A SPLENDID SIN 
 
A Splendid Sin 
 
 BY 
 
 GRANT ALLEN 
 
 Author of "The Woman Who Did," " What's Bred in the Bone," 
 
 etc. 
 
 NEW YORK 
 F. M. BUCKLES & COMPANY 
 
 9-U EAST l6th STREET 
 
 LONDON ~ F. V. WHITE & CO., 
 1899 
 
Copyright, 1899 
 by 
 
 P. M. BUCKLES & COMPANY 
 
 A splendid Sin 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE BLACK EAGLE *^°^ 
 
 7 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 A FLORENTINE NOBLEMAN 21 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 ENTER HUBERT 
 
 • 4* 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 AN OFFICER AND A GENTLEMAN ^- 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 love's philosophy 
 
 74 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE philosophy OF LOVE , . . . . qi 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 MATRIMONIAL BUSINESS ,^ 
 
 109 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 AN UNEXPECTED INTERVIEW j jg 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE COLONEL SCORES j 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 REACTION 
 
 ^3$ 
 
Vi • CONTENTS. ' 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 THE ENGLISH FOR FEDE 'J°5 
 
 CHAPTER Xn. 
 
 THE POINT OF VIEW jg- 
 
 CHAPTER Xni. 
 
 A GREAT CONFESSION ,3j 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 COLONEL EGREMONT SEES HIS WAY igi 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 AND FEDE? 
 
 20I 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 THE COLONEL'S PLANS 2o8 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 AT MILWORTH MANOR 2IQ 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 PRIVATE INQUIRY 21© 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 VICTORY ! 242 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 HIS TRAFALGAR 260 
 
A SPLENDID SIN. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE BLACK EAGLE. 
 
 *' It's a lovely view," Mrs. Egremont said, 
 with her eyes on the Himmelberg. 
 
 Sir Emilius Rawson looked up sharply and 
 surveyed it in a critical mood 'hrough his 
 glasses. He did not wish to commit himself. 
 He gave the scene a searching glance, as if it 
 were a doubtful patient, before he ventured 
 upon his diagnosis. " Yes, it is a lovely view," 
 he admitted at last, after scanning it all over. 
 He made the admission with an air of curious 
 candor, begotten of the habit of seldom grant- 
 ing anything, lest he should afterwards be con- 
 victed of possible error. ** It is a lovely view ! " 
 And he peered up and down, like one who ex- 
 pects to find some dangerous symptom lurking 
 unobserved in some obscure corner. 
 
 Not that Sir Emilius was the least interested 
 in the view ; he had seen it before, and knew 
 it thoroughly. But it was an instinct with him 
 7 
 
8 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 to look everything steadily in the face for a 
 minute or two before plunging into even the 
 most casual opinion. Use had made it in him 
 a second nature. You had only to look, in- 
 deed, at Sir Emilius's close-shaven face and 
 preoccupied eyes in order to recognize at a 
 glance the fact that he was a great London 
 consulting physician. All big doctors acquire 
 at last that preoccupied air ; it grows out of 
 their profession ; they pretend to be listening 
 to their patient's recital of unimportant details, 
 while they are really employed in looking be- 
 hind his words and the mask of his face at 
 such signs of constitution, disease, or tempera- 
 ment as his build and features may chance to 
 indicate. Sir Emilius was bland, like all his 
 class ; without blandness of manner and a def- 
 erential smile, you cannot succeed in medicine. 
 But even while he folded his scrupulously 
 white hands in front of him, fingers touching 
 and thumbs upright, with an external appear- 
 ance of the profoundest interest in his patient's 
 life-history (from measles and scarlatina on- 
 ward), he was inwardly engaged in observing 
 to himself, ** Strumous type ; gouty diathesis : 
 a large eater, a constant drinker of just a couple 
 of glasses more wine than is good for him. 
 General habit of body indicates the Carlsbad 
 treatment. Prominent eyes — a loquacious 
 talker ; may as well make up my mind to half- 
 an-hour of him.— Quite so ; I follow you ; it 
 
The Black Eagle. 9 
 
 is one of the well-known sequelae of influenza. 
 — Wish he'd come to the point. I can see 
 beforehand it's premonitory symptoms of 
 Bright's disease — and the fellow'll waste twenty 
 minutes of my precious time before he even 
 arrives at it ! " 
 
 For Sir Emilius was famous among men of 
 his profession for his rapid and almost intuitive 
 diagnosis ; no doubt it was partly the promp- 
 titude with which he could read other men's 
 faces that gave his own that abiding look of 
 preoccupied boredom. For it is hard, of 
 course, to assume an air of interest in a story 
 whose parallel you have heard ten thousand 
 times before, and every detail of which you 
 could supply by anticipation ; yet, if you make 
 a large income by pretending to listen to it, 
 you must needs acquire a professional ap- 
 pearance of intelligent sympathy with every 
 fresh narrator who unfolds his w^oes to you. 
 
 '* When a lady of a certain age comes into 
 my consulting-room, settles herself comfortably 
 down, and begins by saying, 'Doctor, I am 
 the mother of fourteen children,' Sir Emilius 
 used often to remark in the privacy of family 
 life, "I lean back in my armchair, fold my 
 hands on my bosom, and close my eyes with a 
 mechanical smile of gentle attention. For I 
 know I shall have to listen to a full account of 
 how all those fourteen children were, jointly 
 and severally, brought into the world, as well 
 
10 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 as to everything that has happened to their 
 mother in connection with each one of them. 
 I lose consciousness for a moment in a placid 
 doze, from which I awake automatically the 
 moment she says, 'And now, doctor, I come 
 to rny fourteenth.' Then I know I may, 
 perhaps, at last begin to hear why she wants 
 to consult me." 
 
 So now. Sir Emilius gazed around him sus- 
 piciously at the pines and the mountains be- 
 fore he ventured at last on the non-committing 
 remark, " It is a fine view, I admit, Julia." 
 
 They were seated on an obtrusively rustic 
 bench outside the Black Eagle Hotel in the 
 Rothenthal. Sir Emilius was tall, broad- 
 shouldered, a somewhat massive figure — one of 
 those immaculate English gentlemen whose 
 most salient feature appears to be that they tub 
 every morning. He had a close-shaven face, 
 clear-cut features, and an expression that sum- 
 med up the College of Physicians. No man, 
 indeed, was ever quite so wise as Sir Emilius 
 Rawson looked. He had that studied air of 
 preternatural sagacity which comes only from 
 the assiduous employment of years in im- 
 pressing your own superior knowledge a^nd 
 skill upon many thousand patients. When he 
 put his hand to his chin, and drew it slowly 
 downward, you felt that he was bringing a 
 gigantic intellect to bear upon the elements 
 of some most difficult problem ; when he 
 
The Black Eagle. ii 
 
 puckered his forehead and gazed hard at you 
 through his eyeglasses, you realized that the 
 Rontgen rays themselves could not spy out 
 more than he did of your internal skeleton. 
 
 His half-sister, who sat beside him, was of 
 different mold. Her air was shrinking. Sir 
 Emilius, who was above everything physio- 
 logical and modern, accounted for their un- 
 likeness by the racial traits of their respective 
 fathers. His own father, Dr. Rawsonof Ipswich, 
 was a burly East Anglian who had died when 
 Emilius was a boy of twelve, leaving his widow 
 not very well provided for. But Mrs. Egre- 
 mont's father, whom their mother had married 
 in her second trial of matrimony, was a De- 
 vonshire squire, endowed with the soft and 
 gentle Devonian nature ; he had been com- 
 pletely overshadowed during his married life 
 by the cleverness and energy of the woman 
 he had chosen. It was from him, Sir Emilius 
 thought, that Julia inherited her more delicate 
 characteristics. And, indeed, Mrs. Egremont 
 had a slender figure and sensitive face, deeply 
 marked with the beauty of some great sorrow. 
 She was still young, as women count youth 
 nowadays — scarcely more than forty, and her 
 features were daintily refined and sympathetic. 
 She was one of those tall and graceful women 
 who attract one at first sight by the moral 
 qualities visible in their faces, and of whom 
 one says at once, " There is a good woman ! " 
 
12 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 Mrs. Egremont raised her large eyes slowly 
 towards the peak of the Rothspitze. "Hubert 
 ought to be coming back," she murmured anx- 
 iously. " He said it was only a six hours' 
 expedition, and he's been gone over seven." 
 
 Sir Emilius lighted a cigarette— he allowed 
 himself the luxury of a cigarette in public at 
 more than fifty miles from London. " Expe- 
 ditions invariably take longer than one thinks," 
 he answered, in a somewhat unconcerned voice. 
 " Add twenty per cent, to Baedeker's estimate, 
 and you get the fair average. Besides, Hubert 
 took his camera with him, didn't he ?" 
 
 **Hedid," Mrs. Egremont answered. "That, 
 of course, would delay him. Still, I just hate 
 this mountain climbing for him. I hope, when 
 he marries, Fede will make him promise to 
 give it up. It's so horribly dangerous ! I 
 watched him through my field-glasses for an 
 hour yesterday, clambering up that bare brown 
 face of rock on the side of the Eselstein, and 
 it made me giddy to look at him. I assure 
 you, Mill, there wasn't a foothold anywhere. 
 He seemed to me to cling by his eyebrows." 
 
 " These perpendicular cliffs are never quite 
 so steep as they look from a distance," Sir 
 Emilius went on, calmly. " Never — or seldom." 
 It was his habit to hedge, lest he should too 
 rashly have committed himself ; for a doctor 
 must always abstain from giving an absolute 
 opinion ; " never to prophesy unless you know," 
 
The Black Eagle. 13 
 
 IS the wisdom of the profession. " When you 
 get at close quarters with them, you hnd them 
 diversified by little inequalities of surface which 
 enable you to climb ; here, a jutting ledge ; 
 there an inconspicuous crack ; yonder again, a 
 bush that springs from a cranny by whose aid 
 you can prise yourself up. Hubert's all right ; 
 he's as safe a climber as any I ever saw. He 
 has arms and legs exactly adapted for the 
 work of mountaineering. If you notice the 
 muscles of his tl^umbs and wrists, you'll see at 
 once—" 
 
 *' Oh, what's that ^peck on the wall of ':ock ?" 
 Mrs. Egremont cried, leaning forward, and lift- 
 ing her field-glass hurriedly: 
 
 " A goat ! " Sir Emilius answered, surveying 
 it through his own. "A most unmitigated 
 goat ! — unless, indeed, it's a chamois. And 
 the chamois, I believe, is a mythical beast, like 
 gorgons and hydras and chimeras dire — a mere 
 playful figment of the Swiss imagination. He 
 exists, if at all, in order that the Swiss may carve 
 him in wood during the depths of winter, to 
 sell at an extravagant price to Cockney tourists 
 in the following season. That's the worst, Julia, 
 of you hens w4th one chicken. You can't be 
 philosophical. Boystt'/// be boys ; and Hubert 
 is at the age when the desire to climb heredi- 
 tarily manifest itself. 'Tis a survival from 
 monkeydom. My old enemy, the mother of 
 fourteen, now, has the advantage of you there. 
 
14 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 She is calm and collected. Calmness, in fact, 
 is her prevailing characteristic. She tends, as 
 a rule, to be large and placid. She runs natur- 
 ally to fat, just as she runs to infants ;— a super- 
 abundance of the assimilative and accumulative 
 tendencies. When I see her sailing under 
 twenty yards of black silk into my room in 
 Harley Street, I sum her up at once. * My 
 dear madam,' I say mentally, 'you are a mother 
 of fourteeen. You have buried three, and you 
 have survived those shocks with matronly 
 quietude. Your boys are abroad in the world 
 — Matabeleland, Texas, Manitoba, Trinidad — 
 and they give you no anxiety. You are aware 
 that they break their heads ; and that heads 
 can be mended. You know they get into 
 scrapes ; and that scrapes are things which 
 young fellows crawl out of as easily as they fall 
 into them. You recognize the fact that they 
 will marry horrid creatures ; and that, by the 
 end of six months, you and the horrid creature 
 will be the best of friends, having mutually 
 arrived at a modus vivendiy based upon the 
 principle of an armed neutrality. You sleep 
 o' nights and you lay on fat still, no matter what 
 happens to you.' Whereas, you, Julia — you, 
 if your bo)^ has gone one hour longer than he 
 says, you grow visibly thin to the naked eye 
 under the stress of your terrors. Why, you 
 have crows' feet gathering round your eyes this 
 very moment. Too anxious a temperament, 
 
The Black Eagle. 15 
 
 my dear ; too anxious a temperament ! You 
 can't expect to keep a young man of twenty- 
 two tied to your apron-string." 
 
 "I don't want to do that," Mrs. Egremont 
 answered, flushing. " I'm sure, Emilius, I've 
 allowed him to go to Oxford, and to row and 
 swim, and to take to anatomy, and everything 
 of that sort ; but this mountain climbing, you 
 know, is so very different. And even in that 
 I don't oppose him ; I try not to let him see how 
 much it frightens me. I never once say to 
 him, ' I wouldn't, if I were you,' for fear of 
 seeming to interfere with his pleasures." 
 
 " No, you don't say it," her brother answered, 
 with a masculine smile. "But, by George, 
 Julia, you look it." 
 
 " I'm sorry if I do," the mother went on, with 
 her eyes fixed steadily on the distant peak. " I 
 can't bear to let Hubert see he's giving me 
 trouble. Dear boy, I only want to make him 
 happy. And I know we women can't quite 
 understand what a boy wants to do. We would 
 like, of course, to make girls and women of 
 them." 
 
 " Fortunately," Sir Emilius interposed, 
 " there's not much danger of your succeeding 
 in that aim with Hubert. He has a fine broad 
 basis of solid manliness to work upon which it 
 would be difficult to feminize. Though, of 
 course, if you could, you would do your best 
 to feminize it." 
 
i6 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 " Oh, I hope not ! " Mrs, Egremont cried. 
 ** My own dear boy ! Why, I just love his 
 manliness ! " 
 
 ** Yes, you just love his manliness. Every 
 mother does ; and never remembers that it 
 can only be ensured by those very dangers she 
 would like to guard him from. Without break- 
 ing of eggs, my dear, there is no omelet. 
 You only want to make him happy. Yet 3^ou 
 let him see you live for his happiness. Now, 
 isn't that the way to make him selfish ?" 
 
 Mrs. Egremont shrank back, surprised. 
 "What, Hubert selfish?" she cried. ** My 
 Hubert selfish ? Why, Mill, you can't mean 
 it. Nothing on earth could make Hubert 
 selfish ! " 
 
 The doctor stroked his chin ; professional 
 habits survive even in private life. " Well, I 
 admit," he answered, " that Hubert, up to date, 
 is one of the most affectionate and unselfish 
 young fellows I ever came across. I allow he's 
 wrapped up in you. Never knew a boy think 
 more of his mother — as, of course, he ought to 
 do, for you've been a perfect angel to him. 
 Still, it can't be good for him to see that you 
 are always thinking of him, and watching over 
 him, and planning his happiness. He's a good 
 lad, I admit, and, as the stock phrase goes, he 
 has never given you one minute's anxiety — 
 though he's never ceased for one minute to 
 be an anxiety to you. He's unselfish by nature. 
 
The Black Eagle. \^ 
 
 I grant. That he takes from you ; for you're 
 about the most unselfish woman I ever came 
 across, Julia ; and I've known you for forty- 
 four years, and am in a position to judge of 
 you. Still, consider the other side. These 
 things are hereditary. Every man is liable, 
 sooner or later, to show some traits, at least, 
 that recall his father." 
 
 Mrs. Egremont's cheek burned bright crim- 
 son. " His father ! " she exclaimed, with a 
 sudden fall in her voice. " His father ! His 
 father ! " Then, after a moment, the glow 
 dying away, she added, in a lower tone, " Ah, 
 yes ; I forgot ; his father ! " 
 
 " Walter was the most selfish pig I ever knew 
 in my life," Sir Emilius continued, with the 
 frankness of family confidence. 
 
 Mrs. Egremont leaned forward with an im- 
 patient wave of the hand. " Oh, don't talk of 
 him ! " she cried. " I am only happy — when 
 I forget about him, Emilius." 
 
 Sir Emilius paused. He took a puff or two 
 at his cigarette. Then he resumed the con- 
 versation. " Still you must realize," he said, 
 slowly, "that if Hubert takes after 3'o// in some 
 things, he must equally take after Walter in 
 others. And Walter being a conspicuously 
 selfish man, anything that tends to encourage 
 selfishness in Hubert ought surely to be 
 avoided." 
 
 Mrs. Egremont paused too. For some 
 
A Splendid Sin. 
 
 minutes she seemed to turn the matter over 
 in her mind. The doctor's eyes were fixed 
 steadily upon her. He was reading her 
 through and through, and she knew it per- 
 fectly. She trembled under his glance. He 
 could see into one's brain. But at last she 
 broke silence. " I suppose," she said, hesita- 
 ting, '^ certain characteristics of one parent, 
 Emilius, tend rather to come out in children, 
 and certain of the other. Now, Hubert's father 
 was undoubtedly, at least, a very able man ; 
 he was a man of intellect. And Hubert has 
 intellect — far more intellect than he could ever 
 have derived from me. Well, then, isn't it 
 possible — I don't know, I put the question to 
 you only as a physiologist— isn't it possible 
 that Hubert might take intellectually after his 
 father, and emotionally after me ? Might he 
 not reproduce his father's brains without — with- 
 out reproducing any moral defects his father 
 may have exhibited ? " 
 
 '* May have exhibited. Why, Julia," Sir 
 Emilius exclaimed, smiling, " how unnecessarily 
 mild is your way of putting it ! You know as 
 well as I do what sort of man Walter really 
 was. Could Hubert inherit any kind of good 
 quality from him — other than intellectual ? " 
 
 Mrs. Egremont bowed her head. Again 
 she was silent. "Don't let's talk of it," she 
 cried at last ; " I can't bear to think about it." 
 
 Sir Emilius rose from his place with great 
 
The Black Eagle. 19 
 
 deliberation, and lighted another cigarette. 
 "Selfishest pig I ever knew in my life," he 
 murmured to himself in a very slow drawl, as 
 he paced up and down in front of the seat. 
 ** But Julia's quite right ! Hubert doesn't take 
 after him. This one-sided heredity is common 
 enough, after all. Judge a man as a whole, 
 and he's half his father and half his mother. 
 But wliich half of each will come out in each 
 part— why, that's more than physiology at pres- 
 ent can decide for us ! " 
 
 Mrs. Egremont rose too. " Emilius," she 
 cried, faltering, "I can't stand it any longer. 
 This suspense w^ears me out. I mtist go and 
 meet him ! " 
 
 " By all means," Sir Emilius answered. 
 " One w^alk like another ! He's as safe as 
 houses, of course. But we'll go and meet 
 him." 
 
 ** It was so black on the Eselstein once this 
 afternoon," the mother added, after a forced 
 pause. " He may have been caught in a thun- 
 derstorm." 
 
 ** Clouds designed in sepia," Sir Emilius ad- 
 mitted. " But he'll come to no harm. An 
 expert climber like Hubert ! Cats have nine 
 lives, they say : boys have ten, I fancy." 
 
 He walked on a pace or two, then he began 
 again. " Hubert has intellect," he said, " un- 
 doubted intellect. But it's badly compounded. 
 The worst of him is, he's half a poet and half 
 
20 
 
 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 a physiologist. Now, you can't drive poetry 
 and physiology tandem." 
 
 " Hubert drives them abreast," Mrs. Egre- 
 mont retorted, gently. "And, to my mind, 
 they go very well in harness." 
 
A Florentine Nobleman. 21 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 A FLORENTINE NOBLEMAN. 
 
 The Black Eagle in the Rothenthal is one of 
 those old-fashioned Swiss hotels which lie a 
 little off the beaten track of tourists. The 
 season was autumn, and the crop of visitors 
 was nearly all garnered. On the verandah of 
 the inn the concierge stood lounging, with his 
 cap on one side, a cheap Swiss cigar stuck 
 carelessly in his mouth, and his hands in his 
 pockets. Nobody else stood about except 
 a single chambermaid, in the Bernese dress 
 now confined to her occupation. The con- 
 cierge nodded. " Season's over," he murmured. 
 
 "Never knew it close so early," the chamber- 
 maid answered. 
 
 " Bad weather in England," the concierge 
 replied. " Keeps them from coming south. 
 Fine on the Italian lakes. Keeps them from 
 coming north. I'm off to Nice, Rosa, if this 
 sort of thing goes on much longer." 
 
 ** Well, I don't mind it," Rosa answered, with 
 a saucy air. *' A little relief after the hurry and 
 scurry ! I'm engaged till the thirtieth, come 
 visitors or come nobody." 
 
22 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 ** Ah, the patron engages you so ; but Fm by 
 the week," the concierge continued ; " and as 
 things go now, there's no tips worth speaking 
 of." 
 
 '* Well, I don't mind for that," Rosa answered. 
 "I've made a good season — and I want to stop 
 on here as long as I can ; for I'm doing my 
 winter at Naples, where my term doesn't begin 
 before the loth of November. So of course 
 it suits me best to hang on here and take it 
 easy. There's nobody left on my floor now, 
 except those English in Number Twenty." 
 
 " Ten coming to-morrow," the concierge said, 
 briefly. 
 
 "Yes, but only Cookies. They give more 
 trouble than Pourboire, those Cook's tourists." 
 
 "Too many Cooks spoil the Continent," the 
 concierge murmured, reflectively. " If it 
 weren't for the Americans " 
 
 Rosa drew herself up suddenly. She was a 
 transformed woman. The easy-going air of 
 the chambermaid -at-large gave way at once to 
 the official demeanor of the chambermaid-in- 
 waiting. At the same moment a similar trans- 
 formation came over the concierge. He pulled 
 his cap straight, hid his cigar in his palm, and 
 assumed the severely well-bred air which is the 
 badge of his position. Anyone could guess that 
 strangers were coming. And, as a matter of 
 fact, it was the roll of carriage-wheels that had 
 wrought this metamorphosis. A Family was 
 
A Florentine Nobleman. 23 
 
 arriving. *' Must be those stingy Italians who 
 telegraphed for rooms on the third floor from 
 Milan," Rosa murmured, pulling her Bernese 
 bodice straight, and arranging her hair in the 
 most approved fashion. " He calls himself a 
 Marquis ; but he wants on salon ! Just like 
 those Italians ! " 
 
 The concierge rang the big bell. All at 
 once, from the recesses of the kitchen and din- 
 ing-room, a whole posse of waiters in very 
 white ties and very black coats swarmed out 
 like ants, to take their stand on the steps and 
 welciyme the new^-comers. The patron him- 
 self, all cringing obsequiousness, one wrinkled 
 smile, stood at the top of the flight and rubbed 
 his hands in expectation : the waiters and 
 chambermaids, the boots and porters, all stood 
 at attention in their various positions. As the 
 carriage with the " stingy Italians," drew up at 
 the foot of the steps, the concierge advanced, 
 all servility, to greet them ; while the landlord, 
 representative of the only real aristocracy in 
 modern Switzerland, bowed his profoundest 
 bow from the top of the flight to the prospec- 
 tive customers. 
 
 The concierge took the rugs and umbrellas 
 as they descended. *' For 70," he observed in 
 an undertone to the porter. *' Take that bag 
 down, Karl ! The lady's parasol, Rosa ! Al- 
 phonse, the portmanteau ! " 
 
 A stout but well-built Italian gentleman rose 
 
f 
 
 24 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 from his seat in a leisurely manner. He was 
 tall and broad-shouldered, with very big 
 mustaches and a bushy black beard, and his 
 appearance was that of a born aristocrat. He 
 smiled a bland smile of somewhat cynical 
 amusement. " Received, as usual, by the 
 whole strength of the company," he said, in his 
 soft Tuscan, turning round to his pretty young 
 daughter w^ho accompanied him. ** We shall 
 have to pay for it, Fede ! No pay, no polite- 
 ness ; nothing in Switzerland without paying 
 through the nose for it ! " Then he went on 
 in good colloquial German to the concierge, 
 *' I telegraphed from Milan for rooms for my- 
 self and my daughter. I hope you have re- 
 served them. The Marchese and Marchesa 
 Tornabuoni." He said the last words with 
 just a touch of pomposity. 
 
 " S/, signore," the concierge answered in 
 Italian, anxious to show he had fully under- 
 stood that part of the colloquy which was not 
 intended for him, — and politer than usual in 
 order to disprove its libellous insinuations. 
 '* Your rooms are ready for you. Will your 
 excellency and the Signora Marchesa give 
 yourselves the trouble to mount at once to 
 them?" 
 
 *' A lift ? " the Marchese inquired, raising his 
 eyebrows. 
 
 *'S/, signore; a lift and electric light; we 
 made the installation for both this season." 
 
A Florentine Nobleman. 25 
 
 *' Looks comfortable, Fede," the Marchese 
 went on, under his breath, shaking off the first 
 layer of the dust of travel. '' Poiif! that St. 
 Gottard is dusty enough for anything ; but the 
 road here from Goeschenen — my faith, what 
 clouds ! I shall never be clean again ! " 
 
 " I wonder Hubert wasn't here to meet us," 
 Fede observed, glancing round her. She was 
 a tall j^lii of eighteen, with abundant dark hair 
 and a dusky complexion ; yet bright-colored 
 and rosy, with the ingenuous beauty of young 
 southern girls in the opening rosebud stage of 
 development. 
 
 " Hubert here to meet us ! " the Marchese 
 exclaimed, gazing about him in return. 
 "Hubert here to meet us. Not if / can help 
 it ! My child, how foolish of you ! No, no, 
 I took good care to prevent such a mischance. 
 I wrote particularly that we would not arrive 
 at Rothenthal till to-morrow. Why, what is 
 the girl thinking of ? Your hair is full of dust ; 
 you're as brown as a myrtle -berry ; you're 
 flushed and blown about ; your hat's on one 
 side ; and your dress doesn't look the least bit 
 becoming. No pure-blooded Italian girl 
 would ever dream of appearing in such a state 
 as yours before her inamorato. That's the 
 English blood in you — your poor dear mother's 
 blood— and the English training ! " 
 
 Fede's face gr^w still redder. " But I should 
 have liked him to be here," she said, simply. 
 
26 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 " And he would have been here, of course, if 
 he'd known I was coming," 
 
 " No doubt," her father answered, with the 
 same cynical smile. "To prevent which mis- 
 fortune, my poor dear innocent, I wrote we 
 would arrive by midday to-morrow, and so 
 secured you time to put your hair straight and 
 wash your face and hands before meeting your 
 lover. We know nothing as yet of his position 
 and prospects ; but //he's a proper person to 
 marry you at all, it's as well you should make a 
 good first impression upon him and his family." 
 
 " I don't feel like that to Hubert," Fede an- 
 swered, smiling. *' Hubert is— w^ell, in Eng- 
 land, you know, it's all so different." 
 
 " But we are not in England,'' 'he Marchese 
 replied, biting the end of his moustache. "So 
 now go to your room and make yourself pre- 
 sentable. A girl should always look her best 
 before her lover — until she's married him. 
 Here, concierge, one moment !" 
 
 "Signore!" 
 
 " Is there a Mr. Egremont in the house? " 
 
 "Yes, signore ; and Mrs. Egremont, his 
 mother ; and Sir Emilius Rawson ; all three 
 of them Enghsh." 
 
 " Then don't tell them we've arrived. We'll 
 go up to our rooms now, and see them later." 
 
 " Is Mr. Egremont in the hotel at present ?" 
 Fede interposed, all crimson. 
 
 " No, signora, not at this moment. He 
 
A F'loreiitine Nobleman. 
 
 27 
 
 started for atrip up the Eselstein this morning, 
 and has not yet returned. His mother and 
 uncle have gone out to meet him." 
 
 "That's well," the Marchese answered. 
 " Go up to your room at once, Fede. You're 
 a perfect fright at present. It would be abso- 
 lutely fatal to your chance of marriage if your 
 Uberto were to see you." 
 
 Fede went off to the lift ; the Marchese fol- 
 lowed her. Rosa showed them to their rooms 
 as obsequiously as if they were not " stingy 
 Italians." Fede unpacked her portmanteau 
 and did her hair as desired. They had come 
 over from Milan that day, and driven across 
 from Goeschenen. Yet she was not tired. In 
 scenery like that, she thought, she could never 
 get tired. Besides, had she not come to meet 
 Hubert once more ? And though she was 
 naturally nervous as to what papa might think 
 of Hubert, and what Hubert might think of 
 papa, she was absolutely happy at the thought 
 of meeting him. Her cheek was flushed with 
 quite unusual roses, and her eye was bright, 
 when she went out on the balcony. Her 
 father was there before her, smoking his in- 
 evitable cigar, and gazing rather lazily across 
 at the mountains. Even after all the glorious 
 scenery she had come through that day, the 
 view delighted Fede, " Oh, papa," she cried, 
 gazing out upon it, "did you ever in your life 
 see anything so lovely ? " 
 
28 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 The Marchese waved his cigar over the field 
 of view with Italian demonstrativeness. " Why, 
 yes, my child," he answered. " Dozens of 
 times. At home, on our estate at Florence." He 
 punctuated each phrase with a puff and a wave. 
 ** For my part, I consider a basking Tuscan 
 hillside— covered with a good terraced Chianti 
 vineyard — a vast deal more attractive than all 
 this useless snow and ice and pinewood." 
 
 ** Papa," Fede cried, clasping her hands, 
 " you've 110 sense of the picturesque ! " 
 
 *' So your mother used to say, my dear. And 
 perhaps I haven't. I'm a man of business. 
 But I believe you allow these Swiss to 
 bamboozle you, as they bamboozle everybody." 
 The Marchese sank his voice to a confidential 
 whisper. " My dear, the Swiss are an extremely 
 clever commercial nation. They manage to 
 delude all the rest of the world in a most ex- 
 traordinary fashion." 
 
 Fede's eyes were far away upon the cloud- 
 topped peaks, now just beginning toglowvvith 
 the pink light of sunset. *' Delude them ? " she 
 murmured. '* How do you mean, delude 
 them?" 
 
 The Marchese took a puff or two, and then con- 
 tinued deliberately. "It was a fellow called De 
 Saussure,"he said, ** who first hit upon the prin- 
 ciple — very clever fellow, as you may naturally 
 imagine. You see, Switzerland, to start with, 
 was a poor and out-of-the way pastoral country. 
 
A Florentine Nobleman. 29 
 
 It lived on pasture. The Swiss produce a 
 quantity of beef, and mutton, and milk, and 
 cream, and eggs, and butter— and they don't 
 know what to do with them. There they 
 are, stuck in the very middle of the map of 
 Europe — remote from the consumer — remote 
 from all the great markets— Paris, London, 
 Berlin, Vienna, Naples ; and they can't afford 
 to send their stuff aw^ay by rail, because it 
 wouldn't even pay the cost of carriage. They 
 have plenty to eat — and nobody to eat it. So, 
 happy thought — as they can't send their 
 produce away to the consumer, they must 
 make the consumer come to their produce. 
 Naturally, however, there was nothing in the 
 w^orld to bring people of their own free wills 
 to these inhospitable wilds ; but that difficulty 
 didn't daunt the ingenious Switzers. They 
 invented scenery — and the rest of the world 
 fell into the trap like lambs, and came to 
 Switzerland to eat the beef, and stare at the 
 mountains ? " And the Marchese puffed away, 
 with eyes half-closed, well pleased at his ow^n 
 philosophical cleverness. 
 
 "But, papa, they're so beautiful!" Fede 
 cried, clasping her hands ecstatically. 
 
 "What, the Swiss?" 
 
 " No, no, of course not ; the mountains ! 
 Look at them now^ turning crimson in the 
 setting sun. Aren't they just lovely ? " 
 
 The Marchese shrugged his shoulders. 
 
30 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 " People didn't look at crags in the eighteenth 
 century," he replied, with his two hands ex- 
 tended in a rhetorical gesture. " The Swiss 
 hadn't then developed the scenery business. 
 Glaciers were not as yet the fashion. Everybody 
 in those days used sensibly to admire fine open 
 stretches of cultivable land — like the plain of 
 Lombardy as you see it from the top of Milan 
 Cathedral. That was before the time of 
 Monsieur de Saussure, who discovered the 
 commercial value of these uninteresting Alps. 
 Putting up statues is a precious bad way of 
 investing your money, or else I suspect the 
 grateful Swiss would have put up a statue to 
 De Saussure long ago. But they're a prudent 
 people ; they never do anything except with a 
 single eye to remunerative investment." 
 
 "Oh,papa,"Fede cried, "you're mcorrigible. 
 I believe you only care for our own lovely 
 place on tlie Arno for the sake of the wine 
 and oil you make in it." 
 
 " My dear," the Marchese answered, with the 
 common sense of the modern Italian, ** in spite 
 of the present depressed condition of the w^ine 
 market, my Chianti fetches the highest price 
 in the English ports of any brand in Tuscany, 
 and that's quite enough for me. I leave the 
 picturesque to those who care for it." 
 
 " But these mountains ! " Fede cried, stretch- 
 ing her arms towards them impulsively. 
 
 The Marchese spread his hands. '* Mere 
 
A Florentine Nobleman. 31 
 
 anfractuosities in the earth's crust," he an- 
 swered. "They would make much more land, 
 ironed T)ut and distributed." 
 
 Fede laughed in spite of herself. *' You're 
 a degenerate Tornabuoni, dear," she said, half 
 in jest, half in earnest. " I'm sure Giovanni 
 Tornabuoni, who had the pictures painted by 
 Ghirlandajo in the choir of Santa Maria Novella, 
 wouldn't have thought as you do." 
 
 " Very probably not," her father replied, pat- 
 ting her head. " But he would have burnt you 
 for a heretic, my dear ; so there are advantages 
 both ways. I don't pretend, myself, that I live 
 outside my own century." 
 
 Fede's eyes were far away on the rose-tipped 
 peaks. " I'm glad," she said, slowly, " I'm not 
 as practical as you, papa. Hubert loves the 
 mountains— I mean the anfractuosities — and I 
 love them too. And that will be nice for 
 Hubert. I don't think Englishmen are so 
 practical as Italians ; though in England, of 
 course, everybody thinks differently." 
 
 " In England," her father observed, leaning 
 over the parapet and puffing away reflectively, 
 " everybody thinks the average Italian is a 
 judicious mixture of an operatic tenor, an 
 organ-grinder, a Calabrian brigand, and a 
 Neapolitan macaroni-seller. The Italian of 
 real life is little known, even to Englishmen 
 who have lived long in Italy." 
 
 "That's true," Fede replied. "For, as a 
 
32 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 matter of fact, the Italians I have met 
 have all been intensely practical, while the 
 English I have met, no matter how business- 
 like, have always had some undercurrent at 
 least in their natures of romance and poetry." 
 "Too true," the Marchese murmured. "Too 
 true, I fear, Fedc. Your good mother was an 
 Englishwoman, and for romantic- well, you 
 remember her. In that, you show yourself 
 your mother's daughter. I sent you to Eng- 
 land to be educated, because it was her dying 
 wish, and also because an Italian girl in Flor- 
 ence has far better chances of marrying an 
 Englishman of fortune than a Florentine of 
 equal means and of suitable position. And 
 you come back telling me you are in love with 
 
 * Hubert.' 'Who is Hubert?' I naturally 
 ask ; and you answer me, ' His other name is 
 Egremont. Isn't it a pretty one ? — so soft, 
 Hubert Egremont ! ' ' Very soft,' I admit, 
 
 * but his fortune, his prospects, his family, 
 Fede ? ' And you reply, ' His family lives in 
 Devonshire, the loveliest part of England, with 
 beautiful red cliffs and purple bays and green 
 valleys.* ' How many acres of it does he 
 own ? ' I ask. You have never even inquired. 
 I tear my hair but I get no further. Your in- 
 formation about him sums itself up in the two 
 simple facts that he has a pretty name and is 
 an agreeable person. I ask you, is that 
 practical ? " 
 
A Florentine Nobleman. 33 
 
 Fede looked down and smiled, a little em- 
 barrassed smile, while she fingered the rose at 
 her bosom somewhat nervously. '* I saw so 
 little of him, you see, papa," she answered, 
 lowering her eyes. " We — we only met, at 
 most, half-a dozen times. And then, you know, 
 we had so much else to talk about ! " 
 
 " Yes, / know," the Marchese answered, 
 more amused than provoked, for he had 
 Italian tolerance for the foibles of the young. 
 "/ know, exactly. You and Hubert went on 
 talking pretty nothings to one another, and 
 making love for love's sake, precisely as if it 
 were an intrigue, not a marriage, you were 
 contemplating. A pure-blooded Italian girl 
 wouldn't behave like that, you know — not with 
 a man she thought of making her husband. 
 A married woman with her lover, I grant you 
 — very right and proper ; but a marriage is 
 different ; 'tis an affair of business. You have 
 to take this man — he has to take this woman — 
 for life and always. Therefore it becomes im- 
 portant to know precisely how much each can 
 contribute to the family exchequer, and what 
 sort of fortune each expects and possesses. If 
 you were my daughter only, you w^ould have 
 inquired these things first about your precious 
 Hubert. As you are also your mother's, and 
 have imbibed all sorts of romantic English 
 ideas at Oxford, you inquire nothing of the 
 sort ; you merely come telling me that Hubert 
 
34 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 is charming, high-soulcd, handsome, clever, in- 
 tellectual. Arc those the qualities, I ask you, 
 one demands in a husband ? " 
 
 "They are — in England," Fede answered, 
 half smiling. For the Marchesc, though prac- 
 tical, was a kindly-naturcd father. 
 
