred uneasily
in its grave, and thrown to the surface of life many
an incident which had been consigned to oblivion.
Both women were realizing that things forgotten are
not dead, that nothing really dies, no matter how deep
may be the grave into which it is cast.
Then Mrs. Davenant spoke again. “I should thor-
oughly have enjoyed our evening, but for the U.S.A.
butting in. I loved seeing all the pre-war silver come
to light again, and the excellent cooking and the
flowers.” She stopped short and taking a bunch of
withered violets from her breast she tossed them into
the fire. “I like the quiet, easy service. I loved the
beauty of the room, and indeed of the whole house.
It's the sort of beauty not born, but accumulated by
time, and I love the way it persists in spite of the
world's tumult. I could picture myself at the head of
that table, Agnes, and picture myself a very happy
woman.”
“You picture the stuff that dreams are made of,
dear Hilda.”


MUTUAL CONFESSION I73
“Dreams are all that are left to you and to me.”
Agnes smiled a trifle contemptuously. “Yet we are
about to be faced by a stern reality—being cut by the
county.”
Hilda laughed suddenly. “What an appalling pros-
pect, yet somehow it has no terrors for me. You wise
woman, how do you think of those profundities, yet I
expect you're right.” She laid her fingers on the dia-
monds glittering on her neck. “I saw Lady Tadcas-
ter's eyes fixed on these stones, and I knew what she
was thinking: “Magdalenes were stoned in the past.
They are still stoned, only now the stones come from
South Africa.’ I’ve half a mind to try a new experi-
ence. The last sensation left to me.”
“It will only be an old one with a new name, Hilda.
There aren't any new sensations.”
“There is the sensation of goodness. I haven't,
tried that yet.”
“Because you can't possibly define goodness. It's
often nothing but a lack.”
“Ah! Well! I'm tired of everything, so it will be a
new thrill to be tired of nothing,” retorted Mrs. Dave-
nant. “I’ve found life a tragedy, but I’ve always
treated it as a comedy. Well! we're both agreed not
to worry if the county turns its back upon us.”
“That is the line I should take, Hilda. I don't feel
inclined to put up with any snubs. My motto has been,
and always will be, “They say, What say they? Let
them say.” Now I am for bed and oblivion.”


CONFRONTED 175
trex, and asked to be given a share of the house work.
“My own bedroom is not enough. Let me keep some
of the other rooms clean,” she urged.
Sarah regarded her scowlingly and suspiciously for a
second or two, then she rapped out, “It’s not worth
while for the short time you'll be here.”
“But I don't know how long I shall be here,”
Letty persisted. “Mr. Thorpe has kindly said I may
remain as long as I please.”
Mrs. Greatrex wheeled suddenly round, her eyes
sparkling with anger.
“What!” she cried harshly, “Geoffrey Thorpe said
that? Never! I don’t believe it.”
“Why not ask him?” suggested Letty mildly, and
with that she walked out of the kitchen. She always
strove to avoid acrimonious discussions, which might
so easily end in loss of temper.
A few days later, on meeting the housekeeper on the
stairs, the woman accosted her abruptly.
“As you seem to have nothing to do but idle away
your time, you'd better undertake to keep the hall and
front staircase clean, and you could wash up the dinner
dishes. The gardener cleans the knives.” Without
waiting for an answer to this insolent speech Sarah
ran downstairs and passed out of sight.
By this token Letty Thorne concluded that the
housekeeper and the master had discussed the subject
of her staying on, and the woman had been forced into
a very unwilling acquiescence to her remaining.
The house work Letty attacked with a will, and
happy results were very soon apparent. It was impossi-
ble not to remember that all those antique, and often
beautiful objects which she now began to save from
decay, would one day belong to Harry, and consequent-


176 THE BEAUTIFUL MRS. DAVENANT
ly to herself. It set a personal value upon her work,
which otherwise would have resolved itself into a
mere form of payment for board and lodging.
There is something uncanny in exploring any
dwelling, the rooms of which have been locked up and
unvisited for years; places that have been once con-
secrated to humanity, but have afterwards been aban-
doned to solitude and slow decay. Letty was not free
to range all over the Lake House. To her uncle's
wing she never dreamed of penetrating, and her
passage along two other corridors was barred by a
tape stretched across, and sealed at each end, bearing
the sad legend in Geoffrey Thorpe's handwriting—
“No passage this way. Flooring unsafe.”
Knowing the condition of the rooms that were lived
in, this warning did not surprise Letty. She concluded
that the room her uncle invariably occupied was the
original morning room. She had discovered many
bedrooms all resembling each other. They contained
immense beds, carpets dull with thick dust islanded
amid a black sea of oak; cupboards large enough to
live in, and dark portraits hanging upon the walls.
There was a great, dreary library with locked book-
cases, and a large organ carved with fruit and flowers.
In the vast drawing-room every chair and sofa stood in
its appointed place, as though they had grown like
bushes through the dusty carpet. Upon the tables and
mantelshelves the dust had settled like a thick gray pall.
On fine mornings Letty ventured to let the blessed
sunshine into all those shuttered rooms. It glanced
upon the stern ancestral faces on the walls, and through
their dust evoked a look of life. The golden sunbeams
fell upon old brocaded hangings and embroidered cov-


CONFRONTED 177
ers, but they had no power to warm; all things struck
cold. The dark oak panels chilled her from their wave-
less depths, like the frozen silence of the organ and
web-festooned harp. It seemed to Letty that all things
seemed cursed in that accursed house. The hallowed
places were desecrated, and where hospitality and good
fellowship were meant to reign all was barren and soli-
tary.
Certainly there were hours when Letty found life at
the Lake House very hard to endure, but pressure was
put upon her from two sources urging patience.
Miss Fanny Thorpe seemed in no hurry to receive
her back at Hammersmith.
“Your uncle seems quite satisfied that you should
remain at the Lake House, and I hope you will do all
you can to guard him against the machinations of
Sarah Greatrex, whom I mistrust extremely.”
Letty as she read this letter could not refrain from
smiling broadly at this suggestion. Aunt Fanny
seemed to have no conception how entirely Sarah ruled
the entire estate, and how little either the master or
his niece had to say in its management.
“Food,” went on Miss Thorpe, “being at famine
prices it is a great relief to me to know that you are
being well fed at some one else's expense. There is but
little difference between my age and my brother's, and
though I can hardly hope to benefit by his vast savings
he may, if you play your cards well, leave a legacy
which will save you thinking of marriage, and the
indignity of being supported by any man. I never
saw the need for marriage myself. You see how com-
fortably I live, and how free from worry I am, and I
trust the same comfort may be yours in your old age.”
“Poor Aunt Fanny,” thought Letty, “never to have


CONFRONTED I79
Letty's eyes dwelt lingeringly on those last words,
and she kissed the paper tenderly. At that moment
she felt it would be easy to bear with Sarah's insolence,
and the old man's eccentricities, but what was harder
to endure was the shadow of hateful mystery that hung
over the house. Those ghostly footsteps, that curious,
uncanny dragging sound that came so often from the
wall behind her bed. No solution had come, and no
stretch of her imagination could form any possible
conjecture. Any attempt she had dared stealthily to
make towards unmasking the mystery had utterly
failed.
There were nights when she defied fear, and nights
when fear defied her, and played havoc with her
nerves. The enigma remained unsolved, as baffling
now as it had been at the beginning.
The attitude of the neighbors might have been a
great solace to Letty, had she not discovered at once
that curiosity largely tempered their hospitality.
Though no one had approached the Lake House in
search of her, she had made numerous friends through
the instrumentality of Mrs. Davenant and the Warbur-
tons. Many of those pleasant people had expressed
considerable interest in the strange rumors afloat con-
cerning Geoffrey Thorpe and his house, and Letty
found many of their questions extremely difficult to
parry. The ghost of the Lake House was not looked
upon as a family secret, it was considered common
property, and a legitimate subject for inquiry, and
Letty's reticence only added fuel to the fire of curiosity
consuming the neighborhood.
The pale, wild rose beauty of the girl served as a
piquant contrast to the mysterious and gloomy
dwelling from whence she came. Her appearance in


180 THE BEAUTIFUL MRS. DAVENANT
their midst, the probabilities of her stay at the Lake
House being of long duration, and the whispered sug-
gestion of her engagement to Harry Thorpe, the heir,
all added a certain romance to the affair, and revived
with ever-growing force the languid interest that for-
merly had been taken in the reputed ghostly hauntings
at the Lake House, and the weird manner of life of
its present owner.
Letty Thorne often wondered if her uncle knew of
these friendships she had made in the neighborhood.
She was convinced that Mrs. Greatrex was perfectly
well aware of all her movements, and she concluded it
was probable that she imparted her knowledge to her
master. Signs were not lacking to show that those
two were on very confidential terms, though it was
clear there was no love lost between them. Often
Letty had discovered them seated together engaged in
earnest conversation, but on her arrival on the scene
Sarah would at once rise, abruptly break off the con-
versation, and quit the room. It was then a matter of
course to see the old man again drop his haggard head
over his papers, and wrap himself once more in his
mantle of impenetrable silence.
“He doesn't mind where I go, what I do, or whom
I speak to, so long as no human creature sets foot on
his soil,” thought the girl, quite content that things
should be so. She had not the least desire to invite
any one into the dismal precincts of the Lake House,
and because of those secret meetings with her lover
it was to her own interest to keep at bay the outer
world.
It was quite a long time since Harry Thorpe had
been able to snatch a brief holiday. Labor troubles
in his engineering firm had thrown additional work


CONFRONTED I8I
upon his shoulders, but on this intensely longed-for
day Harry was due to arrive at the old trysting-place
at midday, and at half-past one they were to lunch at
Little Glentworth. “Agnes and I will be quite alone,”
Mrs. Davenant had said, “and it will be a positive
charity to bring your Harry to cheer us up in this
depressing weather.”
The morning had broken dark and dreary, but sun-
shine was in Letty's heart when she awakened, and
remembered what the swift-flying hours were to bring
her. Now, as she rolled up her work preparatory to
donning her hat, a pale gleam of wintry sunshine broke
through the heavy clouds, and fell across the polished
floor of the somber old room. She looked into her own
eyes in the mirror and saw the lights of happiness
strengthening in them, as the waves of love pulsed in
her heart. Harry was thinking of her, sending out his
soul to her, and she responded by sending out her soul
to him. Formerly she had turned away from her
mirror with a sigh, now the change in her was very
apparent. Despite the nervous fears she suffered from,
rest and good plain food, and the fresh country air had
worked wonders for her. The pale cheeks were faintly
tinged with carmine now, and the gray, lack-luster
eyes were brilliant. In place of the shabby old black
frock she wore on arrival, she now was smartly turned
out in a dark blue coat and skirt, which was a gift from
Mrs. Davenant. That fairy godmother had insisted on
rearranging the masses of pale hair which Letty wore
so simply drawn back and rolled up behind. For an
hour she had submitted herself to the deft hands of
the French maid, who, after going through various
experiments finally expressed herself well content when
she had fashioned a wonderful coil that looked like a


182 THE BEAUTIFUL MRS. DAVENANT
spiral shell of pale gold on the top of the dainty little
head. Letty had learned to reproduce this wonder for
herself, and she now surveyed it with immense satis-
faction, as she pinned on a jaunty little felt hat dec-
orated with sprightly little feathers.
“Still ! I'm glad he first loved me when I was a
little shabby, tired, pale thing, whom no one would ever
call pretty,” she said to herself as she took up her
gloves and prepared to leave the room.
How good Mrs. Davenant and Miss Howard had
been to her! Her heart swelled with gratitude towards
them, as she tripped along the Ghost's Walk on her
way to the trysting-place. What a vast difference
these two women had made in her life! Mrs. Davenant
was always thinking of something which would give
her pleasure, and had made her so many presents that
she felt very shy of accepting any more. Then she was
so sweet to Harry, and oh! so deeply sympathetic over
their love affair. Letty had arrived at the conclusion
that there was no woman in the wide world to compare
with Mrs. Davenant, and she frankly adored her.
It was a very tender meeting between the lovers
after those weeks of absence, and when the first trans-
port of their love had subsided, Harry held her away
from him and looked her up and down, his face crin-
kled in a puzzled smile.
“You’ve done something to yourself; what is it?”
he asked.
“Don’t you like it, Harry darling?”
“But I can't even spot what it is, so how can I
tell?” he retorted laughing. “Somehow you look more
grown up. Not so much of a wild rose as a lovely
lily. To me you're always lovely, Letty.”
“And to me you are the most beloved being in the


CONFRONTED 183
wide, wide world,” she declared, and kissed him very
gently to seal her words.
They walked on now, slowly, towards the old sum-
mer house, his arm about her, her fair head thrown
back against his shoulder. The short winter day was
breaking into sunshine like a smile, before closing its
brief hours in darkness, and as they walked she told
him of all the kindness showered upon her by the
ladies at Little Glentworth. It was so heavenly to
discover such warm hearts in a world which hitherto
had been none too kind to her, and she spoke of them
with the ardor of a boundless gratitude.
Suddenly, in the midst of those confidences her
voice was hushed, and by a common impulse they both
stood still. For the first time they found themselves
confronted in that lonely spot by another human be-
1ng.
In the doorway of the old summer house stood
Geoffrey Thorpe, looking straight at them.
For a few seconds sheer amazement at seeing the
recluse out of doors and in such weather held Letty
spell-bound. Was this the real man or his ghost?
Then she hastily collected her senses on hearing his
voice.
“May I inquire what is the meaning of this?” he
inquired, and the bleakness of his voice was cut by a
bitter sarcasm.
Harry drew Letty still closer to him, and faced his
kinsman undaunted. His irrepressible humor, his in-
variable propensity to see the funny side of every
contretemps banished the former gravity of his face.
His very eyes smiled into the grim, angry gaze of the
old man, who leaned forward menacingly, supporting
himself on his stout staff.