 **And what's the consequence?" the Italian 
 went on, holding one hand out oratorically. 
 " I write to England, delicately suggesting 
 tliese important preliminaries, and am met with 
 a reserve which, I suppose, proceeds from Eng- 
 lish refinement, but which, in Italy, we should 
 consider absurd and impracticable. We should 
 call it mere shuffling. You tell me you're 
 ' engaged,' whatever that may mean, to Hubert. 
 So I have no resource left except to write and 
 inquire when and where I may meet Mr. 
 Hubert. And where does the man propose to 
 give me an appointment ? In Paris, Milan, 
 Florence, Venice, London, where either party 
 could have access to proper legal opinions ? 
 Not a bit of it ; he says he and his mother will 
 be touring in Switzerland, and they will be 
 delighted to meet us half-way, at a second-rate 
 inn, in a sequestered valley, remote from all 
 the conveniences and resources of civilization 
 — they discuss the affair as though the element 
 of contract didn't enter into the question. 
 And thafs what poses as a practical people ! 
 Pah ! cava mia, it makes me ill to think of 
 it!" . 
 
A Florentine Nobleman. 35 
 
 Fede smiled in turn. She had spent the 
 five formative years of her life in England, first 
 at school, and then at Somerville College ; and 
 though she was Italian still in speech and 
 features, she was English to the core in her 
 ideas and opinions. " That's not quite the way 
 people would look at it in England—" she 
 began. 
 
 " I know it's not," the Marchese interrupted, 
 good-humoredly ; "and that's just what I 
 complain of ! " 
 
 " They would think," Fede went on, " this 
 was an affair between two lovers, and that 
 nothing could be more natural than for the 
 lovers to settle it among these beautiful moun- 
 tains and these lovely valleys, where the people 
 most concerned could find abundant oppor- 
 tunities for seeing one another alone— after the 
 English fashion.'^ 
 
 "Precisely," her father echoed. " After the 
 English fashion ! In England, a marriage is 
 still, to a great extent, an affair of the heart ; 
 in Italy, we see that it is an affair of the pocket." 
 
 "Then I'm glad," Fede murmured, "I'm 
 going to marry an Englishman ! " 
 
 "Oh, well," the Marchese replied, shrugging 
 his shoulders once more, "as you seem to have 
 decided the question for yourself, without even 
 so much as an inquiry as to your father, I really 
 don't know why I should have come all this 
 way merely to give my consent to a precon- 
 
36 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 ceived arrangement, as to the terms of which 
 I have not even been consulted ! " 
 
 Fede took his hand in hers. *' Dear papa," 
 she cried, " you know I couldn't bear to do any- 
 thing to displease you. You have always been 
 the vsweetest and best of fathers. You've been 
 goodness itself to me. But Hubert is so nice, 
 so kind, so lovable ; I'm sure when you see 
 him you can't help loving him." 
 
 The Marchese smiled in spite of himself. 
 *' Loving him ! " he exclaimed, much amused. 
 " There you are again, Fede. You insist upon 
 treating it all as if it were a mere affair of pass- 
 ing affection. You forget it is proposed you 
 should marry this man. And we don't yet 
 know whether he has anything to marry upon." 
 
 " I would marry him without a penny," 
 Fede exclaimed impulsively. 
 
 " No doubt," the Marchese replied ; " and 
 come back upon me in three years, without a 
 penny, but with a couple of babies ! Remem- 
 ber, Fede, I have the two boys to provide for. 
 Luigi must have his allowance for the army ; 
 Carlo must continue to cultivate the family 
 estate ; so where I am to findany but the most 
 modest dowry for you, I'm sure I don't know. 
 The first thing to be settled — the very first 
 thing — is the question how much this young 
 man is worth, and what arrangement he pro- 
 poses to make for you. I shall speak of that 
 at once — the first thing when I see them." 
 
A Florentine Nobleman. 37 
 
 Fede drew back, crimson-cheeked. " Oh, 
 papa," she cried, " I beg of you— not this 
 evening ! " 
 
 " Why not, my child ? It's most proper and 
 businesslike." 
 
 " Businesslike ! That's just it ! Wait till 
 to-morrow at least," Fede pleaded, all her 
 English feelings in revolt at the suggestion of 
 such precipitancy. 
 
 ** What, my dear, and let you spend an 
 evening with him in my presence, on the foot- 
 ing of your future husband, before I've inquired 
 whether the arrangement is practicable ? My 
 child, it would be impossible ! " 
 
 Fede hesitated for a moment. Then a bril- 
 liant idea struck her. "Well, let us be busi- 
 nesslike," she answered, conforming as far as 
 she could to her father's standpoint. "After 
 all, they are English ; and you must deal with 
 Rome as Rome expects to be dealt with. If 
 you speak to them to-night they will think it 
 precipitate, and — and vulgar — and mercenary. 
 They are not accustomed in England to that 
 way of doing things. If you say out at once 
 to them—* How much is he worth ? ' you will 
 only succeed in setting them against you. Now, 
 I don't know whether Hubert is rich or poor ; 
 I-— I had too many other things to discuss the 
 few times I saw him— for you know it was all a 
 very sudden engagement. But perhaps he is 
 rich — so many English are ; and at any rate he was 
 
38 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 an Oxford man, which means a good deal, you 
 know, in England. Wouldn't it be better worth 
 w^hile to wait just one night, and find out to- 
 morrow, than to create a bad impression on a 
 man who, after all, may be what you your- 
 self would consider a very suitable son-in- 
 law ? " 
 
 She said it with a pretty smile, which showed 
 at once how far she was modifying her own 
 mode of thought to suit her father's ; and when 
 Fede Tornabuoni smiled, she was simply ir- 
 resistible. The Marchese looked at her with 
 admiring eyes ; he was proud and fond of her. 
 ''You're a clever little humbug," he answered, 
 after a moment, '* and I know you don't mean 
 it. But still, there's something in w^hat you say. 
 I know these English and their absurd ro- 
 manticisms. Well, let it be as you wish. 'Tis 
 the true Tuscan way, domane, doniane ! " 
 
 They were bending over the second-floor 
 balcony as they spoke, and the concierge was 
 lounging on a garden bench below. Suddenly 
 the Marchese leaned down and addressed him. 
 ** What mountain did you say Mr. Egremont 
 had ascended to-day ? " he inquired, with a 
 curious air of interest. 
 
 *' Signore, the Eselstein." 
 
 ** Most appropriate name ! — the Donkeys' 
 Crag. Alone?" 
 
 " With a guide and two companions." 
 
 The Marchese turned to Fede. " With a 
 
A Florentine Nobleman. 39 
 
 guide ! " he murmured complacently. ** That 
 looks like money ! " 
 
 " Hubert always did everything nicely," Fede 
 answered, with rapture ; *' and he dressed, oh, 
 just charmingly ! " 
 
 " What rooms ? " the Marchese called out 
 again. 
 
 *'A salon and three bedrooms on the first 
 floor," the concierge answered. Then he added, 
 maliciously, " They are very nice people." 
 
 "Which means, they spend money freely," 
 the Marchese murmured lower, aside to Fede. 
 " Still, that may be only their brag. They may 
 think you're an heiress, and well worth 
 catching." 
 
 ** Oh, papa, Hubert's not like that," Fede 
 answered, indignantly. 
 
 " They never are, my dear— till you find them 
 out," her father replied, with his cynical smile. 
 " Well, w^ell, we shall see. On the w^hole, 
 though, I rather like the look of your Hubert." 
 
 And on the veranda below, the concierge 
 was observing that moment to Rosa, " Beggarly 
 Italians, I expect, come here to marry their 
 daughter off to a wealthy Englishman ! Not 
 much to be made out of them, I feel sure. He 
 put the price he wanted to pay for rooms in 
 his telegram." 
 
 " She's all right," Rosa answered, with a nod. 
 *' Shes half English, I can see ; but he's a reg- 
 ular Italian. Sort of man wiio'd stop at a hotel 
 
40 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 for six weeks, and then give you a franc at the 
 end when he was leaving ! I made my last 
 winter season at Rome, and I had enough of 
 them, I promise you. The year before, at the 
 Paradis at Cannes, all the world was English, 
 and the tips were just splendid. But at Rome 
 —my hotel was Italian to the core, and, my 
 faith, it was starvation ! " 
 
Enter Hubert. 41 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 ENTER HUBERT. 
 
 A SHORT mile from the inn, Mrs. Egremont 
 and Sir Emilius had come upon Hubert. The 
 cHmber of peaks was walking alone, having 
 dropped his guide at the village, while his two 
 temporary companions had diverged by them- 
 selves from the base of the crag in the opposite 
 direction, meaning to sleep, they said, at the 
 Rhone Glacier. 
 
 The mother's heart leaped up with pride as 
 Hubert approached her. How carelessly 
 handsome he looked in his mountaineering 
 suit, swinging his stick as he went— how lithe, 
 how supple ! No costume sets a man off like 
 flannel shirt and running-trousers, and Hubert 
 was attired for a light climb below snow-level 
 in that easy fashion. He was a well-built 
 young fellow, after the English pattern, almost 
 arrogantly healthy. Mrs. Egremont had never 
 felt prouder of him before ; so tall, so fresh, 
 so strong— so like his father ! 
 
 He hallooed to them from afar. "Not 
 alarmed, I hope, mother ? " 
 
42 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 Mrs. Egremont prevaricated. *' We thought 
 we might as well stroll this way as any other," 
 she answered wdth a gasp, gulping down her 
 inner joy and delight at recovering him. But 
 she sank on a grassy knoll by the side of the 
 path, and surveyed him v/ith great eyes of re- 
 lief and tenderness. 
 
 Hubert flung himself by her side on a bed 
 of short clover. " Oh, it's nothing of a climb," 
 he cried, reassuring her. ** We just walked up 
 and down. As easy as running. Quite a baby 
 of a peak. Like Primrose Hill, I assure 
 you." 
 
 " Like Primrose Hill ! " Sir Emilius echoed, 
 with an incredulous laugh. ** I looked at it 
 through my glasses this morning, Julia — all 
 ramping teeth of rock — and I call it a pretty 
 stiff piece of climbing. My dear, that boy will 
 stick a notice on the Jungfrau — ' This hill is 
 dangerous to cyclists.' " 
 
 "Anybody else on the summit?" Mrs. 
 Egremont inquired with forced interest, trying 
 her best to seem occupied with that hateful 
 climbing ; though, to be honest, the one thing 
 she ever cared to learn about a mountain jaunt 
 was that her boy had got back again. 
 
 '* Crowds of them !" Hubert answered. " A 
 perfect Piccadilly ! " He plucked a long grass 
 and bit at it as he spoke. *' Ten people on the 
 Eselstein !" 
 
 "And you got some new specimens?" Mrs, 
 
Enter Hubert. 43 
 
 Egremont continued, with a wistful glance at 
 his tin collecting case. 
 
 Hubert opened the little box. "Twoorthree 
 Alpine beetles," he answered—" rather odd 
 varieties ; and a pretty gentian that's new to 
 me. But I had to scramble for it ; a cleft in 
 the rock ; I slipped and hung on, and cut my 
 fingers in clinging." He held them up- 
 lacerated. 
 
 " Oh, Hubert," his mother cried, shrinking 
 back in spite of herself, " how can you bear to 
 risk your life for nothing ? " 
 
 "There was no risk, mother. A mere drop 
 of ten feet. If I fell, I lighted on a perfect 
 feather-bed of scented daphne. But I wanted 
 the plant, because I rather think it's a hybrid, 
 and these natural hybrids are always interest- 
 ing. They give one such clues to the work- 
 ings of heredity." 
 
 The mother fingered the plant with a sort of 
 mute horror, as she might have fingered some 
 sentient thing—an asp or a cobra— that had 
 tried to lure her boy into danger. But she 
 uttered not a word. She had schooled herself 
 never to let Hubert see how deeply these 
 mountain excursions terrified her. 
 
 **And the view?" she asked again, with 
 maternal hypocrisy. Earth holds no hypocrite 
 hke your loving mother. 
 
 The poet in Hubert blossomed out. " The 
 view," he said, " was ineffable ! I was in 
 
44 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 luck's way, mother — we happened on a thun- 
 derstorm ! It played all round us. Great 
 dragons of black cloud flung themselves with 
 huge claws and folds against the walls of the 
 peak ; we looked down upon them from above, 
 and saw them shatter and destroy themselves on 
 the precipices. They surged up, darkling, one 
 after another, with curled tails and rampant 
 backs, and rushed madly against the Eselstein. 
 There they broke themselves in lightning as a 
 wave breaks in foam. Great seas of white mist 
 filled up the valleys. But away to the south, 
 one strip of pale, blue sky broke the field of 
 black ; and against it, the Zermatt peaks stood 
 out white and calm, showing their teeth with 
 a smile, as if they disdained the thunder. 
 They almost seemed to laugh at it — just a curl 
 of contempt, no more, as to a base inferior. 
 I never saw anything grander than the contrast 
 between the blind rage of the storm-clouds, 
 and the unheeding serenity of the placid Alps, 
 smiling down on them with their white teeth, 
 just touched with sunbeams." 
 
 *' But it was dangerous, surely ? " Mrs. Egre- 
 mont exclaimed — and then hated herself for 
 saying it. *' Alone, at that height, with the 
 lightning all round you." 
 
 " It was grand, I know," Hubert answered, 
 gazing up at the rosy glow on the summit of 
 the Himmelberg. *' You could see it playing 
 about the smaller peaks, while the glacier-clad 
 
Enter Hubert. 45 
 
 heights and white crystalhne needles rose per- 
 fectly unconcerned into the dazzling sunlight." 
 
 ** Capital for those who like it ! " Sir Emilius 
 put in, drily. " But you must have got wet, 
 Hubert ; though at your age a wetting seems 
 to promote digestion." 
 
 There was a minute's pause, during which 
 Mrs. Egremont gazed at her son fondly. 
 
 ** Fede not come, I suppose ? " Hubert began 
 again, stretching himself and fondling his 
 muscle. 
 
 "Why, no," Sir Emilius interposed. *' We 
 don't expect them till to-morrow." 
 
 '' I know that ; but I thought " 
 
 " Yes, lovers will think things," Sir Emilius 
 said, sardonically. 
 
 ** I thought perhaps Fede would beg her 
 father not to sleep at Milan, but come straight 
 through by the morning train ; and then of 
 course she'd be disappointed if I was not at 
 the inn w^hen she arrived, to meet her." 
 
 Sir Emilius smiled the wise smile of middle 
 age. *' Much more likely she'd want to get a 
 good night's rest," he remarked, " so as to look 
 fresh and wtU before she met you. '' I've 
 three girls of my own, and I know the ways of 
 them." 
 
 *'Milly and Hilda and Effie— oh, yes," 
 Hubert said, with just a tinge of disrespect ; 
 "but then, Fede's quite different." 
 
 " They always are quite different ! " Sir 
 
46 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 Eniiiiiis admitted. '* Everybody's girl is the 
 one girl in the world. * There is none like 
 her, none,' says Tennyson's lover in Maud ; 
 which shows, not that Maud was an exceptional 
 creature, but that Tennyson had indepen- 
 dently arrived at the same generalization as to 
 the psychology of lovers." 
 
 Hubert lay back on the grass and surveyed 
 the sky for a while in silence. Then he ad- 
 dressed himself to his mother. ** I often think," 
 he said, in a very musing voice, " how wonder- 
 fully all these things are ordered. It almost 
 makes one believe at times in the old idea of 
 an over-ruling providence." 
 
 " I never left off believing in that old idea," 
 Mrs. Egremont murmured, gently. 
 
 Hubert clasped her hand in his. " That's 
 your charm," he said, with real tenderness. 
 *' In spite of everything, mother, you still be- 
 lieve in the universe ! And really it almost 
 looks like deliberate design, when you think 
 of the strange coincidences which had to exist 
 before I could ever arrange things with Fede." 
 
 ** As which ? " Sir Emilius asked, with a 
 skeptical twinkle. Sir Emilius declined to 
 believe in anything. 
 
 *' Oh, I'm not talking to you, Uncle Mill," 
 the young man answered, half flushing with 
 pride. '* I'm talking to my mother. And you 
 see, mother, I could never had fallen so much in 
 love with Fede if she hadn't been a Florentine. 
 
Enter Hubert. 47 
 
 To be Dante's fellow-tovvnsvvoman, you know 
 — what a privilege ! It's the Itahan strain in 
 her that gives her half her attractiveness, and 
 the English the other half. Then, I couldn't 
 have met her if she hadn't come to England. 
 And if her mother hadn't happened to be an 
 Englishwoman married to an Italian, Fede 
 would never have been sent to Oxford. Again, 
 if I had taken that scholarship at Trinity in- 
 stead of at Balliol, I would have settled down 
 at Cambridge, and therefore never have met 
 Fede. So see by how beautiful a concaten- 
 ation of events it's all been arranged that Fede 
 and I, the exact two people intended by nature 
 for one another, should meet at the right time, 
 and spring at one another like magnet to 
 magnet." 
 
 Mrs. Egremont sighed. A thought flashed 
 through her mind. " The very words," she 
 said to herself, ** his father would have spoken !'* 
 And she sighed inaudibly. 
 
 But the man of science was up in arms at 
 once. ** Now, for a physiologist," Sir Emilius 
 said, with didactic forefinger — *' and you are 
 a physiologist — I call that about as absurd an 
 idea as ever was ventilated. Unsubstantial, 
 gaseous ! What's the matter with yoii is, that 
 the poet in you keeps getting the better of the 
 anatomist. Can't you see, my dear Hubert, 
 the instinct is the only fundamental reality in 
 all this business ? — the instinct to mate and to 
 
48 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 continue the species ? The particular object 
 on which it expends itself is all pure accident. 
 A bud reaches the stage at which the flower 
 ^i///5/ expand, and it expands accordingly. A 
 man reaches the stage at which he must fall in 
 love, and he falls in love accordingly. There's 
 no more in it than that— a common result of 
 pure human heredity." 
 
 " But not every girl " Hubert began. 
 
 Sir Emilius snapped his fingers with sub- 
 dued impatience. ** Don't talk nonsense to 
 me, sir," he said. " It's as plain as a pikestaff. 
 You fall in love with the girls you see ; I know 
 that very well. How the dickens can you fall 
 in love with the girls you doii't see ? " And 
 he snapped his jaw firmly. 
 
 Hubert gazed up at the sky through his half- 
 closed eyelids. Red rifts of cloud flecked it. 
 
 " My dear uncle," he answered, *' if the poet 
 in me gets the better of the anatomist, doesn't 
 the anatomist in yott get the better of the poet ? 
 Quite too much the better ? Can't you see in 
 turn that the world you ignore is every bit as 
 real, every bit as important, as the world you 
 acknowledge ? " 
 
 Sir Emilius shook his head. " No, I can't," 
 he responded, testily. " I say, you fell in love 
 with the little Italian girl because you met her ; 
 you didn't meet her because you were pre- 
 destined by nature to fall in love with her." 
 
 Hubert turned the subject. He was a con- 
 
Enter Hubert. 49 
 
 sistent determinist, and it is not worth while 
 for dcterminists to argue. ** My one fear now," 
 he said, " is about the Marchese." 
 
 ** So is mine." Sir EmiHus assented with 
 promptitude. 
 
 " A Florentine gentleman of the oldest de- 
 scent," Hubert mused on, stroking his mother's 
 hand in his. ** It seems so presumptuous of 
 me ! " 
 
 ** To take his daughter off his hands," Sir 
 Emilius answered, smiling. " I didn't mean 
 quite what you mean, Hubert. A Florentine 
 nobleman is generally poor, and always grasp- 
 ing. I meant I had my doubts as to his sol- 
 vency and respectability." For Sir Emilius, 
 being a true-born Briton, had a low opinion of 
 mere Foreigners. 
 
 ** Why, the Tornabuoni were great folk in 
 Florence," Hubert cried, astonished, " when 
 the Egremonts were nothing more than Lan- 
 cashire farmers ! He may consider me — as I 
 am — whole worlds beneath Fede." 
 
 " He may think small beer of our English 
 gentility, no doubt," Sir Emilius answered, 
 *' but he'll think precious well of our English 
 consols, you may be certain, Hubert. They 
 touched 114 yesterday, I see by the Standard. 
 I know these Florentines, my boy ; and you 
 may take my word for it they are not the 
 romantic Italians of Covent Garden opera. 
 They know the precise worth of twenty shillings 
 4 
 
50 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 sterling in King Humbert's currency to half a 
 centesimo." 
 
 " Well, I'm anxious, at any rate, to see Fede's 
 father," Hubert went on, gazing upward. He 
 had lived so frankly in the bosom of his family 
 that he had none of the niaiivaise lionte so 
 many young men feel in discussing their 
 future wife before their relations. " So much 
 depends upon one's father and mother ! " 
 
 '* Everything," Sir Emilius assented, prompt- 
 ly. There, he was entirely at one with his 
 nephew. 
 
 " The Marchese must be a splendid and 
 high-minded man," Hubert continued, shading 
 his eyes with his hand as he gazed at the 
 mountains. " I only wish I could ever have 
 seen my own father. One would like to know 
 what noble characteristics, what intellectual 
 traits one has a chance of inheriting ; for to a 
 physiologist, of course, heredity's everything." 
 
 Sir Emilius w^as just about to cut short this 
 awkward colloquy by observing diplomatically, 
 " Colonel Egremont was one of the finest-built 
 soldiers in the British army," when his sister 
 anticipated him by answering in his place, 
 "Your father was a man to be proud of, 
 Hubert." 
 
 Sir Emilius raised his eyebrows, and glanced 
 hard at his sister. He did not exclaim, " Eh ? 
 what ! " He merely whistled a tune unobtru- 
 sively. But he uttered not a word. He would 
 
Enter Hubert. 51 
 
 not interfere in so delicate a matter. Still, 
 it was all very well to say in the abstract, 
 " Honor thy father and tliy mother ; " but 
 how any one who had ever known Walter 
 Egremont could, for a moment, describe him 
 as "a man to be proud of," passed Sir Emilius's 
 comprehension. However, it was Julia's busi- 
 ness, not his ; and as long as she chose to keep 
 Hubert in ignorance of his father's real history. 
 Sir Emilius did not feel quixotically inclined 
 to enlighten him. Nevertheless, he rose, and, 
 still whistling to himself, moved away some 
 twenty yards, picking a late autumn flower or 
 two ostentatiously as he w^ent, lest it should 
 embarrass Julia to know he w^as mentally crit- 
 icising her veracity. 
 
 Mother and son were left alone. There was 
 a moment's pause. Then Mrs. Egremont be- 
 gan again. " Though I sometimes fancy, 
 Hubert," she said, in a grave voice, "you 
 make too much of heredity." 
 
 "You can't make too much of it," Hubert 
 answered, with decision. "In mankind, it's 
 omnipotent. My studies at my hospital, and 
 afterwards my psychological observations at 
 the asylum, have showm me, on the contrary, 
 that not even men of science themselves have 
 yet appreciated the whole w^onder, the full 
 marvel and mystery of heredity. Look at this 
 case, for example — one only out of hundreds. 
 I had a man on my list who had always kept a 
 
52 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 diary from the time he was twenty. He was a 
 medical man, and he noted everything with 
 medical accuracy. At four-and-twenty and 
 two weeks, he lost his first tooth — the second 
 left molar in the upper jaw. He had two twin 
 sons. At four-and-twenty and three weeks, one 
 of the twdns lost his first tooth in turn. I asked 
 which tooth, and found it was the second left 
 molar in the upper jaw. The other twin's teeth 
 were apparently sound ; but, a fortnight later, he 
 had a violent toothache. I inquired in what 
 tooth— exactly as I expected — the second left 
 molar ! That's the kind of result that has met me 
 every day in the course of my researches. We 
 seem like clocks, set each to run our appointed 
 course in so many years and days and minutes. 
 1 know it so well now, that I almost feel at times 
 as if I had no individuality at all of my own ; 
 I recognize myself as nothing more in the end 
 than the sum of my joint parental tendencies." 
 
 '' It seems a dangerous doctrine," Mrs. Egre- 
 mont murmured, with the feminine habit of 
 seeing everything in an ethical light. *' It 
 may lead to fatalism, and strike at the root of 
 all moral endeavor." 
 
 " If it is the truth, it is not dangerous," 
 Hubert answered, with firmer faith. " The 
 truth, dearest, is never dangerous. Truth 
 never fears truth. Only a lie is liable to lead 
 us into error." 
 
 Mrs. Egremont winced. " Perhaps so," she 
 
Enter Hubert. 53 
 
 answered, with a pang of doubt. *' But are 
 we all of us strong enough for the truth, my 
 boy ? I sometimes feel as if— as if it might 
 crush and kill us." 
 
 Hubert gazed at her tenderly. " Dear 
 mother," he said, with an affectionate smile, 
 ^^ you of all women to urge such a fallacy ! 
 Why, you couldn't tell anything but the truth 
 if you tried ! You must be true ! The truth 
 is native to you." 
 
 His mother winced again. ''Well, I hope 
 you will be satisfied with Fede's father," she 
 said, very slowly, to change the subject. 
 
 " I hope Fede's father will be satisfied with 
 me; that's more to the point," her son an- 
 swered, gaily, bending his arm, and feeling the 
 biceps. "I shall do my best to please him. 
 I shall make myself all things to all men to suit 
 him. After all, the Egremonts are English 
 gentlefolk ; and you have one of the prettiest 
 places in Devonshire. I don't see why he 
 shouldn't be ready to accept me as a son-in- 
 law. Though, to be sure, the Tornabuoni 
 were great lords in Florence before we and 
 our kind were ever dreamt of." 
 
 Mrs. Egremont rose again. " We ought to 
 be getting back to the inn," she said, wearily. 
 " It has been hot to-day, and I feel rather tired. 
 I don't know v/hy, but I always feel tired on 
 the Continent nowadays.'"' 
 
 ** Not only tired, but frightened, I fancy," 
 
54 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 Hubert went on, without attaching much im- 
 portance to his words. " It seems to me you're 
 half afraid of foreigners. Uncle Mill despises 
 them : you seem to fear them. Come along, 
 Uncle Mill ; we're going back to the Black 
 Eagle." 
 
 Mrs. Egremont's look was certainly one of 
 fright as Hubert said those words. It was 
 clear he had stirred some deep chord within 
 her. She walked back to the inn by her son's 
 side in silence. When they reached the door, 
 the Tornabuoni had ju^t gone in to their rooms 
 from the balcony. And the concierge, as 
 directed, said nothing as to their arrival. 
 
 Sir Emilius and his sister strolled into the 
 hotel, leaving Hubert on the veranda. While 
 they went up in the lift, the doctor turned a 
 searching glance on Mrs. Egremont. 
 
 " Do you think, Julia," he said, slowly, " it's 
 quite wise — never to tell him ?" 
 
 Mrs. Egremont flushed up, and evaded the 
 question. " I have told him — as much as it's 
 well for him to know," she answered. She 
 paused for a second, then she began again. 
 ** Truth," she mused, " is relative. He knows 
 the truth — as far as I conceive it." 
 
 ** Very relative indeed," Sir Emilius assented. 
 " So relative, that it seems to come out quite 
 upside down in some relations, doesn't it ? " 
 
 Mrs. Egremont said nothing : for she knew 
 when to be silent. 
 
An Officer and a Gentleman. 55 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 AN OFFICER AND A GENTLEMAN. 
 
 It was still day. The delicate rose-colored 
 glow within rather than upon the ice of the 
 Alps had not yet given place to the cold steel- 
 blue of twilight. Hubert, weary from hischmb 
 waited outside in the cool for a minute or two 
 calling for a glass of light beer to refresh him 
 alter his toil before going in to his room to get 
 ready for dinner. Autumn was in the air, but 
 the day was summer-like. As he sat at the 
 table outside the veranda and drank his lager 
 the concierge came down and began talking to 
 him quite humanly. Towards the end of the 
 season, indeed, even a concierge often discovers 
 unsuspected human traits that are really re- 
 freshing. He unbends from the long restraint 
 of summer. 
 
 Beautiful lights just now on the Himmel- 
 berg, sir," he said, turning to Hubert. '' It's 
 a glorious mountain. Such a rearing mass » 
 C:ro where you will in the world, you'll find 
 nothing lovelier." 
 
 *' You know the world, then ? " Hubert in- 
 
56 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 terposed, smiling, and amused at his air of 
 universal travel. 
 
 " I ought to know it," the concierge retorted, 
 speaking fluently in English, *' for I've lived in 
 half the best hotels in Europe." 
 
 " For example ? " Hubert queried. 
 
 The concierge ran them over, ransacking the 
 distant cells of his memory. *' The Metropole 
 in London," he said ; *' I was interpreter there ; 
 the Continental, the Grand, and the Chatham 
 in Paris ; the Italic in Rome ; the Hotel de 
 Baviere in Munich ; the Bristol at Naples- 
 half-a-dozen others." 
 
 " Why, you know the Continent well," Hu- 
 bert observed, surprised to find the man so 
 widely diffused. 
 
 "Yes, and a little beyond it— Shepheard's at 
 Cairo, the Kirsch at Algiers, the Brunswick at 
 Boston, Cook's Hotel at Jerusalem. Yet, go 
 where you will in the world — I say it still— you 
 won't find a finer view anywhere than the 
 Himmelberg." 
 
 " But you're not a Bernese Swiss," Hubert 
 interposed, eyeing him. " I can see that 
 instantly." 
 
 " Why not ? " the concierge asked, surprised 
 in turn at his visitor's confidence. 
 
 "Oh, I can tell it at a glance by your build 
 and features. You come from the Orisons, 
 I'll bet ; you were brought up Roumansch- 
 speaking." 
 
An Officer and a Gentleman. 57 
 
 " Quite right," the concierge answered, with 
 a smile of amusement at the young English- 
 man's penetration. " I come from the Grisons, 
 as you say ; I have the face and figure of the 
 Rhaetian mountaineers. But how did you 
 guess I was brought up Roumansch-speaking ? " 
 
 " If you were a true Bernese," Hubert an- 
 swered, after a second's reflectii3n, " you would 
 have a more distinctive German accent — the 
 Thuringian accent — in speaking English. But 
 you speak it admirably — as most of your 
 countrymen do ; and what foreign tinge you 
 have — very little indeed — is not Thuringian at 
 all, but belongs to the type of the Latin 
 races." 
 
 The concierge w^as flattered. He drew him- 
 self up at once. ** You are right," he answered 
 again. *'We of the Rhaetian Alps all know 
 our descent, and all are proud of it. It is a 
 thing to remember. We are the original 
 Etruscans ! " 
 
 " You are," Hubert replied. " And, if I may 
 venture to say it, only in the Grisons w^ould a 
 man in your position be likely to know it." 
 
 " That is true, too," the concierge admitted. 
 " We are like your own Scotch. We are 
 all of us educated. And we learn languages 
 easily. You see, our native Roumansch stands 
 nearest of any modern Latin dialect to the 
 original Latin. Therefore wq learn French, 
 Italian, Spanish easily ; because the roots of 
 
58 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 all of them are contained in purer forms in our 
 own dialect. And we speak German, too, for 
 the most part from childhood ; so that lan- 
 guages come naturally to us. Besides which," 
 and he drew himself up with a curious pride, 
 '* we inherit the old Etruscan intelligence." 
 
 He spoke in quite another tone, now he had 
 begun to discuss a subject which interested 
 him, from the servile accent, half cringing, half 
 familiar, which was habitual to him in the 
 exercise of his office as concierge. He had 
 dropped the recollection of a distinction of class. 
 He saw that his hearer was interested ; and he 
 went off into that not unnatural eulogy of his 
 native canton which every intelligent Grau- 
 biinder always delivers to all willing listeners. 
 
 " Then you saw I was from the Grisons ? " 
 he said, inquiringly, at last. 
 
 ** Yes," Hubert answered. " I was sure of 
 it. I gathered it both from your bodily ap- 
 pearance and your liquid accent. You have 
 the true Etruscan build and features, and the 
 Etruscan lips. You remind me exactly of the 
 figures one sees on the Etruscan sarcophagi — 
 strong, short, and thickset." 
 
 "That is so once more," the concierge as- 
 serted, delighted. " Have you ever seen the 
 tombs of the Volumnii, near Assisi ? " 
 
 " I visited them last year," Hubert answered, 
 growing interested. 
 
 " Well, do you remember the sculptured 
 
An Officer and a Gentleman. 59 
 
 nobles all carved in white stone who lounged 
 on the lids ? There was one of them near the 
 door, an old Etruscan chief, who might easily 
 have been taken for a portrait of my father." 
 
 " That would not be surprising," Hubert 
 replied. " I know such cases elsewhere. A 
 wooden statue belonging to the old Egyptian 
 Empire, six thousand years ago, was dug up 
 at Memphis, and it exactly resembled the Arab 
 sheikh of the neighboring modern Egyptian 
 village. I have studied these questions of 
 heredity for some years, and I find that when 
 one can compare family portraits together for 
 several generations, the most surprising like- 
 nesses often reveal themselves between kins- 
 men who are separated from one another by 
 centuries." 
 
 "That is so, I know," the concierge answered, 
 without any consciousness of obtruding into a 
 scientific field where his observation was scanty. 
 " For in the Grisonsto this day I find hundreds 
 of faces which exactly reproduce the Etruscan 
 statues, and the wall-paintings on the tombs I 
 have been to see at Corneto and Volaterra." 
 
 Where else in the world, Hubert thought 
 to himself — except, perhaps, as the concierge 
 said, in Scotland — would a man of the people 
 have observed or remembered such a class of 
 facts as this Rhaetian peasant ? 
 
 Hubert was just going on to hazard a guess 
 at the nationality of the various waiters and 
 
6o A Splendid Sin. 
 
 chambermaids — for he had a curious knack 
 of jumping at correct conclusions on these 
 matters — when their attention was suddenly 
 diverted by the appearance of a stranger, who 
 wound slowly down the dusty high road from 
 the direction of the Gotthard. 
 
 He was a singular-looking figure, very tall 
 and erect, of military bearing, with a knapsack 
 on his back, and a hat stuck jauntily on one 
 side of his head in an ostentatiously rakish 
 fashion. From a little distance, he looked at 
 first sight like an English gentleman ; seen 
 nearer, he still preserved some relics of gentility, 
 almost obscured, however, by the shabbiness 
 of his dress and the obvious marks of vulgar 
 dissipation on his bloated features. Even his 
 erectness itself turned out on closer view to 
 be somewhat deceptive ; the man held him- 
 self straight, it is true, with an almost exaggerated 
 air of self-respect ; yet his back was bent at 
 the neck, and his knees were uncertain. The 
 bror ^ ind cynical face had once most probably 
 been i..iiidsome ; now, drink and hard living 
 had utterly degraded it. As he strolled up to 
 the table, wnth a roll in his gait, trying his best 
 to assume an attitude of careless ease, Hubert 
 saw at a glance he was indeed an English 
 gentleman — most likely an officer — but in the 
 very last stage of drunken downfall. 
 
 The stranger nodded, and flung his knapsack 
 on the table by Hubert's side. " Phew ! Hot 
 
An Officer and a Gentleman. 6i 
 
 walking," he said, mopping his mouth and 
 forehead with a rather dirty handkerchief. 
 He concealed his still dirtier cuffs by a little 
 jerk under his sleeves with a dexterity which 
 argued long use and practice. '* I ve just 
 tramped over the Col from Goeschenen." 
 
 " It's a beautiful w^alk," Hubert answered, 
 coldly, finishing his beer and half rising. 
 
 " It's a damned hot walk," the newcomer 
 responded, with a quaint air of easy honhomie. 
 ** It may be beautiful : I'm not much judge of 
 that, for I never noticed it ; but I know it's 
 confoundedly long and hilly. And the dust — 
 oh, I'll trouble you ! Haven't had such a 
 pull for close on twenty years. As an officer 
 and a gentleman, I'm unaccustomed to walking ; 
 I take carriage exercise." He drew himself 
 up, hid one shabby trouser behind the other 
 leg, and turned to the concierge. " Here you, 
 young fellow," he said, in an overbearing tone ; 
 " got anything to drink, eh ? " 
 
 The concierge surveyed him contemptuously 
 from head to foot. The stranger's clothes 
 were certainl}^ much more than merely dusty : 
 they were threadbare and dirty. "You can 
 call the waiter," the concierge said, with slow 
 distinctness, " and give him your order : 
 whatever you like — coffee, lemonade, seltzer, 
 soda-water." 
 
 The officer and gentleman flung him back 
 his contempt with interest. " Lemonade ! 
 
62 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 Seltzer ! Soda-water ! " he cried. " Do I look 
 like a teetotaller ? I suppose you take me for 
 one of Dr. Lunn's psalm-singing Grindel- 
 walders ! No, sir. Not soda-water. I'm not 
 taking any. Brandy, neat brandy, the best 
 cognac you've got— and plenty of it ! " 
 
 The concierge answered nothing. He just 
 pressed a little hand-bell. " Alphonse," he 
 said to the close-cropped waiter who answered 
 it, " take this — gentleman's order." 
 
 The newcomer, quite undisconcerted at the 
 tone, repeated his instructions in excellent 
 French. 
 
 " Cognac, monsieur ; oiu\ monsieur," the 
 waiter answered mechanically, with a glance 
 at the trousers. 
 
 He turned on his heel. The stranger called 
 out after him. '' And look here," he added in 
 English, '' while you're about it, young man, 
 you may as well bring me some absinthe and 
 some vermouth." 
 
 " Instead of the cognac, monsieur ? " the 
 waiter asked, hesitating. 
 
 " Instead of the cognac ! " the newcomer 
 replied angrily. "Who countermanded the 
 cognac, I should like to know ? No, jackanapes, 
 no ; ivith the cognac, with it— all three of them 
 together ! Why don't you go and get them 
 when you're told, you fool, instead of standing 
 there and grinning like a laughing jackass ? " 
 
 The waiter drew back, surprised at the un- 
 
An Officer and a Gentleman. 63 
 
 wonted vigor of his customer's language. 
 " Old, monsieur ! Mcrci, monsieur ! " he an- 
 swered, taken aback, but official as ever. 
 
 The boisterous stranger turned with an inane 
 and placid smile to Hubert. " The image 
 doesn't know his work," he observed, with 
 military swagger. " Never heard of absinthe 
 and brandy before, apparently. Makes a 
 splendid drink. Has a singular effect on the 
 epigastrium, that mixture. Warms a man 
 when he's cold ; cools him when he's hot : 
 seems to act sympathetically on the peripheral 
 nerve-terminals." 
 
 Hubert caught at the word. '* Peripheral 
 nerve-terminals ? " he said. ** Epigastrium ! 
 Why, you speak like a physiologist ! " 
 
 The stranger vaulted on to the table with a 
 bound. He was not without a strange sort of 
 clumsy agility. He sat there, smiling. "Well, 
 I'm a military man by trade," he said, after a 
 pause ; " in point of fact, a colonel. But I'm 
 a little bit of most things in an amateur way — 
 from a hoary old reprobate to a man of science. 
 Especially in the direction of the hoary old re- 
 probate. I pride myself on that. I can give 
 points, as a reprobate, to any man of my age and 
 weight in the service — and beat him easily." 
 
 " So I should think," Hubert said, with a 
 curlof the lips, half rising to go, yet restrained 
 by the curious interest of the man's degraded 
 personality. " You look the character." 
 
64 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 ** Ha, you're a good one for judging at first 
 sight," the Colonel answered, unoffended by 
 Hubert's perfect frankness. " You put your 
 finger on the place. That touches the spot, 
 sir ; that touches the spot, as they say in the 
 advertisement. This is not mere make-up. 
 It runs in the blood with all my family to be 
 hoary old reprobates." He bit his thumb. 
 " We've been hoary old reprobates, now, for 
 five generations." 
 
 "You bear the obvious traces of it," Hubert 
 answered, with quiet conhdence. For the 
 stranger's face was both red and swollen. 
 
 " That's so," the Colonel continued, slapping 
 one flabby thigh with his open hand ; ** you're 
 a man of a penetration, sir. You know what's 
 wiiat when you see it. We're citizens of Bo- 
 hemia, root and stock, my family. We go to 
 the dogs with accelerated speed in each new 
 century." 
 
 As he spoke, the waiter returned with the 
 brandy and absinthe. " Shall I pour them out, 
 monsieur ?" he asked, holding up a liqueur 
 glass. 
 
 The Colonel drew out a single eyeglass, fixed 
 it solemnly in its place, and regarded him 
 through it for some minutes with the attentive 
 air with which one regards some curious but 
 noxious insect. " Je vousremercie,'' he said at 
 last, with quaint mock politeness; ^^ je verse 
 hioiyneme, imbecile ! " He glanced at Hubert. 
 
An Officer and a Gentleman. 65 
 
 " A petit verrc for me I " he cried. " What rot ! 
 This is how / take it ! " He seized the small 
 glass of cognac and emptied it into a tumbler. 
 Then he poured out about three times as much 
 more from the decanter on top of it. After 
 that, he lifted the vermouth bottle and the ab- 
 sinthe and poured a wine-glassful or so of each 
 on top of the brandy. He looked at it all ad- 
 miringly against the dying light in the western 
 sky. " That's the sort of thing," he said at last, 
 *' to put the blood in circulation." 
 
 "But you can't like it so," Hubert cried. 
 ** Such a nasty mixture." 
 
 " I beg your pardon," the Colonel replied, 
 tossing it off at a gulp. " I don't like it. I 
 love it. I'm a modest man in most w^ays, and 
 I admit I have my faults ; but on the question 
 of my own likes and dislikes, I submit, I can 
 claim to be the first living authority in Europe." 
 
 He turned the glass upside down, and laid 
 it empty on the marble table. " That's won- 
 derful," Hubert said, " wonderful ! How long 
 do you reckon to live at that rate, may I vent- 
 ure to ask you ? " 
 
 The Colonel's good-humor w^as absolutely 
 imperturbable. "Well, my grandfather died 
 of it at eighty," he answ^ered, in a most cheer- 
 ful voice, " and my father at seventy. I reck- 
 on myself to last, with luck, till sixty or there- 
 abouts. Though, having been deucedly ill- 
 treated by an unnatural wife, I may go even 
 5 
 
()() A Splciulid Sin. 
 
 sooner. It's an intorcslin.^ example of what 
 Darwin calls the law ot aeeelerated inheritance." 
 And he ponied hinisell ont another small ^l^i^^ 
 of brandy. 
 
 The cmit>ns gleams of science inleresled 
 Ihibert. " Yon are never drnnk, 1 snppose ? " 
 he remarket!, drawing back with some nalnral 
 disgnst, yet regarding him as a valnable ob- 
 ject of study, like a germ under the micros- 
 cc^pe. 
 
 "Not c^ften, yon bet," the Colonel answered, 
 with candor. He spoke with deep regret. 
 " It don't often run to it," he nuntunred quite 
 sadly. " You see, it costs a good deal to make 
 me drunk nowadays ; and times being hard 
 and wcMiien cruel, I seldom have cash in hand 
 to spend upon a manful and resolute attempt 
 in that direction — except about quarter-days, 
 when my wife pays up my miserable pittance. 
 Though now and then a friend is kind enough 
 to defray the expense of the experiment ; but 
 it's long— and costly." 
 
 "And deadly," Hubert added. 
 
 The Colonel acquiesced. " It's killing me," 
 he admitted, " of course ; but, as I often say, 
 we must all of us die ; and how can man die 
 better than when he dies enjoying himself ? " 
 
 "Alcoholic narcosis, I suppose?" Hubert 
 murmured, looking hard at him with sup- 
 pressed disgust. 
 
 "The very word," the Colonel cried, holding 
 
All OHiccr and ;i (icnlU'mati. 
 
 f'7 
 
 out one hand with evident pride lo show how 
 it trembled. Alehohe nareosis. Yon hit it 
 lirsl time. Wliieh will yon take, a eif^ar or a 
 eocoa-nnt ?" 
 
 I lis vnlgar leer was hatefnl to Ifnhert ; yet 
 the seientifie interest ol the ease retained him, 
 " Well, yon're frank about it, any way," he 
 observed, hall an.gry with himseh for eontinn- 
 iii.tj to talk with so abjeet a ereatnre. 
 
 The Colonel drew himself np. There; were 
 remnants of a gentleman and a handsome man 
 about him. " A soldier," he said, with a sort 
 of malieions moek-dignity, " shonld always 
 be frank. And 1 Matter myself I've served the 
 country with distinction. I never (|nail under 
 fire. Drink's my worst enemy — and I face it 
 daily." lie poured himself out a little more 
 neat brandy. 
 
 The concierge motioned cjuietly to the waiter 
 to remove the bottle, P)nt the Colonel was too 
 quick for him. He caught at it with a rapid 
 clutch and clasped it to his bosom. " No, no, 
 my friend," he said smiling. " We are always 
 told to love our enemies. Would yon make 
 me a heathen ?" And he clung to it affeclion- 
 ately. 
 
 "You know youVc killing yourself?" Hu- 
 bert put in. 
 
 The Colonel shrugged his sliouldcrs. His 
 manners, Hubert had noticed from the first, 
 were much Italianatc, as of a man who had 
 
68 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 spent many years in Italy. " Of course/' he 
 said, ** I'm killing myself. 'Tis a soldier's 
 business. I lead a forlorn hope against the 
 enemy's guns ten times a day." He made a 
 lunge with an imaginary sword at the brandy 
 bottle. "What does that matter?" he went 
 on. We're all of us dying — all under sentence 
 of death — you, and I, and the rest of us — and 
 what difference does a year or two more or less 
 make to us ? I tell you w^hat, my dear sir, it 
 was a fine philosopher who first said those 
 words. *A short life and a merry one.' He 
 summed up in one phrase the wisdom of 
 centuries." 
 
 Hubert looked at him with a mixture of curi- 
 osity and disgust. The stranger sat on the 
 table still, and gazed across at them with a 
 hateful smile of complacent degradation. His 
 face was puffy. The eyes were red and 
 bleared ; the lips had the dark blue hue of the 
 habitual sot's. Hubert knew the type well ; 
 he had studied it carefully for two years at his 
 hospital. As they sat and faced one another 
 Rosa came down the steps with a message for 
 a second. ** Madame has left her bag, mon- 
 sieur," she said in French to Hubert, picking 
 it up and taking it off. "She sent me to get 
 it." For Hubert had carried her little reticule 
 home for her. 
 
 The Colonel, as he called himself, turned 
 to the girl with that offensive and senile leer 
 
An Officer and a Gentleman. 69 
 
 which no man can endure to see on the face 
 of another. "By Jove, that's a good-looking 
 young woman ! " he observed in English to 
 Hubert. Then he added, in tolerable German, 
 "What is your name, my dear ? " ogling her. 
 
 Rosa measured him with her eye from head 
 to foot, severely. " My name's the chamber- 
 maid," she answered, with a toss of her pretty 
 head. ** Ring once for waiter ; twice for 
 boots ; three times for chambermaid. And 
 when I know your number — I'll take care some 
 other chambermaid answers it." 
 
 The " hoary old reprobate " stared after her, 
 astonished, as she tripped up the steps with an 
 air of determination. *' God bless my soul," 
 he cried, *' what a smart young w^oman ! " He 
 jumped from the table and stood on tip-toe 
 gazing after her. 
 
 The episode, however, seemed to recall to 
 him the fact that he was in search of a lodging. 
 ** I want a room here to-night, by the wa}^" 
 he said, turning at last to the concierge. 
 
 '* I'm sorry, sir," the concierge answered, 
 in his most official tone, *' but — we're full up 
 this evening." 
 
 The Colonel drew back and surveyed him 
 admiringly. '* Young fellow," he said— though 
 the concierge was forty — " you're a first-class 
 liar ! That's very well tried — very well tried 
 indeed — for a beginner. If you go on like that, 
 you ought to end by becoming a most accom- 
 
70 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 plished diplomatist. Be ambassador to Russia. 
 Do you expect me to believe that every bed in 
 this house is full in the beginning of October ? 
 If so, I can only say you've mistaken my char- 
 acter." 
 
 He strode up the steps and entered the 
 hotel, humming. Hubert did not follow him. 
 The concierge did— having his doubts as to 
 the coats and umbrellas in the vestibule. 
 When he reached the top flight, the Colonel 
 turned to him. " No nonsense, my friend," 
 he said, in a severer tone than he had hitherto 
 adopted. " I want a room in this hotel to- 
 night, and I mean to have it. You have plenty 
 vacant ; and if luggage is in the way," he 
 glanced at his knapsack and slapped his pocket, 
 " I'll pay beforehand for bed and breakfast." 
 
 The concierge hesitated. ** I don't know — " 
 he began. 
 
 His interlocutor stopped him with an angry 
 gesture. " Send me the proprietor," he said, 
 assuming the air of a great gentleman. '' I 
 propose to honor his hotel with my patron- 
 age." 
 
 The concierge gave way. ** We might put 
 you in seventy-two," he said, pretending to 
 consult his books, and looking suspiciously at 
 the hoary old reprobate. '' What name shall 
 I enter ? " 
 
 *' What's that to you ? " the Colonel answered, 
 growing redder than before. " I pay in ad- 
 
An Officer and a Gentleman. 71 
 
 vance, I tell you. He pulled out a worn purse 
 with a hole in its side, and counted a few 
 francs into the concierge's hand with the mien 
 of a millionaire. "A gentleman is a gentle- 
 man, in spite of misfortunes," he observed, 
 sententiously, " and wdll not submit to be sat 
 upon by a lackey." He paused a moment, 
 and reflected. Then he dropped his voice a 
 little. '* Anybody of the name of Egremont 
 in the hotel ? " he asked, in a confidential 
 tone. 
 
 " Mrs. Egremont and her son," the concierge 
 replied, a trifle astonished. ** They came a 
 week ago. That was young Mr. Egremont 
 you were speaking to just now — the gentleman 
 by the table." 
 
 The Colonel drew himself up and looked 
 across at Hubert, who was still sitting on a 
 chair beside the veranda. He observed him 
 with interest. "Well, he's a fine, well-grown 
 young man," he remarked, after a pause, sur- 
 veying him deliberately. " A young man any 
 father in England might be proud of ! A chip 
 of the old block, as far as body goes ! But 
 I'm afraid, after all, he's a canting humbug. I 
 hate hypocrisy ! Drank beer, though, like a 
 man ! Hope his mother hasn't succeeded in 
 making a confounded Methodist of him ! " 
 
 *' Seventy-two is six francs," the concierge 
 said, returning strictly to business ; " and plain 
 breakfast three. I suppose you will go into 
 
12 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 table dhdte this evening. Table d'hote is five. 
 Fourteen in all, sir." 
 
 The Colonel eyed him severely. '' There, 
 young man," he replied, "you make your 
 blooming little error ! I will not go in to table 
 dhdte this evening. I will dine a la carte, 
 unostentatiously and simply, in number 
 seventy-two. I am traveling incognito." He 
 drew himself up again. '* Mind," he said, 
 lowering his voice, "don't mention to Mr. 
 Egremont that I asked at all after him or his 
 family. You are not paid by your master, 
 young fellow, to carry tales about from one 
 guest to another." 
 
 The concierge nodded, and sent the boots 
 to accompany the threadbare stranger to the 
 room assigned him. The Colonel strode on 
 with much military dignity. The concierge 
 returned to the veranda to Hubert. 
 
 " Who is he ? " the young man asked, with a 
 certain languid curiosity. 
 
 " I'm sure I can't say, sir," the concierge 
 answ^ered ; " but he can't be anybody much, 
 for he didn't write for rooms beforehand. 
 Though, to be sure, we have gentlemen come 
 here in the climbing season who look more 
 like chimney-sweeps than like people of posi- 
 tion, through accidents on the mountains. 
 But this isn't one of those ; his clothes are old 
 and patched — premeditated poverty ! " 
 
 ** He's a loathsome sight," Hubert mused ; 
 
An Officer and a Gentleman. 73 
 
 him'^stilf " ^""^'^ ^""^ '"''"" °^ "^ gentleman about 
 
 " It takes an opera-glass to see them, though " 
 he concierge added. "I should say by the 
 look of him he lives on brandy " 
 __ "He'll die of it soon," Hubert answered. 
 His IS a very bad case. He hasn't much more 
 than SIX months of life, at most, left in him." 
 You think not ? " 
 "I don't think, I know. He has had de- 
 hnum tremens, I can see, for years ; and he's 
 well on his way now to alcoholic insanity and 
 creeping paralysis." ^ 
 
 ''That's bad," the concierge said. 
 Yes, inherited," Hubert went on " He 
 has brought it on himself in large part of 
 course ; but his ancestors had laid the seed 
 of It before h.m. His children will develop 
 It sooner than he ; and his grandchildren will 
 be born idiots or epileptics." 
 
 "You're a doctor, sir .? " the concierge asked 
 eyeing him hard. ^ ' 
 
 " Not exactly a doctor ; but next door to it 
 -a physiologist. I've spent three years in 
 watching and studying these cases at an 
 
 wntn f ■ •/ f°^u ^}^ *^P^ '''^"- Yo" take my 
 word for it-if that man has a son, the son is 
 aoomed to insanity before thirty ! " 
 
74 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 love's philosophy. 
 
 The table d'hote that evening consisted of 
 five people only — for the "hoary old repro- 
 bate," persisted in his intention of dining alone 
 in number seventy-two off a menu of his 
 ordering. 
 
 The Marchese and Fede were the first to 
 enter the salle a manger. They had only 
 been seated a minute, however, when Hubert 
 dropped in, not expecting to see them. He 
 gave a start of surprise when his eyes lighted 
 upon Fede. 
 
 "Why, signorina," he cried, advancing to 
 her with outstretched hand, " 1 didn't know 
 you were here. We were not expecting you 
 till to-morrow morning." 
 
 Fede took his hand timidly. Her eyes 
 met his and dropped. " Oh, Hubert," she 
 said — " I — I mean, Mr. Egremont, how well 
 you're looking ! Papa, allow me to intro- 
 duce Mr. Egremont." 
 
 ** This is an unexpected pleasure," Hubert 
 
Love's Philosophy. 75 
 
 cried— not searching about for a phrase hke a 
 modern novehst, but using the easy and con- 
 venient formula. " I'm delighted to meet you ! 
 When did you arrive ? I'm afraid, Fede,your 
 father doesn't understand English ; and my 
 Italian, you know " 
 
 The Marchese bowed impressively with Flor- 
 entine politeness. He was carefully groomed, 
 and his big black mustache looked extremely 
 imposing. " English," he answered, smiling, 
 and showing two rows of pearly white teeth. 
 "As well as you do, Mr. Egremont ! We 
 Florentines are nothing, you know, if not cos- 
 mopolitan. Besides, my mother was an Eng- 
 lishwoman, and so was my wife ; and when I 
 w^as a clerk in a merchant's ofBce in Fen- 
 church Street " 
 
 Hubert's preconceived notions of the proud 
 Tuscan nobleman received a severe blow. "A 
 merchant's office in Fenchurch Street ? " he 
 repeated, bewildered. What had a Florentine 
 Tornabuoni to do with Fenchurch Street ? " 
 
 The Marchese stroked the ends of the big 
 black mustache with evident amusement. He 
 was overflowing with good humor. "Yes, a 
 merchant's office in Fenchurch Street," he 
 reiterated, delighted. "You see, we Floren- 
 tines are also nothing if not commercial ; and 
 as my ancestors, the Tornabuoni, had left us a 
 Property," — the Marchese always dropped his 
 voice reverently at that sacred word, and pro- 
 
76 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 nounced it somehow with a capital initial — 
 "a wine-growing estate in the valley of the 
 Arno, which does a big export business in 
 Chianti with England— -my father thought it 
 best for me, while I was young and plastic, to 
 learn the ways of the English wine-market on 
 the spot in London." 
 
 " I see,'* Hubert murmured, sitting down 
 and feeling very much taken aback. This was 
 not the haughty Florentine his fancy had 
 pictured. The man before him was gentleman 
 to the core, but he was distinctly commercial. 
 
 " You know my Chianti, I dare say," the 
 Marchese continued, with his expansive smile. 
 " The Monte Riggioni brand. It's making its 
 way, I'm told, at Romano's and Gatti's. 
 
 "I — I don't think I discriminate between 
 vintages of Chianti," Hubert answered, much 
 surprised. But he noted mentally that the 
 Italian aristocrat was not above turning an 
 honest penny. 
 
 "When did you get here?" he went on, 
 turning round to Fede. " How unkind you 
 must have thought it of me not to have been 
 waiting at the hotel to meet you ! But your 
 father wrote you wouldn't arrive till to-mor- 
 row." 
 
 " I didn't wish to give you the trouble," the 
 Marchese answered, taking the words from 
 Fede. " It was a lovely day, so I decided, on 
 second thoughts, we had better push on to 
 
Love's Philosophy. ^*j 
 
 Rothenthal at once, instead of waiting over 
 night at the inn at Goeschenen." 
 
 "We are the gainers," Hubert answered, 
 still awkward and confused. '' But I could 
 have wished I had known it, Fede ; my mother 
 and I would have been on the road to meet 
 you." 
 
 The Marchese noticed that he called her 
 plain Fede. These English have certainly the 
 most precipitate ways of plunging into matri- 
 J"f "y \ But, being a shrewd and observant 
 lather, he had taken a preliminary survey of the 
 young man whom Fede had picked up in an 
 Oxford college, and he was pleased at first 
 sight with his visible qualities. There was an 
 air of sohd coininess about his simple dinner- 
 jacket, and his studs and sleeve-links were of 
 a sterling kind that inspired confidence 
 
 One minute later, Mrs. Egremont and Sir 
 t.milius entered the room together. 
 
 Hubert rose to introduce them. " Mother " 
 ^^ said, bringing her forward with natural 
 pride, '* I find to my surprise the Marchese and 
 — er— and Signorina Tornabuoni have arrived 
 unexpectedly. Allow me to introduce you • 
 the Marchese Tornabuoni, the Marchesa Fede ' 
 my mother, Mrs. Egremont." 
 
 The Italian bowed low with Florentine em- 
 tressement " Charmed, " he muttered be- 
 tween his white teeth, - charmed to make your 
 acquaintance." 
 
78 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 "And my uncle, Sir Emilius Rawson," 
 Hubert added, glancing round at him. 
 
 A curious shade of expression flitted for a 
 second across the Marchese's face, which did 
 not escape Hubert's keen notice. His future 
 father-in-law was not an Englishman ; yet it 
 was clear he was quite as visibly impressed by 
 Sir Emilius's title as the veriest of snobs in our 
 most snobbish of islands. " And Sir Emilius," 
 he went on, bowing again, " delighted to meet 
 you. We had heard you were staying here — 
 the concierge told us — but we did not connect 
 you, somehow, with Mrs. Egremont's party. 
 Fede, my dear, you omitted to tell me that 
 Sir Emilius Rawson was Mr. Hubert's uncle." 
 As he said it, he was reflecting inwardly that 
 an English Sir, even if only a knight, was 
 usually wealthy. Beer gains no coronet till 
 it has sold its million bottles. 
 
 " I didn't know it," Fede answered, with an 
 apologetic smile. " Hubert — er — never hap- 
 pened to mention it to me." 
 
 " We had — so many other things to talk 
 about," Hubert adventured, with a smile, in 
 the vain attempt to keep his eye simultaneously 
 on his uncle, his mother, the Marchese, and 
 Fede. 
 
 Sir Emilius came to the rescue. He had 
 diagnosed his man at a single glance — sound 
 common sense, a head for affairs, hot-tempered, 
 placable, overworks his digestion. "I was 
 
Love's Philosophy. 79 
 
 only plain Dr. Rawson when the signorina was 
 in England," he put in. " A royal duke liad 
 luckily, soon after, a bad attack of gout— and — 
 you behold me a baronet ! " 
 
 "A baronet ! " the Marchese echoed. That 
 was good, a baronet ! He recollected to liave 
 heard that, while knightlioods are sometimes 
 cheap, unless a man has money enough to 
 support the hereditary dignity he can never 
 attain to the honor of a baronetcy. 
 
 Soup intervened — the inevitable Julienne. 
 The Marchese addressed himself to it with 
 Italian promptitude. ** I understand," he an- 
 swered. "Physician in ordinary — that kind 
 of thing, isn't it ? A very good profession. 
 The one unmistakably beneficent calling — for 
 I don't count priests — and also paying. We 
 are partners in business, Sir Emilius. / deal 
 in Chianti, yon deal in gout ; between us we 
 ought to catch most of the world in our net, I 
 fancy." 
 
 Sir Emilius smiled. " And we do," he 
 answered. 
 
 Throughout the rest of dinner it gradually 
 dawned on Hubert's mind that the haughty 
 Italian aristocrat was gently engaged in ex- 
 ploring the question, not whether his pros- 
 pective son-in-law was the equal in birth, 
 rank, breeding, and position of the Marchesa 
 Fede, but whether his fortune was one worth 
 a sensible man's acceptance for his marriage- 
 
8o A Splendid Sin. 
 
 able daughter. Once by mere chance, indeed, 
 Mrs. Egremont happened to allude in passing 
 to her place in Devonshire. The Marchese 
 was down upon her at once. "Ah, you live 
 in Devonshire," he said, wrestling with the 
 table cVJiote chicken. *' I have heard it is most 
 beautiful. You have a house — a country house 
 there. Delightful, de-lightful ! Your English 
 country seats, they are always so charming ! " 
 
 "Our views are exquisite," Hubert put in. 
 " We look down upon a sweet little Devon- 
 shire river." 
 
 " Yes, no doubt," the Marchese said, helping 
 himself to Yvorne. In England you have al- 
 ways such magnificent timber. A park, I 
 suppose?" and he looked at Mrs. Egremont 
 with insinuating inquiry. 
 
 " Yes, a charming old park," Mrs. Egremont 
 answered quietly, "in a beautiful village." 
 
 " Deer ? " the Marchese inquired. He cared 
 nothing for Nature, but he knew very well that 
 deer in England were a symbol of extreme 
 wealth and county position. 
 
 " A few fallow deer," Mrs. Egremont an- 
 swered, wondering why he asked the question. 
 "They look sweet under the shade of the 
 spreading oaks in Devon." 
 
 The Marchese scored one good point in 
 favor of the family. People with fallow deer 
 are people of consideration. 
 
 " And your estates, Sir Emilius," the Italian 
 
 ''t'* ':' 
 
Love's Philosophy. 8i 
 
 went on, with a bland smile of suggest o) ; 
 "are they also in Devonshire ? " 
 
 The doctor smiled in return. " My estates," 
 he replied, " are entirely in Harley Street." 
 
 " Ah, I see," the Marchese echoed, at fault 
 for once in an English allusion. " Town 
 Property. Most lucrative ! " 
 
 Sir Emilius found himself ignominiously 
 compelled to elucidate his little joke. " Harley 
 Street," he explained drily, "is the doctors' 
 quarter in London. It is wholly given over to 
 medical men, you know— a paradise of pill- 
 makers. I own no houses there — not even my 
 own— which is merely leasehold. But you 
 seemed so absolutely at home in England, 
 Marchese, that I thought you would appreciate 
 my— er— my delicate and playful way of put- 
 ting it." 
 
 The Marchese nodded assent. " How stupid 
 of me," he exclaimed. " I understand, of 
 course ; I catch your idea. You mean to say, 
 your estate is the profits of your profession." 
 
 " Quite so," Sir Emilius answered, with an 
 eye on the salad. 
 
 The Marchese did not attempt to conceal the 
 scope of his inquiries. " Then the park in 
 Devonshire came to you through your husband, 
 madame ? " he suggested tentatively. 
 
 " No," Mrs. Egremont answered, hardly per- 
 ceiving his drift. " Nothing came to me 
 
 through my husband. It was my dear father's 
 6 
 
82 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 place, ^nd I inherited it from him. It will 
 be Hubert's after me." She spoke with the 
 unobtrusive and pleasing confidence of an 
 English lady. 
 
 ''That's odd," the Marchese continued, ap- 
 plying the common pump with less skill than 
 vigor. " It did not go to Sir Emilius. I 
 thought that in England property descended 
 always to the eldest son. You have the law of 
 primogeniture." 
 
 " I am only Mrs. Egremont's half-brother," 
 Sir Emilius interposed, clearer sighted than 
 his sister. " Our mother was twice married. 
 The first time to my father, a doctor at Norwich, 
 a mere professional man, who left me unfortu- 
 nately nothing to speak of, but what brains I may 
 possess ; the second time to a well-to-do Dev- 
 onshire squire, who bequeathed to my sister 
 his estate and fortune. Which is why / am 
 a poor devil of a doctor in Harley Street, while 
 she rolls in her carriage down the slopes of 
 Dartmoor." 
 
 "I see," the Marchese answered; "a double 
 household. Yet — " he took Sir Emilius's social 
 measure with a frank glance of observation — 
 " I should say you made a very fair interest on 
 the brains which you tell me were all the in- 
 heritance your father left you." 
 
 " My brother is one of the most distinguished 
 medical men in London " Mrs. Egremont put 
 in, with sisterly pride. 
 
Love's Philosophy. 83 
 
 "And my sister is one of the most confiding 
 women in England," Sir Emilius added, in the 
 same half undertone. 
 
 The Marchese was well satisfied. The pump 
 had acted. These were the very points he 
 wanted to know. To-morrow, of course, he 
 would have a formal talk w^ith Hubert and his 
 uncle, to settle the details of this business 
 arrangement, this partnership into which Fedc 
 was thinking of entering. He would learn in 
 full precisely how much the young man was 
 worth, and how much he proposed to settle on 
 Fede. A house ? An income ? An estate ? 
 A remainder ? Meanwhile, however, he was 
 so far satisfied w4th his preliminary inquiries 
 that he waived further question. He could 
 gather that the Egremonts were "the right sort 
 of people " — people w4th whom a man of Prop- 
 erty (with a capital initial) might safely con- 
 clude an alliance on his daughter's behalf, 
 provided all other things turned out favorable. 
 So the Marchese w^as affable. Affability was 
 his forte. He diverged upon Florence. And 
 when the Marchese w^as once well launched 
 upon Florentine gossip, he w^as always interest- 
 ing. 
 
 As for Fede, she sat and smiled w4th a smile 
 that alone was better than talking. She did 
 not say much, but the little she said pleased 
 her future mother-in-law. As they went out 
 of the salle a manger, Hubert gave a significant 
 
84 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 glance at his mother. Mrs. Egremont bent 
 towards him ; her lips moved slightly. " She 
 is charming, dear, charming," the mother said, 
 in a low sweet voice. And they passed on to 
 the veranda. 
 
 " It's a lovely evening," Hubert observed. 
 ** Let us take a stroll through the grounds." 
 And he glanced up at the moon, now seen 
 through the waving tops of the larches. 
 
 The Marchese hesitated. If he had known 
 nothing at all of Hubert's position and pros- 
 pects, he would have met the suggestion wdth 
 a prompt negative. But ^75 Mrs. Egremont 
 was a squiress in Devonshire, and as Hubert 
 was her only son and heir to the Property, the 
 Marchese decided, after a moment's pause, that 
 there could be no great harm in letting the 
 young people stroll out by themselves for a few 
 minutes together — if he and Mrs. Egremont 
 followed in the wake and kept a good lookout 
 upon them. 
 
 ** May I, papa?" Fede asked, looking up at 
 him. 
 
 "Shall we, madame ?" the Marchese asked 
 Mrs. Egremont in turn, with more Italian cor- 
 rectness. 
 
 "The young people would probably prefer 
 to go out alone," Sir Em.ilius suggested. He 
 had once been young himself, and had not quite 
 forgotten it. 
 
 To Luigi Tornabuoni, however, the sugges- 
 
Love's Philosophy. 85 
 
 tion was revolutionary. A young girl stroll out 
 in the grounds of an hotel for ten minutes alone 
 with her prospective lover ! Impossible ! im- 
 possible ! But he understood these English, 
 and dissembled his feelings. *' It's a lovely 
 night," he said. " I should enjoy a stroll my- 
 self. Fede, my love, run upstairs and fetch a 
 light wrap -Mrs. Egremont, can she bring down 
 a shawl or cape for you ? You will help me 
 to chaperon them ?" 
 
 " Oh, would you ask my maid, in number 
 twenty, for my Cashmere shawl, dear ! " Mrs. 
 Egremont said, with a motherly smile at 
 Fede. 
 
 The Marchese noted two things ; first, that 
 she smiled ; and second, that she brought a 
 maid abroad with her when she traveled. 
 *' Looks coiny," he thought to himself ; '' coiny ! 
 I shouldn't be surprised if Fede, after all, 
 without in the least knowing it, has managed 
 to patch up a very good match for herself. 
 But, mother of heaven, how foolishly they do 
 arrange these things in England ! " 
 
 They strolled out into the grounds. It was 
 one of those serene October evenings, rare 
 further north, when the odor of pine and the 
 buzz of insects seem to echo summer. The 
 larches swayed and trembled in the moonlight. 
 The three seniors walked behind ; Fede and 
 Hubert walked on in front, just far enough 
 away to say those little nothings which were 
 
86 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 nearest to their hearts at that moment of meet- 
 ing. The paths wound irregularly among 
 shrubs and trees, and it was not even impos- 
 sible — behind a clump of rhododendrons — but 
 this book may perhaps be read in families. 
 
 Hubert fixed a white rose in Fede's bosom 
 as she walked. She looked down at it, blush- 
 ing. " You look sweeter than ever, Fede," he 
 said, gazing hard at her. 
 
 " Do I, darling ? If I do, for your sake, I'm 
 glad of it." 
 
 " And that dress becomes you so ! Oh, 
 Fede, what a delight ! I've been so dreaming 
 of you, and longing for you. And you ? " 
 " Well, what do you think, Hubert ? " 
 ** I think — you've missed me." 
 •' Clever boy ! Who told you ? " 
 ** The usual little bird, I fancy, Fede." 
 Fede clasped her hands in the passionate 
 Italian fashion. A British matron would have 
 called it theatrical ; but to Hubert, who knew 
 how naturally she did it, it was charming. "Ah, 
 darling, that same little bird came and perched 
 on the vine by my bedroom window," she said, 
 with a deep tremor ; *' and w^hat do you think 
 it sang to me all day long ? * Tweet, tweet, 
 tw^eet ; Hu-bert, Hu-bert, Hu-bert, Hubert ! 
 You love him ; he loves you — Hubert, 
 Hubert." 
 
 She said it with a delicious imitation of the 
 song of the beccafico. Her tongue trilled like 
 
Love's Philosophy. Sy 
 
 a bird's ; her breast rose and fell sweetly. It 
 was a simple trick, but it made his heart beat 
 hard within him. 
 
 " And how uiiich have you missed me ? " 
 Hubert asked once more, breaking forth with 
 one of those eternal nothmgs of love which 
 lovers of all ages have asked and answered in 
 a thousand languages. 
 
 Fede stretched her two arms as wide as they 
 would go. '* As much as that!'' she an- 
 swered, laughing, " As much as the world ! 
 As much as all the w^ay from Florence to 
 England ! " 
 
 He leaned forw^ard pleadingly. ** Just one, 
 Fede ; just one ! " They were abreast of the 
 rhododendrons. 
 