184 THE BEAUTIFUL MRS. DAVENANT
“I should have thought the meaning was fairly
obvious, sir, unless, for the moment you thought we
were posing for the cinema. I'm so glad to see you
take advantage of this dream of sunshine, and come
out for a breath of air. May I hope also that the
sight of two devoted young lovers will refresh your
heart and gladden your eyes. Surely it must recall to
you many tender recollections of your youth, of those
bygone days when you, too, experienced the bliss of
loving and being loved. I trust our engagement meets
with your approval.”
Harry had been stringing words together in a sort
of desperate effort to gain time, but he showed no
signs of the inward trepidation he felt. The old man
was staring from one to the other, but there was no
approval in the malignant expression of his haggard
face.
“Engagement!” he shouted furiously. “What
damned mockery is this between two paupers? You'll
get nothing from me. What do you propose to live
On P”
“Had we calculated upon your assistance to pro-
vide us with bread and butter we certainly would not
now be engaged,” retorted Harry, spiritedly. “Pray
do not worry on our account, Mr. Thorpe. We are
perfectly capable of managing our own affairs.”
Harry's voice was perfectly courteous, despite the
disdain of his words, and Geoffrey Thorpe's face lost
some of its vindictiveness.
“All very fine for you, young man, but you'll per-
haps permit me to suggest that my niece has had no
opportunity of judging you by comparison with
others,” he sneered.
Harry glanced down at the face of the girl whose


CONFRONTED 185
arm he still held tightly. He had never seen her look
like that, and his heart thrilled with joy and pride.
She held her little head high and defiant, and a look
of power, of supreme and flame-like passion lighted her
face from chin to brow.
“I have made my own choice irrevocably, Uncle,
as I have the right to do. There is but one soul in
this world who could alter my intentions. That soul
is Harry himself.”
“Ah!” exclaimed Geoffrey Thorpe, grimly, “I see.”
Suddenly a new thought seemed to strike him, and
his manner changed to a sort of nervous eagerness.
“I had hoped to make you my heiress, Letty. I
will do so still, if you will be wise and give up this
absurd engagement. I have wealth that I can leave
to whom I please.”
Letty's face softened. “I do not want your wealth,
Uncle Geoffrey. When I see how miserable it has
made you, how could I be tempted by it? One can-
not be more than happy, and I have happiness in full
Imeasure.”
Again the old man's attitude of almost cringing
eagerness changed to biting anger.
| “One thing is certain. You have no present pros-
pects of being able to marry,” he exclaimed tri-
umphantly.
“And why should you rejoice over that, Uncle?
Would you rather see misery than happiness?” ques-
tioned Letty with gentle tenderness.
The pity in her voice pricked him, and he turned
on her furiously.
“Hold your peace, girl. Long engagements are the
greatest mistake. You are throwing away your life,
and recollect I may live for years yet, and by that time


I86 THE BEAUTIFUL MRS. DAVENANT
you will be old and ugly. If you are wise you will
both agree to forget this foolery.”
Harry laughed aloud in scornful derision; his tol-
erant good humor was giving way “to something
harder.
“Live as long as you please, sir. I’m no searcher
after dead men's shoes. In my position it would have
been perfectly possible for me to raise money on my
future prospects. I have not done so. I prefer that
my own exertions shall provide for the wife I have
chosen. In place of forgetting, Letty and I only grow
fonder of one another every day. She has no one in
the world but me. I have no one in the world but
her. Please don't delude yourself into the belief that
anything you may say could part us.”
Geoffrey Thorpe struck the ground furiously with
his staff.
“What damnable insolence. How dare you address
me in such a manner? You, who are nothing but an
impudent trespasser on my lands! Begone with you,
and never let me set eyes on your face again. One thing,
before I leave you to your unspeakable folly. Remem-
per—there is many a slip betwixt the cup and the lip,
Harry Thorpe, and you may yet drop into your grave
without fingering a farthing of the Lake House rental.
Take my advice, say good-by, and forget each other.”
With a final gesture of supreme contempt he passed
them by and went on his way.
The lovers stood silently watching the bent, retreat-
ing figure, till it was lost to sight round a bend of the
path, then Harry swung round with a careless laugh.
“What a dear old gentleman,” he chaffed, but
Letty's face was sad and very grave.
“Oh! Harry. How terrible to grow old like that,”


188 THE BEAUTIFUL MRS. DAVENANT
Thorpe in order to get married. We are marrying for
love, and that's good enough to go on with. As for
coming here again, well, we'll meet in future at Little
Glentworth, and until the day when your husband and
natural protector is given the joy of taking care of
you for always.”
“You are everything on earth to me, Harry. I could
not go on living without you now,” she said with a
little catch in her voice.
He held her close to him. He felt giddy with pure
happiness, against which no obstacle could stand up.
“It is fine to be well dowered with this world's
goods, but it's still better to be given love—the dower
of Heaven,” he whispered, with all the passion of his
youth in voice and eyes.


CHAPTER XV
wARBURTON'S ADVICE
“Q O you'll meet here in future, that will be delight-
ful, and what I’ve always wished for.”
They had drawn round the fire after a very cheery
lunch, and Mrs. Davenant and Agnes Howard had
listened with the most flattering interest to the story
the lovers unfolded.
Outside, the daylight had already begun to fade
away into a pale primrose west, and Hilda Davenant
switched on a light by her chair.
“Come here to me, little Letty,” she said softly.
Letty Thorne knelt beside her chair. “I would come
to you from the farthest ends of the earth,” she de-
clared. “I don't know why you should be so wonder-
fully kind to us,” she went on, and her voice was
touched by deep emotion. “If only every woman in
the world was like you, what a different place it would
be.”
“God forbid.” There was sudden tragedy in the
low exclamation, but Letty continued determinedly:
“It’s difficult to think of you and so many others as
of the same species. You, who do not even seem to
know what unkindness means.”
Mrs. Davenant looked suddenly serious, almost sad.
“What! I ” she exclaimed. “Oh! but I assure you
I am often very unkind indeed, but what I called you
189


190 THE BEAUTIFUL MRS. DAVENANT
for was this.” She fastened a single row of pearls
round Letty’s throat, “To give a string of pretty beads
to a good little girl. There, child, that is my gift to
you, upon your engagement becoming known to all
and sundry.”
Letty turned pale. She knew the gift was of great
value, and she was stricken by an emotion which could
find no expression in words. She sank down in a
little heap on the floor, and stared at the beautiful,
smiling face above her which owed nothing to art.
The plain black velvet dress Hilda Davenant wore
enhanced the purity of her skin, and the lovely throat,
where the single string of pearls had been, was perfect
in contour. To a girl, Hilda was an absorbing study.
“I can't say anything. It's no use trying,” Letty
burst out vehemently.
“Hilda will be infinitely relieved to hear that,”
laughed Agnes, who was watching the little scene with
eloquent eyes.
Mrs. Davenant bent and kissed the girl. “There!
I've got my thanks,” she smiled, rising and moving to
the window. “Ah! I see Mr. Warburton coming up
the drive. Let us discuss the thrilling subject of your
engagement with him. He's so practical and sym-
pathetic.”
Sunny, cheery Harry readily fell in with the sugges-
tion. He was the embodiment of youth. It was im-
possible to look at him without feeling young again
oneself. The well-knit, vigorous frame, the clear
laughing eyes drew people instinctively towards him,
and made him very attractive.
“By all means,” he agreed, “there's no secret I
wouldn't tell him, but our secret is now to be made
public, so let's start with the parson.”


WARBURTON'S ADVICE I9I
Warburton entered with his usual cheerfulness. He
was master of himself now, when in Agnes Howard's
presence. He had dictated to himself a fortnight's
banishment, during which he had worked hard in his
parish, and turned things over constantly in his mind.
The vicar knew that the two foes to human happiness
are pain and boredom, and that the less a man has to
do the more he will magnify his own troubles. Though
he longed intensely to see the woman he loved, he held
resolutely aloof, until he had formulated some plan to
guide his future procedure. After all, the plan resolved
itself into letting things slide. Gossip was now rife
in Great Glentworth, and Warburton, though he stern-
ly discouraged it in his own house, was often forced to
listen to it in the houses of others. His sister had told
him the simple story of Miss Howard's love affair
in the past, and it had raised his hopes immeasurably.
Agnes had wished him to be told, and he felt her
confidence in him augured well for the future. She
was in any case free to accept or reject his offer, should
he decide to make it. Meanwhile he resolved to school
himself to silence, and wait on Fate, and Emily had
contributed to this determination. She had said, “I
almost despair of your ever marrying now, Ambrose,
but Agnes Howard is the type of woman I would
have loved for a sister-in-law. A woman who would
be wife to you and friend to me.”
He had replied evasively, and treated her words
lightly. He saw that she had no suspicion of his
feelings towards Agnes, and he was glad, because hope
and fear so constantly alternated in his heart. Though
he believed there was no impediment against his marry-
ing Miss Howard, he could not conceive of her ever
caring for him sufficiently to become his wife. “I


192 THE BEAUTIFUL MRS. DAVENANT
will wait as patiently as I can, and be guided by cir-
cumstances,” he told himself, and straightway re-
sumed his habit of intimacy with the ladies of Little
Glentworth. -
“Sitting round the fire as if there was a foot of
snow on the ground, and with no coal to be got, and
wood at a premium,” he protested with mock horror,
as he shook hands all round. “It’s clearing up out-
side, and there's going to be a lovely sunset, and I’ve
just heard the music of the hounds in the distance, and
doubtless the Master will be dropping in for tea.”
“Don’t be tiresome,” retorted Hilda. “Don’t I dil-
igently gather up the fir cones every day, and the
Master will be too muddy to turn in. Come and sit
down, and congratulate Letty and Harry upon their
engagement.”
The parson laughed. “Oh! I’ve done that privately
ever so long ago, but I'm delighted to do it again in
public. Bless you both. Long life, and may every joy
that love can give be yours.”
Letty colored vividly, and murmured her thanks
inaudibly, but she looked up at him and smiled, and
he thought her very pretty as she stood there, a tall
slender creature, with the play of firelight and shadow
over her delicately cut face and eloquent eyes. Harry,
looking very big, and proud, and happy, clasped the
friendly hand extended to him.
“We would like to tell you how it came about that
we were so secretive,” he said, when they were once
more seated round the fire. “You see, for no reason
that we could make out, Letty's Aunt, Miss Thorne,
objected to our engagement, so we had to meet by
stealth. Unfortunately I haven't enough money to
marry on at once, but next year I will have enough.


WARBURTON'S ADVICE I93
You see, sir, the war threw me out, and I had to begin
all over again, so to speak.”
Warburton nodded, “Yes, I quite see. I know how
many lads had to sacrifice their professions for the
sake of their country.”
“You darling,” thought Hilda, as she sat silently
listening, “how irresistibly attractive his simplicity,
and his youth, and his good looks are.”
“To-day,” went on Harry, “we were surprised down
by the lake by the sudden appearance of Geoffrey
Thorpe.”
“Geoffrey Thorpe! Why I thought he never went
out!” ejaculated Warburton in amazement.
“No more he does. That's what we calculated
upon,” went on Harry eagerly. “He’s never been
known to go out for years and years, yet there he
stood, scowling at us by the summer house door”
“Most disconcerting it must have been,” laughed
Agnes.
Harry had to laugh too. “It was, I can assure you,
especially when he also forbade our engagement in
very harsh language. Letty played up like a brick.
We both assured him we intended to get married,
unless the sky fell in, and he went off in a towering
rage, vowing we'd get nothing from him. Just as if
we wanted his wretched money,” went on Harry with
fine scorn. “Why, half the beauty of our marriage
will be that all the time I'll be working like a Trojan
for Letty. I'm young and strong and I love my
work.”
“You’ll win out all right, my boy. Never fear.
But how will all this affect Miss Thorne's stay at the
Lake House? Won't it be rather unpleasant for her
now P”


WARBURTON'S ADVICE I95
The girl's whole expression had suddenly changed.
The look she threw round the absorbed faces watching
her was full of fear. Her eyes were arrested as they
met her lover's puzzled gaze, and he saw entreaty in
them.
“Yes, darling. You may say anything here. Much
better be quite frank, and doubtless we can help you,”
he urged gently.
Letty shook her head emphatically, “Alas! no,
Harry, no one can help me, and you'll all think me
ridiculously foolish, when you hear that my great
trouble is the ghost. I have to live with it, and endure
it constantly. There is some horrible secret connected
with the Lake House; no one could doubt it after
living there a week. I can't explain what it is, be-
cause I don't know, but there is a constant, haunting
presence which is terrifying.”
No one spoke. Amazement was on every face,
and Harry stared at the girl with an expression of min-
gled incredulity, anxiety and blank astonishment. He
had been totally unprepared for such a disclosure.
Warburton was the first to speak and break the silence.
He noted how absolutely in earnest Letty was, and his
voice was no less serious than her own.
“Is it something you see?”
“Ah! thank God, no, not yet. Hearing is bad
enough,” she answered with a shudder. “Let me tell
you what it is. I have often longed to tell Harry, but I
always lacked the courage. Now I feel I must tell some-
one, or I shall go mad. I am awakened night after
night by stealthy footsteps creeping along the gallery
and past my door. Then comes another sound, a cu-
rious brushing, as of an arm sweeping along the wall
behind the head of my bed. Sometimes there is also


196 THE BEAUTIFUL MRS. DAVENANT
a clicking sound, as of metal striking metal. The
footsteps return after a while, pass my door and die
away down the empty gallery. I sleep in a part of the
house right away from Uncle and Sarah Greatrex, so
I can't believe the footsteps are theirs. What could
either of them want in my wing in the dead of night?
There are only three of us in the house, and we are all
in bed by ten o'clock.”
“What lies beyond your bedroom?” asked War-
burton.
“Only another wing, closed like several others by
a cord drawn across, and a notice hung up saying the
floor is dangerous to walk upon. No one ever enters
those corridors. One can see the windows from the
outside, they are all closed and ivy grown, and some
of the trees have been allowed to throw their branches
almost on to the roof.”
“Does the sound always come at the same time, and
every night?” asked the puzzled Harry. Knowing
more of the Lake House than most people he felt
utterly at a loss to find an explanation for his sweet-
heart's weird experiences.
“I don't hear it every night, but very often. Per-
haps it comes every night, but doesn't always awaken
me. I’ve heard it about midnight, and as late as
three o'clock in the morning. I've never heard it by
day, though I’ve sat in my room sewing for hours in
utter silence. The footsteps are so soft and stealthy,
they make me horribly afraid.”
“And you've never mentioned the matter to Mr.
Thorpe?” asked Warburton.
“Never. If you knew Uncle you would understand
why. I spoke to Mrs. Greatrex about the ghost story
connected with the house, and asked her if she'd ever


WARBURTON'S ADVICE I97
heard or seen anything. She was very sarcastic and
disagreeable. “I’ve seen nothing worse than myself'
was her only reply.”
“You’ll have to confront that ghost, Letty.” It
was Mrs. Davenant who spoke. There was an expres-
sion of startled excitement on her face, and her voice
was sharp and firm. “What you hear is no ghost, but
a creature of flesh and blood. You must face it
courageously, and lay your very natural fears to
rest.”
“Mrs. Davenant is right. It is the only thing to
do,” urged Harry. “You needn't fear an ordinary
human being, darling. It is certainly either Geoffrey
or Sarah Greatrex, and you know the worst of both.”
Letty was unconvinced, “What could either of them
be doing there at such an hour?” she argued miserably,
“and why shouldn't they come by day if they're hu-
man?”
“That we can't tell. You know how peculiar Geof-
frey Thorpe is. I’ve never known you to lack courage,
darling; I’ve seen this very day how you confronted
your uncle by the lake. Make up your mind to
throw open your door the next time you hear the
footsteps, and you may take my word for it you'll
see nothing worse than Geoffrey Thorpe or Sarah
Greatrex.”
“Oh! I will try to be courageous enough, but you
can't think how nerve-racking the mystery is,” the
girl assured him, and there were tears in her voice.
“There is something ominous and secretive in the
whole atmosphere of the house. I feel as if it hid
some awful tragedy.”
“It probably does,” thought Warburton, but he
did not say so.