 Fede glanced round her with a nervous look. 
 Papa was too near. *' Not here, dear ; not 
 here," she said, in a faint voice of dissent. 
 But her eyes belied her. 
 
 Hubert snatched it, and walked on. His 
 hand was on her arm. ** And my mother, dar- 
 ling ?" he asked, more with pride than anxiety. 
 
 " Oh, Hubert, there can only be one opinion 
 about your mother." 
 
 " So I think," he answered. '^ But I wanted 
 you to love her." 
 
 *' 1 shall, I'm sure. She's so soft, so gentle. 
 And she looks so young, too. Yet very sym- 
 pathetic. Fm sure I shall feel to her more 
 like a sister than a daughter." 
 
88 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 '' Her heart is young," Hubert answered 
 trutiifully. 
 
 " And her face, and her figure ! But not too 
 young. She has also the look of a woman who 
 has suffered." 
 
 '* She lost my father young," Hubert replied. 
 " But she loves me so much, she is happy now, 
 I think. And it makes her happy to secure 
 my happiness. All has turned out so well ! 
 Do you know, Fede, the first sight of your 
 father's face completely reassured me." 
 
 " Reassured you, darling ? Why did you 
 need reassuring ? " 
 
 " Well, I thought he might demand so much 
 in the w^ay of noble birth and all that sort of 
 thing. But now I see him, I feel my fears 
 were wholly groundless— or at least exagger- 
 ated. I fancied a Tornabuoni with a six 
 hundred year old name would think so little 
 of us. Yet— if you don't mind my saying so 
 —I couldn't help noticing he was visibly im- 
 pressed, wlien Uncle Emilius came in, by a 
 brand new baronetcy." 
 
 Fede glanced at her lover proudly. " If he 
 w^asn't satisfied with you, dear," she said, " he 
 must be exacting ! And besides, we Floren- 
 tines think so much of England. It's fashion- 
 able in Florence to be half-English, you know. 
 All the best families intermarry w^ith English- 
 men." 
 
 " Vm glad of that," Hubert answered, as they 
 
Love's Philosophy. 89 
 
 passed a second ckimp of taller trees, " for it 
 tells on my side. . . . Now — quick, Fede dar- 
 ling — another." 
 
 There was an interval of twenty seconds for 
 refreshments. 
 
 " Besides," Fede went on next minute, 
 glancing back along the path, and trying hard 
 to look as if nothing had happened, ** — what 
 were we talking about— let me see ! Oh, yes ; 
 the baronetcy ! Well — you mustn't mind my 
 saying it, dear — it's Florentine, you know, to 
 be strictly businesslike ; and papa knows quite 
 enough of England to know that a baronetcy 
 means money. So I was glad to hear you 
 had a title laid on in the family to impress 
 him." 
 
 '' But / haven't money, Fede. You must 
 understand that. It's all my mother's." 
 
 " I know, darling, I know ; and to me, that's 
 nothing. I w^ould marry you, Hubert, if we 
 had to earn our bread and to live in a hovel. 
 But papa's not /// lor^e with you, of course ; and 
 that makes all the difference ! He's a man of 
 business, papa ; and he'll want to know soon 
 all about your position and prospects and so 
 forth. / had never thought about those ; so 
 I was ever so glad to hear a number of things 
 that your mother and uncle said at dinner ; 
 because I knew it would satisfy him — and — and 
 —and " 
 
 '* And bring our marriage nearer." 
 
90 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 Fede clasped his arm ecstatically. " Mar 
 nage ! ''she cried. '' Oh, Hubert, I don't mind 
 about tliat. I only want to be near you ' This 
 halo^on" t'r'^ ^^^ ^^^ •' This is life with the 
 
The Philosophy of Love. 91 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE PHILOSOPHY OF LOVE. 
 
 " You were wrong in what you said this 
 afternoon, Uncle Emilius," Hubert began that 
 evening, as soon as the Tornabuoni had left 
 the salon. " You were wrong when jou said, 
 ' You fall in love with the girls you see ; how 
 the dickens can you fall in love with the girls 
 you don't see ? ' The mystery of love goes 
 much deeper than that. There is another and 
 a far profounder side to it." 
 
 " So young men always think when they're 
 in love themselves," Sir Emilius replied, with 
 middle-aged tolerance for the follies of youth. 
 *' They see everything through the rose-colored 
 glasses of their fancy. But they see through 
 those glasses in another sense when they're 
 twenty years older." 
 
 Hubert paused for a second, reflectively. 
 They were sitting with Mrs. Egremont in her 
 private room. " Mother," he said, turning to 
 her, "you must help me. Uncle Emilius is 
 altogether too resolutely scientific. And yet 
 not philosophically scientific either ; for falling 
 
92 
 
 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 in love, after all, is a great fact and factor in 
 the history of humanity ; and, like every other 
 powerful component of our nature, it must be 
 there for something." 
 
 *' It is there," Uncle Emilius replied, ''for 
 the very simple purpose of making men and 
 women, at the turning point of life, enter into 
 what is after all a very irrational union with 
 one another, viewed from the standpoint of 
 their personal convenience. To be the father 
 of a family — as I know by experience — is no 
 easy sinecure ; to be the mother of a family is 
 still less of an amusement, Julia, when one 
 comes to face its meaning fairly. If we acted 
 as was wisest for our own convenience alone, 
 wx would shirk the duty of raising up future 
 generations of men. But there, nature inter- 
 venes with the illusion of love ; she cajoles us 
 into believing, for a moment, that this, that, or 
 the other particular woman is absolutely indis- 
 pensable to our happiness or our very existence. 
 As soon as we have made the step irrevocable, 
 and committed ourselves to this husband or that 
 wife, as the case may be, for the whole of a life- 
 time, we find out our mistake, and discover that 
 any other person of modern attractiveness and 
 tolerable manners would probably have done 
 about equally well for us." 
 
 Hubert played with his cigarette-holder for 
 a moment before he replied. Then he an- 
 swered quietly, " I still maintain your view is 
 
The Philosophy of Love. 93 
 
 neither scientific nor philosophical. You omit 
 to take into consideration the very essence of 
 love— its fastidious selectiveness." 
 
 ** Explain ! " Sir Emilius exclaimed. " Ex- 
 plain ! " And he leaned back in his chair, 
 regarding his nephew with supremely critical 
 superiority. The two men were singularly 
 unlike in intellect — Sir Emilius keen and acute, 
 not broad ; Hubert expansive, many-sided, 
 elusive. 
 
 The young man looked at the ceiling, and 
 half shut his eyes, dreamily. " One day this 
 summer term at Oxford," he said, at last, taking 
 up his parable, " I was lying on a bank in 
 Bagley Wood, when foxgloves flared, and 
 bullfinches had put on their finest coats for 
 courting. As I lay and looked about me, I 
 saw, on a bent of grass close by, an orange-tip 
 butterfly, just escaped from the chrysalis. He 
 stood there, motionless, just poised on the stem 
 up which he had crawled ; and after a while, as 
 he grew accustomed to his strange new body, 
 he began timidly to plim his untried wings, 
 half opening them in the sunlight from time 
 totime, as if wondering how they got there. For 
 remember, mother, he was bred nothing better 
 than a common green caterpillar. He knew 
 nought of wings, of flight, of honey ; nought 
 of love, of his mate, of his destiny. So he sat 
 there, spreading out his airy vans with' vague 
 wonder, and mentally comparing his six slender 
 
94 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 legs with the creeping suckers on which he 
 crawled in his nonage." 
 
 Sir Emilius sniffed. ** Poetry ! " he murmured. 
 " Pure unmitigated poetry ! Nothing on earth 
 to do with science." 
 
 ** Let him go on, Mill," Mrs. Egremont put 
 in, with a warning look. " I want to hear 
 what Hubert has to say about it." 
 
 *' Science has its philosophy which is deeper 
 than its facts," Hubert continued, pressing his 
 mother's hand in mute gratitude. ** And the 
 use of the facts is, to teach us the philosophy. 
 Well, I saw my butterfly at last creep up his 
 bent of grass— he that was till lately a small 
 green grub, gorging himself on cresses ; and 
 one minute later, he had spread his wings, and 
 ventured into the unknown, a full-fledged 
 orange-tip. He seemed conscious of his beauty, 
 too, as he spread his white pinions, with their 
 brilliant orange badge, and their delicate fringe 
 of Tyrian purple. All at once, as he fluttered 
 and hesitated in mid air, he caught sight from 
 afar of a virgin brimstone. * Will he chase 
 her ? ' I thought, though I knew he would 
 not ; but he gazed at her, disdainful, and flitted 
 by in the sunlight without one flutter of 
 recognition. Then a clouded yellow sailed 
 past, pursued by two rivals of her own swift- 
 winged race ; but the orange-tip fared on, 
 never pausing to look at her. At a turn of the 
 hedge, however, up loomed from windward a 
 
The Philosophy of Love. 95 
 
 small yellowish butterfly, not much like him- 
 self, green and white underneath, fringed with 
 black above, and without the orange spot 
 which made my bright little friend himself so 
 attractive. In a second he recognized her as 
 his predestined mate, the one kind created for 
 him. While I looked, all at once the whole 
 world was one maze — in and out— in and out ; 
 those two pretty things, circling and flickering 
 together, were in the thick of their courtship — 
 he, rising on the breeze and displaying at each 
 turn his beautiful orange wings ; she, coquet- 
 ting an dcurveting, dancing coyly through the 
 air, now pretending to fly away, now affecting 
 disdain, now allowing him to overtake her, 
 with quite human coquetry, and now darting 
 off again on evasive wings, just as he thought 
 he had captivated that capricious small heart 
 of hers. So they went on for ten minutes with 
 their aerial minuet ; and when I last caught 
 sight of them, they were still circling undecided 
 in graceful curves above the sprays of wdld 
 rose in the hedgerow by the river." 
 
 "Very nicely described," Sir Emilius ob- 
 served, wuth a smile; "but where does it 
 lead us ? " 
 
 " To the central mystery of falling in love," 
 Hubert answ^ered, very seriously, undeterred 
 by his uncle's bantering tone and raised eye- 
 brows. *' The thing is a miracle. For you 
 must remember that that orange-tip was born 
 
96 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 and bred a small green-and- white caterpillar. 
 He never knew, as you and I do, that his father 
 and mother were orange-tip butterflies before 
 him. He never beheld any previous generation. 
 He emerged from the egg, a tiny, hungry grub, 
 long after his parents were dead and forgotten ; 
 and when he crawled abroad into the world, 
 he met none of his own kind, save a few other 
 creeping green-and-white caterpillars. He 
 ate and slept and never dreamt of wings or of 
 the future butterfly. At last, one day as he 
 sat on his native plant, a curious change came 
 slowly over him. He found himself melting 
 away into a boat-shaped chrysalis. A film 
 grew over him. There he lay, as in a mummy- 
 case, growing gradually and unconsciously 
 into a full -formed butterfly. Yet, how did he 
 know, when he emerged from the cast shell, 
 that he was a male orange-tip ? Still more 
 marvelous, how did he know the female of 
 his own species ? He had never beheld his 
 own wings in a glass ; he had never beheld 
 any image of his beloved. Yet, the moment 
 he emerged from the solid mold in which he 
 had undergone his strange transformation, he 
 flaunted his wings at once by inherited instinct, 
 so as to display the orange patch he had never 
 himself beheld there ! And when butterflies 
 of other kinds appeared on his path he took 
 no notice of them ; yet the moment a mate 
 of his own swam into his ken, he instantly and 
 
The Philosophy of Love. 97 
 
 unerringly recognized his chosen helpmate. 
 Now, I call that a miracle. And I call it also 
 the best clue we have to all the mystery and 
 philosophy of love-making." 
 
 " It all amounts to saying," Sir Emilius in- 
 terposed, with a faint dash of cynicism, "that 
 every species knows its own female." 
 
 " It amounts to a great deal more than that, 
 Uncle Mill," the young man continued, with a 
 young man's enthusiasm. **You persist in 
 omitting the central element still— the fastidious 
 selectiveness. How does my orange-tip know 
 w^hen he has lighted on the mate prepared 
 from of old for him ? Must he not have some- 
 where within his tiny brain and nervous system 
 an inherited form or mold, as it were, which 
 answers exactly to the image of his ow^n kind, 
 and of the counterpart prepared for him ? 
 When any other image falls upon his vague 
 little eyes and senses, he fails to respond to it. 
 But when the image of his own type falls upon 
 his retina, it fits the inherited form or mold 
 absolutely, and he rushes to make love to the 
 creature that fills it, with intuitive certainty. 
 The moment the ancestral mold is completely 
 met and satisfied, the creature that meets it he 
 loves as instinctively as Miranda loved Ferdi- 
 nand — the first man save Prospero on whom 
 her eyes had lighted." 
 
 " Shakespeare is not evidence," Sir Emilius 
 murmured, with a contemplative nod. ** The 
 7 
 
98 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 case of Miranda lacks objective confirmation. 
 Besides, what you say comes still just to this 
 — that each kind falls in love not with alien 
 forms, but with its own species." 
 
 Hubert stuck to his point. "Still,'* he an- 
 swered warmly, **you are omitting the selec- 
 tiveness. Love distinguishes and discrimi- 
 nates. Even the little female orange-tip is not 
 ready to accept without demur the advances 
 of the first stray suitor who presents himself. 
 She picks and chooses. What do all her coy- 
 ness and coquetry mean but just such picking 
 and choosing ? She pleases herself in her 
 choice of a lover. Not only has she imprinted 
 on her tiny brain an inherited image of her kind 
 as such, but also an inherited image of the 
 exact type of her kind which best suits and 
 delights her individual idiosyncrasy. For, 
 mark you, Uncle Mill, it is not all pure caprice. 
 This picking and choosing, again, is there 
 for a reason. It is only the most beautiful, 
 the most perfect, the most agile, the most 
 effective that get selected on the average, 
 and such selection increases in the long run 
 the beauty, agility and effectiveness of the 
 species. 
 
 Mrs. Egremont sat by, listening with a curi- ' ' 
 ously attentive face. As a rule, Hubert's talk 
 with his uncle on these abstruse subjects lay f 
 
 on a plane a little above her range of interests. | 
 
 But his theory to-night somehow seemed to 
 
The Philosophy of Love. 99 
 
 engage her. " You remind me," — she began, 
 and then broke off suddenly. 
 
 " Of what ?" Hubert asked, turning quickly 
 towards her. 
 
 Mrs. Egremont hesitated, "Well, I have 
 heard the same thing discussed before," she 
 said very slowly, " from another point of 
 view, and what you said just now re- 
 minded me so strangely of — the person who 
 discussed it." 
 
 ** Still, all this reasoning amounts to no more 
 than what Darwin taught us long ago," Sir 
 Emilius insisted. " I don't see that you ad- 
 vance the matter one step by these idyllic 
 instances." 
 
 " What is true of the species is true of the 
 individual too, I fancy," Hubert went on, half 
 dreamily. *' Is it not the fact that for each one 
 of us everywhere there is somewhere a counter- 
 part, an affinity, as Goethe rightly called it in 
 a phrase now vulgarized out of all serious mean- 
 ing, but still a phrase that encloses, even so, a 
 kernel of truth beyond all power of vulgar 
 destructiveness ? I don't mean necessarily 
 one affinity alone, but a relatively small num- 
 ber of possible affinities. Is it not the fact 
 that, just in proportion as we rise in the scale 
 of being, we find, at every fresh grade, a fresh 
 stage or level of selectiveness — a further narrow- 
 ing down of the possible range of choice and 
 of attraction ? Among the lower animals, for 
 
100 
 
 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 example, any mate will suffice ; with the 
 higher, aesthetic preferences begin to come 
 into play, and give us at last such visible re- 
 sults as the plumage of the peacock, the bird 
 of Paradise, the argus pheasant ; as the song 
 of the skylark, the linnet, the nightingale ; as 
 the grace of the fallow deer, the crane, the 
 squirrel. To this do we not owe the antlers of 
 the stag, the crest of the heron, the colors of 
 the humming-bird, the love-cry of the night- 
 jar ? So, too, among men. With the savage, 
 almost any one squaw is as good as another ; 
 he discriminates little between woman and 
 woman. The rustic begins to demand, at least, 
 physical beauty ; higher cultivated types are 
 progressively fastidious ; they ask for some- 
 thing more than mere ordinary prettiness — 
 they must have soul, and heart, and intelli- 
 gence, and fancy." 
 
 "There's something in that, no doubt," Sir 
 Emilius admitted, half grudgingly. ''Your 
 doctrine is, in short, the old and discredited 
 one— that marriages are made in heaven." 
 
 *' Marriages are made in heaven," Hubert 
 answered, accepting his phrase. ** True mar- 
 riages, that is to say ; for a marriage that is iwt 
 made in heaven is no marriage at all. It be- 
 longs—elsewhere. Higher men and women 
 feel intuitively that only here and there in the 
 world, perhaps in some cases only in one per- 
 son, can they find all the qualities necessary 
 
The Philosophy of Love. loi 
 
 to unite with and supplement their own ; and 
 for that one person, surely, it is fair to say that 
 heaven designed them. This consciousness 
 of fitness, this sense of something instinctive 
 within one, drawing one irresistibly to one 
 particular soul, is it not, in the last resort, the 
 voice of Nature telling us clearly what mate 
 the powers that rule the universe have built 
 and fashioned for us ? To neglect its bidding, 
 to step aside from its impulses, to disobey its 
 orders for mere human reason, these are surely 
 rebellion to the divinely-appointed monitor 
 we each carry within us. The man or woman 
 who allows any other consideration, save this 
 of immediate fitness for one another, to inter- 
 fere in marriage does obvious wrong— at least, 
 so I take it. Money, rank, position, prospects, 
 differences of creed, differences of race, differ- 
 ences of class, differences of language, the 
 wishes of parents, the arrangements of property 
 — what are any of these to the inner voice of 
 God and duty ? " 
 
 " But if a woman has been coerced ?" Mrs. 
 Egremont put in eagerly. " If she has been 
 compelled by her parents, while she is still 
 too young and unformed for independent 
 action, to marry a man whom she hates and 
 loathes, as often happens, what hope for her 
 then, Hubert ? How do you treat her case ? 
 What is her proper course, her right plan, her 
 duty ? " 
 
102 
 
 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 " She should leave him," Hubert answered, 
 without one second's hesitation. ** No other 
 path, it seems to me, is open to her. For 
 what can be more criminal than to become 
 the mother of a child by a man whose idiosyn- 
 crasy is at war with your own, a man whom 
 your own tastes and sympathies and senses 
 proclaim to be unfit for you ? " 
 
 " And if he is rightly distasteful to her," 
 Mrs. Egremont went on, leaning forward, with 
 a flushed cheek. '* If he is, for example, a 
 drunkard, or a gambler, or a forger, or a 
 rake, or a man of cruelly brutal instincts, you 
 think she should not live with him ? She 
 should cut herself adrift from his hateful 
 presence ? " 
 
 '* Of course," Hubert answered calmly. To 
 him this was all mere speculative opinion. 
 *' That is her clear duty. Ought she to people 
 the world with children tainted from their 
 birth, and spoil her own nobler or better 
 qualities by admixture with vile and low and 
 unworthy ones ? " 
 
 Sir Emilius glanced at his sister with an air 
 of concern. He saw^ in her eye a strangely 
 harassed look which was by no means uncom- 
 mon there. " Julia, my dear," he said, gazing 
 hard at her, *' you are tired to-night. If I 
 were you I wouldn't sit up any longer. You 
 need a good night's rest. And this talk of 
 Hubert's is disturbing — with the clock on 
 
The Philosophy of Love. 103 
 
 eleven. Sleepless people should never ex- 
 ercise their brains after dinner. I never ex- 
 ercise mine — in the evening I am always 
 strenuously lazy — and I sleep like a top from 
 twelve to eight, without one minute's inter- 
 mission." 
 
 Mrs. Egremont drew a deep breath. " Per- 
 haps you are right, dear," she answered, laying 
 her hand on her brother's arm, " though there 
 are dozens of other things I should like to ask 
 Hubert." She hesitated a moment, then took 
 up her candle reluctantly. " Good-night, my 
 darling," she said, kissing him twice on his 
 forehead. " Hubert, of one thing I am per- 
 fectly certain, that you have chosen wisely in 
 choosing Fede." 
 
 Sir Emilius, with his keen instinct for read- 
 ing faces and voices, w^as instantly aware that 
 she said it in part to cover her obvious emotion, 
 and make Hubert think it was Jiis marriage, 
 not her own, that she had sighed over so pro- 
 foundly. But Hubert did not notice it. Sir 
 Emilius's eye was keen for passing emotion : 
 Hubert's, for the deeper-seated underlying 
 facts of race and temperament. 
 
 She glided silently through the door into 
 her bedroom, which communicated with the 
 salon. Sir Emilius dropped his voice. " You 
 see these things too exclusively, Hubert," he 
 said, settling down in his chair again, " from 
 the physiological standpoint. You forget there 
 
104 
 
 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 is a social standpoint as well— quite equally 
 important. We can't regulate our marriages 
 wholly from the point of view of the efficiency 
 of the race. We have to think of personal 
 considerations also." 
 
 " Such as what ? " Hubert asked, pouncing 
 down upon him. 
 
 Sir Emilius hummed and hawed. *' Well, 
 considerations of social convenience," he an- 
 swered at last, with some hesitation. ** The 
 laws and conventions of civilized society. We 
 can't marry our cooks or our footmen, can 
 we?" 
 
 *' If a man wants to marry his cook," Hubert 
 answered, with plain common sense, " one of 
 two things, 1 think, is pretty certain. Either 
 he's a man just fit to marry a cook, or else his 
 cook is a woman quite fit for him to marry." 
 
 ** In the first case," Sir Emilius mused, " it 
 doesn't much matter, I suppose ; and in the 
 second, there's no reason why the woman 
 shouldn't rise to her proper station. Well, 
 you may be right there, my boy. I'm not 
 prepared to argue it out with you at this hour 
 of the evening. But don't you think your 
 doctrine is liable to lead on to all kinds of im- 
 morality ? " 
 
 " What do you mean by immorality ? " 
 Hubert inquired, inexorable. 
 
 Sir Emilius paused again. ** Well, to a 
 good deal of chopping and changing in marital 
 
The Philosophy of Love. 105 
 
 relations," he answered, with an evasive sub- 
 terfuge. 
 
 " I think," Hubert retorted, " if all men and 
 women formed real attachments of native 
 preference while they were young and plastic, 
 there would be no real immorality at all in the 
 world ; they would choose instinctively the 
 persons best fitted for them, and would, in the 
 vast majority of cases, never feel the want of 
 any other affections." 
 
 "Suppose they did, though ?" Sir Emilius 
 urged. " Suppose, for example, that a woman 
 is married to a man whom she grows to de- 
 spise ; and suppose that afterwards she is thrown 
 in with another towards whom she gradually 
 develops a deep attachment ; don't you think 
 on your principles " 
 
 "Well?" Hubert murmured, half smiling. 
 
 "Don't you think it very likely she might 
 . . . prove unfaithful." 
 
 Hubert's smile deepened. " Unfaithful to 
 whom or what ! " he asked. Herself — or her 
 husband ? She proves unfaithful to the man, 
 asthings are, under such circumstances, doesn't 
 she ? Whereas, under the system of things 
 that would result from unrestricted natural 
 marriages, she would not be likely, if she were 
 a good woman, ever to form a imion that was 
 not destined to be permanent. As for bad 
 women, they will be bad women, I fancy, no 
 matter what artificial rules you make to bind 
 
io6 
 
 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 them. No doubt a pure-minded woman— im- 
 aginative— sensitive— married to a bad man, 
 and thrown in with a better one " 
 
 ** Would lose her purity," Sir Emilius 
 suggested, as Hubert cast about in search of a 
 phrase for a moment. 
 
 ** No," Hubert said, with decision, ** Such 
 a w^oman could not lose her purity ; she would 
 only lose what we foolishly call her virtue. 
 She would be loyal to herself and disloyal to 
 her husband. But which is in nature the 
 greater crime, do you think ? — for a woman to 
 step aside with a man she truly and deeply 
 loves, or to become the mother of Nature's 
 bastards by a man to whom she is married, 
 though she loathes and detests him ? " 
 
 " Dangerous ! Very dangerous ! " Sir Emi- 
 lius murmured. *' You play fast and loose with 
 sin. You undermine the foundations of civil- 
 ized society." 
 
 *' You know what George Meredith makes 
 one of his characters say under such circum- 
 stances ? " Hubert put in, still smiling faintly 
 — " ' The real sin would have been if she and I 
 had met, and — ' " 
 
 ** And what ?" Sir Emilius asked quickly. 
 
 *' Meredith doesn't say," Hubert answered. 
 ** He is wise enough to break off. He leaves 
 it to the reader to finish the sentence. But 
 surely, uncle, there are positive duties in life 
 as well as negative — things which it would be 
 
The Philosophy of Love. 107 
 
 wrong of us to leave undone as well as things 
 which it would be wrong of us to do — for the 
 sake of the future of the world and of humanity." 
 
 *' I fail to follow you," Sir Emilius said, 
 in a decided voice, taking up his bedroom 
 candle. 
 
 " If it is a duty to abstain from peopling the 
 world with the unfit," Hubert urged, following 
 him up, '' is it not equally a duty to do what 
 we can towards peopling it with the fittest ? " 
 
 " Hubert, darling," a tremulous voice broke 
 in from the bedroom, " would you mind speak- 
 ing just a little low^er ? I can hear all you say, 
 so you keep me awake — and, for Fede's sake, 
 I do so want to be bright and fresh to-morrow." 
 
 But Sir Emilius could hear that the voice in 
 which his sister spoke was one of profound, 
 though sternly repressed agitation. 
 
 Hubert took an English weekly paper up to 
 his bedroom. He read himself to sleep over the 
 review of a novel. " It seems alike unnatural 
 and incredible," said the reviewer, '* that a 
 woman of the high character of Iris should 
 have consented to live in any relation but ab- 
 solutely legal wedlock with any man." Hubert 
 did not know who Iris was, or what he might 
 have thought of her conduct if he had read the 
 story. But the remark cast a flood of light on 
 the psychology of the reviewer. What on earth 
 had Iris's high character to do with the ques- 
 tion ? If he had said, " a woman so prudent 
 
io8 
 
 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 as Iris," "so self-seeking as Iris," " so cautious 
 as Iris," Hubert would have understood it. 
 But "a woman of the high character of 
 Iris ! "—it was really too absurd. He went 
 to sleep smiling at it. 
 
Matrimonial Business. 109 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 MATRIMONIAL BUSINESS. 
 
 At breakfast next morning, Fede wore the 
 white rose Hubert had pinned the night before 
 into her evening bodice. It had somehow un- 
 accountably got crushed meanwhile — behind 
 the rhododendrons ; but it revived in water, 
 and looked almost as well as ever in the pretty 
 pink blouse she wore down to breakfast. Only 
 Mrs. Egremont (being a woman) noticed its 
 tumbled condition, and mentally accounted 
 for it vj'ith a motherly smile ; for Mrs. Egre- 
 mont had been young, and was young enough 
 still to sympathize with lovers. 
 
 Fede certainly was charming. The mixture 
 of the hot Italian woman and the bright Eng- 
 hsh girl in her made a delicious compound. 
 " A co-inheritor on one side with Dante and 
 Giotto," Hubert said ; ** a co-inheritor on the 
 other with Shakespeare and Darwin." As she 
 smiled across the table, with a flush of timidity 
 on her dark olive cheek, at her future mother- 
 in-law, Julia Egremont felt she had never yet 
 seen any girl so attractive. It is seldom one's 
 
no A Splendid Sin.' 
 
 children choose the wives one thinks fit for 
 them ; but if Mrs. Egremont had been asked 
 to select for Hubert, she could not have 
 picked out anyone more to her taste than Fede. 
 
 " And then just look at her antecedents," 
 Hubert said to her with pride, when they met 
 in their salon three minutes before breakfast. 
 " Could any one have a better or finer re- 
 cord ? HerfatherisaTornabuoni ; and you've 
 only to look at him to see at a glance he is 
 straight, and well-built, and noble, and honor- 
 able — an Italian gentleman to the core, every 
 inch of him ! And her mother, an English 
 lady — a Warwickshire Hampden, indirectly 
 descended from the great John Hampden, and 
 belonging therefore to one of the soundest 
 and ablest families in England. I don't care 
 twopence myself about family from any other 
 point of view ; of course, I don't want to marry 
 the last girl of a decadent stock, not if she w^ere 
 the daughter of a hundred silly or drunken 
 earls ; but surely, noblesse oblige^ and a phys- 
 iologist at least ought to take care he's marry- 
 ing into a good sound stock that will do credit 
 to his children." 
 
 " Besides which," Uncle Emilius added 
 maliciously," you're in love with Fede." 
 
 It's the same thing," Hubert answered stur- 
 dily not yielding one jot or tittle of his argu- 
 ment. "If people fall in love, that shows 
 they're eternally meant for one another. 
 
Matrimonial Business. iii 
 
 They're the pair whom Nature designs to 
 unite. Its your loveless marriages that do all 
 the harm. Considerations of money, conve- 
 nience, rank, birth and religion — those lead to 
 unions with no final reality in them. But I'm 
 in love with Fede — because Fede is good and 
 beautiful and sound and strong and attractive ; 
 which means, she is the girl I ought to marry." 
 
 " Q. E. D.," Uncle Emilius responded, w4th 
 his hand on the door. ** After which, I pro- 
 pose to go down to breakfast." 
 
 The Marchese, however, took a more medi- 
 aeval and commercial view of married relations 
 than Hubert. As soon as breakfast w^as over, 
 he drew Uncle Emilius aside into the salon ot 
 number twenty, and requested the honor of a 
 few minutes' conversation alone with him. Be- 
 ing a man of business, he saw at once that Uncle 
 Emilius was more likely to give dispassionate 
 consideration to practical details than Hubert 
 himself in his present condition. 
 
 The interview was satisfactory. "Then I 
 quite understand." the Marchese observed at 
 the end of it. ** Mrs. Egremont's estate, being 
 worth what you say, is absolutely entailed on 
 the children of the marriage. The Property is 
 not at her own disposal. It follows the name. 
 And she has no other child but Mr. Hubert." 
 
 "Precisely," the doctor answered, stroking 
 his chin after his wont. "And I believe— I do 
 not know — but I believe— and will ascertain— 
 
112 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 that my sister desires to make a proper and 
 ample provision, meanwhile, for the Marchesa 
 Fede." 
 
 '* After her death — your sister's, I mean — Mr, 
 Hubert must necessarily inherit everything ? " 
 
 " Yes, absolutely everything." 
 
 '* Her husband was a military man, I under- 
 stand ? " the Marchese continued tentatively. 
 
 "Colonel Egremont ? — he was. He had 
 served in India." 
 
 " A colonel ? So ! I must telegraph full de- 
 tails of the arrangement, you see, to Florence." 
 And he made a little note of it. 
 
 Sir Emilius looked doubtful. ** Well, be- 
 tween you and me," he remarked after a pause, 
 stroking his chin with one dubitative hand, 
 " I don't know that I would make a great point 
 of the Colonel. He was — well — a bit of a 
 scamp, I'm bound to admit. There are black 
 sheep, you see, in every family. He gave my 
 sister a good deal of trouble." 
 
 The Marchese was a man of the world ; and 
 besides, he knew the exacting morality of these 
 extraordinary English. With them, a married 
 man — but there. No Tuscan gentleman could 
 ever endure it. '* Oh, of course," he answered 
 diplomatically, ** we understand these things. 
 Military men have a code of their ow^n. And 
 in India, too, you say ! Those very hot 
 climates ! " 
 
 ** But Hubert," Sir Emilius went on, with 
 
Matrimonial Business. 113 
 
 avuncular pride, " Hubert's a young fellow to 
 be proud of. He carried everything before 
 him in science at Oxford. He's a rising phy- 
 siologist, sure of election to the Royal Society. 
 And — he's also a poet." 
 
 *' A poet ! That's bad," the Marchese cried, 
 drawing back. ** These poets play ducks and 
 drakes with their money." 
 
 Sir Emilius assumed at once his blandest 
 air — the air with which he assured the nervous 
 lady-patient there was nothing on earth the 
 matter with her digestive economy. *' But my 
 dear sir," he put in, " the man of science in 
 Hubert outbalances the poet. It's a capital 
 mixture. Enough imagination to save him 
 from being dry ; enough steady ballast to keep 
 him from being wild and mad and reckless. 
 He's my favorite nephew — like one of my own 
 boys to me ! " 
 
 This was an opening for the Marchese to 
 explore the question of contingent remainders. 
 "Then you have children of your own ?" he 
 interposed dubiously. 
 
 Sir Emilius drew one weary hand across his 
 ample brow. "Children?" he cried. "Oh, 
 dear, yes ! My quiver full of them ! In fact, 
 I may say, twelve go to the quiverful." 
 
 The Marchese made a mental note of the 
 
 fact. No windfalls from //;a/ quarter ! "Well, 
 
 you'll excuse my being businesslike," he said, 
 
 with his expansive smile, stroking the black 
 
 
114 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 mustache pensively. "We Italians treat these 
 affairs from a strictly legal standpoint. And 
 in the present depressed condition of the wine- 
 market " — the Marchese delivered those well- 
 worn words in his most impressive style— he had 
 had much practice — " before I allowed matters 
 to go a step further between Fede and your 
 nephew, I felt I must understand his financial 
 position." 
 
 He paused a moment, expecting Sir Emilius 
 to inquire in turn what provision he meant to 
 make, per contrUy for his daughter's future. 
 But, to say the truth. Sir Emilius, like a true- 
 born Briton, had never even conceived that a 
 " foreign " nobleman could make any provision 
 of any sort for his family. The moment he heard 
 Hubert was going to marry the daughter of an 
 Italian marquis, he made up his mind it must 
 be a pure love-match, and put considerations 
 of money out of court entirely. For it is the 
 fixed belief of Uncle Emilius's kind that all 
 foreign noblemen are penniless adventurers, 
 perpetually on the lookout for a British heiress 
 or an American millionairess, to keep the pot 
 boiling. So he merely observed in an acquies- 
 cent tone, "We may gather, then, Marchese, 
 that you offer no obstacle ? " 
 
 The Marchese jumped at this view of the 
 question. " I offer no obstacle," he answered, 
 with an air of the greatest magnanimity ; 
 though, as a matter of fact, he would have been 
 
Matrimonial Business. iiS 
 
 prepared to make a settlement upon Fede if Sir 
 Emilius had asked for it. " You see, if my 
 daughter were an only child we could afford 
 to do more for her ; but as she has two 
 brothers " 
 
 The idea struck Sir Emilius as novel— nay, 
 almost brilliant. An Italian nobleman portion 
 his daughter who was marrying an English- 
 man ! Original, really ! " Oh, we're perfectly 
 satisfied as to that," he said, smiling. " The 
 provision my sister means to make for the 
 Marchesa will be ample — ample. The fact of 
 it is, my nephew is /;/ love with your daughter ; 
 and all we require is your consent to the 
 marriage. That being given, I think nothing 
 else need detain us." 
 
 *' Certainly not," the Marchese replied. He 
 rose from his chair and began to move round 
 Mrs. Egremont's salon, in which they had been 
 sitting. A photograph in a frame on the 
 mantelpiece caught his eye. ** Ha, an old 
 friend ! " he cried, taking it up and looking at it. 
 
 Sir Emilius nodded. " Yes, the great 
 American poet," he said. " You knew him ?" 
 
 The Marchese expanded visibly to the naked 
 eye. ** When he lived at Florence — yes ; I 
 knew him intimately. Who that loved Italy 
 did not know the poet ? Who was not proud 
 of his love for our country ? " 
 
 " But I thought you had a feeble opinion of 
 poets ? " Sir Emilius put in maliciously. 
 
ii6 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 The Marchese snapped his fingers. "As 
 sons-in-law, yes, I grant you. But, him ! ah, 
 there, he was a Man, your poet ! " 
 
 " He was," Sir Emilius admitted with caution. 
 
 "We count him our own," the Itahan con- 
 tinued enthusiastically. "Look w^hat he did 
 for Italian unity ! " He put his hand on his 
 heart. "We are businesslike, we Italians," he 
 went on, " but we are not ungrateful. Your poet 
 forged a golden chain which linked together 
 Florence, London, America. After Mazzini 
 and Garibaldi, what man of our time so deeply 
 stirred the soul of Italy ? " 
 
 Sir Emilius was unprepared for such a 
 burst of emotion. The Englishman keeps all 
 his sentiment for the family : the Italian be- 
 stows it rather on his country. " He was an 
 intimate friend of m)'' sister's," he said drily, 
 distrusting these transports. "She admired 
 his work. She carries his portrait about with 
 her everywhere." 
 
 "/;i a silver frame," the Italian added, looking 
 hard at it. 
 
 " Eh ? Quite so," Sir Emilius answered, 
 not grasping his mieaning. 
 
 The Marchese mused aloud. " This world's 
 an enigma," he said. " Yet sometimes one 
 gets a clue that leads one through it. — Well, 
 well. Sir Emilius, I think we perfectly under- 
 stand each other. Suppose we adjourn for 
 a while to the writing-room, where we can get 
 
Matrimonial Business. 117 
 
 pen and paper, and reduce the terms of our 
 agreement to writing ? For this being a mar- 
 riage, you see— an affair of importance~vve 
 must of course leave nothing to feeling, but 
 treat it in every way as a matter of busmess." 
 
ii8 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 AN UNEXPECTED INTERVIEW. 
 
 While the two men of business were en- 
 gaged on these practical details in the salon^ 
 Mrs. Egremont, Fede, and Hubert had slipped 
 out into the garden. For a while they kept to- 
 gether ; but after twenty minutes or so, the 
 mother dropped quietly and naturally into the 
 background — she knew her place, she said to 
 herself with some tinge of a mother's irrepres- 
 .sible feeling when she first finds herself rele- 
 gated to a secondary rank in her son's estima- 
 tion — and allowed the young people to wander 
 off by themselves among the roses and rhodo- 
 dendrons. She would write a letter home, she 
 thought, under the shade of the trees ; and she 
 beckoned to Rosa, the round-faced chamber- 
 maid, from the window to come to her. 
 
 "Bring me the wTiting-case from number 
 twenty," she said, '* and a postage-stamp for 
 England. The concierge will give you one." 
 
 " Yes, madame," Rosa answered, in her 
 most insinuating voice. ** And madame's 
 shawl, n'est-cc fas f Madame may catch a 
 chill if she sits under the trees here." 
 
An Unexpected Interview. 119 
 
 " Oh, thank you," Mrs. Egremont answered, 
 with her soft, subdued smile. " How thought- 
 ful of you, Rosa ! " 
 
 The girl tripped away, with the affected 
 mincing step of the Bernese chambermaid 
 when tricked out in her finery ; and was back 
 again in a minute with the writing materials 
 and shawl, as well as a footstool. She arranged 
 it carefully under Mrs. Egremont's feet, with 
 obtrusive politeness. 
 
 " Oh, thanks, Rosa," the lady said, with 
 another gentle smile. " How very kind and 
 good you always are to me ! " 
 
 ** Oh, madame," Rosa answered, in her in- 
 sinuating voice ; " it is always a pleasure to 
 do anything for madame. Madame is so gra- 
 cious ! " 
 
 She moved up the steps again. As she 
 passed, the concierge muttered, '^ You do make 
 up to her ! " 
 
 Rosa smiled and tossed her head. " Last 
 chance for the season ! " she answered flip- 
 pantly, in quite a different voice, and in her 
 own broad dialect. '* She's good for twenty 
 francs. If I carney her enough, she may make 
 it forty. Besides, I'd like to get a good place 
 in England ! " 
 
 It is the modern Eldorado of Bernese cham- 
 bermaids. It may lead to apotheosis— marry- 
 ing the butler ! 
 
 Mrs. Egremont sat writing some minutes in 
 
120 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 silence. Her letter was full of Hubert and 
 Fede. The girl was a dear girl — a very dear 
 girl — and yet, of course, it was hard for a mother 
 to lose the chief place in her boy's affection. 
 But she was more than satisfied : it was wrong 
 of her even to hint her personal feelings. She 
 was ashamed to think she could be so selfish. 
 
 As she wrote, a figure glided silently across 
 the lawn. It was clad in a shabby old tourist 
 tweed suit and it walked with some difficulty, 
 lifting each foot with care, as is the habit of 
 men in the middle stages of locomotor ataxy. 
 The hoary old reprobate had breakfasted in his 
 room, and had stolen out at last in search of 
 an opportunity for carrying a scheme he had 
 planned into execution. 
 
 He stole up to her so quietly, with catlike 
 tread, that he was close by her side before Julia 
 Egremontsaw him. Hisshadowon her paper 
 first called her attention. She looked up, and 
 gave a start of mingled surprise and terror. 
 
 '* What ! Walter ? " she cried. " You here ! 
 Oh, for God's sake, what do you mean by it?" 
 
 The Colonel drew himself up jauntily. 
 
 " Yes, my dear," he answered, fixing his eye- 
 glass in his eye, **it's me; or, to be more 
 strictly grammatical, it's I, at your service. 
 *An unexpected pleasure,' you say. Well, 
 an unexpected pleasure." He drew back a 
 pace and gazed at her. **You hardly supposed 
 you'd see me in this out-of-the-way place, did 
 
An Unexpected Interview. 121 
 
 you ? " he went on, with hateful banter. " Oh, 
 no, of course not. In point of fact, that's ex- 
 actly why you came here. You avoided 
 Florence, for fear of meeting me. How did I 
 find out your plan ? I see you asking yourself 
 that mental question. Well, it's as simple as 
 getting drunk, and much less costly. I was 
 over at Lugano, boring myself to death in a 
 bad hotel, and baking myself to blazes, when I 
 happened to see your respected name in the 
 Stviss Times on the visitors' list at the Black 
 Eagle. ' A rare chance,' thought I to myself, 
 ' of seeing dear Julia ! ' When a man's been 
 separated so long from his wife, the sight of 
 her name naturally produces in his mind an 
 immediate access of deferred affection. He 
 takes the arrears out, so to speak. So into the 
 train I jumped, took the Gotthard to Goe- 
 schenen, walked over the pass, didn't kill my- 
 self on the glacier, descended on the valley, and 
 — here I am at last, my dear girl, to adore you ! " 
 
 He held out both hands, palm outward, in 
 an imploring attitude. But his face was all 
 mockery. Mrs. Egremont rose from her seat 
 in an agony of terror. 
 
 " Oh, go, go, go !" she cried. ''' How could 
 you be so imprudent ? What should I do if 
 Hubert were to come up and see you ? He's 
 here at the hotel with me." 
 
 "So I saw in the newspaper. And, to tell 
 you the truth, that seemed to me an additional 
 
122 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 reason for paying my respects to you. It's 
 high time the boy knew his own father." 
 
 Mrs. Egremont wrung her hands. 
 
 "Walter," she moaned, "you are merciless." 
 She cast her eyes about her hastily, as if looking 
 for shelter. " You have broken your compact," 
 she went on. " Didn't you promise me faith- 
 fully you'd never come north of the Alps with- 
 out leave ? Don't I pay you five hundred a 
 year to live away from England ? Haven't I got 
 your own name to the agreement on paper ? " 
 
 Colonel Egremont eyed her through his 
 eyeglass with a complacent smile. "Well, I'm 
 not north of the Alps, am I ? " he answered, 
 gazing about him at the mountains with un- 
 ruffled geniality. " I'm here in the midst of 
 *em. Jolly fine Alps, too ; as large as they 
 make 'em. Besides, if it comes to that, didn't 
 >'o/^ promise once to love, honor and obey me ? " 
 He held out his arms once more with mock 
 pathos — that loathsome, bloated man. " Do 
 you love me riowf" he asked. "Z)o you 
 honor me ? Do you obey me ? " 
 
 Mrs. Egremont shuddered. 
 
 "God help me, no!" she cried, with a wild 
 gesture of repugnance. " How could any 
 one love or honor or obey such a creature as 
 you are ?" 
 
 The Colonel was cool as indifference could 
 make him. " Very well, then," he said, shrug- 
 ging his shoulders. " There you are, my good 
 
An Unexpected Interview. 123 
 
 woman. You see how you keep )^our own 
 promises, Julia." 
 
 His wife recoiled from him. His very look 
 repelled her. " It was a wicked and a foolish 
 one," she said. " I ought never to have made 
 it. Promise to do or not to do, if you will ; 
 but promise to feel or not to feel — what a trans- 
 parent absurdity ! " 
 
 Colonel Egremont surveyed her satirically 
 through his pince-nez. **And this, I suppose," 
 he said at last, " is the New Morality." 
 
 The unhappy woman sank into a seat and 
 half-covered her face. " I don't know whether 
 it's new or old," she answered, shrinking from 
 him. " But this I do know, that I cannot pos- 
 sibly have any feeling now but disgust and 
 loathing for you." 
 
 Colonel Egremont dropped into a rustic seat 
 and unbuttoned his coat. *' Oh, pray go on," 
 he observed, in a sarcastic voice. " Don't 
 trouble about me. Forgive my intrusion. 
 Excuse me for existing ! " 
 
 His wife rose wildly again, and approached 
 him in her despair. " No, finish it off at once," 
 she cried, pulling out her purse. ** How much 
 do you want ? Name your own price ! I know 
 one thing alone ever brings you near me. Say 
 what you demand, and go. But don't shame 
 me before Hubert. If he were to come — oh, 
 my God, it would kill me ! " 
 
 " No, it wouldn't," the Colonel answered. 
 
124 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 with the air of one who has tried, and knows. 
 " It takes a good deal to kill a woman. You're 
 too tough for that, by half. Besides, you 
 needn't be in such an unseemly hurry." He 
 assumed once more his mock-pathetic tone. 
 '* Why accuse your own lawful husband of 
 mercenary conduct ?" he asked, holding out 
 both hands in a theatrical appeal. " Is filthy 
 lucre everything ? Don't you allow som^ weight 
 to the strength of the natural affections ? It's 
 five years since we had the mutual pleasure of 
 meeting. It will, doubtless, be five years more 
 before we have a chance of that pleasure again. 
 Let us enjoy at least some little interchange of 
 social amenities before we proceed to the dull 
 and dry details of pecuniary arrangements.** 
 
 Mrs. Egremont drew back from him. " Are 
 you absolutely heartless ?" she murmured. 
 
 ** Not at all, my love ; not at all," the creature 
 replied, with that unspeakable ogle. " I'm 
 insisting on the sacred privileges of domestic 
 intercourse. It's you, my dear, who display a 
 base desire to reduce the relations between us 
 to the barest rudiments of a commercial basis." 
 
 He lunged forward, awkwardly, with an at- 
 tempt to kiss her. Mrs. Egremont sprang back 
 with a wild little scream of horror. " Walter," 
 she cried, " you're drunk ! " And she tore 
 herself away from him. 
 
 *' Why, of course ; yes, I'm drunk," the man 
 answered, laughing hoarsely. " You don't 
 
An Unexpected Interview. 125 
 
 suppose I was going to take the trouble to get 
 sober, just because I was coming to see yoit^ 
 do you ? But Fm not so drunk as usual by a 
 long way, for all that," He drew himself up 
 with tipsy solemnity. " Matter has three states," 
 he said, *' solid, liquid, and gaseous. / have 
 three states — drunk, very drunk, and dead 
 drunk. I'm only just simple drunk at present ; 
 and that's quite as much as you could expect 
 from me, Julia." 
 
 He drew a step closer. Mrs. Egremont 
 held out her hand to repel him. " Stand off, 
 sir ! " she cried. ** Don't come one pace nearer, 
 and don't presume to address me by my Chris- 
 tian name ! Take your money and go ! If 
 you don't respect me, you might at least respect 
 Hubert." 
 
 She glanced around her, terrified lest Hubert 
 should come up. But Colonel Egremont only 
 gazed back at her with a vacant smile. " Might 
 I, really ? " he murmured. " What ! get sober 
 for Hubert ? Oh, no ; hang it all, I'm as sober 
 this moment as ever I mean to be." He drew 
 himself up for a moment. *' Do you remember 
 when I had charge of the casting at Woolwich 
 Arsenal ? " he inquired. 
 
 *' Do I remember ? " his wife answered. 
 " Can I ever forget it ? " 
 
 "Well, don't you recollect, if we once let 
 the fires down in the blast-furnace, it took us 
 a week, and two hundred tons of coal, ever to 
 
126 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 get them back properly into working order. 
 Now, I'm just like a blast-furnace. If once I 
 got sober, it 'ud take me a week, and two dozen 
 of brandy, to get comfortably drunk again." 
 
 Mrs. Egremont's fingers trembled on her 
 purse. She looked round her once more with 
 a piteous glance. " Oh, Walter ! " she cried, 
 " for heaven's sake, have mercy upon me ! 
 Name your own price ; but name it quickly ! " 
 
 Colonel Egremont gazed down through his 
 pince-nez most contemptuously on the purse. 
 "What, gold ?" he said. " Notes ? Do you 
 take me for an idiot ? Do you think I came 
 all the way from Lugano for that? No, no, 
 my dear Julia, I value the domestic affections 
 a world too high to dream of curtailing this 
 delightful visit under a couple of hundred 
 pounds. I suppose you have your cheque- 
 book ? " 
 
 " A couple of hundred pounds ! " Mrs. Egre- 
 mont echoed. " Walter, it's impossible." 
 
 " Impossible ! Not at all ! Or — I come 
 back to Milworth. Now, don't look so appalled ; 
 and don't plead poverty. When I married 
 you, you had a nice little fortune of your own, 
 dear lady. Consider how you've treated me. 
 We'd lived only five years together, like a pair 
 of turtle-doves — coo, coo, and nestle — when, 
 all at once, you refuse me the privilege of re- 
 siding with you any longer." 
 
 ** Because no self-respecting woman could 
 
An Unexpected Interview. 127 
 
 degrade herself one day more by admitting 
 your presence in her house, Walter." 
 
 The Colonel took no notice of the interrup- 
 tion, but continued his monologue. ** And as 
 you had, by settlement, the power of the 
 purse— all through your father's confounded 
 pig-headedness — you extort from me an absurd 
 and ridiculous bargain that I must pass my 
 winters at Nice, Cannes, Algiers, Monte Carlo, 
 and my summers in the Apennines or Lord 
 knows where, so long as it's a good three hun- 
 dred miles away from you. I ask you, is that the 
 right way to treat the man you promised to 
 love, honor, obey, and cherish ? Well, now, 
 I've broken loose ! I'm not going to stand it ! 
 Vm a free man, am I not ? I'm an English 
 gentlem.an ? " 
 
 "You were once," Mrs? Egremont answered, 
 surveying him despairingly. 
 
 The Colonel drew himself up with military 
 pride. '' And I mean henceforth," he said, 
 " to resume my proper place in society. I 
 will no longer accept your miserable pittance." 
 He reeled for a second, and steadied himself, 
 repeating once more the words, '' miserable 
 pittance." ** That's not intoxication," he went 
 on ; " that's this beastly ataxy. But my terms 
 are simple — two hundred down, I say, and an 
 advance to a thousand a year in future ! " 
 
 " Walter, I can't do it. The estate won't 
 stand it." 
 
128 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 The bloated face was wrinkled with a cynical 
 smile of disbelief. ** It won't do," the man 
 answered, shaking his head. " You can't 
 come it over me. I know that silly cry — 
 agricultural depression. Everybody uses it 
 now as an excuse for meanness. But it won't 
 go dow^n here ! You must pay up, I say — or 
 take me back at Mihvorth." 
 
 Mrs. Egremont's face was deadly white ; 
 but her voice was resolute. " I will not pay 
 you," she said. " I will not — and I cannot." 
 
 The Colonel sprang forward unsteadily, and 
 seized her wrists in his hands. He was a 
 powerful man still, in spite of the ataxy. 
 " You won't pay up, w^on't you ? " he cried, in 
 a threatening voice. " We'll see about that ! " 
 He wrenched her wrists hard. "Will you or 
 won't you ? " he cried angrily, twisting them. 
 
 " Let me go, sir," Mrs. Egremont exclaimed, 
 with a little cry of pain. " Remember, if 
 Hubert comes and finds out who you are, you 
 lose your last hold on me. Only for his sake 
 do I allow you anything." 
 
 " Will you sign ? " the Colonel asked, giving 
 her WTist another wrench. 
 
 " I will not," Mrs. Egremont answered, in 
 great pain, but immovable. " Oh, let go ; you 
 hurt me ! " 
 
 ** I niean to hurt you. Sign ? " 
 
 " Take your hands off me, I say ! How 
 dare you touch me ? " 
 
An Unexpected Interview. 129 
 
 The Colonel wrenched again. " I won't let 
 you go," he said, '* till you've promised to 
 arrange with me." 
 
 " Never ! " Mrs. Egremont cried. " never ! " 
 She lifted her voice and called aloud in her 
 torture, " Emilius ! Emilius ! " 
 
 Next moment, an apparition of a dainty 
 morning dress round a corner of the shrubbery 
 — and— Fede and Hubert stood full in view of 
 them. 
 9 
 
I30 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE COLONEL SCORES. 
 
 Hubert saw nothing but r. man — a vile- 
 looking man, the hardened drunkard of the 
 previous evening — holding his mother's wrists 
 and evidently tr3dng to bully her. In a second 
 he had rushed forward and seized the fellow's 
 hands. *' Stand back, sir ! " he cried, flinging 
 him off. *' How dare you ? How dare you ?" 
 And he threw the Colonel aside with a violent 
 effort. *' Mother, what does this mean ?" he 
 exclaimed, gazing gently at her. " Who is 
 this man that's frightening you ! " 
 
 The worst had come ! At sight of her son, 
 Mrs. Egremont sank back, pale and trembling, 
 into her seat, and covered her face with her 
 hands, shame and fear fighting hard in her. 
 ** Oh, Hubert, what shall I do ? " she moaned 
 aloud, through her sobs. Then she turned to 
 the Colonel. " Go, go," she wailed again. 
 ** I can't stand it ! Go ! " And she trembled 
 violently. 
 
 Hubert faced the man again. The Colonel 
 posed there, with an affected air of gentlemanly 
 
The Colonel Scores. 131 
 
 indifference. " Explain, sir ! " Hubert cried, 
 confronting him. " How dare you lay your 
 hands on this lady ? " And a twitch in his 
 foot displayed his first impulse. 
 
 Colonel Egremont drew himself up with a 
 conscious effort. " You demand an explana- 
 tion ? " he said slowly, facing him. 
 
 ** I do," the young man answered, hardly 
 able to address him. 
 
 *' No, Hubert, no," Mrs. Egremont moaned, 
 pleading, and holding his arm. 
 
 " I demand it," Hubert answered again, 
 laying one soothing hand on his mother's 
 shoulder. 
 
 *' Then you shall have it," the Colonel 
 replied, with what shred of dignity was left 
 him. He drew a card from his pocket, and 
 handed it to Hubert. " TJicre is my name, 
 young man, ' he went on in a very deliberate 
 way. " This lady is my wife. And you, I 
 presume, are my son — Hubert Egremont." 
 
 Hubert glanced at the card in a whirl of 
 amazement. The world swam round him. 
 ** Colonel Walter Egremont, late Royal En- 
 gineers ! " He turned, half faint, to the droop- 
 ing figure on the seat. ** Mother, mother," he 
 cried, " what does it mean ? Who is this man ? 
 How dare he use my father's name — my 
 father's ? " 
 
 Mrs. Egremont bowed her head in a fierce 
 burst of remorse. " I did it for your sake," 
 
132 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 she answered, cowering. ** Oh, Hubert, don't 
 hate me for it. What he says is true, my boy. 
 I married thRi creature ! He is my husband ! " 
 
 Hubert drew back, appalled. One hand 
 w?is on his forehead. He scanned the man 
 over from head to foot, disdainfully. Colonel 
 Egremont tried to stand before his gaze with- 
 out reeling. " Yotir husband ! " Hubert 
 echoed. ''My father! That thing! That 
 creature ! Oh, mother, can you mean it? 
 Don't say so, dear mother ! " 
 
 The quaver in his voice was concentrated 
 agony. Mrs. Egremont dared not raise her 
 eyes to meet her son's. She only murmured 
 again, *' For your own sake, my boy, I tried 
 to hide it from you. I paid him to keep away. 
 I have paid him for years. You know why 
 now. What he says is true. This man is 
 iny husband." 
 
 '* And ^'o/fr father," Colonel Egremont added, 
 with malicious satisfaction. 
 
 ** But he died — he died twenty years ago ! " 
 Hubert broke out wildly, unable to believe the 
 hideous truth, now he heard it. 
 
 *' So she told you," the Colonel answered, 
 with a smile of triumph. "So she told you, 
 no doubt. But " — he dug his ow^n ribs de- 
 monstratively with his thumbs — " I venture to 
 say, she was quite mistaken. I'm alive and 
 kicking. I can kick hard still, thank heaven. 
 Oh, she poses, of course, as a model mother. 
 
The Colonel Scores. 133 
 
 But she's brought you up, my boy, on a pack of 
 lies. Come to your father's bosom, my long- 
 lost son ! " He stretched out his arms melo- 
 dramatically—then reeled again, and caught 
 hold of the rustic seat with one hand to balance 
 himself. *' We have been too long apart ! " 
 he went on. '' This woman, this wretched 
 woman, has separated us !" 
 
 ''Sir!" Hubert cried, springing forward 
 and raising one fist instinctively. 
 
 The Colonel retreated a step, and buttoned 
 up his coat with significant symbolism. *' Oh, 
 very well," he said, " if you renounce your owmi 
 flesh and blood, of course I've nothing more 
 to say against it. Rut you'll have to put up 
 with me when I return to Milworth." 
 
 Till that moment Fede had stood back, un- 
 perceived, among the rhododendrons. But 
 as Hubert advanced with one fist raised to 
 strike the wretched creature, she rushed for- 
 w^ard to stop him. "Oh, don't !" she cried, 
 seizing his arm ; " oh, don't ! Who is this 
 man, dear Hubert ?" 
 
 Hubert fell back on the seat, crouching. 
 The full terror and horror of it came home 
 to him at that moment. "This man?" he 
 repeated, only realizing it by degrees. "This 
 man ! Who is this man ? Fede, Fede, my 
 darling, go away, I implore of you ! I can 
 never be yours now. It's too hateful to face ! 
 Who is this man ? My father I My father ! " 
 
134 
 
 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 Fede drew back, incredulous. "Your father 1 
 oh, no ! " she cried, " he can't be your father ! 
 Hubert, Hubert, my darling, I don't believe 
 it — I won't believe it ! " 
 
 She flung herself upon him, embracing him 
 passionately. Mrs. Egremont, with her face in 
 her hands, sat inconsolable by his side. Hubert 
 bowed himself down in his abject wretched- 
 ness. The Colonel alone, bolt upright, with 
 arms crossed and a smile of victory, surveyed 
 the whole group in an e stasy of triumph. 
 
 " It is this that you have brought about with 
 your regime of lies ! " he said, slowly and bit- 
 terly. " You have taught your son to hate and 
 despise his own father ! " 
 
Reaction. 135 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 REACTION. 
 
 Hubert sat there immovable. It takes 
 some minutes for revulsions of feeling like his 
 to rise fully into consciousness. He sat there 
 long, bowed down with utter shame, unable 
 to look upon Fede's face, holding her hand in 
 his, and endeavoring to realize this incredible 
 catastrophe. Slowly the truth shaped itself at 
 last in his mind. He began to understand it. 
 His mother had married this hateful wretch — 
 married him Jiozv he could not imagine ; and 
 then, finding his company and his vices insup- 
 portable, had broken away from him, given 
 him an ample yearly allowance. But all these 
 years she had hid the truth from her son, pre- 
 tending her husband was dead ; and now that 
 Hubert saw the man as he actually was, he 
 could not wonder at it. 
 
 His son ! That man's son ! As the ghastly 
 blind terror of it came home to him bit by bit, 
 he rose up at last in his shame, w'ithdrew his 
 hand abruptly from Fede's, and rushed off in 
 a wild burst of feeling to his own bedroom. 
 
136 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 Mrs. Egremont, for her part, did not attempt 
 to follow him. She sat there still, alone with 
 her remorse, and bowed down in her agony. 
 Nor did Fede seek to detain him. She knew 
 these things are best faced in solitude. She 
 took her future mother-in-law's hand in hers, 
 and, without one word, stroked and smoothed 
 it tenderly. As for the Colonel, having de- 
 livered his bolt, he thought it best to beat 
 a strategic retreat for the moment. A little 
 later, when tide served, he could arrange at 
 leisure for his increased allowance, or, its 
 only alternative, his return to Milworth. 
 
 For tw^enty minutes or more Hubert lay on 
 his bed, tossed this way and that in a whirl- 
 wind of emotion. Yet the full shame and awe 
 of the revelation broke over him but gradually. 
 Not for several minutes did it dawn upon his 
 soul that as he was in blood and bone this 
 man's son, he w^as also the inheritor of his 
 transmitted tendencies. The mere disgrace of 
 calling such a creature his father w^as more 
 than enough in itself for the first few dark 
 moments ; to inherit his taints, his vices, his 
 diseases was more than he could take in with- 
 out long reflection. And he had dreamt an 
 hour ago of marrying Fede — he, that loathsome 
 thing's son ! It was past all thinking. He had 
 but one consolation in this hour of gloom — 
 that the truth had come out in time to save 
 him from such ineffable sacrilege. 
 
Reaction. 137 
 
 At the end of twenty minutes he could stand 
 it no longer. Active natures need the outlet 
 of activity at moments of profound and devour- 
 ing emotion. Some inner spur goads them 
 on to movement ; they must walk it ofi, walk 
 it off, walk it off forever. Hubert rose from 
 his bed and broke out into the open air. He 
 must move, move, move, up the sides of the 
 mountain. 
 
 He stole out by the back way, under the 
 trellis of dead roses, to avoid meeting either 
 his mother or Fede. Then he turned along 
 the track which led to the Rothenspitze. He 
 had ascended it yesterday by the easiest path, 
 on the opposite side, w'th the aid of a guide. 
 To-day he w^ould ascend alone by the abrupter 
 face that turned towards the village. Good 
 Alpine climbers held the mountain unap- 
 proachable by the slope ; but what of that ? 
 It mattered little now whether he lived or died. 
 If he fell and broke his neck, so much the 
 better. That would be the easiest way out of 
 an intolerable situation. In any case he must 
 climb, he must climb, he must climb. Any- 
 thing to get rid of this gnawing energy. 
 
 He set himself to work to scale it fiercely. 
 As he rose on the first slopes, between grassy 
 terraces, he could see his uncle and the Mar- 
 chese walking along the dusty white road be- 
 low, and entering the telegraph office. A 
 hateful thrill ran through him. He knew 
 
138 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 what they were doing. They had settled pre- 
 liminaries, and the Marchese was telegraph- 
 ing the news to Florence. News of the mar- 
 riage that could never take place ! Marriage ? 
 Was he fit to marry the vilest creature in the 
 streets ? He, the drunkard's son, how could 
 he ever have dreamed of that spotless Fede } 
 
 He could see her even now on the lawn of 
 the hotel, by his mother's side, holding her 
 hand and smoothing it with daughterlike 
 devotion. 
 
 His mother ! If he were his mother's son 
 alone — as he had been till that day — how differ- 
 ent it would all have been ! He had known 
 and loved andrespected his mother from child- 
 hood upward. He had been proud to be her 
 son, to feel he inherited her pure and unselfish 
 moral nature. And now, this man ! this un- 
 speakable interloper ! How could she ever 
 have married him ! How could she ever have 
 consented to bring a child into the w^orld who 
 should share in such a creature's loathsome 
 characteristics ? 
 
 *'If the man has a son," he had said only 
 twelve hours before to the concierge, *' that 
 son is doomed to insanity before thirty." 
 
 Insanity ! Was that all ? Vice, crime, 
 drunkenness, brutality, paralysis. He might, 
 perhaps, avoid by stern self-repression the 
 drinking instinct itself, which wrought the 
 curse ; but how could he avoid the physical 
 
Reaction. 139 
 
 and mental taints, the hereditary tendencies of 
 Colonel Egremont's moral or immoral nature ? 
 To some men the plea of heredity is a con- 
 venient excuse. Hubert saw far too deep into 
 Nature for that fallacy. It was the opposite 
 idea which troubled him most. ** I am what I 
 hate. I am, potentially, all that in my father 
 revolts and disgusts me." 
 
 He climbed on and on with restless energy, 
 up straight walls of rock, where his foot hardly 
 found a hold in slight cracks and crannies. 
 He caught at sprigs of bushes growing out of 
 tiny clefts, and helped himself up by their 
 slender twigs, in the wild hope that they might 
 give way and let him dash himself to pieces 
 against the rocks at the bottom. But they 
 held, by a miracle. He never thought of how 
 he climbed : his mind was seething now with 
 so many fierce and conflicting ideas. He could 
 not possibly have scaled that rearing wall of 
 rock, alone and unaided, if he had attacked it 
 consciously ; but the unconscious clambering 
 instinct of the boy and the monkey came out in 
 him now that he was blind to danger. He 
 climbed and climbed, scarcely knowing what 
 he did. He could hardly have pointed out 
 his own track again to any other athlete ; and 
 if he could have pointed it out, nobody would 
 have believed him. 
 
 But all the time as he climbed one terrible 
 sentence rang ever in his ear, "Who visiteth the 
 
140 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 sins of the fathers on the children unto the 
 third and fourth generation." Who visiteth 
 the sins of the father on the children ! The 
 father on the children ! the father on the chil- 
 dren ! He climbed to its tune. It haunted 
 and followed him. 
 
 Insanity ! Was he mad to try such a wild 
 climb ? Insanity ! Was it some crazy impulse 
 that drove him forth to-day, when he ought 
 rather to have stopped to comfort and succor 
 his mother ? What was that man doing now 
 — that man — his father ? Then the terror grew 
 deeper on him. Was it the inherited selfish- 
 ness of the brute's brutal nature that had sent 
 Hubert himself out to climb, climb, climb, 
 instead of staying to protect his worse than 
 widowed mother from the creature's outrages ? 
 And Fede — dear Fede— for whom he would 
 give his life, was he right to leave her so ? 
 Ought he not to have tried to make the burden 
 lighter for her ? Yet — surely no! He must 
 never again see her. To see Fede and bid 
 her good-by was only unnecessarily to harrow 
 her feelings. He could not face it. But was 
 that, too, selfishness ? How could he escape 
 his own inherited character ? How think him- 
 self outside his father's traits in him ? What- 
 ever way he turned, he ran his head once more 
 against the great blank wall of his ancestral 
 temperament. 
 
 Climbing, ever climbing, hour after weary 
 
Reaction. 141 
 
 hour, driven by such torturing thoughts, and 
 biting his own arm now and again for reUef, 
 he gained the summit. But it took him all 
 day, for the northern face was steeper by far 
 than the usual path, and he clambered up by 
 himself with numerous delays and endless 
 difficulties. On the top, once gained, he rested, 
 weary. He could not scramble down again 
 without some hours of repose. He had no 
 food or covering, and the wind was chilly ; still 
 he must stop where he was till his limbs had re- 
 covered from their fatigue and stiffness. He 
 was bruised and torn, and he was glad of his 
 hurts : the physical pain seemed to relieve the 
 mental. It acted as a counter-irritant. By this 
 time he had fully walked off his first restless 
 mood, which began to be succeeded by a ter- 
 rible depression. Evening came on. The peaks 
 grew dark. The white blossoms shone with a 
 strange internal light, as if they were self-lu- 
 minous. He lay down on a bed of flowering 
 daphne and saxifrage— close Alpine plants, swept 
 short by the wind, which made a sort of spring 
 cushion for his head and limbs — and looked up 
 at the sky in listless indifference. His brain 
 w^as all a blur, his eyes ached wearily. Still, he 
 did not sleep, but mused to himself, in a deadly 
 monotone, " Who visiteth the sins of the fathers 
 on the children unto the third and fourth gen- 
 eration." At moments of emotion, the Bible 
 words of our childhood recur to us. They 
 
142 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 come with the sanctity, the solemnity, the 
 power of ancestral echoes. 
 
 The night was cold, and he was only a few 
 hundred yards below snow-level. Now and 
 then, to warm himself, he rose and walked 
 about restlessly on the little rocky platform that 
 formed the summit. As he did so, he kept 
 stumbling over loops of root and gnarled stocks 
 of low bushes. His heel struck against stones : 
 he almost fell. Did he lift his feet as high as 
 usual, he wondered ? At the thought a chilly 
 shudder came over him all at once. That 
 shuffling gait — that indecision of step — was 
 it not one of the premonitory symptoms of 
 locomotor ataxy ? 
 
 Not for himself he cared, but for his mother's 
 sake — and Fede's. How could he dream, such 
 as he was, of ever marrying Fede ? 
 
 The night wore away slowly. He lay down 
 again and watched it. Cold dews fell upon 
 him. The stars came out, one by one, moved 
 slowly across the zenith, and westered by de- 
 grees till they set behind the rearing w^hite 
 mass of the Himmelberg. He could see its 
 whiteness now by their rays quite easily. 
 Strange, how at moments of overpowering 
 emotion, other thoughts will yet obtrude them- 
 selves now and then in shot threads across the 
 woof of consciousness ! As he lay there and 
 watched those silent constellations crawl with 
 stealthy pace in measured spaces athwart the 
 
 
Reaction. 143 
 
 face of heaven, he reahzed, as he had never 
 realized before, why astronomy was the earliest 
 of all the sciences to force itself upon the mind 
 of primitive man — the sleeper under the open, 
 the watcher of the sky through roofless nights 
 of summer and winter. When the early hunter 
 lay awake, even so, and tossed on his uneasy 
 couch, and counted the groups that followed 
 one another with even, unhurryingtramp across 
 the sphere overhead, how" could he fail to note 
 the slow sequence of their movements, the in- 
 variable order of their secular rising and set- 
 ting ? Hubert absolutely envied those ignorant 
 savages. If only he could have thrown himself 
 back into their place and forgotten these terrible 
 lessons of modern physiology ! But no — the 
 doom w^as pronounced against him— pronounced 
 by those immutable laws of nature, w'hich, like 
 the God of the Hebrews, visit the sins of the 
 fathers upon the children unto the third and 
 fourth generation — though, unlike him, they 
 show no mercy to any, whether he love them 
 or have them, w^iether he keep or keep not 
 their mute commandments. 
 
 Gradually, morning approached. Hubert 
 knew from the stars in sight that dawn could 
 not be far from reddening the horizon. By 
 this time an alternative feeling possessed him ; 
 he w^as painfully conscious now into what an 
 agony of terror he must have cast his mother. 
 His thoughts rambled in a haze. He rose once 
 
144 
 
 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 more, and by the uncertain light began to grope 
 and feel his way down the treacherous moun- 
 tain. One false step would solve the insoluble 
 problem. Now was the chance to slip ; now 
 was the time for an unintentional and half-un- 
 willing suicide— for he was not quite at the 
 point where he would knowingly and intention- 
 ally have flung himself down on the rocks be- 
 low. From that last resource of hunted lives 
 he shrank even then wdth real moral repug- 
 nance. But if only he could miss his foothold 
 and fall against his will — how easy an outlet 
 such an accident would afford him from an 
 insupportable dilemma ! 
 
 Dawn primrosed the sky. Once more the 
 white flowers on the slopes glowed as if self- 
 luminous. He clambered recklessly dow^n, 
 clinging to twigs and ledges that seemed all but 
 hopeless. Yet he never missed his foothold. 
 Perhaps the very absence of fear and of the 
 sense of danger which his weariness of life and 
 longing for death gave him may have acted as 
 a preservative. If he had clutched at those 
 slender supports in any terrified or half-hearted 
 fashion they might have yielded and let him 
 go : but the recklessness itself with wiiich he 
 trusted to their flimsy aid made them adequate 
 for his purpose. He swung from them as lightly, 
 as surely, and as easily as a squirrel or a mon- 
 key. He had recurred to the level of the boy 
 or the savage, who risks a life which he values 
 
Reaction. 145 
 
 little. Day broke as he descended the steep 
 face of rock ; at the base of the first great 
 pinnacle he could already see his track with 
 perfect distinctness. 
 