198 THE BEAUTIFUL MRS. DAVENANT
“I agree with Mrs. Davenant that the footsteps are
human. May I make a suggestion? Take a candle,
and examine as carefully as you can the flooring of the
closed corridor which runs beyond your room. Do not
pass the barrier, but see if you can detect any sign of
recent footsteps on the flooring. I suppose the cor-
ridor isn't carpeted?”
“No,” answered Letty, “it’s black oak, and covered
with dust.”
“Good: then that makes it all the easier for you.
I don't say that my suggestion unravels the mystery,
but if you discover signs of footsteps having passed
that way, you can be pretty sure they are the human
footsteps you so often hear. It will give you more
courage to open your door and confront the owner of
the footsteps. Possibly Mr. Thorpe is a somnambulist.
He may be walking in his sleep, in which case it would
be well to use caution and not awaken him. In any
case come in and have tea with us to-morrow, and let
me know what you have discovered by the aid of the
candle. You may hear nothing to-night, but I want
to help you all I can. It will surprise me very much if
you do not report distinct marks on the dusty floor of
that corridor. Compare it with the other corridors
that are closed, you'll soon see the difference.”
His quiet confidence was infinitely grateful to Letty's
nervous fears. Whilst listening to the low, quiet voice
she felt capable of the most heroic behavior, but she
knew how different she would feel when away from
his mental support, and alone in the ghostly, hushed
atmosphere of the Lake House. However, she gave
her promise to follow his instructions, and to strive for
sufficient courage to open her door at the most dreaded
moment.


CHAPTER XVI
SAIDIE HALL SEES INTO THE FUTURE
A* Warburton passed out the M.F.H. and his wife
were shown in, and Mrs. Davenant with per-
fectly disguised astonishment rose to receive them.
Captain Hall often dropped in at all sorts of odd
hours, in fact, whenever he could frame the flimsiest
excuse for doing so, but Mrs. Hall paid her calls in a
more formal manner.
“We aren't frightfully muddy, and we killed in the
West Copse after a rattling good run. Now, we've
come to beg for some tea,” she exclaimed. “We’ve
sent the hounds and horses home, and ordered the
car to come for us in half an hour.”
“How delightful of you! We'll have tea imme-
diately,” replied Mrs. Davenant ringing the bell. “Now,
let me introduce to you Miss Thorne of the Lake
House, and Mr. Harry Thorpe, also of the Lake
House, but at present domiciled at the White Hart.”
Saidie Hall wheeled round. In the twilight dark-
ness of the room she had not observed the lovers.
Now they sprang into prominence as Miss Howard
switched on the lights. She had heard a great deal of
country gossip concerning them both, and her vivid
face betrayed the interest she felt.
“Very pleased to meet you,” she said genially, in
her frank American way, and offering her hand. As
2OO


202 THE BEAUTIFUL MRS. DAVENANT
wiches. “My cook is, alas, a hired assassin, and the
kitchen girls are minxes. I'm certain the butler's
a labor leader. I caught him reading the Daily Herald,
and the footmen are pure Bolsheviks. They've turned
Yerlingham into a Soviet. Even the Pekinese are
affected by the revolutionary atmosphere. They're
the most disobedient little brutes in all the animal king-
dom.”
“Ah! it's not an easy job to be a good landlord
now,” chimed in her husband. “Looks as if the kids
would all be paupers. Every jack one of 'em will
have to learn a trade. The old country's done, they
say, but there's still lots of foxes.”
Mrs. Hall had fallen into silence, whilst the Master
ran on in his serio-comic fashion. The visit paid to
her by the two Americans had enormously stimulated
her interest in her present hostess. Gossip, always
busy with the ladies of Little Glentworth, had not in-
terested her much, but the few words dropped by
Griffith and Lycett at the Carlton's dinner table, had
been enough to confirm her belief that some dark secret
enveloped the lives of Mrs. Davenant and Miss
Howard.
During the drive home from the dinner party she had
frankly questioned Colonel Lycett, “Did you ever hear
of Mrs. Davenant in Washington?” and the concise
answer had been “Never.” Major Griffith was equally
non-committal, but his quiet disclaimer of any knowl-
edge of the ladies in question had not satisfied the
nimble wits of Saidie Hall. She saw something sus-
picious in his extreme reticence. He had known a
man named Thorpe of the Lake House, in Washing-
ton, but she dreamed of no connection between the
defunct scamp and Mrs. Davenant, and did not push


SAIDIE HALL SEES THE FUTURE 205
thought that swayed Saidie Hall were in vain. The
American possessed a streak of genuine mysticism,
which had found itself transplanted in very uncon-
genial soil, but it never really perished, and at odd
times asserted itself very strongly. Something in the
atmosphere that evening had roused it into life. Pos-
sibly, it was Letty Thorne's presence, her connection
with the Lake House and its uncanny traditions. Pos-
sibly, it was the strong attraction that she at once felt
for Harry Thorpe, that had caused her to prophesy.
Whilst striving to give her attention to the Master's
harmless chatter, Hilda Davenant kept one ear open
to Harry's “silly expansiveness” as she mentally
termed it.
He was rather prone to be taciturn, and non-respon-
sive where his family was concerned, but now he was
talking in the most candid manner about the former
owners of the Lake House property, and Mrs. Hall
was drinking in every word with absorbed attention.
“Had my father lived he'd have succeeded before me,
but he died before Mark Thorpe. Mark went down at
sea, after a very discreditable career. He had to
leave this country, and he went to America. There
he got into more troubles, money and women. He
was, I’ve heard, a most plausible adventurer, and he
had rather a serious affair with a beautiful actress
called Lambert, or some such name. There was a
scandal, and he married her, but luckily they had no
children.”
“It never answers when the lady of the Manor
springs from the boards,” remarked Saidie, “but you
know women always will run to extremes both in love
and hate. It doesn't surprise me that a man like Mark
Thorpe got some woman into his toils; doubtless he


206 THE BEAUTIFUL MRS. DAVENANT
got many, for heaps of us would really love to run over
the rim of the world and drop into space, just to
see what it looks like on the other side. There's noth-
ing so boring to women as the happy medium.”
When Mrs. Davenant's guests had taken their de-
parture Agnes Howard turned to her with a gay
little air of amusement.
“The country hasn't cut us yet, Hilda. We've
had quite a number of callers this week.”
Mrs. Davenant did not answer for a moment. She
sat looking down, one slender hand covering her eyes.
When she did speak her voice was very grave.
“I heard Harry telling Mrs. Hall that Mark Thorpe
had married in Washington an actress called Lambert,
and that there were no children to succeed him when
he died.”
For a moment Agnes looked as grave as her friend,
then suddenly she smiled again.
“What of it, my dear? The name Lambert has no
significance here. Why be anxious about nothing?
Your fears are groundless. Colonel Lycett would
never give us away, of that I’m convinced. He has
left Yerlingham, and the skies haven't fallen.”
Mrs. Davenant rose to leave the room. She gave
a gesture of weary impatience.
“Oh! I really don't care one way or the other.
Don't let us talk of it any more.”
When the door had closed Agnes Howard gave a
deep sigh, “Yet she does care most awfully, alas!”
she whispered to herself, “and I know why.”
Mrs. Hall occupied alone the inside of her car, and
she gave herself up to deep thought as they sped
homewards.
“Lambert! Yes, I’m sure that was the name Lester


CHAPTER XVII
LETTY FACES THE TERROR
THE night had closed in dark and humid. The
Lake House lay dreaming in silence, and as Letty
Thorne stood on the threshold of her open door she
could hear nothing but the tumultuous beating of her
own heart.
Supper was over, and she was free to retire for the
night. She had found her uncle in no way altered in
his demeanor towards her. That strange, unexpected
interview by the lake, which had taken place but a
few hours ago, might have been a dream. It had not
changed Geoffrey Thorpe's attitude towards his niece
in the smallest degree. He had not referred to it even
indirectly, and they sat together in grim silence, whilst
they ate their supper of bread and cheese, and the
tame little mice crept about their feet in search of
crumbs.
Perhaps it was only a dream, thought the girl, as
she let her eyes wander away into the deep, dark
corners of the room, where the shadows seemed to
linger even on the sunniest day. As she thought of
Harry in the snug, brightly lit parlor of the White
Hart, an intense longing came over her to see his
adoring glance, to hear his blithe voice. To-morrow
they would meet again, but at that moment to-morrow
seemed very far distant. How cheerful it would be
208


LETTY FACES THE TERROR 2II
echo to her tread, but she hurried softly on until she
reached the cord that was stretched across its mouth.
She stooped low down and held out the candle,
throwing its flickering beams on to the floor.
Yes! Warburton was right! She could distinctly
trace footsteps on the thick layer of gray dust. Large,
untidy footprints, such as might have been made by
Geoffrey Thorpe's loose, slippered tread. She straight-
ened herself again and listened intently. Not a sound !
She peered down the black tunnel in front of her. Its
end was swallowed up in impenetrable darkness. What
lay beyond? She could not tell what those closed
rooms contained, or upon what errand went those
slippered feet. All was mystery still, but she had seen
enough to convince her that a human being did pass
along that corridor, despite the warning that it was
unsafe for human feet.
Very cautiously she retraced her way, and, regaining
her room, she closed the door, and sat down by the fire
to think. She had carried out the first half of her al-
lotted task, the easier half, but as Warburton had as-
sured her would be the case, the discovery she had
made had robbed the rest of its greatest terrors. Those
footprints in the dust were undoubtedly human.
Ghosts, if such entities did exist, left no visible trace
of their passage. She felt that it would no longer re-
quire superhuman courage, on hearing the approach of
that stealthy tread, to throw open her door, and ascer-
tain beyond a shadow of doubt who walked the night
on so secret an errand. Her courage rose consid-
erably, and though her surroundings were so gloomy,
and so utterly solitary, and her long brooding over the
mystery had weakened her nerves, she decided to carry
out the advice given her by Harry and Warburton.


212 THE BEAUTIFUL MRS. DAVENANT
She undressed and prepared as if for bed, and wrap-
ping herself in a warm dressing-gown, she took up
a book and resigned herself to sit up till daybreak,
if necessary.
Certainly, nothing is more trying to the nervous
system than awaiting a dreaded uncertainty. More
especially is this the case if the ordeal has to be endured
in the dead of night.
In Letty's case the conditions were rendered even
more unpleasant than usual by reason of their setting.
The dilapidated old house, which the most material
person would have described as ghostly, the peculiar
mode of life of its occupants, and the profound and
desolating atmosphere of mystery they created, all
weighed powerfully against sane and rational reason-
1ng.
Letty Thorne was eminently practical in ordinary
life, but she possessed the vivid imagination of the
artistic temperament, and that imagination had been
over-developed and unbalanced during the last three
months of her residence in the Lake House.
As she sat by her fire, striving to fix her mind on
her book, yet with every sense strung to acutest tension,
she counted the slow hours up to the second hour of
the new day, as they were tolled off by the stable clock,
and the church tower in the distance. Again she mend-
ed the fire till it blazed and crackled on the hearth, till
it flashed on the somber draperies of the canopied bed,
and lit up the high mantelpiece with its intricate carv-
ings, and the raftered ceiling with its ponderous oaken
beams.
She strove to fix her thoughts on Harry, and as his
face rose before her she longed to lay her head on his
breast and whisper to him. If she could but leave this


LETTY FACES THE TERROR 213
silent lonely room, and run through the darkness to
him. The vague dread was stealing over her again,
despite all her efforts. A cold chill crept through the
room. The dread grew, and her book fell from her
knee to the floor, with a dull, heavy sound.
Her head had begun to feel hot and tired, and her
eyes too heavily weighted with sleep to remain open,
and she moved to her window and very softly threw it
wide. The night was intensely still. Not a breath
stirred the moisture laden, bare branches of the
trees. The sky was draped in heavy clouds, not a star
shone betwixt their slowly drifting masses.
Suddenly, there broke out a dismal howl from the
house-dog in his kennel in the yard, and Letty drew in
her head hastily. The sensation of icy chill that in-
vaded her came not from the dampness of the atmos-
phere. It was the result of another sound, faint
enough, as yet, but still clearly audible to her trained
ear—the approach of those footsteps she so dreaded.
The vague panic was creeping over her again. Ah!
to be out of that grim and silent room, to be with
Harry, to have done with the Lake House and its eerie
secrets forever. The fire was dying down; it was
surely much darker.
She stood up stiffly by the window, every nerve
on the rack, every muscle taut, her head turned to-
wards the door. Her pulses throbbed wildly, her very
blood seemed to run ice, but she stood there quietly
waiting, and mentally repeating to herself the words,
“Harry shall not find me a coward.”
There are moments in life when every power of the
mind is unnaturally strained, and when thoughts hith-
erto undreamed of are formed in one short instant.
Letty knew what she had to do, but though she was


214 THE BEAUTIFUL MRS. DAVENANT
resolute to do it she still lacked the physical courage.
She had a curious sensation that her feet refused to
move.
The stealthy footsteps neared her door, they passed
it and went onward towards the barred corridor. In
another second or two she had lost trace of them.
Inertia dropped from her suddenly, and the thought
of Warburton, praying that courage might be given to
her, sprang like a flaming sword through her mind.
The steps would return again.
Deliberately she walked to the door and waited, her
hand upon the knob, ready to turn it instantly. Now,
her straining ears caught another faint sound, the
'cautious closing of a distant door. A little longer, and
she could hear the footsteps creeping back again. Sud-
denly, all fear fell from her, and was replaced by an
irresistible desire to learn the truth, to know the worst.
The footsteps were creeping closer—now she knew
they were about to pass. With a mixture of dread and
desperation she threw wide the door.
She stood face to face with Geoffrey Thorpe.
In that wild first moment the two pairs of eyes held
each other in a stern conflict of tenacity. Thorpe was
the first to break the spell, with a scared glance over
his shoulder. The next moment a large key hanging
in his finger, clanked against the brass candlestick he
carried.
“What's this?” he exclaimed harshly. “Why aren't
you in bed and asleep?”
“I was frightened,” she faltered tremulously.
“Frightened ' What frightened you?” he scoffed,
throwing the light on her face and scanning it closely.
“Footsteps. I couldn't think what they meant, at
such an hour.”