 Thenceforth his way w^as easy. He shuffled 
 and stumbled down much more quicklv and 
 surely than he had mounted. It was about 
 nine o'clock by the village church when he 
 found himself once more in the one long gleam- 
 ing street of Rothenthal. 
 
 And he was not dead. And he had cleared 
 up nothing. The situation remained exactly 
 where it was before he started, except that he 
 had no doubt succeeded in casting his mother 
 and Fede into transports of fear for his im- 
 mediate safety. Selfish, selfish, selfish ! No 
 
 doubt, a son of that unwelcome father ! 
 10 
 
146 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 THE ENGLISH FOR FEDE. 
 
 In Mrs. Egremont's salon, about nine o'clock, 
 Cecco, the Marchese's valet, peeped in at the 
 door, where Rosa was engaged in dusting the 
 furniture. 
 
 " Good morning, signorina," he said in 
 Italian, just poking his head somewhat tenta- 
 tively round the corner. 
 
 *' Good morning," Rosa repeated in her own 
 Teutonic variety of the Tuscan dialect. She 
 was a cosmopolitanized Bernese, and spoke 
 most European languages in a more or less 
 broken fashion. 
 
 *' The young signore not yet come back ? " 
 Cecco inquired with curiosity. 
 
 " No," Rosa answered, playing carelessly 
 with her duster. She pretended to be busy 
 with the objects on the mantelpiece. " He 
 left a note on his table for Number Twenty, 
 to say he had gone up for a climb on the 
 Rothenspitze, and might be out all night. But 
 Number Twenty doesn't like it, I'm sure of 
 that : she's been crymg all night, I think : her 
 eyes are red and swollen this morning." 
 
The English for Fede. 147 
 
 " Something's gone wrong,'' Cecco mur- 
 mured, venturing in a step or two. 
 
 ** This is Number Twenty's salon,'' Rosa 
 observed in her coquettish way, looking round 
 at him with a warning glance. ** She'll be out 
 here presently." 
 
 " No, she won't," Cecco answered, taking 
 another step in. *' She's gone out on the 
 terrace, looking for Twxnty-Four. There's 
 something wrong somewhere, as you say, 
 signorina. Our young lady has been crying, 
 too, ever since yesterday morning." 
 
 ** It's odd," Rosa continued, pausing awhile 
 and fronting him. " I think the horrid old 
 man in Seventy-Two must have something to 
 do with it." 
 
 Cecco dropped his voice to a confidential 
 whisper. *' You know why we've come here ? " 
 he said. " There's a marriage to be arranged 
 between our young lady, the Marchesa Fede, 
 and " 
 
 *' And Number Twenty-Four ; well, I knew 
 that already, silly," Rosa answered, brusquely. 
 
 " Who told you ? " Cecco inquired, drawing 
 yet a step nearer to her. 
 
 Rosa flicked her duster. " Who told me ? " 
 she answered. " Well, I call that a good one ! 
 Do you think I've been eight years 7\ chamber- 
 maid, and must wait to know things till people 
 tell me ? " 
 
 ** But yesterday morning," Cecco went on, 
 
148 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 *' Number Twenty- Four and Number Seventy- 
 Two had a talk together, and ever since then 
 there's been nothing but misfortunes. The 
 young signore has gone off up the Rothen- 
 spitze ; our Marchesa's in tears, the picture of 
 misery ; the signore's mother is crying her 
 eyes out ; and my Marchese's walking up and 
 down in his room, swearing at me all the time 
 as if it were an earthquake in Florence ! " 
 
 ** Hateful old man ! " Rosa cried. " I mean 
 Seventy-Two. I should just like to know 
 what he has to do with them. It's he who 
 has come and made all the bother." 
 
 " Perhaps he's Twenty's husband," the valet 
 suggested, with a gleam of white teeth. 
 
 *' Oh, no, he's not," Rosa answered, still 
 dusting coquettishly at the vases on the man- 
 telpiece, " for I heard madame say something 
 to Twenty- Four — that's her son — about his 
 father having died at least twenty years ago." 
 
 *' But she may have married again, stupid ! " 
 Cecco retorted. 
 
 " Stupid yourself ! If she had, how could 
 she and her son be both called the same name ? 
 They're all of them Egremontes." She pro- 
 nounced the word as four syllables, Italian 
 fashion. 
 
 " That's true," Cecco answered, pondering. 
 *' Then perhaps he's her lover." 
 
 Rosa pouted her lips. "You don't under- 
 stand the Inglese," she answered, candidly. 
 
The English for Fede. 149 
 
 " That's ItaHan manners. The EngHsh ladies 
 never have lovers, signore." 
 
 Cecco nodded his head. " True ! " he 
 assented, after a pause. " I quite forgot that. 
 Droll manners, those English ! One wonders 
 what they live for. You seem very much in- 
 terested in the family, signorina." 
 
 Rosa tossed her pretty head. ** Nobody else 
 in the hotel ! " she answered. "One must in- 
 terest oneself in something. Besides, I rather 
 want Twenty to take me with her as lady's- 
 maid to England." 
 
 "To England ! Ah, well, perhaps then w^e 
 may meet there, for my Marchese is sure to 
 carry me with him to England for the wed- 
 ding." 
 
 " But the w^edding will be in Florence, won't 
 it ? at Santa Croce or Santa Maria ? " the cham- 
 bermaid suggested. 
 
 " Trust my Marchese for that ! " Cecco cried. 
 "He's a man of business, my Marchese, and 
 * in the present depressed condition of the 
 w4ne-market ' "—he imitated his master's most 
 pompous manner—" ten lire to a soldo he'll 
 put the expense of his daughter's marriage on 
 Number Twenty's shoulders." 
 
 Rosa was dusting a photograph on the man- 
 telpiece as he spoke. It w^as the portrait of a 
 tall and handsome man, close-shaven and clear- 
 featured and very distinguished-looking. It 
 stood in a silver frame. " I think this must be 
 
i5o A Splendid Sin. 
 
 Number Twenty's gentleman," she said, after 
 a pause. " She keeps it here always in the 
 middle of the shelf, and she often looks at it. 
 It is no doubt the signore her husband." 
 
 "Oh, no," Cecco put in. "That man's 
 name's not Egremonte. I know him well. 
 He w^as a friend of my Marchese's. That's the 
 great American poet who died at Florerce 
 when I was lift at the Minerva. He used often 
 to drop in for our table dliote. I remember 
 him well. He was a very great man. He 
 gave me five lire once for posting a letter for 
 him." 
 
 "He's handsome," Rosa said, scrutinizing it. 
 " So he was a poet, was he ? The signora has 
 his photograph in her bedroom as well, with 
 some verses on the back of it. Perhaps he 
 wrote them. But the verses are in English— 
 or perhaps in American— so I cannot read 
 them." 
 
 " Well, you see, he was a distinguished 
 man," Cecco replied, full of importance. " Oh, 
 distinguished — but distinguished ! His friends 
 were proud of him. A poet's a poet. When 
 the King of Italy— the Re Galantuomo, I mean, 
 Vittorio Emmanuele, not this man Umberto 
 — when the King came to Florence, the poet 
 was always asked to dine at the Pitti Palace : 
 and when he died, the American ambassador 
 came on purpose from Rome to attend the 
 funeral. So I ask you, was he distinguished ? 
 
The English for Fede. 151 
 
 He must of course have been a very clever 
 poet. Such brains those men have ! It makes 
 one dizzy to think of it." 
 
 " Take care," Rosa said ; " I hear the signora 
 coming." 
 
 Cecco retreated with dignity from the room 
 One moment later Mrs. Egremont and Hubert 
 entered it. 
 
 " You can go, Rosa," Mrs. Egremont said 
 pale and white, but still with the external calm 
 of an English lady. 
 
 "Yes, madame ; at your service, madame," 
 Rosa answered, in her official voice, and beat 
 a retreat, curtseying. 
 
 ^^ " Mother," Hubert cried, taking her hand, 
 I— I have caused you so much trouble. Can 
 you ever forgive me for it ? " 
 
 Mrs. Egremont sank into a chair. '* I knew 
 you would come back, my boy," she said, with 
 aquivermg lip, *' unless you slipped by ac- 
 cident. I knew you would not— intentionally 
 —kill yourself." 
 
 " You knew that, mother ? " 
 
 Mrs. Egremont hesitated. '' Yes, I knew it 
 my boy— but " ' 
 
 " But what ? " 
 
 She faltered. '' I thought," she said, after a 
 pause, you might try-half unawares-to let 
 your foot slip on some damp piece of rock, and 
 be dashed to pieces." 
 
 There was a moment's silence, then Hubert 
 
152 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 answered, " It would have been better so, 
 mother." 
 
 Mrs. Egremont flung her arms round him. 
 "No, no, my darling," she murmured. ** For 
 my sake, no— for my sake— and for Fede's." 
 
 *' Where is she ? " Hubert asked, trembling. 
 
 '* In her room." 
 
 " Was she very much frightened ? " 
 
 " No. She has confidence in you. She 
 knows in her heart you could never desert her." 
 
 Hubert paused again. *' Oh, mother ! " he 
 cried at last, " I will not reproach you. Who 
 am I to reproach you— I, that creature's son ! 
 But why, oh why did you keep it from me 
 always ? " 
 
 Mrs. Egremont's bosom heaved. " I thought 
 it was for the best," she answered, faltering. 
 
 *'The truth is best," Hubert retorted. "I 
 would always know it." 
 
 " The truth is best ? " Mrs. Egremont echoed, 
 with a faint tremor of the lips. " Oh, Hubert, 
 do you think so ? " 
 
 There was agony in her voice — doubt, terror, 
 longing. 
 
 " It was kind of you to try, I know," Hubert 
 went on, not perceiving it. ** I see you wanted 
 to shield me— oh, my God, from what? I 
 can't bear to think of it. From what I am in 
 myself ! From knowing the truth about my 
 own inmost nature ! " 
 
 Mrs. Egremont leant forward. " Hubert, 
 
The English for Fede. 153 
 
 my darhng," she broke out, "for years I have 
 borne this trouble in silence for your sake — 
 and every other trouble. I have done all I 
 could to hide it from you, till the world itself 
 had almost forgotten his very existence." 
 
 Hubert rocked himself to and fro. " But 
 oh, the terrible awakening," he cried, " from 
 the ideal I had formed in my heart of my lost, 
 dead father ! No, / did not form it ; you gave 
 it to me, mother." And he swayed himself 
 moodily. 
 
 Mrs. Egremont's lips trembled as if she must 
 answer something ; but with an effort she sup- 
 pressed it. '' Oh, is the truth really best ? " 
 she cried at last. '' I wonder, I wonder. Is 
 the truth really best ? Hubert, I dare not." 
 
 Hubert gazed at her again. " You, my 
 mother ! " he cried. " How could you ever bring 
 yourself to marry such a man ? How could 
 you so far dishonor your own fine nature ? 
 How could you consent to spend one day of 
 your life with him ? " 
 
 Mrs. Egremont bowed her head. " Hubert," 
 she cried, *' don't recall to me my shame ! 
 Don't remind me once more of it ! Don't re- 
 proach me, my boy ! You will crush me if you 
 speak of it." 
 
 " Reproach you ! " Hubert answered, with 
 bitterness. ** If I reproach you, I reproach 
 myself— I reproach that man whom I know to 
 be my father." 
 
i54 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 Mrs. Egremont wrung her hands. " Con- 
 sider how young I was," she went on, in an 
 evasive voice. *' Only seventeen when I 
 married ! My mother was determined to get 
 me off her hands to somebody ; and Colonel 
 Egremont, who was a friend of hers, happened 
 to be the first man to make me an offer. Ask 
 Emilius about it all : he will tell you how it 
 was. I was delivered over, an innocent giil, 
 bound hand and foot, to that wretched 
 creature." 
 
 *' Mother, mother, if it were /, I would have 
 cut my right hand off first ! " 
 
 Mrs. Egremont paused. " But you never 
 knew my mother, Hubert," she answered 
 slowly. ** She was a terrible woman, my 
 mother. Hot and cold by turns — passionate 
 and cruel. Everybody who came near her 
 did as she told them. She ordered me to 
 marry Colonel F "emont, and I obeyed her 
 as implicitly as 1 would have obeyed her if 
 she had ordered me to shut the nursery door. 
 I was hardly out of the nursery, indeed, when 
 she married me off to him. I'll tell you how 
 it happened. I had been at school— here in 
 Switzerland— so happy, so happy. I came back 
 when I was seventeen, not having seen my 
 mother's face for three whole years ; and, full 
 of delight at finding myself at home again, I 
 rushed into her drawing-room in Hans Place, 
 and flung my arms round her, crying aloud, 
 
The English for Fede. 155 
 
 * Mother ! ' She was sitting there, as it 
 happened, with one of her admirers, a cabinet 
 minister ; she moved in that society, and was 
 a very great lady : and she didn't like the in- 
 terruption — for she was a handsome woman 
 still, and couldn't bear to have a grown-up 
 daughter in the house with her. So she held 
 me off, withour kissing me, and said, in a freez- 
 ing tone, * Your complexion's ruined ! You're 
 not half as good-looking, child, as you were 
 three years ago. Go up-stairs, and take off 
 your hat, and wash yourself afteryour journey — 
 and then, perhaps, you'll be in a fit condition 
 to come down and say how-do-you-do to Lord 
 Winstanley.' I slunk off, chilled. That same 
 evening she said to me, in a very cold voice, 
 ' Julia, I must marry you. It shall be Colonel 
 Egremont.' I didn't like him, though I didn't 
 know him, of course, as I know him now ; and 
 I said, * Oh, mother ! ' * Go to your room, 
 miss,' my mother said, * and don't dare to 
 answer me back.' And in three weeks* time, 
 whether 1 wished it or not, she had me married 
 to Colonel Egremont." 
 
 Hubert still rocked himself up and down. 
 *' It was a dishonor to yourself," he said, " and 
 a wrong to me. Epilepsy, insanity, drunken- 
 ness, paralysis — how could you burden your 
 son w4th such legacies as those, mother ? " 
 
 Mrs. Egremont trembled. " If you had 
 known my mother, you w^ould understand, 
 
156 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 Hubert," she answered at last, with an 
 effort. 
 
 " And even if you once married him," Hubert 
 went on, " how could you continue to live with 
 him ? And how could you bring children of 
 your own into the w^orld for him— half his, 
 half yours— hereditary drunkards, hereditary 
 madmen ? " 
 
 Mrs. Egremont buried her face in her hands 
 and burst into tears. " Hubert, Hubert," she 
 cried, " for heaven's sake, spare me ! " 
 
 Just at that moment there came a knock at 
 the door. "May I come in?" Sir Emilius 
 asked, half opening it. 
 
 Mrs. Egremont raised her head. "Yes, come 
 in, dear," she said hurriedly. She w^as glad 
 of the interruption — glad of some one who 
 would help her to bear the brunt of Hubert's 
 unutterable horror. 
 
 " My boy," the elder man said, coming for- 
 ward and taking his hand, almost as if he had 
 heard what they had both been saying— though 
 in truth he only read it with his accustomed 
 skill in their faces — "don't reproach her with 
 it ; oh, don't ! Surely she has suffered more 
 than enough alread3\" 
 
 " I know it," Hubert cried, seizing her hand 
 and smoothing it. " Oh, dear mother, I know 
 it." Remorse came over him. 
 
 " He wasn't so bad at first as he became 
 later," Sir Emilius went on, in a softer voice 
 
The English for Fede. 157 
 
 than Hubert could have conceived of his using. 
 '' She left him as soon as she could— left him 
 by my advice and assistance. He did things— 
 fortunately— which made it impossible for him 
 to show his face in England again ; broke the 
 law, and rendered himself liable to serious 
 punishment. Your mother very properly 
 bought him off on an agreement never to come 
 within two hundred miles of her. He has 
 skulked for years, sometimes under his own 
 name, sometimes under another, up and down 
 on the Continent." 
 
 "But he went too late," Hubert cried, in 
 his misery. " And— Fede and I must suffer 
 for it." 
 
 " Not necessarily," Sir Emilius put in. "You 
 are a strong and well-built fellow, Hubert. 
 It's unusual, I admit, for such a man to be the 
 father of a sound child ; but I've never seen 
 one trace in you, at least, of the inherited 
 temperament." 
 
 Hubert shook his head once more. " No, 
 no," he said gloomily, "it's no use your trying 
 to comfort me, uncle. I know the truth too 
 well. That man's children must be hopelessly 
 mad before they're thirty." 
 
 " I dispute your prognosis," Sir Emilius an- 
 swered. He spoke with authority. "These 
 cases are so elusive. The moral qualities lie 
 on the surface of heredity. There isn't a sign 
 in yoii of alcoholic tendency." 
 
158 A Splendid Sin.^ 
 
 ** But I know it all so deeply," Hubert cried, 
 leaning back, " as well as any doctor. The 
 symptoms often remain latent till twenty-five 
 or thirty, and then they come out suddenly. 
 His children couldn't escape. I have seen 
 with my eyes. He's too far gone in alcoholic 
 mania to doubt it." 
 
 " Hubert," Sir Emilius said, looking hard at 
 him, " in spite of all you say, my advice to 
 you is to marry Fede." 
 
 Hubert moaned from his place. " How 
 can I burden Fede w^ith such a future ? " he 
 cried in his despair. 
 
 Mrs. Egremont leant forw^ard with a sudden 
 burst of speech. *' My darling," she cried, 
 " take my w^ord for it still. You will not be- 
 lieve it, but your father had once many great 
 and noble qualities." 
 
 Her brother stared at her. He knew that 
 Julia had misled her son on this point for 
 many years past, but he w^as hardly prepared 
 for such a wildly improbable declaration at 
 such a moment. 
 
 " Then again, I can never break it to her," 
 Hubert went on, in utter dejection. " I can 
 never make her feel how impossible it would 
 be for me to dream of marrying her ! " 
 
 Sir Emilius meanwhile had felt his nephew's 
 pulse. " My boy," he said suddenly, *' you 
 are sinking from inanition. You have neither 
 slept nor eaten. This mood, I see, is partly 
 
The English for Fede. 159 
 
 physical. You must have some breakfast at 
 once." He took a fkisk from his pocket and 
 poured some hquid out of it into the cup at 
 its base. " Here, drink this," he said, hand- 
 ing it to him ; "you need it sorely." 
 
 Hubert glanced at it for a second. It was 
 brandy. The very smell of the vile liquor 
 gave him at that moment a revulsion of dis- 
 gust. He took the cup in his hands, and 
 dashed it, brandy and all, to the other end of 
 the room. *' Never ! " he cried. ** Never ! 
 It is that hateful stuff that has brought all this 
 upon us ! As long as I live, not one drop of 
 it shall ever pass my lips again ! " He flung 
 down the flask. '* If I can't escape the effects," 
 he said, in his frenzy of despair, " at least I can 
 avoid the cause of all this misery." 
 
 ** That's your son, Julia," Sir Emilius mur- 
 mured below his breath. " Not a trace of 
 Walter Egremont ! " 
 
 Hubert rose and wrung his hands. " Soph- 
 istry!" he answerd. ** Sophistry ! mere 
 verbal sophistry. We can't escape the sins of 
 our fathers so easily. Every man inherits 
 one-half of his traits from either parent ; from 
 that creature I inherit inevitable insanity." 
 
 Ashe spoke, there came once more a gentle 
 tap at the door. "Can I come in?" a low 
 voice asked pleadingly. 
 
 " You can," Sir Emilius answered, moving 
 across to the door. " A seasonable tonic ! 
 
i6o A Splendid Sin. 
 
 The precise treatment I was just about to pre- 
 scribe for him ! " 
 
 He opened the door, and Fede entered, 
 very pale, and with eyes red from crying. 
 The Marchese would have considered her 
 presence at that moment a most imprudent 
 proceeding. 
 
 She took his hand frankly. " Dearest," she 
 murmured, leaning forward and kissing him, 
 " I couldnt stop away. I was obliged to 
 come. I have thought of you all night long. 
 I knew how you must feel about that — that 
 dreadful creature." 
 
 Hubert recoiled from her kiss. " Oh, don't, 
 Fede," he cried, as if he shrank from her 
 purity. " I feel I am polluted — not fit for such 
 as you. You must never again kiss me." 
 
 She drew back, astonished. " Why not, 
 my darling ? " 
 
 " Because that man's my father. Because 
 I am his son. Because I inherit from him a 
 deadly taint. Because I shall most likely be 
 mad and paralyzed before I'm thirty." 
 
 With a wild burst of emotion, Fede flung 
 her arms round him. ** Hubert ! Hubert ! " 
 she cried, '* what is all that to me, dearest ? I 
 am a woman — no more. I love you— I love 
 you ! No matter ivhat might happen to you^ 
 I still would marry you ! " 
 
 He tried 1o unwind her arms. A ghastly 
 sense of his own inherited impurity came over 
 
The English for Fede. i6i 
 
 him. " Fede," he cried, *' you mustn't— not 
 to that man's son ! What you say is quite 
 right— quite right for you, dearest. A woman 
 should take these things so ; I see that very 
 well : no good woman could take them other- 
 wise. But a man must be strong. A man 
 must fight against it. A man must guard the 
 woman he loves against herself and her 
 womanly instincts. A man must know when 
 and how to deny himself. He must refuse to 
 marry the girl of his choice— if marriage would 
 mean to her inevitable misery." 
 
 Fede clung to him passionately. ** But it 
 wouldn't, it w^ouldn't," she cried. *' I know 
 you better than you know yourself, Hubert. 
 My name is Fede, and Fede means faith. I 
 have faith in you, darling. You're not that 
 man's son — not in the sense you mean it. 
 You're so good, so gentle, as well as so clever. 
 I can trust you, Hubert — body and soul I can 
 trust you." He gave a gesture of dissent ; but 
 she clung to him still, and cut him short with a 
 wave of her hand. *' My intuition tells me so," 
 she said, " and I know I can rely upon it. My 
 name against your doubts ! My faith against 
 your fear ! My heart against your brain ! 
 My instinct against your reason ! " 
 
 She tried to kiss him once more — tried to 
 
 kiss him passionately. Hubert drew back 
 
 with a wild look of terror. He held out his 
 
 hand as if to protect her against himself. 
 II 
 
l62 
 
 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 " No, darling, no ! " he cried. " Not me— not 
 me ! You have kissed me for the last time ! 
 Never again, Fede— never ! " 
 
 Fede dragged him down to her lips with a 
 fierce burst of passion. " Yes, you shall," she 
 exclaimed, clasping him hard. " You shall ! 
 You must, my darling ! " And she drew him 
 to her bosom. 
 
 At that inopportune moment the door opened 
 suddenly, and Colonel Egremont entered. 
 
The Point of View. 163 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THE POINT OF VIEW. 
 
 He stood for some seconds just within the 
 doorway, with his mock-mihtary air, twirhng 
 his grizzled mustache, and surveying com- 
 placently the whole family group whom he had 
 thrown by his action into this state of misery. 
 The eyeglass, screwing up that bloated face^ 
 made him more hideous than even he would 
 have been by nature. Then he spoke very 
 jauntily. '' Sorry to intrude, I'm sure," he said 
 with a hateful grin, ** upon this domestic party, 
 —and at such a moment ! But after all, we 
 must remember, I'm the Head of the House— 
 and "—spreading his hands pathetically—'* what 
 is Home without a Father ? " 
 
 He had evidently been drinking even more 
 than usual, and his voice was thick ; but he 
 had still a strange air of affected bonhouiic, and 
 a triumphant manner. 
 
 Hubert sprang up with a fierce gesture. 
 *'How dare you enter this room, sir ?" he cried 
 moving forward. ' 
 
 . The Colonel advanced a step, blustering. 
 
164 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 *' Upon my soul," he said, bridling up, ** pretty 
 sort of treatment for a long-lost parent ! My 
 own flesh and blood to assault me in that 
 fashion ! Am I to be debarred from access to 
 my wife's rooms, and violently attacked by my 
 son on the threshold ? If I w^ere not the best- 
 natured old reprobate in the world, by George, 
 sir, I tell you, I'd lose my temper." He gave 
 a little start, and took a long look through his 
 eyeglass atFede. " What, a joy forever ? " he 
 exclaimed, with one of his odious leers. " So 
 this is your fiancee, then, is it, Mr. Hubert? 
 Why, I've been hearing all about her down- 
 stairs from the head waiter. Good mornmg, 
 my dear ! Delighted, I'm sure, to make your 
 acquaintance ! A deuced good-looking 3'oung 
 woman she is too, Hubert. As pretty as they 
 make 'em ! But the Egremonts were always 
 famous for their taste in their choice of their 
 womankind. I was a courwisseiir myself in 
 female beauty once. Look at your mother, my 
 boy ; devilish fine girl she was when she w^as 
 a girl ; and devilish handsome w^oman she is 
 to this day, at forty odd — devilish handsome 
 woman, though a trifle haughty ! " 
 
 " Sir," Hubert cried, unable to endure it, 
 and placing himself full in front of the creature, 
 with one fist raised warningly. 
 
 "Hot-tempered, isn't he, my dear?" the 
 Colonel continued w^ith a nod to Fede. " Can't 
 restrain his emotions. But, children, you 
 
 I 
 
The Point of View. 165 
 
 should never let— fie, fie, Mr. Hubert ! Allow 
 me to introduce myself, my dear, as your pros- 
 pective papa-in-law. We're to be relations, 
 you know. My name is Walter Egremont ; 
 my address— Europe." He moved suddenly 
 forward, with a curious lurch, as if to kiss 
 her. 
 
 Fede shrank back in terror. " Oh, Hubert, 
 don't let him come near me ! " she cried, re- 
 treating, with a face of fierce repugnance. 
 
 Hubert caught the man in his arms and 
 flung him bodily back. " Stand off, sir ! " he 
 cried, growing red in the face. " How dare 
 you?" 
 
 Sir Emilius laid one hand on the intruder's 
 shoulder. " Now, restrain yourself, Walter," 
 he said. *'This is not a pot-house. Leave 
 the room instantly, if you know what's good 
 for you. I will talk matters over with you in 
 the garden quietly." For he was used to the 
 insane, and he saw at a glance that the Col- 
 onel's mood was not far off from alcoholic 
 insanity. 
 
 As for Colonel Egremont, he drew b^^ick 
 a pace, reeling slightly as he did so, not so 
 much from drink as from his nervous affection, 
 and scanned Fede and Hubert up and down 
 solemnly. " A pretty pair," he mused aloud, 
 in a judicial tone. " A very pretty pair! Upon 
 my soul, I'm proud of them. Julia, my dear, 
 this son of mine's a handsome, well-grown, up- 
 
i66 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 standing young Egremont. The very model 
 of the race ! I always did believe in the doc- 
 trine of heredity ! " 
 
 ** Then how dare you become the father of 
 a son?" Hubert burst out bitterly. ''How 
 dare you reproduce your own vile image ? " 
 
 The Colonel measured him up and down 
 with his eye, and smiled. " That's pretty 
 straight, that is ! " he answered slowly, as if 
 trying to take it in. "One in the eye for me ! 
 Pretty hot and strong ! Prepare to receive 
 cavalry ! Julia, you haven't brought your boy 
 up to respect his parents. Train up a child 
 in the w^y he should go — you know Mr. Solo- 
 mon. Signorina Marchesa, do you allow this 
 young fellow to speak in such very unparlia- 
 mentary terms of your future father ?" 
 
 He took a step towards her again. Hubert 
 darted upon him wildly. " Leave this room, 
 sir," he cried, lifting the Colonel bodily and 
 carrying him to the door. " You're not fit to 
 remain under the same roof with my mother 
 and this lady. Though you were fifty times 
 my father, if you speak like that, by God, sir, 
 you shall answer for it." 
 
 The Colonel, however, was still imperturb- 
 able. " Go on, young man," he cried, in a 
 half -angry, half -mocking voice ; "go on ! 
 Pray don't be shy. Don't mind my feelings 
 — a father's feelings ! Say just what you 
 please ! Curse me to slow music ! " i 
 
 
The Point of View. 167 
 
 He half turned the door handle. Hubert 
 and Sir Emilius followed him up menacingly. 
 At the same moment the door burst open 
 suddenly, and the Marchese entered with a 
 look of amazement. 
 
 "Why, what is this ?" he inquired, looking 
 about him, and taking it in. ** Are we to ex- 
 plain in this way your unaccountable conduct, 
 Mr. Egremont ? What is this man doing here ? 
 I suppose he's the person you spoke about, 
 Fede ? " 
 
 Th6 Colonel took advantage of the unex- 
 pected diversion to return to the room. 
 **Yes," he answered, with slow maliciousness, 
 delighted to display himself to the utmost dis- 
 advantage before Fede's father. *' Every 
 family of distinction has a skeleton in its cup- 
 board, — and " — he adjusted his eyeglass — " / 
 am the skeleton ! " 
 
 The Marchese surveyed him with profound 
 contempt from head to foot, and then held out 
 one hand to keep him at a respectful distance. 
 " Well, and a precious ugly specimen too," he 
 answered, deliberately. 
 
 " Runs through the family," the Colonel 
 murmured, glancing with amusement from the 
 Marchese to Fede. *' If this is Italian polite- 
 ness — give me the refined and courteous Lon- 
 don costermonger." 
 
 The Marchese turned to Sir Emilius. ** If 
 I judge rightly," he said, in his coldest voice, 
 
i68 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 ** when I arrived you were just engaged in 
 ejecting this — person ? " 
 
 " We were," Sir Emilius answered frankly. 
 
 ** Then why does he come back? "the Mar- 
 chese demanded, in a rather acrid tone. 
 
 Colonel Egremont bristled up. " Take care, 
 sir," he cried, blustering, *'how you venture 
 to touch a British soldier ! " 
 
 The Marchese took his measure with a rapid 
 glance. '* Oh, if you elevate it to the dignity 
 of an international contest," he answered de- 
 liberately, ** though Switzerland is neutral ter- 
 ritory — well, evviva Htalia ! " And with a 
 sudden and dexterous advance, he seized the 
 intruder in his powerful arms — for he was a 
 very strong man — lifted him clean off the floor, 
 and bundled him out unceremoniously. 
 
 Sir Emilius, with the coolness of a doctor 
 in trying circumstances, turned the key in the 
 door the moment the Colonel was safely out- 
 side it. 
 
 The Marchese addressed himself to Hubert, 
 evidently ruffled. " I hope, Mr. Egremont," 
 he said, " this awkward little episode may be 
 made satisfactorily to account for your extraor- 
 dinary absence at so critical a moment. My 
 daughter has told me something of this crea- 
 ture. A most loathsome object ! He lays 
 some preposterous claim to being your father, 
 doesn't he ? A madman, no doubt. But why 
 should his conduct have driven you to absent 
 
The Point of View. 169 
 
 yourself with such marked discourtesy at such 
 a juncture ?" 
 
 Sir EmiHus glanced at Hubert imploringly. 
 But Hubert was true to his principle of fidelity 
 to the truth. " I luitst tell him, uncle," he 
 said, with a piteous shake of his head. " I 
 can't deny it ! — Marchese, the man says what 
 is simply true. He is my father ! " 
 
 The Marchese smiled benignly. The 
 avowal seemed rather to please him than other- 
 wise. *' Oh, of course," he answered, ap- 
 peased, " if he has happened to turn up at an 
 inconvenient moment and upset your arrange- 
 ments, I can easily understand there may be 
 some reason for your singular conduct. I 
 gather that a certain degree of coldness seems 
 to reign within the family." 
 
 " Let me explain," Sir Emilius said blandly, 
 fearing that Hubert might make things worse 
 in his present mood of despair. " This man, 
 I regret to say, is really Mrs. Egremont's hus- 
 band. But I must also admit he is a rake and 
 a drunkard. His financial transactions have 
 also been — well, let us put it, imaginative. To 
 say it in brief, he has disgraced the family. 
 My sister is compelled to live alone, and to 
 pension him off, on condition that he never 
 comes nearer England than Nice or Lugano. 
 As he generally lives under an assumed name, 
 and has had nothing to do for years with my 
 nephew, we didn't feel bound to mention his 
 
170 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 existence heretofore to Hubert, who thought 
 till now that his father was dead, and has only 
 just learnt accidentally of his survival." 
 
 The Marchese smiled a cynical smile. *' Don't 
 apologize for that," he answered. ** It does 
 not concern me. It is Mr. Hubert's absence that 
 calls for an explanation, which will, no doubt, 
 be forthcoming. For my own part, I don't 
 like too much unity in a family circle. It's 
 entirely bourgeois — shows the relations have 
 never had any Property w^orth speaking of to 
 quarrel over. From what you told me, I gather 
 Mrs. Egremont has, by English law, sole con- 
 trol of her own estate, and that this superfluous 
 husband possesses no legal claim of any sort 
 upon her." 
 
 *' That is so," Sir Emilius answered. *' He 
 lives upon her bounty." 
 
 *'Then," the Marchese went on, with an air 
 of relief, " we may treat this unprepossessing 
 gentleman as a mere cipher." 
 
 Fede broke out in a sudden cry. '* But, 
 papa," she said, sobbing, "Hubert doesn't see 
 things like that at all. He thinks he's bound 
 not to marry me if this man's his father." 
 
 The Marchese turned round with a bewil- 
 dered air. " Thinks he's bound not to marry 
 you ? " he repeated. " Not to marry a Torna- 
 buoni ! Why, why, Mr. Egremont ? I ask 
 you, yes or no ? Has this man any claim on 
 your mother's Property ? " 
 
The Point of View. 171 
 
 " On her property ? " Hubert answered. 
 '' Not the least in the world, so far as I am 
 aware." The point of view puzzled him. 
 
 " The estate is absolutely settled on my sis- 
 ter," Sir Emilius put in ; "with remainder to 
 Hubert, as I have already explained to 
 
 you." 
 
 " Then where does the difBculty come in ? " 
 the Marchese continued, looking puzzled. 
 " Why shouldn't you marry her ? " 
 
 '' You don't understand," Hubert cried. 
 *' With a father such as that, how can I ? How 
 dare I ? I am doomed beforehand to hopeless 
 
 madness." 
 
 The Marchese almost laughed. " What, a 
 fine young fellow like you," he cried, " with the 
 limbs of a mountaineer and the chest of a 
 Bersagliere ! Sentimental nonsense ! " 
 
 ♦'You can't see it, I suppose," Hubert mur- 
 mured, "with the eye of a physiologist." 
 
 The Marchese was severe. " No, but I can 
 see it with the eye of a gentleman and a man 
 of honor," he answered, growing hot. " I un- 
 derstand what you mean now. You mean to 
 act like a cad to my daughter." 
 
 Sir Emilius detected quickened action of the 
 heart in the swollen veins of the Marchese's 
 forehead. He interposed as composer of the 
 rising storm. " Wait a moment," he said, with 
 his bland medical manner. " Marchese, you 
 and I will talk things over together a little. 
 
172 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 Julia, my dear, leave us— and you, too, Marchesa. 
 Hubert, take your mother out into the garden 
 awhile, and tlien come back to us. We must 
 arrange this tiling gradually. It's entirely a 
 question of the point of view. Your points of 
 view are different. I sympathize with both — 
 and I will try to harmonize them." 
 
 The Marchese bowed stiffly. "As you will, 
 signore," he answered, with cold politeness. 
 " But this marriage is arranged now, Tindccuniot 
 be put oif. I allow no going back upon the 
 claims of my daughter." 
 
 Sir Emilius bowed in return, and motioned 
 Mrs. Egremont and Fede to leave the room. 
 Hubert went with them. 
 
 " Well ? " the Marchese said coldly, looking 
 across at his opponent. 
 
 *' Well," Sir Emilius began, " Marchese, 
 my nephew is deeply in love with your 
 daughter." 
 
 "Sir ! " the Italian exclaimed. 
 
 " I mean," Sir Emilius corrected, perceiving 
 his error, " Hubert's affections are deeply en- 
 gaged to her. It is through no lack of will that 
 he has doubts about his marriage." 
 
 *' I don't understand," the Marchese replied, 
 in his chilliest voice. " If he is not going to 
 marry my daughter, how dare he tell me he 
 has feelings of affection for her ? In Italy, Sir 
 Emilius, we cannot permit such avowals. 
 Either the young man means marriage, or else " 
 
The Point of View. 173 
 
 — his hand sought an imaginary sword — " we 
 settle these questions in that way." 
 