LETTY FACES THE TERROR 2I5
“And what business is it of yours to inquire? Whose
footsteps would they be, but those of the master of
this house? Understand, I won't have any spying
here, and I detest spies. Surely I am at liberty to walk
about my own house when and where I please.”
“But the howling of the dog startled me. I was
reading, not sleeping. I'm sorry,” she faltered, almost
in tears from the violent reaction overtaking her.
She saw him shrink back, and his pale face grew
whiter.
“The dog shan't keep you awake again, and I allow
no reading in bed. You'll burn the house down about
our ears. Where do you get so many candles?”
“I buy them in the village,” she confessed truth-
fully, “but I promise not to do it again, Uncle.”
“Good girl! That's the proper spirit,” he answered
more genially, “and in future trust me to keep guard
over the security of the house. I often stroll round,
just to see that all's right. Good-night.”
He nodded briefly and moved away, and she retired
into her room and closed the door.
She knew that his last words were false. She de-
tected instantly that he had uttered them as an after
thought, and that his nocturnal prowlings had nothing
whatever to do with the safety of the house. He had
offered no real explanation of his errand at so strange
an hour. She had not expected that he would, yet she
felt no relief at finding that the ghost had flesh and
bones, and that it was a mortal hand which swept so
often over the wall behind her bed. She was more
convinced now than ever before that some deep mys-
tery was attached to the house, and she acknowledged
to herself that she had not yet begun to solve it.


CHAPTER XVIII
MURDER
I? was early in December, and the weather had
turned bitterly cold. True, the sun shone by day
and made walking a delight, but several degrees of
frost spell-bound each night, and coated the bare woods
and hedges in a radiant veil of sparkling silver.
Agnes Howard had suggested ten days in London,
but Mrs. Davenant had rejected the proposal.
“I haven't the least inclination to go to town,” she
had retorted rather crossly.
“Then why not let us invite a cheery party to come
here?” urged Agnes. “We always intended to have
some house parties, and we’ve had none. We seem to
have settled down into an utterly humdrum existence.
Soon, we'll find ourselves attending all the Mothers’
Meetings and tending our own cabbages.” -
“Have any one you like, Agnes, but not on my
account. I’m perfectly satisfied with the lives we lead,
and thankful for the rest,” was the quiet retort.
Miss Howard had suggested a change as a means of
cheering up her companion. Hilda had developed a
curious moodiness, and took long walks alone, by pref-
erence. She seemed to be plunged in constant thought,
and her spirits had lost their bright resilience and
sparkle. Agnes could not decide what ailed her. Was
it that she missed Claude Carlton's frequent visits and
216


MURDER 217
obvious admiration, or was it something secret and
undisclosed that weighed upon her mind? Miss How-
ard was inclined toward the latter interpretation.
Major Carlton had written several times to Mrs. Dave-
nant, a regular correspondence seemed to have sprung
up between them, and his return had been announced
by his mother as being due in about ten days' time.
Already Mrs. Carlton was planning a big Christmas
dinner party, and a dance to follow. There would
be a cheery house party, and possibly skating. It
looked like a hard winter.
This bright prospect ought to have raised Hilda's
spirits, in place of depressing them, but there was no
change perceptible. In vain did the devoted Agnes
seek to probe the mysterious cause of Hilda's depres-
sion. The only reply, on putting a plain question, was
“No, I've nothing more on my mind than usual, but
recollect that I always carry with me a heavy weight.”
“It has hardly affected you in the past; why should
it do so now? You are looking pale and fagged,”
urged Agnes. “I suppose you won't like my saying
so, but I sometimes regret bitterly that we ever came
here. We should have steered clear of the Lake House
and its ill-omened traditions, instead of settling down
at its very gates. I believe its proximity depresses
you, even though it has turned out that there is no
ghost, and you have discovered Letty Thorne.”
Mrs. Davenant seemed to ponder these words, and
Agnes, who was watching her closely, saw her color
deepen, then fade. Looking up she met the gaze of
her friend and said quietly—
“I’m glad—very glad we did come here. I have
found Letty, but I feel very often, and very strongly,


MURDER 219
to please himself, and as his nocturnal rambles no
longer alarm you, why worry any more?”
Letty listened respectfully to those logical remarks,
but remained quite unshaken by them.
“I don't worry. After all it isn't my affair,” she
said, “and when I hear the footsteps I no longer feel
afraid, and often they don't even awaken me, but I'm
more than ever convinced that there is a mystery.
Though I no longer expect to see a ghost I can't help
feeling a deep dread of the whole place. It is weighed
down by some horrible secret. The whole atmosphere
is impregnated with mystery. No one could live under
that roof and fail to sense it. Something sinister is
concealed there. What, I don't know. I can’t even
imagine.”
“It can be no human being. Such things happened
perhaps in a less enlightened past. They couldn't hap-
pen now, they would be discovered,” argued Warbur-
ton, with conviction. “I discussed with Harry the
possibility of some one being hidden, or kept prisoner
in the Lake House. He agreed with me that such a
presumption was quite untenable. Recluse, as Mr.
Thorpe undoubtedly is, certain people do approach and
often enter his house. Mrs. Greatrex lives there, the
gardener is in and out, and has been about the place
for years. The tradesmen and postman come to the
door. There are old retainers still on the property.
Repairs must sometimes be executed, or the roof would
fall in.”
Agnes Howard warmly emphasized those conten-
tions, but Letty remained obviously unconvinced, and
apparently Hilda Davenant took Letty's view. She
listened very quietly to all the arguments, but took no


220 THE BEAUTIFUL MRS. DAVENANT
part in them, nor did she once express agreement with
Warburton and Agnes. She also was unconvinced.
The short winter day was closing, as she sank down
with a tired little sigh on the seat of the old summer-
house by the lake.
The air had a sharp nip in it, and the deepening
orange which suffused the western sky, and spread into
a vast crimson canopy in the upper heavens, warned
her that the day was done. She had no fear of being
surprised in that deserted spot, sacred only to the love-
making of Harry and Letty. The girl never came
there alone, and it was too cold for the old man to be
out. He had left the house but once that year, when he
had surprised the lovers. The trysting-place was now
abandoned to wild nature, but it had a singular attrac-
tion for Hilda Davenant. Her thoughts flew freely
there, and the utter solitude was restful to a woman
who had spent all her life in public, and was rarely
off guard. For some time now, she had been obsessed
by the conviction that the one great difficulty in her
life would find its solution there. She made no at-
tempt to speculate as to how this would come about.
That was a secret held by her other self, the self that
gave rise to the conviction, and had a wisdom of its
own. She was content to drift, to wait patiently on
Fate, and surrender herself to that imperious urge
which drove her so often to the gloomy fringe of the
lake.
Often she had asked herself the question, “What
draws me here? What is the shadow that has crossed
my path, and darkened once more my future outlook?
I had begun to forget, now I am again enveloped in
the shadow of the past.” Instinctively she felt that


MURDER 22I
it was a shadow. Could it be the same shadow that
darkened Letty's life at the Lake House, and which
caused her to long for the moment when she could
leave it? Was this same shadow operating upon her
in an exactly contrary degree? It came to her that
imagination was floating farther and farther away,
with her yearnings and desires, in a wind of dreams.
To what port was she being wafted? Was it to a
land of shades and still deeper resignation, or to a
harbor of sunshine, where dreams of joy would find
their fruition?
The sun had finished his short circuit, and had left
a crimson trail of glory behind him in the frosty sky.
Against the northern horizon were piled up great gray
masses of cloud, tinged with carmine and gold. The
wooded heights surrounding the lake were transformed
into a fairy forest of hoar-frosted boughs and stark
leaves. King Winter reigned supreme, and had si-
lenced the merry chatter of the little brooks, and
draped the brown fern fronds and overhanging for
liage in silver, a miracle of fantastic and delicate
tracery.
The lake was covered by a thin film of ice, save
where deep springs welled up from its depths. Its
surface reflected lovely lights, opal tints of carmine,
gold, steely blue and deep rose, and Mrs. Davenant
watched them slowly fading into the colder, purer ra-
diance of a full moon, now climbing above the woods,
whilst the zenith was still rosy and gold.
She was about to tear herself away from the silent
enchantment, and retrace her steps homewards, when
the deep peace was broken by a startled blackbird,
messenger of storms, darting wildly out from its roost-


MURDER 223
fagged out. Still he held on his way. Now, he had
passed out of Mrs. Davenant's range of view, and
barely conscious of her actions, she crept nearer the
entrance and peered out as he approached.
He was quite close to her now, and as she stood
transfixed, staring towards him, every drop of blood
left her face, which became rigid with horror. One
arm swung free as he ran, on his other side hung an
empty sleeve. His face was gray, haggard and cov-
ered by a mat of unkempt black hair. His clothes hung
in rags about his gaunt frame, and on his feet were tat-
tered stockings.
She stood as if frozen to the ground, dizzy from
unadulterated fear. Then the film gathering over her
eyes cleared, the nightmare spasm clutching at her
breath loosed its hold, at the violence of overwhelming
shock.
The flying figure had stopped short, and for one
long moment the wild, dark eyes, charged with an ex-
pression that curdled her blood, met hers in full recog-
nition.
At that awful gaze the beating of her heart ceased.
Surely the earth stood still too, surely the moon paused
in her mounting! Then before she could call back her
senses, before a word was spoken, he was off again.
She staggered back to the seat, and cowered into
its black shadows. Had he recognized her? Yes!
undoubtedly. She could tell it by that hideous stare
of amazed loathing. She had changed hardly at
all, since last they met twelve years ago. She had
recognized him instantly, yet he had changed enor-
mously.
She threw her hands before her face. More in
thought is suffered in eventful moments than in years


MURDER 225
She bent her head forward, and strained her ears
in an agony of apprehension. Yes! There was some-
thing moving at the other end of the little lake. Again
came the shrill scream of startled birds, a hare sped
swiftly past the door. Though she could see nothing,
because of a bend in the path and the tangled foliage,
she could clearly distinguish the brittle noise of crack-
ing ice, a heavy splash of water, and a low, discordant
medley of sound, confused and intermittent, rising,
falling.
“It sounds like a dog fight in the distance,” she
thought, shudderingly. She dared not move from her
hiding place. Yes, he was still there. What was he
doing? What were those sinister confused sounds?
Would he come back? The terror of his return over-
powered all other thoughts, all clear reasoning. If he
did return he would surely kill her. Of that alone
was she certain.
Hours seemed to pass, dragging interminably. The
strange sounds had died out, and a blessed period of
deep silence reigned once again. In reality but ten
minutes had slipped by, and she was about to steal
forth to reconnoiter, when she became aware, for a
certainty, that some one was approaching. The foot-
steps were assuredly not his.
She clutched at the door posts for support. A
weight was on her head, and all her numbed limbs.
She was no longer quite certain of anything.
The steps were dragging and slow, the halting steps
of a very old, unshod man, and peering out she saw
gradually emerge from the black shadows, not that tall
gaunt fugitive, with the wild dark stare of recognition,
but an aged man with down drooped head, leaden limbs
and spiritless air. The moonlight fell full upon him


226 THE BEAUTIFUL MRS. DAVENANT
now, and enveloped him in glittering raiment, for as
he came closer she saw, that from head to foot he
streamed with water.
“Geoffrey Thorpe!”
She was certain of the identity of the man she
suddenly faced. Clarity rushed over her. She moved
from the shadows and barred his path.
“What have you done with Mark Thorpe?” she de-
manded.
He was standing as if rooted, like the stark trees
around him. The day of judgment had dawned. That
imperious question came from an archangel's trump,
calling him to his just doom. He raised his haggard
eyes, and looked straight into her face, a pale, beauti-
ful accusing face, and she noted on his a quivering,
deadly pallor. There was neither tragedy nor pathos
in his gaze, only pity, which trembled in his voice like
a condemned soul brought to justice.
“I have killed him,” he replied, with dull leaden
brevity.
“You have drowned him in the lake?”
He looked again at her darkly. “He is drowned
in the lake. A one-armed man cannot swim, but I
never meant to kill him. We fought near the edge,
we slipped on the frozen ground as we grappled. We
both fell in, and he clutched, with his one hand at my
foot as we sank together. I struck away his hand with
a desperate effort. I would have saved him, but I was
choking. He sank again. What matters? I too am a
dead man.”
His voice was dead and expressionless. His face,
white as a corpse against the black shadows, was de-
void of feeling. He moved slowly, silently and pain-
fully on, without another word or gesture. He wore


MURDER 227
no shoes, only torn stockings. She watched him as his
spectral form was swallowed up in the darkness of the
woodland path.
For a long moment she stood still, then she looked
down upon the frozen ground. A little pool of
water had gathered, where a moment before he had
stood.


CHAPTER XIX
THE ESCAPE
Tºps the close of the wintry day the robins
hopped about the Ghost's Walk, and ate the
crumbs Letty threw to them. It was her consolation
and delight to make friends with all wild life, and
even the savagery of “Steve,” the chained watch-dog,
had succumbed to her gentle blandishments, and
watched for her coming morning and evening with the
scraps she contrived to save for him at dish-washing
time.
The frosty afternoon was far advanced, and she
had lingered out of doors as long as possible, watching
the glory of the sunset, but now her attention was
distracted from the sky and the birds by the sudden
furious barking of the dog.
“Some strangers must be about,” she concluded,
and scattering her last crumbs she struck off by a nar-
row path through the copse on her left. Mrs Greatrex
had gone to the village, and would certainly not be back
for another hour, and Geoffrey Thorpe was in his
room at the other side of the house, absorbed in his
usual occupation, whatever that might be. Letty had
often wondered, but never discovered what kept him
so busy. There was no one but herself to open the
door, or to warn off stray tramps, and she hurried to-
228


230 THE BEAUTIFUL MRS. DAVENANT
the house. For the first time she ran with natural
vigor along the corridors, and without fear of disturb-
ing the old man. Unceremoniously throwing open the
door she ran in, crying out—
“There is some one in the copse! I heard him drop
from a tree outside the left wing. Then I heard creep-
ing, stealthy footsteps.”
The effect of her announcement was electrical.
Again she felt a sharp twinge of fear mingle with her
excitement. The ashy terror on her uncle's face, as
he started up from his seat and dashed wildly past
her, set her heart beating, and her unstrung nerves
quivering with nameless dread. She made a sudden
movement to arrest him, but too late.
“Stay where you are,” he shouted, “disobey me at
your peril.”
Before her feeble protest could reach his ears he
was out of sight.
For a moment she stood still, feeling sick with ap-
prehension and acute uncertainty, then she rallied her
courage, and running into another room on the other
side of the house, which commanded a view of the
Ghost's Walk, she threw open the casement, and thrust
out her head as far as she dared.
The footsteps were clear enough now. She could
distinguish her uncle's tread; wonderfully swift, yet
hampered by his loose slippers. How terribly eager
he seemed ! Terror lent him strength and agility.
There was more cracking of boughs and undergrowth,
as the feet of the intruder, no longer stealthy, rushed
on. Suddenly, in a small clearing she caught a fleeting
glimpse of two figures. One tall and gaunt, the other
was Goffrey Thorpe in hot pursuit. Another second
and both were lost to view.


232 THE BEAUTIFUL MRS. DAVENANT
for him, but she remembered that he had forbidden
her in most emphatic language to follow him
No, there was nothing that she could do but wait,
and occupy her mind with many conjectures. Yet,
she was desperately uneasy. Her nerves were strung
up to acute tension by the strange events of the last
hour, and she was consumed with a desire to prevent
her thoughts from dwelling on that old shadowy fear
which lurked in the dark corners of the kitchen. Now
there was another dread to be fought, a terrible fore-
boding of some coming evil.
From time to time she stirred the fire noisily, and
looked over her shoulder at the shadows, and started
violently as a half-burned log crashed on to the hearth.
The minutes dragged on, and the ticking of the clock
grew painfully loud. Why did not Geoffrey Thorpe
return? What was happening in the Ghost's Walk?
What would be the effect on the old man of this wild
adventure? Was he lying, even at that moment, mur-
dered—amid the dense brushwood of the copse?
The moon was well above the woods now, and fell
in splashes across the great stone flags of the floor,
and touched with silver fingers the rusty articles ranged
on the walls and dresser. The clock burst into a loud
whirr and struck. She did not wish to count the slow,
emphatic strokes, but she did so mechanically. For
how long had she been alone in the house? She hardly
knew. Perhaps an hour, and her uncle had not re-
turned.
She glanced round at the uncurtained window and
her heart stopped, then bounded on again. A man's
face was pressed close to it, peering in on her. She
did not start or cry, though her very blood was chilled,
she stood up calmly and quietly. Suddenly the face


THE ESCAPE 233
/
vanished, but not before she had distinguished its own-
er—Geoffrey Thorpe.
Why did he not enter? A sound at the back door,
and she wheeled round and waited. Dragging, slow
footsteps in the flagged passage, then the door was
feebly pushed open and he entered. Mechanically she
noticed that he had lost his slippers, and that as he
crept forward to the fire a path of water followed him.
Every garment he wore was drenched through and
through, but her thoughts were concentrated on the
ashy pallor of his face, and the terror still alive upon
it.
“I must change at once,” he muttered thickly,
through his chattering teeth. “Go and fetch me brandy
from the cupboard and dry clothes; and I need you.
My hands are helpless.”
Letty, who had trembled at the mere falling of a
log, was instantly steadfast, practical and full of re-
source. What a blessed relief to be in action once
more!
“You’re wet through, uncle, much wiser to go to
bed immediately. I'll fetch the brandy now.”
She was answered by a deep groan, and he clutched
wildly at her for support.
“What is it?” she asked gently, as with her arms
firmly round him she drew him to a chair. “Are you
hurt?” His answer, as he sank back was almost inau-
dible, so violently did he chatter and tremble.
“No! Yes! I've been bruised and strained my
hands. I'm a dead man. Fetch brandy and help me
upstairs. Keep her away from me! Ah!” His voice
rose to a quivering shriek, as he stared wildly at the
pool of water gathering about his feet. “She’ll see
that and guess.”


234 THE BEAUTIFUL MRS. DAVENANT
“No, she won't. I'll wipe it up. Wait till I fetch
the brandy.” -
In a moment or two more Letty returned, and with
the greatest difficulty he took a few sips of the stimu-
lant. His hands, scratched and torn, trembled so
greatly that he could not hold the glass, and she was
obliged to put it to his lips.
Then she gently assisted him to rise. “You must
let me send for the doctor,” she suggested, as they
moved slowly to the door.
Her words roused in him a fierce strength. He
broke away from her, staggering dangerously.
“I forbid it. I dare you to do so. Never shall he
enter with my consent.”
Again she put her arms about him, soothing him
gently with reassuring words. “It shall be as you
wish. I promise, uncle. Now come to bed, and I'll
fetch you hot bottles. Do come.”
He yielded suddenly to her persuasions, with a child-
like obedience, and she assisted him with the greatest
difficulty to climb the stairs. He was very far spent,
if not utterly done. Once within the room he ordered
her to lock the door, and collapsing into a chair he
watched her heap coal upon the fire and stir it into
a blaze. In another moment or two she had ripped
off his torn, sodden stockings, coat and waistcoat, and
laid his dressing gown by his side.
“Now I must leave you whilst I fill the hot bottles.
I won't be long. Can you slip into your dressing-gown
without help?” His head had dropped forward on
his breast. She had to bend low to catch his answer.
“Good girl! Yes; but wipe up the water first, and
don't let her come near me. Lock the door, and take
the key as you go out.”


THE ESCAPE 235
She promised and ran downstairs, entering the
kitchen like a little whirlwind. She recognized the
truth, that her uncle was in a parlous state. The first
thing she saw was Sarah Greatrex standing by the fire
warming herself composedly. She held up her skirts
ostentatiously, as if to avoid contact with the water
upon the floor.
“Your master is unwell. I am going to take him
hot bottles,” Letty quietly announced. The woman
made no comment, nor did she attempt to assist Letty
as she filled the stone jars from the kettle Sarah had
set upon the fire. Just as she was about to leave the
kitchen again, Mrs. Greatrex spoke.
“Who did you say was unwell?” Her voice was
ominous but controlled, and she glanced significantly
at the door.
“My uncle.” It was the first time she had spoken
of him to Sarah by that name. She had always re-
ferred to him as Mr. Thorpe. Now, the very fact of
her claiming relationship, added to the strange events
of the night, gave her a sense of authority, and made
her feel as if he really did belong to her.
Again Sarah made no response, and she returned to
her uncle's room and locked the door. He had con-
trived to divest himself of the rest of his clothing, and
was huddled up in the chair wrapped in his dressing-
gown. Swiftly she turned down the bed, and again
with the greatest difficulty, she contrived to get him
into it. He signified his determination to remain
where he was, but the extreme circumstances gave her
courage to insist, and he submitted to her at last, and
she had the satisfaction of seeing him safe between the
blankets, with the hot jars at his feet and sides. Vio-
lent convulsions, and shivering fits still shook his


THE ESCAPE 237
“Won't you allow Jones to call the doctor when he
goes to the village?”
A furious exclamation burst from him. “Can't you
see, girl, that all the doctors in Christendom could
do nothing for me? Leave me alone. Do as you are
bid.” Then suddenly his harsh voice softened, “Don’t
desert me, Letty. If I’ve been harsh to you, forgive
me. I’ve no one but you.”
For the first time she bent her lips to his forehead,
but he moved uneasily, as if evading the caress.
“Trust me. I won't leave you a minute longer
than I can help,” she whispered back. As she locked
the door and put the key in her pocket, she silently
commended him to the care of the Almighty.


r
CHAPTER XX
DEATH COMES TO THE LAKE HOUSE
A*.* her hurried walk to the gardener's cot-
tage Letty returned with all speed to the Lake
House and reëntered the kitchen. She felt dog tired
from all the wild emotions she had passed through,
and in view of her uncle's serious condition, and the
probability of her having to remain with him all
night, she deemed it wise to prepare a meal for her-
self.
Her first act was to mop up the water which Sarah
had not condescended to remove, and which still
formed a pool on the stone flags. Mrs. Greatrex had
divested herself of her outdoor garments, and sat
knitting composedly by the fire. She had obviously
comforted herself with a meal, as the remains were
still on the table, and the kettle was steaming on the
hob.
Letty had decided to treat her with supreme in-
difference. If she chose to be civil, well and good.
If she chose to be rude, she would be ignored. As
she made no remark the girl fetched herself a tray,
and an egg which she proceeded to boil, meanwhile
cutting herself some bread and butter. When the tea
was made she carried it into the deserted living-
room. Though she had been in the kitchen for quite
ten minutes Mrs. Greatrex had not condescended to
238 -


24o THE BEAUTIFUL MRS. DAVENANT
shadowy wreck in the great four poster. She foresaw
that the coming night would be a terrible ordeal for
her, without the assistance of doctor or trained nurse—
indeed without any assistance whatever. Supposing
he should die in the night? For some moments she
considered the advisability of seeking Sarah's aid, but
two factors militated against her adopting this course;
her solemn promise not to admit the woman, and the
strong probability that she would be quite impossible
to deal with, and would either refuse any assistance,
or take matters entirely into her own hands, and ex-
clude all from the sick-room but herself. Had she,
Letty, any right to abandon her uncle, after having
given her promise to remain with him, and keep Sarah
at arm's length?
After ten minutes anxious thought, she decided
upon a course of action. It was clear that she must
sit up all night with the sick man, and there were sev-
eral articles, such as a kettle for hot water, milk, bran-
dy, with which she must provide herself before her
vigil actually began. She decided that when collect-
ing those articles downstairs she would tell Sarah ex-
actly how matters stood, and see what effect this in-
telligence produced upon her. It was unlikely, but just
possible that she would offer assistance, or even some
helpful suggestion. This course of action Letty pro-
ceeded to carry out immediately.
Sarah still sat in her deep armchair by the kitchen
fire, knitting industriously. Her face was set like a
flint. She did not raise her eyes, nor make the faintest
sign of recognition.
“I find Mr. Thorpe extremely ill, and I am going
to remain with him all night. Unfortunately he won't
allow me to send for a doctor.”