 Sir Emihus tried another tack. " Let me 
 exphiin to you my nephew's idea," he said, still 
 bland as ever. " He has — er — the profoundest 
 admiration and respect for your daughter, Mar- 
 chese. He desires to marry her. But the 
 sudden discovery of his father's degradation — 
 for I will admit that Colonel Egremont is 
 really a drunken and degraded creature — has 
 given him such a shock that he has momentary 
 qualms which his common sense will soon no 
 doubt enable him to get over. He is a physi- 
 ologist, you must recollect ; too much a physi- 
 ologist ; and he fancies he must inherit his 
 father's physical taint. Indeed, as a medical 
 man, I am bound to admit that the chances in 
 favor of any person who comes from a family 
 so deeply tainted are usually — infinitesimal. 
 Though in Hubert's case I have good hopes 
 that his mother's fine physique— but I see you 
 are impatient." 
 
 " I am," the Marchese admitted, fuming 
 visibly. " What has all this got to do with 
 your nephew's arrangement to marry my 
 daughter ? It is for her to consider whether 
 she will take the risk — which, frankly, to me 
 seems, as you say, infinitesimal." 
 
 ** I — I meant the other way," Sir Emilius 
 corrected, taken aback. 
 
 The Marchese pursed his lips. *' Not at all," 
 
174 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 he answered. His tone was acid. "The mat- 
 ter stands thus. Mr. Egremont has formally 
 proposed for my daughter. I have accepted 
 his offer. He now wants to back out, appar- 
 ently—on a most frivolous pretext. As a man 
 of honor, I cannot permit it." 
 
 " He w411 not back out, I am sure," Sir Emil- 
 ius responded diplomatically. " That is to say, 
 when he recovers mental balance." 
 
 " Not with impunity, certainly," the Marchese 
 answered stiffly. His hand moved once more 
 towards his hip with a nervous movement. 
 
 " He is a fine healthy young fellow," Sir 
 Emilius went on, " with excellent principles." 
 
 The Marchese snapped his fingers. " My 
 dear sir," he answered, " you are altogether 
 too English. We talk at cross purposes. 
 What on earth do I care about your nephew's 
 principles ? What do I care about his heredity, 
 if that's the right word for it ? Heredity's all 
 very well in its way, when you know the facts. 
 But you never know them. Isn't marriage 
 expressly invented to conceal Uiem ? It puts 
 a premium on denial of paternity. Haven't 
 you English an unusually sensible proverb 
 about it's being a wise child who knows his 
 own father ? " 
 
 It was Sir Emilius's turn now to be shocked 
 and insulted. " My dear sir," he exclaimed, 
 bristling up, ** remember ! my sister ! " Noth- 
 ing but tb fact that the Marchese was only 
 
The Point of View. 175 
 
 a foreigner could have restrained him from 
 deeply resentmg the imputation. 
 
 "Ah, yes," the Marchese interjected "I 
 forgot ! In England, of course ! You Eng- 
 hsh are so mipeccable. You have no romance 
 no love, no affection. These things don't 
 happen, chez vous. Whereas we other Italians 
 you see " ' 
 
 " Oh, with Italiansr Sir Emilius answered 
 drily, drawing himself up, " that's quite another 
 
 matter. But north of the Alps, Marchese " 
 
 " True, true," the Marchese mused. *' And 
 yet— there was your friend the poet He 
 caught the subtle aroma of life as it passed. 
 And he was an Englishman. No, no an 
 American. Yet English and Americans' are 
 alike in that. But then I suppose poets don't 
 count. They have no nationality— just the 
 poetic temperament." 
 
 *' He was the austerest and purest of men " 
 Sir Emihus said, too surprised to be angry. 
 
 Have you read his Givcndoline^ What 
 could be severer ? " 
 
 "His poetry? Ah, yes. Most ascetic, no 
 doubt But his ///^-ah, there ! I knew him 
 well Sir Emilius. He longed to be a saint- 
 but he loved to be a sinner." 
 
 " Well, Hubert, I believe, will get over this 
 mood, the Englishman went on, reverting to 
 the matter in hand. *' It is a natural revul- 
 sion. 
 
176 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 *' He must get over it," the Florentine an- 
 swered, ** or take the consequences. And you 
 know what those are ! Ah, here he comes to 
 answer for it." 
 
 As he spoke, Hubert entered, still as de- 
 jected and despondent as ever. Sir Emilius 
 tried to prompt him. ** I have been explain- 
 ing to the Marchese," he said, in his most 
 persuasive tone, ** that you are momentarily 
 taken aback by this unfortunate episode ; but 
 that, after you have had time for reflection and 
 consideration " 
 
 Hubert shook his head firmly. *' No, no," 
 he answered. ** Let us be clear about this. 
 If I am that man's son — I will never, never 
 marry Fede." 
 
 "You won't ?" the Marchese cried, stepping 
 closer. 
 
 " For her own sake, no," Hubert answered 
 firml}^ — " and for her possible children." 
 
 The Marchese's face grew red. *' My dear 
 sir," he said, " this is absurd, quixotic ! You 
 don't know what you're talking about. The 
 marriage is arranged, and must come off now. 
 I believed I was dealing with persons of honor. 
 I have telegraphed the facts to all the Floren- 
 tine journals, as well as to my family, and 
 have received in return the congratulations of 
 the Sindaco. By this time, my daughter's 
 engagement is the common talk of the Cascine. 
 To break it off at such a stage would be, you 
 
The Point of View. 177 
 
 must understand — as \vc Italians think — a 
 direct impugnment of my daughter's honor. 
 Nobody would suppose you could go back 
 upon your word now, except on grounds, — 
 which I decline to specify." His face grew 
 redder still. "You can't play fast and loose 
 in that way," he added, "with a Tornabuoni." 
 
 " But for Fede's own happiness, Mar- 
 chese " Hubert began. 
 
 " How dare you, sir ? " the Marchese cried, 
 turning upon him. " How dare you speak of 
 the Marchesa, my daughter, as Fede to my 
 face, in the very same breath in which you 
 tell me you do not mean to marry her ? Break 
 it off ? Not at all ! The thing's simply im- 
 possible ! What is her happiness, I'd like to 
 know, to the honor of the family ? Here on 
 the Continent we have oar ideas of honor. 
 We treat our marriages as binding contracts. 
 You shall not put a public slight upon my 
 daughter's reputation. We meet a public 
 slight — you know our way— by referring the 
 matter to the sword or the pistol. If you 
 persist in this course — this most absurd course 
 — I must ask you the name of some friend 
 who will act for you." 
 
 Sir Emilius tried once more to throw the 
 oil of pacification upon the troubled waters. 
 " Let this wear itself out, signore," he mur- 
 mured, touching the Italian's arm. " Hubert 
 
 in his present condition " 
 
 12 
 
178 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 " I don't care a damn for his present con- 
 dition ! " the Marchese answered angrily, with 
 idiomatic vigor. " It won't do ; I can't even 
 discuss the subject. As a Tornabuoni, I am 
 the guardian of my daughter's honor. No 
 man shall insult her, while I live, and go un- 
 punished. Your friend's name, sir ; your 
 friend's name ! This has gone beyond mere 
 talking ! " 
 
 Sir Emilius made one more unavailing effort. 
 " It is for the Marchesa's ow^n sake," he said 
 gently, *' that my nephew desired to break off 
 the marriage. I think he desires it on mistaken 
 grounds. He is too acutely apprehensive." 
 
 *' No, uncle," Hubert answered, growing 
 more fixed each minute. " It is a matter of 
 principle. I will not depart from the stand I 
 have taken. My mother had no right to marry 
 my father. Fede has no right to marry me. 
 Though she beg and implore me, I refuse to 
 put this grave wTong upon her." 
 
 The Marchese raised his voice. *' Then 
 you must take the consequences," he answered 
 haughtily. " Give me the name of your friend 
 —or I run you through, wherever I meet you, 
 for your insult to my daughter." 
 
 *' Papa ! papa ! " Fede cried, rushing in and 
 seizing his hand. The loud tones had reached 
 her. " Oh, Sir Emilius, separate them ! " 
 
 Mrs. Egremont followed the tremulous girl 
 into the room. Her face w^as wliite as death, 
 
The Point of View. 179 
 
 but terribly resolute. '' Hubert, darling/' she 
 said slowly, standing between the two men 
 "wait! Don't quarrel with Fede's father' 
 Marchese, I implore you, allow me to talk with 
 my boy a little. I think I can persuade him. 
 Ihis may be arranged even now." She spoke 
 witli resolution, but with deadly earnestness. 
 
 1 he Marchese looked down at her with icy 
 politeness. ''Certainly, dear lady," he an- 
 swered, with Italian courtesy. " Your sex can 
 do much. Perhaps it may even assist you to 
 persuade this headstrong young fanatic." He 
 paused for a second and mused. " Yon more 
 than any one else," he added, after a second's 
 thought. " The entanglement is, perhaps, not 
 quite so impossible as the signore fancies." 
 
 Mrs. Egremont waved Sir Emilius with one 
 hand from the room. The Marchese bowed 
 and accompanied him. Fede clung to her nevv 
 friend, " Must / go too ?" she asked plead- 
 ingly. 
 
 Mrs. Egremont stooped down and kissed her 
 tenderly. " Yes, dear, you must go," she said, 
 in a very gentle voice, yet tremulous with cour- 
 age. " It is for your own sake, Fede. Wait 
 for us in my bedroom. I will call you when I 
 want you." 
 
 "But nothing you can say will alter me 
 mother," Hubert added, in a tone of abject 
 despair. " I have made up my mind. That 
 person's son can never marry." 
 
i8o A Splendid Sin. 
 
 Fede cast a glance at him as she left the 
 room. *' Marry me or not, darling," she cried, 
 *' I am yours forever. I shall be true to my 
 name. Pvly faith shall be faithful." 
 
 ? 
 
 I 
 
A Great Confession. ■ i8i 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 A GREAT CONFESSION. 
 
 Mrs. Egremont flung herself in despair on 
 the sofa. She trembled violently, and her lips 
 quivered ; but her air was resolute. Hubert 
 seated himself by her side, his hands folded 
 despondently. 
 
 " My boy," the mother said softly at last, " I 
 have somethingtotellyou— something I hoped 
 never to breathe while I lived— though after 
 I was dead I always meant that you should 
 know it. I had written it down in my desk to 
 tell you. But you compel me to speak now. 
 I can't Iielp it any longer. I can't delay it." 
 
 " Go on, mother," Hubert said gloomily, 
 taking her hand in his. " I am strong enough 
 — and crushed enough— to bear anything now. 
 Nothing on earth matters to me." 
 
 ** This will matter to you," Mrs. Egremont 
 said, in a very grave voice. ** Oh, where can I 
 begin ? " She cast about for an opening. 
 ** Hubert, help me, my boy. Can't you guess ? 
 Can't you spare me ? Something that will 
 enable you to marry Fede," 
 
i82 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 Hubert looked at her, dull as a leaden sky. 
 The English boy's implicit belief and faith in 
 his mother prevented him for one moment 
 from guessing the fact she was trying to tell him. 
 
 "Impossible!" he said. "Impossible! I 
 will not and cannot." 
 
 The mother braced herself up for a painful 
 effort. " Listen, Hubert," she said, speaking 
 low. " I was married at seventeen, as I told 
 you this morning. What did I know of life 
 then ? I have explained to you //ow, and you 
 have seen with your eyes to what sort of person. 
 Married to a man I could not possibly love — 
 a man I soon learned to hate and despise as 
 much as I loathed him." 
 
 " You might have been married to him," 
 Hubert answered slowly, " but why did you 
 consent to go on living with him ? Every 
 w^oman is the guardian of her own purity. To 
 live with a man she loathes is a dishonor and 
 degradation to her own body." 
 
 "So//^ told me," Mrs. Egremont whispered. 
 But Hubert was deaf. He could not under- 
 stand her. 
 
 " Why did you live with him ? " he went on, 
 more in w^onder than reproach. " Why did 
 you let him remain with you ?" 
 
 " I did not— for one moment longer than I 
 could help," Mrs. Egremont answered, whisper- 
 ing low\ ** I bought him off, and sent him 
 awa}^, as soon as I w^as able." 
 
A Great Confession. 183 
 
 " A year too late," Hubert answered. *' And 
 /am here to prove it." 
 
 Mrs. Egremont clasped her hands. ** No, 
 darling, no," she cried. '* Bear with me, Hu- 
 bert. I must tell it my own way, if I'm to tell it 
 at all. Oh, how can I ever tell it ? I lived with 
 him, and hated him ; but, thank God ! I was 
 childless. That alone consoled me. Four 
 years after my marriage I went witli him to 
 Venice. I had no baby yet, then, and prayed, 
 oh, how fervently, I might never have one. 
 To bear a child for ////;/, I felt, would have 
 been cruel— no, criminal." She paused, and 
 
 looked hard at her son. " At Venice " she 
 
 went on, then broke off suddenly ; " do you 
 begin to understand, Hubert ? " 
 
 The young man nestled close to her. "Go 
 on," he cried. *' Go on ! I begin to suspect. 
 You give me fresh hope, mother." 
 
 ''At Venice," the mother continued, hiding 
 her face in her hands, " I met a Man— a very 
 great Man— the greatest I ever knew— who 
 fascinated me deeply. I admired and re- 
 spected him. Hubert, Hubert, need I say any 
 more to you ? " 
 
 Hubert leaned eagerly forward. " Yes, yes," 
 he cried. " Go on ! I must know it all—all ! 
 Tell me everything, mother ! " 
 
 "You said you wished the truth," Mrs. 
 Egremont moaned faintly. 
 
 " I wishthe truth," Hubert answered. " By 
 
i84 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 that wc live. Go on, go on ! I knoiv it was 
 well, mother ! " 
 
 " He loved me," the trembling woman went 
 on. " He loved me, and he told me so. I 
 loved him, and 1 denied it. I thought it was 
 wrong to love ; I thought it was right to eon- 
 ceal the truth. But he found it out in spite 
 of me. ' We needs must love the highest when 
 we see it,' he used to say, and — I loved him 
 wdth all the purest love of my nature. Two 
 things I longed for — sympathy, and a child. 
 He gave me sympathy, and he told me mater- 
 nity was a sacred right and duty of woman- 
 hood." 
 
 " He said the truth," Hubert cried, drawing 
 closer and closer to the trembling mother. 
 *' Till she has borne a child, no woman has 
 realized her own whole nature." 
 
 " He w^as beautiful and noble-hearted," Mrs. 
 Egremont went on — " a leader among men ; a 
 teacher and thinker ; and there, in those glo- 
 rious streets, among those glorious churches, 
 he taught me new lessons— oh, Hubert, dare I 
 say them ? He taught me it was wrong for me 
 to remain one day longer under the same roof 
 with the husband whom I loathed— told me in 
 almost the self-same words as those you used 
 to-day, that in yielding myself up to a man I 
 despised, I profaned and dishonored my own 
 body." 
 
 "Dear mother," the son said, "go on ! I 
 
A Great Confession. 185 
 
 know all now ; but tell it me ; tell it me ! " 
 His voice was eager. 
 
 Mrs. Egremont hid her head, overcome with 
 womanly shame. " He told me," she whis- 
 pered, " I ought to trust my own heart, and 
 defy conventions. He said the bond that bound 
 me to that man was cruel and unholy. He 
 spoke so earnestly, he loved nie so purely, 
 that, bit by bit he overcame my scruples. I 
 could not conceal it from myself or from 
 him. I loved him to distraction." 
 
 Hubert smoothed her hand with a gentle 
 pressure, but answered nothing. 
 
 " One evening at Venice," the mother contin- 
 ued, *' he pressed me close to his heart— his 
 great beautiful heart — oh, close, so close ; and 
 he cried aloud to me, in a sense I had never 
 before realized, those beautiful words, ' Whom 
 God hath joined together, let not man put 
 asunder.' The voice of God within us had 
 joined us, he said ; man's laws and conventions 
 should not avail to sever us." 
 
 " I know that voice, too," Hubert cried, lean- 
 ing forward. " I know those very thoughts. 
 They are mine, mother, mine ! I see the truth 
 now. He must have been my father — that 
 pure great soul, not the wretched drunkard. 
 I recognize his spirit ! Am I his son, dear 
 mother ?" 
 
 He said it caressingly. He said it eagerly. 
 He said it as one asks some supreme favor. 
 
i86 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 Mrs. Egremont bowed her head, and dared 
 not look him in the face as her lips answered 
 low, " How shall I tell you the truth ? You are 
 his son, Hubert ! " 
 
 "And his name?" Hubert cried, pressing 
 forward breathlessly. 
 
 " I can't say it aloud," the mother replied, 
 still trembling with anxiety ; " but — stoop 
 down here — closer — at your ear — I will whis- 
 per it." 
 
 She whispered one word in his ear. Hubert 
 started, amazed. It was indeed a great name. 
 " What, the poet ? " he cried, gasping. 
 
 His mother hung her head with a gesture of 
 deprecation. "Yes, the poet," she answered. 
 
 In a revulsion of pride and joy, Hubert 
 clasped her in his arms, and kissed her many 
 times ecstatically. " Thank you, mother," he 
 said simply. "Thank you ! Thank you ! " 
 
 " Oh, hush, Hubert," the mother interposed. 
 " Suppose any one were to hear ! Don't 
 thank me for that I It was a sin they say, a 
 very great sin— and bitterly am I expiating it." 
 
 "It was a splendid sin," Hubert cried cling- 
 ing fondly to her hand, " and from my heart I 
 thank you for it. Such sins are purer far than 
 half this w^orld's purity. It is love — and nat- 
 ural fitness— not the woid of a priest or a law, 
 that sanctifies. And the result shows it. To 
 be that great soul's son— not the loathsome 
 drunkard's ! " 
 
A Great Confession. 187 
 
 *' My darling," Mrs. Egremont cried, now 
 weeping bitterly with the reaction from that 
 moment of effort. " you frighten me when you 
 say so. You don't know what pangs and re- 
 morses it has given me." 
 
 ** It need have given you none," Hubert ex- 
 claimed. '* It gave you them only because you 
 but half understood him. Your lieart told you 
 true. Your poet was right. He knew what 
 was best. You have given me a noble and a 
 glorious father ! " 
 
 The mother clung to him still. " Oh, Hu- 
 bert," she cried, "if you say so, my boy, I am 
 justified. He wanted to raise up a son like 
 himself, he said. He wanted to raise him up 
 by the woman meant for him. He told me we 
 two were meant by nature for one another. 
 But I doubted it still. You can't think what 
 a relief it is to me now to have told you." 
 
 **I trust the truth," Hubert answered slowly. 
 ** It is all so new and strange ; but " — and he 
 paused— " this, this is the father I had always 
 dreamed of." 
 
 " And I told you the truth," Mrs. Egremont 
 added wistfully. " I told you the truth, as far 
 as I could tell it. Far more than you thought. 
 I told you he was dead. I told you he was in- 
 deed a father to be proud of. I told you he 
 had many great and splendid qualities. I told 
 you half : but I could never tell you how great 
 and pure he was— my love, my poet I " 
 
i88 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 " Does my uncle know ? " Hubert ventured, 
 after a moment's pause. 
 
 *' Not a soul on earth but myself ! I have 
 hidden it in my heart — deep, deep, unspoken 
 — ever since that white soul died ten years ago 
 in Florence. But— I loved him — I loved him 
 — oh, Hubert, how I loved him ! " 
 
 She raised her head and looked her son in 
 the face now. The knowledge of his approval 
 had taken all sense of false shame aw^ay from 
 her. It was his father's face. More than 
 ever, she saw it so. 
 
 " And that man — your husband ? " Hubert 
 asked. " The man to whom you were nobly un- 
 faithful. Did he know what had happened ? " 
 
 " He never even suspected it," Mrs. Egre- 
 mont answered. "He was far too drunk to 
 know or to trouble himself about anything that 
 happened. I left him at once as soon as— as 
 soon as I was sure what was going to happen 
 to me ; as soon as I felt a new life within me. 
 And yon are the son of that moment of pro- 
 foundest passion ! " 
 
 She said it confidently now ; she said it al- 
 most proudly. She saw, she felt the father in 
 the son. She no longer shrank from him. 
 "Then all is easynow^," Hubert cried. "I can 
 marry Fede." 
 
 His mother flung her arms round him in a 
 transport of joy. " I thank heaven I have had 
 the courage to tell you," she whispered. " You 
 
A Great Confession. 189 
 
 can marry Fede. I would never have dared to 
 tell it, though, my darling, if I had not over- 
 heard what you said the other night in this very 
 room to your uncle. I have thought so often 
 since of those glorious words you quoted from 
 Meredith — * The real sin would have been if she 
 
 and I had met, and ' They comforted me 
 
 deeply. So too did your own comment : 
 * There are positive duties in life as wxll as neg- 
 ative. If it is a duty to abstain from peopling 
 the world with the unfit, is it not equally a 
 duty to do what we can towards peopling it 
 with the fittest ? ' " And she looked at him 
 proudly. 
 
 There was another long pause. Each gazed 
 on each with profound earnestness. "And 
 you forgive me ? " the mother asked at last, 
 with a momentary shrinking. 
 
 ** Forgive you ? Dear mother, I have noth- 
 ing to forgive ! I have everything to thank 
 3^ou for. You took care to ensure me a splen- 
 did birthright. One thing alone I regret." 
 He gazed at her wistfully. " I shall have to 
 bear that wretched creature's name through 
 life," he said—" instead of the one I am right- 
 fully entitled to." 
 
 " You will," his mother said — " for my sake. 
 . . . And for vours^ I regret it." 
 
 " So do I," Hubert answered. " But I will 
 bear it still, for your sake alone — not for fear 
 of th'j base lies that enslave and unman us." 
 
190 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 They leaned back and were silent. A whiff 
 of tobacco smoke broke suddenly upon their 
 reverie. Mother and son looked up with one 
 accord. Again that unspeakably hateful ap- 
 parition ! Colonel Egremont was standing on 
 the balcony by the open window, with arms 
 akimbo, regarding them cynically. 
 
Colonel Egremont Sees his V/ay. 191 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 COLONEL EGREMONT SEES HIS WAY. 
 
 He had a cigar in his mouth, but he with- 
 drew it jauntily. 
 
 " Forgive this persistence," he said, smiling. 
 ** Family feeling ! Family feeling ! Restitu- 
 tion of conjugal rights is all I ask for. And — 
 I've ventured to take it. When you locked 
 me out of the door, my dear Julia, with such 
 unnatural cruelty — you forgot it was easy for 
 me to come in by the window." 
 
 Mrs. Egremont seized her son's arm. " Oh, 
 Hubert," she cried, low, *' did he hear, do you 
 think ? Did he hear us ? " 
 
 ** I don't fancy he did," Hubert answered, 
 whispering. " And if he did, I don't care. 
 He is a drunken lunatic, or next door to it. 
 Nobody would pay the slightest heed to his 
 chatter." He turned to the wretched creature. 
 ** Leave the room, sir," he said, pointing to the 
 window by which the man had entered, "or 
 take your choice of being thrown out. I will 
 permit no insolence." 
 
 Colonel Egremont advanced a step. " Take 
 
192 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 care, young man," he cried. '* You touch me 
 at your peril ! " 
 
 Hubert was just about to seize him, when 
 Mrs. Egremont intervened with an imploring 
 look. "For my sake, Hubert, let him stop! 
 We can answer liim now. We understand 
 one anotlier, my boy— you and I — and we have 
 nothing more to fear from him." 
 
 The Colonel stepped forward, looking about 
 him gingerly. " That Italian brigand's gone ?" 
 he said, peering round the chairs as if in 
 doubt. " Yes ? Then here we are, en fa- 
 inille ! We can proceed to business ! " 
 
 Hubert shuddered at his breath. " He's 
 drunk, mother," he said, low. " He reeks of 
 brandy." 
 
 " Well, yes," the Colonel replied, drawing 
 himself up with dignity, and squinting through 
 his eyeglass, *' I do my duty in the matter of 
 brandy. I Hatter myself, I am the chief sup- 
 port of that vast industry." 
 
 Then for the first time it began to dawn 
 upon Hubert that the man's bravado was 
 an initial stage in the form of madness 
 know^n as megalomania, where the lunatic, 
 at first humorously, but afterwards seriously, 
 exaggerates to a gross and ludicrous ex- 
 tent the importance of all his ow^n pettiest 
 actions. 
 
 Mrs. Egremont laid her hand on her son's 
 arm gently. " Don't bandy words with him, 
 
Colonel Egremont Sees his Way. 193 
 
 Hubert," she whispered. " Hear him out, and 
 have done with him." 
 
 " Exactly my own idea," the Colonel an- 
 swered blandly. " Most excellent advice. 
 Short and sweet just suits me. I come to the 
 point. I'm here without funds ; not a sou, not 
 a rap, not a doit, not a stiver. I'm uncertain, 
 I admit, as to the precise nature and value of 
 the common stiver ; but I'm sure I haven't got 
 one. So what I want to know is simply this, 
 Julia. Are you or are you not going to find 
 that two hundred pounds for me, and to in- 
 crease the miserable pittance you allow me to a 
 thousand a year ? " He assumed once more 
 his mock-pathetic air. " Must I ask you twice 
 about it ? " 
 
 The touch of humor about the man, the 
 comicality of his appeals, the very cleverness 
 of his talk, increased his loathsomeness. He 
 would have been a trifle less repulsive wxre it 
 not for his good-humor. His horrid uncon- 
 sciousness of his own utter degradation made 
 Hubert recoil from him. " Don't answer him, 
 mother," the young man said, appealing to 
 her. '* On what ground does he ask for it ? 
 Why should he not earn his own bread like 
 other people ? " 
 
 " God bless my soul," Colonel Egremont 
 cried, *' what else did I marry her for ? Is sh^ 
 to gain the privilege of having me as her hus- 
 band, and bearing the honored name of Egre- 
 
194 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 mont — one of the best in Lancashire — all for 
 nothing? No, no, young fellow, I shall have 
 my rights, I tell you. She had a tidy little 
 fortune of her own when I married her." 
 
 " Most of which you've long ago squandered," 
 Mrs. Egrcmont said, interposing. 
 
 The Colonel poised himself blandly. 
 "Well, I've done my best, I acknowledge," he 
 said, *' to prevent you from wasting it on your 
 own selfish pleasures. Tve used it royally. 
 Did you ever know me pander for a moment 
 to the better elements of my nature, Julia ? 
 Still, we shared and shared alike in both our 
 fortunes ; so thafs all even. With all my 
 worldly goods I thee endowed — fourteen pence 
 in the pound to compound with my creditors 
 — and you made up the deficit." 
 
 ** Promise him anything, Hubert," Mrs. 
 Egremont cried, with a sudden rush of dis- 
 gust ; *' only, get rid of him instantly." 
 
 *' I will promise him nothing, mother," Hu- 
 bert answered sternly, " and I earnestly hope 
 you will not either. — Leave the room, sir, this 
 moment, or I shall ring for the servants of the 
 hotel to remove you." 
 
 The Colonel struck a mock-tragic attitude. 
 "Then 3^our sentence is for open war?" he 
 said rhetorically. 
 
 "My sentence is for open war," Hubert 
 answered, with a contemptuous dash of the 
 hand. " I have nothing to do with you. You 
 
Colonel Egremont Sees his Way. 195 
 
 may try your worst. Anything rather than 
 continue to disgrace my mother's rooms with 
 your disgusting presence." 
 
 " That's pretty hot," the Colonel ejaculated, 
 wiping his brow with the back of his hand, 
 and gazing round the room for some imaginary 
 spectator. " Well, war let it be, then ; I'm an 
 old campaigner. But I won't begin operations 
 without all due formalities. If we must be 
 belligerents, I give you due notice, I mean 
 henceforth to act upon the offensive. No more 
 skulking about upon the Continent for me ! I 
 shall carry the war into the enemy's country. 
 When next we meet, we meet at Mil worth ! " 
 
 " I accept your challenge," Hubert answered. 
 "I am not afraid of you." 
 
 The Colonel advanced yet a step. ** And 
 mind you, Julia," he said, " w^hen I come to 
 Milworth, I come to stay. I shall institute an 
 action for Restitution of Conjugal Rights. By 
 George, I mean it. You shall receive me again 
 as your lawful husband." 
 
 " You dare not show your face in England," 
 Mrs. Egremont cried, flushing. "You know 
 you dare not ! That bill of exchange — and 
 those cheques of General Walker's ! " 
 
 The Colonel smiled calmly. " Blown over ! " 
 he said, with a wave of one hand. " Blown over, 
 long ago ! I'm game to try, anyhow. There 
 was only one man left alive in England whose 
 evidence against me would have been worth 
 
i<)f> A Splcinliil Sin. 
 
 twoprtuc—t hat's W'alkiM' ; .nid il \\\,\y iiHrrrst 
 you lo know thai I saw his iKath in thr TiniiS 
 at laiv^antv' 
 
 Ho plavoil that trump v aid with an ins(»K'ni 
 snulo. 1 \v havl ^ onir th( re, \\\ lavt, in laii^c part 
 to plav it. Mrs. Mi^riMuont shrank ironi hnn. 
 " Hul tho othc I thin>;s ? " she saiil, hesitatnii;. 
 
 The (.'olonel kuiy;hc(l. " ( )h, no," hr answered 
 quietly. " I'he pubhe proseentt^r isn't K<'hij.$ 
 to rako up oKI seandals hke that at this time 
 of day just {o gratily yon, my dear. He's had 
 more than en(mv;h o\ them. The authorities 
 prefer to keep those thin);s (]niet. Anyhow, 
 I'll risk it. You shall see me baek at Milwoith 
 before Umij;, dear Juha. ' And he kissed his 
 hand to her. 
 
 Hubert eould standi it no h^Ui^er. He ad- 
 vanced and l.ndhis h.md on the old seoundrel's 
 shoulder. ** Von have said enoui;h," he mur- 
 nuned. in a very low voice. '* Now, .c;o ! W'c 
 know your intentions. In my mother's name 
 I tell vou plainlv, von shall not have one 
 penny now, nor one penny ever if you come to 
 Mil worth." And he pushed him backwards 
 forcibly towards the balconv. 
 
 - Hullo : What's this ? "" the Colonel cried, 
 fairly surprised that Hubert should actually 
 lay hands on him. " You're my son, young 
 man, remember. Will vou assault vour 
 father ? " 
 
 '* Your son I " Hubert cried, hardly able to 
 
Coloiiil lO^tcinniil Sees liin Way. i*)7 
 
 r<Mil;im himsrll. " )'<'///' son ! " And he K'lvo 
 ,u\ nnplotiiiK look low.nds liis inotiK r. 
 
 Mrs. PiKit^'Minnl's (,i( (• was slill (InslK d wilh 
 Ihc joy and piidr and shame <»1 lici i nnlcssmn 
 lo her hoy. She i (luhl nnl I(M>|< al Ihal \vi( h hcd 
 sol who had oikc hccn hci hnshand wilhont 
 the prohunKh'sl loalhni^. Shonid he < all lln< 
 hei 1 his son ? I Icr whole sotd revolled fKMn il. 
 She rose np and laicd hnn wilh a snddiii 
 Ircninloiis rcsolnlion. " lie is no/ yonr son," 
 shr eiied, llini;inK Hh; words delianlly in Ihc 
 old man's fare. " I Ic is the son of len Ihonsand 
 limes a nobler and heller man Ihan y(Mi arc." 
 
 Ilnherl lei his hand f;ill. " Now yon know 
 Ihe whole Irnlh," he s;iid calmly, iS,'d/A\]^ fnll at 
 Colonel 10)4remonl. 
 
 The molher sank haik on Ihe sofa in a sud- 
 den revnision of alarm and lerror. Whal had 
 she done ? Whal had she done? What was 
 this she had said in the impnisc of a moment ? 
 lie mij^ht pnhlish it to the world ; he might 
 shame her ; he might rnin her ! 
 
 l^ut C(;l()nel lOgreinont drew back, trying to 
 take it all in vvitli that drnnkcn head of his. 
 *' Not my son ! " he muttered slowly. " Ten 
 thousand times a nobler and better man than 
 I am ! " Then he burst of a sudden into a loud, 
 harsh kmgh. " So Ihdt's how things lie, is it ? " 
 he cried, steadying himself by the lintel of the 
 window. ** I sec it all now. So you choose 
 to play my game ! Well lant niieux pour nioi ! 
 
198 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 I had an inkling of this before. I half suspected 
 as much that last winter at Venice ! " 
 
 Mrs. Egremont cowered in her place, now 
 overcome with remorse. The mad impulse of 
 a moment had thrown away everything. 
 
 The Colonel let his eyeglass drop, gazed hard 
 at her, and spoke very slowly. " I think I 
 could put a name to it," he said at last. And 
 he glanced aside at the photograph. 
 
 Mrs. Egremont clasped her hands and fol- 
 lowed his eyes silently. 
 
 **You w^ere always hanging about with him 
 in a gondola," the husband went on. " I won- 
 der it didn't occur to me. Ha, ha, ha ; what 
 a stroke of luck ! " He turned to Hubert. 
 ** I don't know whether you're aware of it or 
 not, young man," he said ; *' but— this exceed- 
 ingly frank confession disinherits you. If you're 
 not my son, you have no claim to Milworth. 
 By your grandfather's will, and the marriage 
 settlements, it's your mother's for life ; but, 
 after her, it goes to the children of the mar- 
 riage." 
 
 *• And I am proud to say," Hubert an- 
 swered, *' that I am not a child of the mar- 
 riage." 
 
 " Oh, that's all very fine now," the Colonel 
 continued, swelling visibly with pride ; " but 
 you've got to remember, the property's entailed 
 on the children of the marriage — with remain- 
 der to me, if there are no children, to dispose 
 
Colonel Egrcmont Sees his Way. 199 
 
 of as I like, without any restriction. Aha, 
 young fellow, there I have you on tlie hip ! 
 So you'd better just compromise. I'm prepared 
 to negotiate." He struck a judicial attitude. 
 " If you can't confine your skeleton to its na- 
 tive cupboard," he said, with emphasis, " the 
 next best thing is to dress it up smart, and 
 walk out in the Park with it, arm in arm to- 
 gether, as if you loved it. My proposal is — 
 I come back to Mllworth." 
 
 " What he says is true, Hubert," Mrs. Egrc- 
 mont murmured low. " He can will the estate 
 away from you." 
 
 " It seems strange," Hubert answered, 
 amazed, *' that a man can't inherit his own 
 mother's property." 
 
 " But in law," the Colonel cried, catching a 
 murmur of the words, *' an illegitimate son is 
 not related to his own mother ; and we know 
 from Blackstone that the law is the perfection 
 of wisdom ! " 
 
 Hubert advanced towards him once more. 
 " This time you must go," he said firmly. " I 
 will have no shilly-shallying. We are not 
 afraid of you. You may do your worst. But 
 recollect this— if you come to England, you 
 shall never receive one penny further." 
 
 He made a threatening move forward. The 
 Colonel, having gained all he wanted for the 
 moment, retreated strategically before him. 
 ** Well, good morning, Julia," he said, with a 
 
200 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 deep mock bow. '* We shall meet at Philippi 
 ~I mean to say, Milworth." 
 
 And he retired by the balcony with pre- 
 tended ceremoniousness. 
 
 She had given herself away. She had given 
 him Milworth. 
 
And Fede ? 201 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 AND FEDE ? 
 
 Mrs. Egremont sank back on the sofa once 
 more, terrified. "Oh, what have I done?" 
 she cried, clasping her hands. " What have 
 I done ? My poor boy, I have ruined you ! " 
 
 Hubert smoothed her hair once more with 
 his hand. " Dear mother," he answered, " you 
 have done nothing at all. What is Milworth 
 to me, compared to the relief of knowing after 
 all I am a great man's son — not that besotted 
 creature's ? Even if Mihvorth were lost, I am 
 young, and strong, and a Fellow of my college ; 
 I am far better off than nine men out of ten 
 who were with me at Oxford. I could earn 
 enough for myself, and for you and Fede. 
 But Milworth will not go. He cannot take it. 
 My grandfather meant it should be yours and 
 your children's ; the silly phrase about " issue 
 of her body, lawfully begotten," is a mere 
 verbal trick and catchword of the lawyers. 
 Suppose even he tries to prove his point— what 
 evidence has he for the matter but your word ? 
 What corroboration, what witnesses ? If he 
 
202 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 goes about talking after so long a lapse of time, 
 nobody will believe him. He may talk till 
 he dies, and the whole world will laugh at 
 him. But he will not talk. His very insanity 
 will urge him to secretiveness." 
 