DEATH COMES TO THE LAKE HOUSE 241
Letty paused a moment, watching the woman close-
ly. Not a flicker of the eyelids, not a second's pause
in the knitting could she detect.
“I must take this kettle upstairs with me as I may
need hot water in the night, and some milk and
brandy.”
Still no response of any kind, and Letty went off
to the larder to collect what she required. When she
returned and all was in readiness to take upstairs, she
looked straight at Mrs. Greatrex and said—
“I believe my uncle to be so seriously ill that he
may quite possibly pass away in the night.”
For a second or two she waited for some reply, some
display of interest—none came. A flame of anger
arose in her, and she burst out with irrepressible sharp-
116SS—
“Have you nothing to say?”
Sarah did not trouble to raise her eyes. “All I have
to say is—it is possible,” was her laconic answer.
It was as she thought. No assistance or sympathy
was to be gained from that quarter, and she left the
kitchen and Sarah alone with her evil nature. In an-
other half hour her preparations for the night were
completed, and she returned to Geoffrey Thorpe's room
and locked the door securely.
He was awake now, and his pallid lips were moving.
He turned his glassy eyes towards her with the terror
in them still.
“Don’t leave me again. He might come and stare
down on me, all white and wet. I'm a dead man,” he
kept on muttering feebly. She thought his mind wan-
dered, and she induced him to swallow a little milk
mixed with brandy, then she busied herself about the
room for a few moments, making him as comfortable


DEATH COMES TO THE LAKE HOUSE 243
have gone to the bottom together. His one hand held
me like a vise. The water was deathly cold, and
coated with ice. If my life would bring him back I
would give it. The terror of it all, how it haunts me!
I can’t get away from him, always his eyes are glaring
into mine. Sarah would kill me, if it were not for you.
I implore you don't leave me—if only I had more
time, but I’m a dead man.”
His eyes were aflame with wild supplication. They
stared over her shoulder and round the room, search-
ing the dark corners for something he dreaded to see.
“I will not go away.”
Her heart was throbbing heavily. She was sick with
the creeping fear that enveloped her, but she struggled
out of its clutches. She was forced to hide her
thoughts, however antagonistic they were, and she
commanded her voice into level calmness. Geoffrey
Thorpe might be a murderer, but he lay there in ex-
tremis under her hands, and at her mercy. He must
be helped, even if his muttered confessions were not
the ravings of delirium, but the literal truth.
He lapsed again into uneasy sleep, and she sat down
by the fire. She had no inclination to sleep. Her
brain was on fire, her thoughts working chaotically
at high pressure. Gradually they concentrated into
one firm conviction.
Geoffrey Thorpe had killed the fugitive, whoever
he might be. He had drowned him in the lake. That
accounted for the dripping garments, the torn and
scratched hands, the awful prostration after that ap-
palling conflict. “His one hand!” The three words
clung to her memory, and forced their significance
upon her brain. Had the murdered man but one arm?
That would account for his sinking. He couldn't


244 THE BEAUTIFUL MRS. DAVENANT
swim with one arm, and he had been left to drown. As
she thought of that one-armed victim, lying stark at
the bottom of the lake with the ice creeping over him,
she shuddered convulsively, and experienced the mental
nausea of intense repulsion.
Midnight struck—one o'clock—two o'clock! Now
and again the watch dog moaned eerily, and the owls
called. In the room there was no sound but that
stertorous labored breathing, the ticking of the clock,
and the crackling of the fire, which from time to time
she replenished. With a thrill of dread she saw, on
looking round, that the man on the bed was awake,
and his eyes were fixed upon her.
“Drink! Drink!” he panted. “Give me strength
to speak. I can't be silent longer. My soul is in hell.”
She put the cup to his lips and he drank greedily.
“I killed Mark Thorpe. I hid him here—a prisoner
for years. I want to tell Harry all. I’ve written out
the story of my crime. It is in the box—you have
the key—I thought he was too weak to escape—but
he must have been shamming weakness to deceive me.
When you gave the alarm you terrified me—you cried
out, ‘There is some one in the copse. I heard him
drop from a tree outside the left wing.” I knew
instantly what that meant. He must have loosened
one of the iron bars—I had ceased examining them,
believing he was too weak to tamper with them. He
dropped from the branches of the old oak in the copse
—I chased him with the swiftness of despair, and came
up with him by the lake—we grappled together—but
he was no match for me—he was weak from long con-
finement, and his one arm was a hopeless handicap in
any trial of strength—I would have brought him back
to his prison, but as we grappled and fought like mad


246 THE BEAUTIFUL MRS. DAVENANT
the stable clock and she looked round the awful dreari-
ness of the room.
Geoffrey Thorpe no longer lay still. He tossed in
a wild delirium, and muttered ceaselessly and inco-
herently. His throat rattled horribly, like the rough
shaking of the dice, and one hand kept plucking at the
coverlet. “It is the hand of a murderer,” she thought,
and she saw those claw-like fingers wrench off the
clinging clasp, and saw the one-armed man go down
into the dark waters for the last time. The ice must
have closed over the place, and perhaps the stockman's
children would slide upon it. Once she had seen his
boy fishing there, where the herons came to feed, and
the moorhens wove their wattled nests. They would
be unconscious of the dead face staring up at them
from the bottom, for children are too freshly sent forth
from the hand of God to conceive of murder. Would
he be found? Would they bring him in, knowing by
instinct that he rightly belonged to the Lake House,
had indeed been its rightful owner? Yet, whose
thoughts would hark back to a man—dead to the
world for long years in a distant land? How would
they account for what might any day be found in the
lake when the frost went? Surely, every stray man
who trod its brink, or saw the trees bending mourn-
fully over it, must know the terrible thing that had
taken place last night.
Only last night! It seemed to Letty that weeks
must have passed since she sat in the kitchen waiting
for Geoffrey Thorpe's return. At last she knew the
secret of the Lake House—understood the terror of
it that had haunted her by night and day. Those foot-
steps were Geoffrey Thorpe's, and he was on his way
to feed his prisoner. That key hanging on his finger


248 THE BEAUTIFUL MRS. DAVENANT
touched her acutely, with a pitying wistfulness. What
was such a life as his had been but one long torment, a
hell ten times worse than his miserable prisoner's—a
never ceasing vigilance, a perpetual dread that the
slender hair might break, and the sword descend upon
him? If he lived, and the truth were known what
would be his fate? But he would not live, death
would save him. The hair had snapped, the sword
had fallen. So weird and unnatural did the whole
tragedy appear, that sitting there by the fire Letty
strove to arouse herself at times from her horrible
musings, and throw off the vapors of a dreadful night-
mare. But the tragic face was there on the pil-
low, and those clenching hands and the dice box
rattled on. Outside lay the lake with the one-armed
man at its bottom, and the smooth ice spun by the
bitter north for his shroud. She was in the turgid
stream of reality. She could not forget that one arm
—had she been able to do so she might have felt less
horror.
The morning wore on, but daylight was still afar
off. She drank a little milk, made up the fire and laid
her head back on her chair. In a moment she was
asleep.
A sound at the door awakened her abruptly. Some
one was knocking, and she jumped up, staring into
the unfamiliar space, striving to recollect where she
was, struggling with the awful memory of the past
hours. The long night was over, and the gray dawn
penetrating the room looked unspeakably chill, gloomy
and mournful. The pallid light of a snowy morning
was filtering through the blinds, and fighting against
the black shadows. The utter silence struck instantly,
Ominously on her strained senses. The dice box rat-


DEATH COMES TO THE LAKE HOUSE 249
tled no more, the throw had been made. Her eyes
turned to the bed. Geoffrey Thorpe lay still, with
gaping mouth and staring eyes, but yet he was clothed
by what was august.
She went swiftly to the door and threw it open.
Sarah Greatrex stood there. -
“It is half-past seven,” she said sullenly.
Letty looked at her tranquilly. “Your master is
dead,” she said, and went away along the corridor
to her own room. -


CHAPTER XXI
wARBURTON's TASK
MBROSE WARBURTON was smoking his pipe
after early celebration and breakfast. The sun
was shining brightly into his study. A slight fall of
snow had taken place during the night, but the storm
had passed over, and the day promised to be a perfect
winter one, of hard frost and cloudless sky.
He opened the morning paper and glanced down
its contents, but before he could be immersed in the
latest labor worry the door opened, and his sister
entered.
“This note has just been sent up from Little Glent-
worth. It's marked ‘immediate.’”
Ambrose took it, and saw with a little thrill of
pleasure that the handwriting was Miss Howard's.
“Let’s see what she says. Is any one waiting?”
“Yes! A garden boy. He says there's an an-
swer.”
Emily walked to the window and picked a few
dead leaves from some geraniums growing there. She
wheeled round on hearing a perplexed exclamation
from her brother.
“There! you may read what she says. It isn't
marked private, and she seems to have no secrets
250


252 THE BEAUTIFUL MRS. DAVENANT
staring in front of him in a perplexed manner. Was
something big and terrible coming at last into his un-
eventful life?
“I feel there is a vital connection.”
He grasped the purport, rather than the words she
uttered. He was conscious of a similar sensation,
though he did not say so.
“Ask Jones to come in here at once.”
Emily found the garden boy from Little Glentworth,
Jones, and the maid in low, but excited confabulation.
She dispersed the little gathering, by conducting Jones
to the study and closing the door.
“What's this, I hear?” asked Ambrose, after a
quick “Good morning.”
“Mr. Thorpe, 'e died at dawn. Got a chill, so Mrs.
Greatrex says. I only seed 'im well yester mornin',
but Steve, that be the watch dog, was 'owlin' somethin'
fearful in the evenin', and I 'eard 'im again in the
night,” stated the Gnome emphatically.
“Didn't you know Mr. Thorpe was ill, and was no
doctor called in P” questioned Ambrose.
Jones shook his head. “A queer thing did 'appen
about eight o'clock. Miss Letty rapped at my door,
and gave orders from Mr. Thorpe to take a letter
immediate to Ann Binns, the postmistress. I did as
I were bid. It were a fine moon night and 'ard frost.
It were addressed “Postmistress, Great Glentworth,’
and marked ‘immediate', and the writin’ were Miss
Letty's, anyway it weren't Mr. Thorpe's. I weren't
inside the Lake 'Ouse after ten yester' mornin', when
I took in wood and coal, and I were workin' after
dinner in the gardens, right away from the 'ouse. I
'eard Steve clear enough. This mornin' at eight o'clock
Mrs. Greatrex says to me, ‘Mr. Thorpe died of a


254 THE BEAUTIFUL MRS. DAVENANT
great help to him, with her ready grasp and quick
intuitions.
“Right! We may take it as a certainty that Letty
will be with us to-night; meanwhile I need hardly say
to you, be discreet, dear. Wait one second, whilst
I write the notes.”
She sat down and waited silently, while her mind
worked rapidly. Mr. Thorpe dead! Harry was now
master of the Lake House property, and Letty would
very soon be mistress there. Probably the note she
took to Jones and bade him deliver was a telegram
to summon him. Why any mystery? Why had she
not told Jones that her uncle was ill? She must
have known of his illness at that hour, and what had
caused such a sudden collapse? Geoffrey Thorpe did
not go out. What had caused his chill? Emily
hated mystery. Her nature was extremely frank and
open. Now she felt uneasy and uncomfortably ex-
cited.
“There are the two notes. One for Miss Howard,
the other for Letty. See that they are delivered as
soon as possible. I'll take my bike, and be at Little
Glentworth almost as soon as the boy,” said Ambrose,
breaking in on her anxious reflections.
Afterwards Ambrose wondered what had made him
go first to Little Glentworth? Surely it would have
been more natural to visit the house of death, and the
lonely Letty, before obeying that imperious call for
help emanating from Miss Howard.
He was shown immediately into Mrs. Davenant's
boudoir, where he found both ladies. They welcomed
him with a totally unusual gravity and pre-occupation,
and he sensed tragedy in their atmosphere.
“Sit down by the fire. What we have to tell you


258 THE BEAUTIFUL MRS. DAVENANT
“I will bring her back to the Vicarage with me,”
answered Warburton, and then he briefly related the
little he knew of the old man's death. What was ob-
scure had now become clear. Geoffrey Thorpe had
not long survived the conflict, and the submersion in
the icy water of the lake. The hand of man had been
balked of its prey, but the hand of God had stricken
him down with merciless rapidity and severity.
“I must ask you for the loan of your car to-day,”
went on Warburton. “Let it be at the Lake House
in an hour, and I will try to find time to see you again
this evening. Now, I must go and see Letty. I will
do my best for all concerned, but I require time and
quiet to think out this awful tragedy. One most im-
portant admonition I leave with you both. Be silent,
and admit no outsiders.”
“We will abide by your advice. I am hardly in a
condition to receive callers,” replied Mrs. Davenant
bitterly. “Believe me, we realize to the full the diffi-
culties lying ahead, and the terrible responsibility we
are asking you to bear, but both Agnes and I feel
you are the only soul in this world we can turn to in
this crisis—the only man in whom we can place implicit
confidence and trust.”
At any other time such an assurance would have
brought great happiness. It would have proved to
him that his ministry was not all in vain, but now so
great was his perturbation of mind that he scarcely
grasped the purport of her words. His thoughts were
already concentrating on that other interview awaiting
him at the Lake House, and he shook hands hurriedly
and took his departure.
When left alone the two women sat silent for many
minutes wrapped in thought. Hilda lay back in her


WARBURTON'S TASK 259
chair with closed eyes. She had not slept all night,
and looked utterly exhausted. Agnes had sat up with
her, and looked scarcely less fatigued. She bent over
her friend and kissed her gently.
“Try to rest now, Hilda. I am going to get a breath
of air in the garden.”
Mrs. Davenant opened her eyes to meet those bend-
ing over her.
“Do not let us forget, Agnes, that the worst part
of this miserable tragedy has still to be told.”
Warburton mounted his bicycle and rode away
through the hard frozen, thin coating of snow that
was spread over the country. The sun shone brilliant-
ly in a cloudless sky, but the vicar was in no humor to
enjoy the beauties of nature. He was profoundly
agitated by the startling events which had so abruptly
stirred the pool of his quiet life. He felt how great
was his responsibility, holding as he now did such
tragic secrets. Would they remain secrets, or be
blazoned to the world? With horror he thought of the
Press gloating over a new and thrilling series of sen-
sations. As to his own part in the drama of events
he could form no conjecture. There was so much he
still must learn, in order to fill in gaps and present to
his mind a clear sequence of the tragedy.
Harry must at once be told the truth, so far as he
knew it. Letty it might be possible to spare, yet
surely she must suspect something of what had actually
occurred. Consumed by anxious thoughts he reached
the gates of the Lake House, and stopped to draw
breath and look about him. There was no sound, the
silence of snow was all about him, stretching white
seas, a wavelike procession of hidden furrows fading
into continual white foam. The faint howling of a


26O THE BEAUTIFUL MRS. DAVENANT
dog called him back to life again, and he stared about
him with deep interest as he proceeded slowly along
the unkept drive.
When the old black and white timbered house rose
suddenly up before him, involuntarily he uttered an
exclamation of utter surprise. Its dilapidated grim-
ness was veiled beneath a glittering mantle of purest
white, and long sparkling icicles dropped from, and
draped the lead pipes and eaves. A fairy palace stood
before him, in place of the gloomy abode of death and
abominable crime.
He passed round to the back door, throwing a kind
word to Steve who was barking violently. Letty had
told him that in winter the front of the house was kept
closed, and seeing no one about he opened the door
and walked in. A long, stone-flagged passage lay be-
fore him, and traversing its length he found himself
in a square hall, on to which several doors opened.
As he stood uncertainly looking about him, one of
the doors opened and Mrs. Greatrex confronted him.
He bade her “Good day,” quietly. “I have come
to see Miss Thorne. I am aware that Mr. Thorpe is
dead,” he explained.
She had not spoken yet, and he saw a dull red rise
over her sallow face.
“I admit no one into this house. Mr. Harry Thorpe
has not arrived. Until he does I am mistress here,”
she retorted defiantly.
Prepared as he was for unpleasantness should they
meet, her rough attitude took him by surprise. He had
not anticipated anything quite so forbidding as this.
“I am afraid that I must dispute that claim of
yours, Mrs. Greatrex. You have never been mistress
here,” he returned quietly, but very decidedly.


WARBURTON'S TASK 261
His cool attitude appeared to infuriate her.
“How dare you dispute my claim?” she demanded,
approaching nearer to him menacingly. “Perhaps it
may satisfy you to learn that I am the dead man's
widow. I am Mrs. Geoffrey Thorpe. Now, begone
with you. When Harry Thorpe takes possession he
can do as he pleases, but until he arrives my authority
here is supreme.”
She gave a movement of her arms, as if to sweep
him off the premises, but he stood his ground. Her
assertion astounded him, but he did not show it. The
day had brought him so many shocks, and her trucu-
lence sharpened his wits. How thankful he was now
that his first visit had been paid to Mrs. Davenant.
His eyes lost their seriousness, and were bright with
defiance, but he possessed great self-control as well as
determination. He meant to take his own way, but
he intended to gain it, if possible, by peaceable means.
“It is quite immaterial to me who you are, Mrs.
Greatrex or Mrs. Thorpe, but I must demand that you
confine yourself to facts. You have never been mistress
here, nor has Geoffrey Thorpe ever been master here,
for the simple reason that the real owner was alive
until last night.”
The effect of his words was even greater than he
anticipated. She threw her hand across her mouth as
if to arrest a scream, and her face blanched to the
pallor of death. Her black eyes, riveted on his face,
were terror stricken.
“Go back to your room and remain there,” he
commanded sternly; “your crime has yet to be dealt
With.”
Without glancing at her again he struck off through
another corridor to the right, which he trusted might


262 THE BEAUTIFUL MRS. DAVENANT
lead him to Letty. At the far end of it he saw her
standing, awaiting him.
“Oh! I hoped it was you. I heard Steve barking,”
she cried in a broken voice, as she ran to meet him
with outstretched hands.
She guided him to the empty living-room, where
Geoffrey Thorpe's papers still littered the table, at
which for so many years he had sat. The white reflec-
tion from without searched the dark corners, and lit
up the portrait of Mark Thorpe, who now lay drowned
at the bottom of the lake. It seemed to Letty that the
expression had changed to one almost of contemptuous
triumph. “I gained my liberty at last,” he seemed to
say, “such liberty as none can ever deprive me of
again.”
They sat down side by side on a couch, and it was
with deep distress he noted the ravages made upon her
face by the ordeal she had been through. As he looked
at her he had no doubt that she knew all there was to
be known. He noted also that her condition of
strained nervousness and tense mentality made her
afraid of every word she uttered.
“You look desperately tired,” he said gently; “have
you had any sleep?”
He saw fear creep into her eyes, and she let them
fall upon the restless hands in her lap.
“No, I couldn't sleep. I sat up all night with
uncle.”
“Where was Mrs. Greatrex P”
“I suppose in bed,” was the confused reply. “You
see uncle wouldn’t have her near him.”
“Or a doctor either,” suggested Warburton. “Had
he any idea of his danger?”
“Yes! he knew that he was dying.”


WARBURTON'S TASK 265
legally master—literally between sunset and dawn.
With his death his brief tenure passed to Harry. Had
you any conception that your uncle had married Mrs.
Greatrex P”
The speechless amazement on her face convinced
him that she had known nothing of this, and he pro-
ceeded.
“I have effectually silenced her for the time being,
by bringing home to her that she was accessory to the
crime of imprisoning the actual owner of the Lake
House, of usurping his functions, and appropriating
his revenues. Harry will deal with her as he thinks best.
I have told you of this new disclosure, only in order to
assure you that you may meanwhile act as authority
here, and as Harry's deputy. Make any preparation
you choose for his comfort on arrival, and Jones will
take your orders now, and assist you in any way. My
advice to you is, treat Mrs. Greatrex, or Mrs. Thorpe
which she claims to be, exactly as if she did not exist.
There must be many little domestic matters to arrange,
such as provisioning the house, which she will certainly
no longer attend to, and which will be necessary to
Harry's comfort during the next few days, and you
must call in help, for Mrs. Thorpe will be in no humor
to go about her ordinary household duties. A room
ought to be prepared for Harry to use if he chooses.
He will have an enormous amount of work to do. Will
you undertake to act at once as mistress here?”
As he spoke he saw with satisfaction the effect his
words were having upon her. She was beginning to
grasp the real situation. Out of a lethargy of shock
and horror she was rousing herself to attend to duty.
and rise to the emergency. Her mind would thus be
distracted from tragedy, and turned into healthy and


266 THE BEAUTIFUL MRS. DAVENANT
useful channels. When he rose to go and look his last
upon the dead Geoffrey Thorpe, she rose also with
purposeful energy, eager to carry out his instructions
and suggestions, and make preparation for the arrival
of her lover.


268 THE BEAUTIFUL MRS. DAVENANT
House, without any living soul outside having even
suspected that he still lived, seemed to Harry so pre-
posterously improbable that he wondered at moments
if he was passing through some hideous nightmare.
Sometimes he asked himself if Mrs. Davenant was
sane or insane, in claiming Mark Thorpe as her hus-
band. Was she under some wild hallucination when
stating her experiences of the previous evening?
But there was Letty's account of the man dropping
from the tree, of the alarm she had given, and of
Geoffrey Thorpe's terror, which drove him forth in
pursuit of the fugitive. There was that return alone
in dripping garments, and the confession that followed
before he breathed his last. Geoffrey Thorpe had pos-
sessed no knowledge of Hilda's relationship to his
captive. Even the astute Mrs. Greatrex had failed to
suspect the connection. It was very unlikely, judging
from Hilda's statement, that Mark Thorpe had escaped
drowning. Later her words would be fully corrobor-
ated. Their long and careful sifting of available facts
came to an end at last, and it was decided that Geoffrey
Thorpe should be buried with his forefathers in Little
Glentworth Church. His crime, they all agreed, must
be dealt with later, when the full volume of facts relat-
ing to it had been compiled.
Harry decided to remain at the Lake House, in
the room that Letty had labored hard to prepare for
him, and where so much work awaited him: not the
least painful duty falling to his share being an inter-
view with Mrs. Geoffrey Thorpe, before she took her
final departure.
Warburton fully agreed with Letty and Harry that
if the crime could, without injury to others, be buried
in the old man's grave, it would be best for all parties


AGNES HOWARD'S REWARD 269
concerned, but there could be no final decision until
the widow of the murdered man had been consulted.
It was six o'clock before Letty and Warburton were
free to drive off to the Vicarage, with the promise to
return on the following afternoon, and bring with them
Mrs. Davenant. The confession of Geoffrey Thorpe,
now in Harry's safe possession, would then be read
aloud. Letty had been put to bed at once by the
compassionate Emily, and was vastly comforted by
Harry's nearness and the kindness of her friends.
Then the brother and sister had a long confidential
talk whilst they sat at supper, and before Ambrose set
out once again for Little Glentworth.
On arrival he saw that he was expected, and he was
at once shown to the drawing-room. Agnes Howard
was standing up alone by the fire awaiting him.
The ruddy light falling upon her showed her very
pale, and dark rings round her eyes spoke of great
anxieties. Assuredly some heavy trouble lay at her
heart. She did not speak or move till the door was
closed behind him, and he had advanced towards her.
Then she held out her hand.
“This is good of you. You must be so weary; but
I’ve always trusted you from the moment we first met,
as I’ve trusted no one else in my life. Hilda has had
to go to bed with a splitting headache, and has deputed
me to be perfectly open and frank with you, as regards
her past. I will be equally frank regarding my own.”
She motioned him to a chair, and they faced one
another, but he turned aside his head and shaded his
eyes with his hand, that she might not see the pallor
that had overspread his face. He cared for her so
deeply that he shrank with dread from this coming
interview. Her past! What was she about to tell


AGNES HOWARD'S REWARD 27I
make her realize that profound regret would darken
her future, should he become estranged from her.
“It is absolutely necessary that I confide in you, in
order to throw full light on the crime just committed.
We have looked on you as our sincere friend. As you
know, we have no male relatives to turn to in an
emergency. There will be many details upon which
we must seek advice. Before I go further, Mr. War-
burton, do you accept the trust?”
He threw back his head, his whole expression that
of vigorous strength. -
“I most willingly accept any trust you may honor
me with, Agnes, and with all my heart and soul and
the help of God I will advise and aid you to the best
of my ability.”
Unconsciously, the name by which he thought of her
passed his lips. That, and the glow of strength in his
voice and eyes heartened her exceedingly to go for-
ward to her task. There was no mistaking his sincerity.
“I thank you,” she said quietly. “Now I will begin
with the early life of Hilda Davenant. That was her
maiden name. She was born of poor parents in New
York, and she always possessed great beauty. At an
early age she went on the stage, and made considerable
progress in her profession. She remained absolutely
virtuous, according to the orthodox conception of the
word, until after she became the wife of Mark Thorpe,
fourteen years ago. They were married in Washing-
ton, where she was playing.
“At that period I lived also in Washington, with
my only brother, Cecil Howard. We were British
born, but owing to my brother having made a large
fortune in America, he eventually settled there, and
when our parents died I joined him and kept house for


GEOFFREY THORPE'S CONFESSION 283
dined with you, for I’m starving and a fugitive,’ he
said cynically. I knew that my face betrayed me, and
rendered superfluous the question I put, but I was at
bay.
“‘Who are you?' I demanded roughly. He looked
at me deliberately, and laughed sneeringly.
“‘Mark Thorpe, convict and owner of this prop-
erty, as you know right well. I’ve still “time” to do,
but I don't intend to be trapped. Hide me, and give
me food and rest for a few days, and we'll come to
some arrangement afterwards—I’ve not had a bed for
weeks, and precious little grub.’
“He seemed to be indifferent to, or not to realize
the terrific shock his resurrection had upon me. Mer-
cifully he could not read my thoughts. There was
no time for consideration—for the moment no one was
about, but panic invaded me. I took him to the front
door, and peeped in first to see that all was clear. The
only sound came from the dining-room, where my
guests sat smoking and drinking. -
“We crept softly upstairs, and he was so weak from
exposure and fasting that I had to assist him. I led
him through the long gallery, and along a corridor in
the left wing, which was a portion of the house unused.
Half supporting his weak limbs, I drew him into a
bedroom overlooking the copse, and shut the door
softly behind us. As he sank down on the bed I caught
sight of my livid face in a mirror, and wiped the sweat
from my brow. I don't know why I brought him to
that particular part of the house, but a voice kept whis-
pering in my ear, and I obeyed its orders. The prop-
erty belonged to this human wreck, tumbled in a heap
of rags on the bed, but I was the real beggar.
“Did any one know that he had escaped death from


286 THE BEAUTIFUL MRS. DAVENANT
The mind of an unseen agent was spurring me on, and
smoothing out a path for me.
“In the morning my guests departed, and with
thankfulness I saw them go, then, just as I was con-
sidering how I could secretly convey some breakfast
to my prisoner, Mrs. Greatrex, my housekeeper, en-
tered with a tray, containing tea and bread and butter.
I knew that my face had gone gray from pure, un-
adulterated fear, but I spoke carelessly. “What is that
for P’
“The look on her face made me shiver. ‘For your
guest upstairs. I suppose you don't want any one to
know he's there?'
“‘How do you know he's there?' I stammered.
“A crooked smile crossed her face. “I saw you
smuggle him in, and heard most of what you said. I
was coming home from church, and saw a man leaning
against a tree. I took him for a tramp, and was just
going to warn him off when I saw you come out of the
house, and look about you. Then I hid in the bushes
and listened. I'm willing to be silent if I'm well paid
for it.”
“‘We'll talk together of this later,' I returned agi-
tatedly, ‘meanwhile, I'll take up the tray.’
“The woman said nothing more, and left me. I
crept cautiously upstairs, meeting no one, and entered
the room which had already taken on a ghastly signifi-
cance for me. Softly I unlocked the door, and entered.
Mark Thorpe was tossing in wild delirium, and as I
saw the flames of fever on his hollow cheeks, the ema-
ciated frame, the skeleton fingers of his one hand, I
told myself all was well. ‘He will not live; I will do
him no wrong; with me he will have every care, and
this room is better than a convict's cell.” Suddenly he


CHAPTER XXIV
MRS. DAVENANT DECIDES
THE small world surrounding the Lake House had
known too little of Geoffrey Thorpe to care very
much whether he lived or died. Only Mrs. Hall's tri-
umphant assertion, “Didn't I foretell his death before
the New Year?” revived the flickering interest in his
passing, the concensus of opinion being that Harry
Thorpe's succession was an excellent thing for all and
sundry. So useless a member of the community was
better dead than alive, and a young couple would add
considerably to the social amenities.
Even the discovery of the dead body of a one-armed,
drowned man in the lake proved but a transitory ex-
citement. Clearly this was some wretched tramp,
judging by his clothes and emaciation, and doubtless
he had lost an arm in the war. Such countless men
were now without an arm or a leg, and it was natural
to Harry Thorpe's charming nature to give this name-
less stranger a foot or two of ground, formerly sacred
to the ashes of the Thorpe family. Life had been very
cheap during the last five years, and there were such
numberless derelicts drifting about the world, that this
nameless corpse aroused no suspicion and but little
interest.
Only a few days after the burial of Geoffrey Thorpe
his successor had discovered a dead man floating on
290


292 THE BEAUTIFUL MRS. DAVENANT
Letty and Warburton, return to his property by
day.
The window of the prison still stood wide, and out-
side it was one bar missing, which was safely retrieved
from the ground below. The removal of all the bars
was a task Harry felt must be carried out by himself,
before the house was set in working order again.
Luckily rust had done its insidious work, and the task
would not be too hard, nor was there any pressing
hurry for its accomplishment. For an hour or two the
three worked at removing all traces of occupation, and
the result was a bonfire in the yard.
Geoffrey Thorpe had to a certain extent been mind-
ful of his captive's bodily comforts, and the state of
the room was less terrible than they had anticipated,
but still there were abundant evidences of a life lived in
brutal durance. The last flickering sparks of reason
had been secretly employed in preparations for escape.
Probably, had those preparations been continuous that
escape would have been sooner attempted, but there
must have been long periods during which no effort
towards freedom was made. The door of stout oak
was protected, not only by a lock and key, but by a
chain and padlock, roughly, but very securely adjusted.
Geoffrey Thorpe had reason to believe his prisoner was
safe, but the cunning of insanity had supplemented the
normal craving for freedom, and Mark Thorpe had
undoubtedly feigned a weakness beyond reality, and
so thrown his gaoler off guard.
The efforts of Letty and Harry were next directed
towards preparing a few rooms for their immediate
use. Carpets were taken up and floors cleaned, and
the beautiful old furniture re-arranged. Only by slow
stages could the Lake House be restored to its pristine


294 THE BEAUTIFUL MRS. DAVENANT
raised money at various times by selling pictures by
painters who at that period were the rage, but luckily
his ignorance of art and what the house really con-
tained, had saved very much for his successors. All
he had really been interested in was the rent roll, and
when that had failed to satisfy his reckless extrava-
gance, he had heavily mortgaged the property. Much
of this burden had been paid off by Geoffrey Thorpe
during his years of seclusion, and Mrs. Davenant's mu-
nificent wedding gift was to be the total redemption
of the existing debt. -
In those days, passed amid the dusty treasures of
the Lake House, Hilda regained much of her old
gayety of spirits and buoyancy of mind. She was free
at last, and in the presence of the lovers, who knew the
secret of how lately she had been widowed, she had no
need to assume a sorrow she did not feel. The sadness
that would formerly have been inseparable from the
loss of Agnes Howard as her devoted daily companion,
was now eased by the fresh interests in her life which
revolved so closely round Letty and Harry. She could
look forward to the marriage of Agnes with equanim-
ity, for there would really be no parting. The Vicar-
age lay but a stone's throw from Little Glentworth.
Little Glentworth ! When she thought of the Dower
House her mind inevitably turned to Claude Carlton.
He was home again on Christmas leave, and had called
twice, but she had avoided seeing him. What was to
be the end of that budding romance?
Mrs. Davenant had quite decided that she would
never marry a second time. She had told her life's
story for the last time, and to re-marry with a secret
hidden in her heart never even occurred to her.
The recent tragedy had brought to mind so many


298 THE BEAUTIFUL MRS. DAVENANT
bedroom as a secret retreat unto herself. I mean to
be free to do my hair with a fork, if it pleases me, and
go to bed at nine o'clock without having to lock my
door. Makers of epigrams wouldn't acknowledge it,
but there are women who were beauties in their youth
and only ask for a plain old age.”


CHAPTER XXV
“Good-BY, sweeTHEART, GOOD-BY”
M*. CARLTON was standing at the top of the
staircase, welcoming, one after another, the
county magnates and the smaller fry, with the same
indiscriminate friendliness.
The women had come in all the glory of new frocks,
which happier times had justified them in ordering,
and the old family jewels, which for five years had lain
in the cellars of banks, had been taken out and cleaned
for the occasion.
Many of the men wore “pink” and thanked God
they had done with khaki.
Mrs. Carlton looked like no one else but herself,
in the severity of her red velvet, her close-cropped iron-
gray hair, and the single monocle screwed into one
shrewd dark eye, but she had conformed to the im-
portance of the evening by strewing a few fine dia-
monds amongst the laces at the throat of her long
redingote.
The small dance had developed into quite a big ball,
as every one within motoring distance had decided to
emerge from the rust of war, and treat the invitation
as a command; thereby doing honor to a family of old
standing whom all liked.
Mrs. Carlton, with her extremely liberal views and
independent nature, was an excellent hostess, possess-
299


300 THE BEAUTIFUL MRS. DAVENANT
ing that thoroughbred ease which disarms the most
critical assembly. She had the knack of saying those
few words of polite conventionality in a way which
made her guests feel welcome, yet which ensured their
making way for the pressure from below, as carriages
and motors deposited their loads at the wide-flung
doors.
By her side stood her son, well pleased with this
splendid function, which had been of his ordering. He
looked upon the whole affair as a duty he owed to the
county, in their desire for some diversion amid the
monotony of country life, and the severe restrictions
and sorrows of the past. In a couple of days another
ball, no less well provided, was to be given to the em-
ployees on the estate.
The great house was brilliant with light and color,
and sweet with flower perfume. From the great draw-
ing-room, never used but on such rare occasions, came
waves of music, and through the great staircase win-
dow shone glimpses of the gardens lying bathed in
cold, pure moonlight.
“A charming sight,” remarked Lord Lester to War-
burton, as they lounged against a balustrade, quizzing
the various parties who mounted the stairs, watching
the varied blendings of colors, the varied expression
of faces, the glitter of jewels against the stately back-
ground of tapestry and pictures. “Is your sister not
here to-night?” he asked the vicar, after congratulating
him warmly on his engagement.
“No, she didn’t care to come. She never dances,
and she's very occupied with Miss Thorne and her
approaching marriage.”
“Ah! of course! What a change for the Lake
House! A charming young couple who will be a great


“GOOD-BY, SWEETHEART, GOOD-BY” 301
acquisition to the neighborhood, I hear,” returned Les-
ter, genially. “I can't help being rather sorry for the
beautiful Mrs. Davenant.”
“You needn't,” laughed Warburton.
Lester twinkled slyly. “Ah! you think she'll catch
the prevailing epidemic and marry also.”
“I am quite certain she won’t,” answered the vicar,
with conviction.
Lester said no more. He was longing to stroll about
the rooms and gossip with old acquaintances, but like
Warburton, there was one woman whom he wished
to see arrive.
There was another who watched eagerly for that
coming, Claude Carlton. Hilda Davenant was late,
considering it was a country affair, he thought impa-
tiently, as a clock chimed ten o'clock, and the stream
of new comers had very perceptibly thinned.
“I think we may leave our post now, every one
seems to have arrived,” said his mother.
The strains of music came floating out to them.
It was on the tip of his tongue to remind her that the
Dower House ladies had still to be accounted for, but
he checked himself before the words passed his lips,
and together they moved into the drawing-room.
Dancing was in full swing, the house party had lost no
time in getting to work, but he hesitated to dance him-
self. A nervous irritation possessed him. Hilda had
answered his letters, but had evaded seeing him since
his return. He was quite sure of his own mind, but
not of hers. His chances were enormously improved
by Miss Howard's engagement. To-night he would
put his fate to the test. It would be easy to make an
opportunity.
He stood watching the brilliant Saidie Hall jazzing


“GOOD-BY, SWEETHEART, GOOD-BY” 303
*
surging up, and there had been no time to lose. They
would dance the next together.
Pushing their way through the chattering groups
he drew her along the corridor, where they would at
least be out of ear-shot.
“Now,” he demanded, “I want you to tell me hon-
estly why you've never let me see you once, though
I’ve been home for a whole week?”
She smiled back at him whimsically, perfectly pre-
pared for the attack.
“Honesty's a wretched virtue, Major Carlton. One
never calls a woman honest who has any manners.
We reserve the epithet for those of whom we have
nothing good to say. Still, I like to be truthful. I had
other things of more importance to do.”
“Things that you liked better?” he insisted.
“Things that I disliked extremely.”
“I want you always to be honest with me,” he said,
with a sudden gravity.
She maintained her smiling attitude of frivolity.
“I wonder? Do you realize the misery it would cause
if every one made it a virtue to parade themselves be-
fore their neighbor's horrified eyes in their true col-
ors? Are any of us perfect enough to invite the world
to look upon us as we really are? Supposing you
told every woman you met what you really thought
of her clothes and her complexion?”
“And supposing you told me what onerous duties
prevented you from seeing me when I called,” he re-
torted, laughing in spite of his serious mood.
“You wouldn't believe me if I did,” she returned
primly. “Now let us cease sparring and begin to
dance.”
They returned to the ball-room, and many pairs of


306 THE BEAUTIFUL MRS. DAVENANT
“I thought I'd enjoy this dance awfully, and now it’s
almost over I’m happier now than I’ve been all night.”
His eyes were looking straight into hers, and she
had some difficulty in dissimulating the effect his words
had on her.
“The truth is, I'm never happy away from you,
Hilda. I’ve loved you from the first moment your
voice fell upon my ears, though at first I didn't realize
what had happened to me. There's but one thing in
my life now, and that's my love for you. That's mad-
ness if you like. I’d have said so too, before I met
you. Mine is a tale you must often have heard before.
So lovely a woman as you are doesn't go through life
without having crowds of men at her feet. Now!
What are you going to say to me in reply?”
As she listened all the brightness and warmth went
out of her face, and her lips parted, as if to draw breath
was oppressive. His words vibrated with intense ear-
nestness. They pierced her as no other words of Sup-
plication had ever done. She had expected this inter-
view, known it must come, yet how much harder it
was than she had anticipated.
“You give me great pain. All I can trust is that
your love for me is of such sudden birth that it will die
as rapidly.”
He interrupted her brusquely.
“You mean that you give me no hope?”
She looked straight into his eyes. She was too truth-
ful to conceal from him that, under other conditions
she might have allowed her heart to go out to him
with a softer impulse than mere friendship.
“It is terrible that through me you should suffer.
Do not think me without feeling, without sympa-
thy 99


308 THE BEAUTIFUL MRS. DAVENANT
in his heart. Secretly, he had always dreaded that
her husband still lived, but the flame of hope died down
as he saw the settled melancholy in her face.
“In common honor I can never become any man's
wife, because there is a secret in which other innocent
persons are involved. A secret I can confide to no
one, not even to you, who love me so well that you
trust me.”
Her head drooped, and tears gathered in her eyes.
In that moment all the regrets in her life seemed to
pass. She had at least his faith. Would this faith
live on, without one sign to show she deserved it?
He listened to her silently, meditatively.
Most men of the world would have thought that
guilt certainly spoke in her confession, though in their
infatuation they might not have greatly cared; but
Carlton did not so think. His sympathies were too
wide and true.
“I listen to you, Hilda,” he answered gently; “but
I do not believe you, even against yourself.” All the
courage within him rose in revolt, to fling off even the
shadow of actual sin upon the woman he loved. His
eyes met hers without wavering.
“I do not ask to share your secret. You say it
concerns others. Then, what is it to me? I trust you
absolutely. Will you not trust me?”
“I cannot accept so great a sacrifice. It is very no-
ble, but how could we live as man and wife with this
great gulf between us, which I should always try to
prevent your bridging? Let us speak no more of this.
What can it avail, except to make you suffer greater
things?”
A bitter exclamation broke from him. “Yours
are noble words; but it is so easy to utter them, so


“GOOD-BY, SWEETHEART, GOOD-BY” 309
hard to follow them. If you cared for me,” he went
on stormily, “you would know that there is not one
thought in me that does not honor you. If you cared
you would not bid me forget my love for you.”
“Those are wild, unconsidered words,” she rebuked
him, gravely. “What good can they serve? As your
friend—”
“Friendship is as cruel as hate,” he vehemently re-
torted. “It’s the worst cruelty—when I ask for bread
you offer me a stone.”
There was sharp suffering in his voice, and she was
moved and shaken by the despairing hopelessness that
rang in it.
“You only pain and wound me,” she said very gen-
tly, “and I can hardly tell how to answer you. My
life has been a very sad and complicated one, and I
have suffered terribly. Only latterly have I known
any real peace of mind. But nothing can ever alter
the past—it is irrevocable.”
She spoke calmly, unfalteringly, but with a firm re-
solve. “Do you not believe that if I could speak with
honor I would reward your faith by telling you
all?”
A flush passed over his face. He understood her.
“But,” he urged, with sudden gentleness. “May
it not be that you over-rate the obligations of honor?
I know that many a noble-hearted woman has inex-
orably condemned herself to a severity of rule that a
wide-minded judge of life would deem exaggerated,
unnecessary. May this not be so with you?”
His voice shook over the last words. He could not
think with calmness of the destiny he was bidden to
accept. He had believed that if only she were free
he could rouse her heart and make her love him. He


31o THE BEAUTIFUL MRS. DAVENANT
knew now that she was a widow, and his greatest fear
was banished.
“Hear me,” he entreated softly. “Is it not possible
that you exaggerate the abnegation required of you?
Yours is magnificent magnanimity, but it may surely
be false justice to yourself and to me.”
“It is stern justice, but absolute,” she answered him.
“What is done is done. I cannot redeem the past by
adding dishonor to it.”
The baffled sense of impotence, against a wall of im-
movable calamity, came over him. He had always
been used to have his way with women, to see obstacles
disappear, difficulties crumble. His good looks, his
wealth and position, his easy charm had made life very
simple for him. He had been tried by no sorrow, and
till now had never known a woman whom he desired
to make his wife. The sense that here was a tragedy
whose meaning he could not fathom, that there was
here a fate he could not change, brought a wholly un-
familiar sense of weakness, that could not be altered
by his will. It came to him that this woman who owned
such great beauty, who bore such a serene habit be-
neath the world's harshest stings, would not have re-
jected his love unless compelled by a destiny from
which there was no escape.
A long silence fell between them. Where she lay
back amongst the cushions her face was in shadow,
whilst he sat by her side motionless, his head bent upon
his breast. She watched him many moments, he, un-
conscious of her gaze, and whilst she did so, many con-
flicting emotions passed over the pale delicacy of her
features. Her eyes were filled and shadowed by re-
trospection. She was quite unshaken in her resolve.
Not even Agnes Howard realized how firm was her


312 THE BEAUTIFUL MRS. DAVENANT
unfit to live. So this is good-by to love, and good-by
to you—for a time; but my darling, when I am able
—I will claim the friendship you offer—but not now—
it is impossible.” -
In a long silence they looked into each other's eyes,
and he knew at last what their parting was costing her.
The suffering was not only his.
“For the first and last time, Claude,” she whispered,
and he bent his lips to hers.
THE END


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