 Mrs. Egremont wrung her hands. " Oh, 
 why did I tell him ? " she cried, in her reac- 
 tion. '* Why did I tell him ? " 
 
 " If yoii had not told him, I think / should 
 have been forced to tell," Hubert answered 
 calmly. " I could not stand his vile insinua- 
 tion that I was born of such a father as he is. 
 Now I know the truth, that imputation shocks 
 me. Dear mother, you immensely exaggerate 
 the importance of his threats. He could only 
 take action after your death, and in case he 
 survived you. But he will not survive you. 
 If only you knew the man's state as well as I 
 do ! He's nore than half delirious mad 
 already, and the slightest extra strain will 
 drive him into an asylum. There he'll die 
 within six months — and nobody will believe 
 him." 
 
 '' But meanwhile, meanwhile ? " Mrs. Egre- 
 mont said faintly. 
 
 "There is no meanwhile," Hubert answered. 
 ** He is on the very verge of a nervous break- 
 down. If he were to try any large issue, the 
 shock and excitement would kill him instantly. 
 I handled him gently just now, because, to 
 say the truth, I was afraid of killing him. For 
 
And Fede ? 203 
 
 your sake, I didn't wish him to die before your 
 eyes. His heart is all gone to pieces. You 
 need not be afraid of him. Now, the next 
 thing is, I must explain this to Fede.'* 
 
 '* Explain this to Fede ? " Mrs. Egremont 
 cried, drawing back. " Oh, Hubert, never ! " 
 
 " I must break it to her somehow, dearest 
 mother," Hubert said, leaning over her tenderly. 
 " But you need not be afraid of her. I feel 
 sure we can trust her. You see, I must 
 account somehow for this change of front. 
 Only an hour ago, I told her I could never, 
 never marry her. Now, after what I have 
 learned — that I am the inheritor of a great 
 man's noble qualities — of course I need no 
 longer hesitate to take her. And I must give 
 sowe reason for my altered attitude." 
 
 Mrs. Egremont clung to him. "But, Hubert," 
 she cried passionately, overcome with false 
 shame, *' do you think it is necessary ? Oh, 
 darling, wait at least. Take time, take time to 
 reflect and consider. Don't act precipitately. 
 How do we know what a young girl like that 
 may choose to think of it ? It was different 
 with you, darling. For one thing, you are my 
 son ; for another thing, you are a man ; for a 
 third, you are a philosopher, a thinker, a 
 reasoner. But — a pure young girl like that ! 
 Suppose, when she hears, she were to hate and 
 despise me ?" 
 
 Hubert kissed away her tears, " No, mother," 
 
204 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 he said, '* no ; now is the moment to act. Now 
 is tlie time to tell her. She is waiting anxiously 
 in your room to know what all this means. 
 She will willingly embrace any explanation 
 that makes it possible for me to marry her. 
 Besides, I feel sure I can depend upon Fede. 
 I have faith in her faithfulness. She is Italian, 
 you know, and she understands passion quite 
 otherwise than our English girls. She is 
 Oxford-bred, again, and she understands reason 
 more than most other women. She will take 
 the story in its true light ; she will, I know — 
 for she has seen your husband ! " 
 
 He rose to call Fede. Mrs. Egremont still 
 clung to him. " But her father must know 
 too," she cried ; " and, oh, Hubert, I could 
 never bear that ! Any talk of it would kill me." 
 
 Hubert disentwined her clinging arms gently. 
 " He need not know," he answered. " His 
 point of view is so different. It will be 
 necessary to say no more to her father than 
 that, on second thoughts, I find my difficulties 
 altogether removed, and that no sufficient 
 obstacle prevents my marrying Fede. That 
 will satisfy the Marchese. It is all he asks of 
 me. The property is his aim. To him, this 
 is merely a matter of business." He unwound 
 the clasping arms with difficulty, and moved 
 over to the door. " Fede," he called out, 
 opening it, *' Fede ! " 
 
 By the very sound of his voice, the poor 
 
And Fede ? 205 
 
 girl recognized at once that all was well, and 
 entered the room radiant. " Yes, darling," 
 she cried, rushing up to him. 
 
 " Fede," Hubert said, in a very slow voice, 
 ** it is all a mistake, dearest. That wretched 
 creature is not my father. I can marry you 
 after all. He is nothing to me— nothing." 
 
 Fede flung herself into his arms, and burst 
 into a little flood of hysterical tears. " I told 
 you so," she cried. " I told you so, dearest. 
 I was sure of it all along. I knew it, Hubert. 
 My name was justified. I had faith in you — 
 faith ! My heart against 3^our brain ! My 
 instinct against your science ! " 
 
 She lay in his arms for a moment, indulging 
 her love. Then she withdrew with reluctance, 
 and turned to Mrs. Egremont. The two 
 women stood there, trembling, and faced each 
 other. Mrs. Egremont's eyes were fixed on 
 the floor. Fede half understood what was 
 next to follow. 
 
 She glanced across tenderly at her future 
 husband's mother. " Then he was an impostor 
 after all," she said, in her gentle voice. " It 
 was true what Hubert said. His own father 
 died — years ago — did he not? And this 
 man " she faltered. 
 
 Mrs. Egremont raised her eyes and fixed 
 them steadily, with an effort, on the young 
 girl's face. " Dear Hubert's father died," she 
 said, hesitating, " ten years ago— at Florence." 
 
2o6 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 "And this wretched creature is not your 
 husband ? " Fede put in, with a deep flush. 
 
 Hubert looked at her earnestly. His face 
 was grave. " This wretched creature is my 
 mother's husband," he said in plain words, 
 " but not my father. As you are to marry me, 
 darling, it is well you should know it. You had 
 faith in me, Fede : I have faith in you." And 
 he gazed into her eyes with deep intentness. 
 
 Fede drew back, and caught her breath 
 suddenly. 
 
 Mrs. Egremont fell away in turn, and fixed 
 her gaze on the girl, terrified. " Oh, Fede," 
 she cried, " I have shocked you. Do you un- 
 derstand now ? Can you — can you ever again 
 speak to me ? " 
 
 "Wait ! " Hubert cried. " Let me tell her 
 all. She must know the whole truth." He 
 pointed to the photograph. " That v^as my 
 father, Fede," he said, with deep pride. "The 
 poet, your father's friend, whom you saw, you 
 told me, as a child, in Florence ! " 
 
 Still Fede stood blushing. " My child, my 
 child," Mrs. Egremont cried, unable to endure 
 the suspense any longer, " if you hate me for 
 it, tell me so ! " 
 
 Fede turned to her in amaze. " Could I 
 wish our Hubert to be that other man's son ? " 
 she answered, wondering. 
 
 Mrs. Egremont stretched out wild arms of 
 passionate yearning towards her. " Then you 
 
And Fede ? 207 
 
 won't renounce me, Fede?" she cried, gasp- 
 ing. 
 
 The girl rushed into her embrace and 
 covered her with hot kisses. " Mother, dear 
 mother," she cried, using that sacred name 
 naturally, ** I love you, I love you ! How 
 sweet of you to trust me ! I loved you from 
 the very first moment I saw you. I love you 
 now ten times better than ever." And she 
 clung to her in an ecstasy. 
 
 " I thanked her for giving me such a father," 
 Hubert whispered in her ear. " Do you thank 
 her, Fede?" 
 
 Fede clasped her to her breast. " I thank 
 you, dearest," she murmured, and laid her 
 hand trustfully on the elder woman's shoulder. 
 " You have done more for me than that. You 
 have given me Hubert." 
 
 ■y, I 
 
2o8 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 THE colonel's PLANS. 
 
 The Marchese, as Hubert had justly antici- 
 pated, asked for his part no awkward ques- 
 tions. He was a man of the world, of the 
 Italian pattern ; his tolerance was broad. So 
 long as Hubert announced his intention of 
 marrying Fede, and salved the slight to the 
 honor of the Tornabuoni, he felt little inclined 
 to stir up unpleasant bygones. He made no 
 comment upon Hubert's volte-face. To let 
 sleeping dogs lie was the wisdom of his philos- 
 ophy. So he merely shrugged his shoulders 
 in his lazy, easy-going, Florentine way, and 
 remarked that, provided only the Property was 
 safe, it was no part of a prudent father's busi- 
 ness to inquire by w^hat curious process of 
 logic Hubert had come to accept a situation 
 which one hour before he had declared un- 
 tenable. " Droll people these English, Fede," 
 he said, between the puffs of a cigarette. 
 ** My mother was English ; my wife was Eng- 
 lish ; my daughter is English ; yet hang me if 
 after fifty years of knowing them, I understand 
 
The Colonel's Plans. 209 
 
 their point of view any better than I did when 
 I was a lad of twenty." Nevertheless, though 
 he said it not, he had his suspicions of the 
 grounds of action. 
 
 So everybody was satisfied— except the 
 Colonel. 
 
 Nay, the Colonel himself strolled away from 
 that singular interview with a pleasing sense 
 that things were turning out for him better than 
 he anticipated. " Even you must feel," Hubert 
 said to him, as he disappeared through the 
 window, "that no good purpose can now be 
 served by prolonging any further this painful 
 situation. It is unhappy for us, and humiliat- 
 ing for you — if anything can humiliate you." 
 
 The Colonel slunk off, ruminating on those 
 words. He held his head high, however, as 
 was the wont of his mania. "Oh, pray don't 
 mention it," he muttered to himself, in his man- 
 of-the-world way, as he strolled along the 
 balcony. " Happy to go, I'm sure. Never 
 desire to intrude where the pleasure of my com- 
 pany is not appreciated. Sorry I disturbed 
 the tranquillity of this charming wedding party. 
 They're at it already among themselves, by all 
 that I can see — quarreling like cats and dogs 
 with one another over the plunder — my 
 plunder ! Very unprincipled lot. Not dis- 
 pleased to be rid of them. Best intentions in 
 the w^orld, I'm sure ; only wanted to give them 
 my paternal blessing— cheap at two hundred, 
 14 
 
210 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 ami a moderate allowance. But if people re- 
 fuse to receive the visits of their own husbands 
 and fathers in an amicable spirit, why, hang it 
 all, they can't be astonished at a little un- 
 pleasantness. Not my son after all. There's 
 a stroke of luck for you ! If he were, Julia 
 could do what she liked about the money. 
 But now I've got a hold over her. I can dis- 
 inherit her boy. If only I outlive her." He 
 paused on the stairs and reflected. His feet 
 were unsteady. "It's this beastly creeping 
 paralysis," he thought, '* that spoils all. I've 
 got to outlive Julia. Tough, tough, unhappily ! 
 It takes such a lot to kill a woman. Curious 
 what a difference it makes to one, too, when 
 you've a fortune in prospect. Till this minute 
 it never mattered to me whether I died to- 
 morrow or not, so long as I had brandy enough 
 in bottle for to-night to make me decently com- 
 fortable. But now, I must live to oust that 
 boy of hers." 
 
 He hobbled down-stairs in his uncertain way 
 to a seat in the garden. There, poising him- 
 self as best he might, he began to think it out 
 as clearly as he could — without the aid of a 
 brandy and soda. It was very hard work, for 
 he was unused to thinking ; and on the rare 
 occasions when he did think at all, he assisted 
 nature with aids to thought in the shape of 
 alcohol. To-day, however, he could get no 
 brandy, for he had reached his last sou, and 
 
The Colonel's Plans. 2n 
 
 tile hotel would not trust him. So he sat and 
 ruminated in a puzzle-headed way, whieh only 
 resulted at first in a vague phantasmagoria of 
 wild possibilities. As his head eleared, how- 
 ever, and the world eame back to him, he 
 began to form plans. '* I shall go to Ivondon," 
 he said to himself, " if I can get the money. 
 I've not been in London for more than twenty 
 years. Absurd that an officer and a gentleman 
 in uiy position should be debarred from visit- 
 ing his own club in Pall JMall, for fear of being 
 cut short of money by his wife, who doles him 
 out a pittance as if he were a schoolboy. I've 
 stood it too long. I'll stand it no longer." 
 
 He paused and mused, drawing hgures in 
 the gravel with his cane as he thought. " I 
 shall try her by three roads," he said to himself 
 once more. ** I'll instruct my solicitor— have 
 I got a solicitor ? Never mind, I'll instruct a 
 solicitor — some solicitor — any solicitor — all 
 rogues alike, solicitors — to enter three separate 
 actions against her. One shall be for Restitu- 
 tion of Conjugal Rights." He rolled it on his 
 tongue. " That'll frighten her. One shall be 
 for divorce. That'll touch her reputation. One 
 shall be for declaring this boy of hers illegiti- 
 mate. " That'll threaten the money. I have 
 her there on the horns of a trilemma. Good 
 word, trilemma ! Never heard of it before — 
 suppose I invented it. What an inventive 
 genius I have, to be sure ! But anyhow, I've 
 
212 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 got her on one. // I fail in the divorce, I 
 score off restitution ; if I draw restitution blank, 
 I win on illegitimacy. Avery i-retty trilemma 
 — heads, I win ; tails, Julia loses ; and edge- 
 ways, the boy has to go from Milworth. I 
 wonder whether a trilemma has three horns ? 
 and, if so, whether they go all three abreast ; 
 or, like the arms of Sicily and the Isle of Man, 
 which are not arms at all, but really legs, turn- 
 ing round and round as if they were a bicycle 
 wheel, with perpetual motion, and always kick- 
 ing. I fancy the Isle of Man must be a most 
 unpleasant antagonist. It kicks you circularly. 
 Well, Fm just like that. Whichever w^ay I 
 fall, I shall have tw^o good legs firmly fixed on 
 the ground, and one up to kick with ! " And 
 he hugged himself at the prospect. 
 
 A single petty obstacle alone blocked his 
 way — the temporary tightness of the money 
 market. He was reduced by this time to one 
 or two nickel sous of the Swiss Republic — 
 w^hich is an insufficient provision for a journey 
 to London and three expensive lawsuits. On 
 this question of ways and means, therefore, the 
 Colonel ruminated long. " One should always 
 be a gentleman," he said to himself, reflectively, 
 *' and I've always been a gentleman. How 
 does a gentleman behave when he finds him- 
 self, accidentally, hard up at an inn, through 
 the remissness of his family ? — what somebody 
 calls their unremitting kindness ? V/hy, he 
 
The Colonel's Plans. 213 
 
 explains to the landlord, and borrows a trifling 
 sum for current expenses. 77/ explain to the 
 landlord. And I'll borrow a trifling sum— that 
 is to say, if he'll lend it me." 
 
 He rose from the garden seat and moved 
 towards the steps. " Concierge ! " he caUed 
 out with ridiculous dignity. 
 
 " Monsieur ?" the concierge said, raising his 
 head without quitting his box for the shabby 
 visitor. 
 
 " I desire to speak with the proprietor," 
 Colonel Egremont went on, with aristocratic 
 hauteur. 
 
 " Certainly, sir," the concierge answered, 
 and went in search of him. 
 
 The proprietor came out with that singular 
 mixture of deference and rudeness which pro- 
 prietors of hotels keep specially laid on for 
 undesirable guests. " Monsieur ? " he said 
 blandly. 
 
 The Colonel drew himself up, and played 
 his best card first. '* I'm a disreputable old 
 party for a hotel like this," he observed insin- 
 uatingly. ".V iHiuricn. A hiinimeln. Is it 
 not so, Herr Proprietor ? " 
 
 The proprietor bowed. '* Monsieur f>lai- 
 sante^" he murmured, rubbing his hands du- 
 biously. 
 
 ** Not at all," the Colonel replied, glancing 
 down at his shabby coat. " Honor bright, I 
 mean it. I'm no recommendation, no recom- 
 
214 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 mendation at all to the place, and the other 
 guests hate me." 
 
 The proprietor nodded, unwilling to ac- 
 quiesce in this too true statement, and, in his 
 own pet phrase awaited developments. 
 
 *' It would pay you to get rid of me," the 
 Colonel continued, wath an insinuating smile. 
 " I have been here two days ; I have paid a la 
 carte beforehand ; and I owe no man any- 
 thing. But my cash in hand is reduced to 
 that— I assure you, to that." He opened his 
 closed palm and displayed the two paltry little 
 shining nickels. '* A ridiculous sum for a 
 man who has held her Britannic Majesty's 
 commission," he said ; " but true nevertheless. 
 Inadequate, isn't it ? " 
 
 The Colonel gazed at them comically. The 
 proprietor bowed again. " And you suggest ? " 
 he said with ironical politeness. 
 
 The Colonel resumed his grandiloquent 
 manner. " I desire," he went on, ** to return 
 at once to Lugano and Florence. I have 
 friends in each town — friends, important 
 friends — and money. I came here expecting 
 to receive some little remittance from my 
 family, who are in Number Twenty. But my 
 family are recalcitrant. You have a wife your- 
 self, Monsieur le proprietaire ; you know that 
 sex ; you can doubtless sympathize with me." 
 He drew out a card and handed it with mys- 
 terious solemnity to the landlord. *' Colonel 
 
The Colonel's Plans. 215 
 
 Walter Egremont, late Royal Engineers," he 
 said, reading it aloud ; " husband of the lady 
 who is now in Number Twenty." 
 
 The landlord examined it. "I see," he 
 observed cautiously. " One must not inter- 
 fere between guests and their families. That 
 induces complications." 
 
 "And what I want," the Colonel continued, 
 "is to raise a small loan— a merely nominal 
 loan, say a couple of louis — which would en- 
 able me to get back from Goeschenen by the 
 Gotthard." 
 
 The landlord was a man who did nothing 
 precipitately. "I will consider it," he an- 
 swered, with true Swiss prudence. 
 
 And he considered. As the result of his 
 consideration, it occurred to him to take the 
 card to Sir Emilius, who by this time had 
 learned, very much to his surprise, that Hu- 
 bert had thought better of his intention of 
 dropping Fede, and was prepared to carry out 
 his original program of marrying her. Sir 
 Emilius scanned the card close. " I'll go and 
 see him," he said slowly, with his hand on his 
 chin. *' I can do more with him, I think, than 
 either my sister or my nephew." 
 
 It was perfectly true. Sir Emilius's quiet 
 professional manner ahvays frightened the 
 Colonel. The great doctor boarded his 
 brother-in-law at once as he would have 
 boarded any other incipient lunatic. '* Now, 
 
2i6 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 Egremont," he said firmly, laying one hand on 
 his shoulder, and holding up a monitory fore- 
 finger of the other, '* the landlord tells me 
 you've tried to borrow money. You know 
 very well if you borrow it from him, you can 
 never repay him. I've told him as much and 
 warned him against lending it to you. As for 
 Hubert and Julia, they have made their minds 
 up never to let you have another penny. 
 You've brought that on yourself, by coming 
 here against orders and your own written agree- 
 ment. And you've caused no end of bother, 
 and trouble as well, in an innocent family, 
 whose only crime is the fact that it happens to 
 have yon for a husband and father. I approve 
 of their decision. But for myself, as I desire 
 to get rid of you at once, I'm prepared to lend 
 you a small sum — five pounds — to clear out 
 with immediately, provided you engage to go 
 straight back to Lugano to-day, and show your 
 face here no longer. Do you understand, and 
 do you promise ? " 
 
 He held an English five-pound note be- 
 tween finger and thumb, and extended it tenta- 
 tively. The sight of so much money was 
 tempting indeed to a thirsty man. It repre- 
 sented some dozens of brandy, and meant, 
 among other things, a drink immediately. 
 Colonel Egremont did not hesitate. Visions 
 of cognac and a syphon of soda floated before 
 his eyes. His finance and his diplomacy were 
 
The Colonel's Plans. 217 
 
 both from hand to mouth. He would accept 
 anything, and promise anything, for a mo- 
 mentary advance. One can always lie and 
 break one's word afterwards. His fingers 
 closed over the crisp paper eagerly. " I'll 
 clear out at once, Rawson," he answered, *'as 
 soon as I've had a drink." But he had no 
 more intention of returning to Lugano than of 
 returning the money. 
 
 He fortified himself for the way with a 
 strong glass or two of brandy. Then, certain 
 that nothing more was to be obtained from his 
 wife or Hubert for the present, he set off on 
 foot in the direction of Meyringen, carrying, 
 as usual, his whole wardrobe with him. But 
 he only walked as far as the very next village. 
 There he ordered a post-cart to Lucerne with 
 the air of a duke, and lolled back in it luxuri- 
 ously, like a born Bashaw. For nobody could 
 accuse Colonel Egremont of not spending his 
 money royally when he got it. He wasted it 
 while it lasted, and then begged or borrowed 
 with a mind at ease till the arrival of his next 
 remittance. 
 
 He slept well at the Schweitzerhof : why 
 try a worse house ? It was his intention to 
 proceed next day to England. 
 
 But he would do nothing rash. He would 
 keep his own counsel. As Hubert anticipated, 
 he had reached the secretive stage of insanity. 
 Arrived in London, he would consult a solid- 
 
2i8 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 tor ; till then, not one word would he say to 
 any one. Better lock up the great secret in his 
 own safe breast, till he could trumpet it forth 
 in court — " This woman was unfaithful." He 
 hugged himself at the prospect of that humili- 
 ating disclosure. If Julia got wind of his in- 
 tention too soon, she might manage to evade 
 him. But he would make his case sure, and 
 then burst upon her like a thunderbolt. Ha, 
 ha, ha, what a triumph ! That bastard should 
 never be the heir of Mil worth ! 
 
 He whistled it to himself as he drove and 
 lolled. Bastard ! bastard ! bastard ! bastard ! 
 
 He lingered on the word. But nature's 
 bastards, as Hubert knew well, are the chil- 
 dren of loveless and ill-assorted unions. 
 
At Milvvorth Manor. 219 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 AT MILWORTH MANOR. 
 
 While the hoary old reprobate was matur- 
 ing his plans, Hubert and his bride were pursu- 
 ing theirs quietly. Early in November, the 
 Marchese and Fede sat in Mrs. Egremont's 
 comfortable drawing-room at Milworth Manor, 
 Devonshire. 
 
 " There is no reason," Hubert had said in 
 Switzerland, "why Fede and I should not be 
 married immediately." 
 
 As for the Marchese, he entirely reciprocated 
 that view. He was quite convinced that, in 
 his own parlance, Fede had got hold of " a good 
 thing " in England. The young man was eli- 
 gible. But, with a person so apparently capri- 
 cious and fanciful as Hubert, the Italian pre- 
 ferred to see everything signed, sealed and 
 delivered outright with full legal formalities. 
 " Marry them out of hand," was his plan for 
 the young people. The wedding, it was ar- 
 ranged, should take place (as Cecco had wisely 
 surmised) at the end of November in London. 
 Meanwhile, the Marchese and Fede were to 
 
220 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 visit Mrs. Egremont for a fortnight at her home 
 in Devonshire. 
 
 The Marchese was by no means disappointed 
 in the property. A Georgian house in a big 
 domain exactly suited him. He stood at the 
 bay window of the square brick mansion, look- 
 ing down upon the valley of the little stream 
 that ran in esses below, admiring the rich 
 green pastures, dotted with ruddled sheep, and 
 the wedge-shaped glen that opened through 
 red cliffs to the purple sea of the South Hams 
 of Devon. 
 
 " Isn't it lovely, papa," Fede exclaimed, 
 touching his arm — " this beautiful park, and 
 those glorious old oak trees ? " 
 
 The Marchese took it all in with a compre- 
 hensive glance. " Excellent grass land, my 
 dear," he answered, ** and most valuable timber! " 
 
 " And these sweet hills and dales ! " Fede 
 cried once more. " And the darling fallow- 
 deer huddled together on the ground under 
 the big horse-chestnuts ; and the river that 
 flows in such a curve at the bottom ; and the 
 gardens and the lawn ! Oh, Hubert, it's lovely ! " 
 
 Hubert beamed his joy. *' I'm so glad 3^ou 
 like it," he said, smiling. " I was afraid after 
 Italy-" 
 
 Fede cut him short. " Oh, no," she an- 
 swered, " Italy's a picture-gallery ; but Eng- 
 land's a garden." 
 
 " The river bounds your estate, I suppose, 
 
At Milvvorth Manor. 221 
 
 Mrs. Egremont ? " the Marchese observed, with 
 an underlying note of interrogation in his voice 
 which meant inquiry as to the exact extent of 
 the Property. 
 
 *' Oh, no," Mrs. Egremont said, pointing 
 vaguely with one hand toward the hills of the 
 horizon, " we go beyond it, Marchese— to the 
 top of the ridge where you see the red plowed 
 fields there." 
 
 ** So ? " the Marchese repeated. His respect 
 for the family into which Fede was marrying 
 rose visibly each moment. " And in the other 
 direction ? " 
 
 " In the other direction," Hubert said, "we 
 go up to the summit of the down that you came 
 over from the station." 
 
 '* Indeed ! " the Marchese answered. " A 
 very handsome Property. Fede, my dear, 
 you'll have room to walk about in, I fancy." 
 
 ** Everything's delicious ! " Fede said, en- 
 chanted ; " the house and grounds, and the dear 
 old red church, and the rookery with the elms, 
 and the winding river. Did you ever see a house 
 so pretty as this, papa ? I don't mean outside — 
 though even- outside the creepers make it all 
 so snug and cosy— but this charming hall and 
 this delightful, comfortable English drawing- 
 room ? " 
 
 . ** My dear," the Marchese interposed, ** I see 
 in this taste of yours the finger of Providence. 
 Jt's lucky you're going to marry an Englishman, 
 
222 A Splendid Sin, 
 
 for Till afraid you're as English and as Insular 
 as any of them." 
 
 " Oh, no," Fede cried, " you mustn't say 
 that, papa ! I love England, and I love Hubert, 
 and I love you, dear mother, and I love this 
 beautiful place, and I love Oxford ; but I 
 won't forego my birthright of having been 
 born a Florentine. I'm proud of Florence, 
 and proud of Italy ; I shall never give up my 
 Italian ancestry. It's something, after all, to 
 be by descent a Tornabuoni ! " 
 
 *' And / love Italy, Fede," Hubert answered, 
 *' and I love an Italian girl. I don't think I 
 could have loved her quite so well if she 
 weren't — well, just what she is, Fede." 
 
 Fede quieted his too demonstrative affection 
 with a look. ** Now, papa," she said, " you 
 haven't half admired the drawing-room enough. 
 This exquisite Morris paper, and the old bro- 
 cade curtains, and the Chippendale chairs — 
 are they heirlooms, dear mother ? " 
 
 Mrs. Egremont smiled. '* My ancestors 
 have been here for ten generations, Fede," she 
 answered, " and almost everything in the house 
 has descended from them — especially the silver 
 and the old oak furniture." 
 
 The Marchese surveyed it all with amused 
 approbation. '' And as clean as a new pin," he 
 interposed — *' in spite of its age ! It's only in 
 England one ever gets that delightfully incon- 
 gruous juxtaposition of antiquity and clcanli- 
 
At Milworth Manor. 223 
 
 ness. Tis your national passion— next after 
 religious and moral complacency. Most of 
 your people imagine, I believe, that " Cleanli- 
 ness is next to godliness " comes out of the 
 Bible. They take their own proverb for a text 
 of Scripture." He was glancing at the book- 
 shelf, where a certain number of poets rubbed 
 shoulders with moral and religious treatises. 
 "A wonderful nation ! " he went on, musing. 
 " T//t' Christiau Year; The Book of Job — 
 Bradley ! In the held of commercial enter- 
 prise, nothing succeeds like soap. In litera- 
 ture, the staple industry of your principal 
 writers is the production of tracts. Your 
 greatest artists combine both tastes, and paint 
 alternately Rebekah at the Well and advertise- 
 ments for Pears. You are a great people ! 
 For mixed cleanliness and godliness, there is 
 nobody to touch you ! " 
 
 The Marchese was remarkable himself for 
 the scrupulous personal neatness of the Italian 
 gentleman, and his delicate white nails and ir- 
 reproachable shirt-cuffs gave him a right to 
 criticise. Hubert smiled at his strictures ; but 
 Sir Emilius, whose distinguishing character- 
 istics were British patriotism and unwaving de- 
 votion to the creed of the tub, intervened with 
 an objection. " Look at our sanitation, though, 
 Marchese," he cried. '* The decrease in 
 our death-rate through judicious drainage ! 
 Whereas at Naples — " 
 
224 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 The Marchese shrugged his shoulders. " At 
 Naples," he said, '* they produce opera and 
 cholera ; at Florence, Michael Angelo, typhoid, 
 and Dante. I grant you all you ask. You 
 are the cleanest and the best-drained nation in 
 Europe. I only suggest that main drauiage is 
 not everything : to be merely clean does not 
 sum up in itself the whole gospel of per- 
 fection." 
 
 Sir Emilius was dumfounded. When a 
 foreigner found anything to criticise in England, 
 he set it down at once to envenomed envy. 
 
 Mrs. Egremont interposed to save Sir Emil- 
 ius's wounded feelings. " Look at my Bot- 
 ticelli, Marchese," she said ; " that charming 
 Madonna ! It's a sweet thing, isn't it ? You 
 see, we are not wholly given over to Re- 
 bekahs ! " 
 
 The Marchese scanned it attentively. " A 
 school piece, I should say," he answered after 
 a pause ; for he was a bit of a connoisseur : 
 " not a genuine work of the master." He had 
 more than one specimen of his great country- 
 man's handicraft on his own walls in Florence. 
 
 " I bought it as a Botticelli," Sir Emilius said 
 warmly, " and gave it to my sister. I believe 
 it's genuine. I know I paid a genuine price 
 for it." . : 
 
 Pictures, unfortunately, were the one object 
 on earth for which the Marchese did not accept 
 a money value as ultimate. '* Botticelli as im- 
 
I At Milvvorth Manor. 225 
 
 ported, perhaps," he rephed, with a smile and 
 a doubtful accent. " The BotticeUi of com- 
 merce. Not the sort of article we consume in 
 Florence." 
 
 " Why shouldn't we go out for a stroll in the 
 grounds, Hubert ? " Fede put in, apprehensive. 
 " The morning's so lovely." 
 
 " And yet, I'm sorry you should see Milworth 
 first in November fogs," Hubert answered, with 
 a darted glance. " It looks so different, you 
 know, when the leaves are on the oaks and the 
 rhododendrons in the shrubbery are one blaze 
 of crimson." 
 
 " If it's so lovely now," Fede replied, ** I 
 don't know what it can be in the green and 
 purple of summer. But, indeed, could it be 
 lovelier than the dappled gold of the autumn 
 tints on the beeches, and the blood-red of the 
 maple trees ? And those mists over the river, 
 how mysterious they are ; how soft ! I love 
 the elusiveness of English outlines." 
 
 "Then run and put your hat on, dear," Mrs. 
 Egremont said, looking at her affectionately. 
 " We'll take you round the place and show 
 you where all the wild flowers grow in spring. 
 Not even the banks of the Arno in May are 
 lovelier, Fede, than our Milworth woods when 
 the bluebells and primroses carpet the slopes, 
 or when the foxgloves marshal their ranks in 
 great regiments in August." 
 
 The Marchese lingered near the door as if 
 15 
 
226 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 conscious that reparation was due to Sir Emil- 
 ius. " It's a most delightful place," he said ; 
 *' capital estate, I can see, with good fishing 
 and shooting. After all your English country 
 houses are the cosiest and best-supplied villas 
 in any part of Europe." 
 
 " Eh ? " Sir Emilius said hastily, wonder- 
 ing if he had caught so obvious a platitude. 
 " Why, of course they are, Marchese. For 
 show, the Continent's all very well in its way ; 
 but for solid comfort, it's generally admitted, 
 there's nothing like England." 
 
 He said it with such British certitude of 
 conviction that the Marchese hardly ventured 
 on the risky repartee, " If only the cooks 
 knew anything of cookery ! " For Sir Emilius 
 was one of those true-born Britons who divide 
 the world into two antithetical halves —Eng- 
 land and Abroad ; believing firmly that the 
 denizens of Abroad, who are called Foreigners, 
 must themselves be conscious of their own 
 vast inferiority to the English people, and 
 must spend their time in deploring the Provi- 
 dence which did not permit them to be born 
 Englishmen. The highest compliment he 
 could pay to any Continental was to say, with 
 warmth, that he was just like an Englishman. 
 
 "Cookery," Sir Emilius repeated, taken aback. 
 " Why, where in Europe can you get a joint 
 of meat such as you get in England ? " 
 
 "A joint of meat ?" the Marchese mused to 
 
, At Milworth Manor. 227 
 
 himself. *' Ay, that's just it : a joint of meat ! 
 Your national fetisii ! Precisely my con- 
 tention." 
 
 " And our London dinner-parties," Sir Emil- 
 ius went on, growing warmer as he proceeded. 
 " The best in the world. What have you 
 to say about our London dinner-parties ? " 
 
 " Exhibitions of food," the Marchese replied 
 in a conciliatory tone. " And as such, no doubt, 
 admirable. Material evidences of your nation- 
 al prosperity. The finished form of your famous 
 cattle shows. One shows the raw product, the 
 other the manufactured article. But for cook- 
 ery, my dear Sir Emilius " — he expanded his 
 palms and raised his shoulders — " excuse my 
 incredulity." 
 
 Fede led him away gently to avoid further 
 complications. The Italian and the English- 
 man were as oil and vinegar. 
 
 " Remarkable the blindness of these Foreign- 
 ers," Sir Emilius observed, as the door closed 
 behind them. " Brought up on macaroni, sour 
 wine and frlttnra, they don't understand a 
 good piece of roast beef and Yorkshire pudding 
 when they see it ! Most singular, really ! " 
 And he strolled out into the hall for his hat 
 and umbrella — the latter a talisman which he 
 carried through life with religious exactitude, 
 in no matter w^hat climate. 
 
 Hubert and Mrs. Egremont were left alone, 
 awaiting their guests' return to go out into the 
 
228 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 park. Just at that moment a servant entered 
 with a card, which he passed to his mistress. 
 Mrs. Egremont took it carelessly from the 
 salver, hardly darting a glance at it. " Who 
 brought it, Reece ? " she asked. " Very early 
 to call." Then the name caught her eye. She 
 changed color at once. But she did not 
 beiiay herself before the servant. She 
 passed it on to Hubert. Her son glanced 
 at it, and held his breath. " Colonel Walter 
 Egremont." So he had kept his word ! He 
 had followed them to Milworth ! 
 
 Hubert was equal to the occasion. Above 
 all things, the Tornabuoni must not know of 
 this visit. The Colonel's apparition in Switzer- 
 land had alarmed Fede not a little ; if she 
 knew he was at Milworth, it would certainly 
 terrify her. 
 
 ** Show the gentleman into the library, 
 Reece," he said, with the utmost calmness. 
 *' I will come there to see him." 
 
 The man withdrew to do as he was bid. 
 Mrs. Egremont glanced at Hubert with a face 
 of agony. " Oh, what shall w^e do ? " she cried. 
 "What shall we do ? It is my fault, Hubert. 
 I blurted it all out ! And now he has followed 
 us, and he will tell all, and disinherit you." 
 
 Hubert rose from his chair, walked slowly 
 across to her, and smoothed her hair with his 
 hand in the gentlest manner. A tinge of gray 
 in those beautiful brown locks made them only 
 
At Milworth Manor. 229 
 
 prettier and more pathetic. " Dearest mother," 
 he said, "you need not be afraid. I will take 
 him in hand. He shall not trouble you. Stop 
 here and show Fede and her father round the 
 grounds. Make some excuse for me. I will 
 see him and get rid of him." 
 
230 A JSplendid Sin. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 PRIVATE INQUIRY. 
 
 Anybody who had seen Colonel Egremont 
 in the library at Milworth that morning would 
 hardly have recognized him as the same person 
 who had walked across, in half-ragged clothes, 
 from Goeschenen Station to the Black Eagle 
 in the Rothenthal a few weeks previously. 
 He was dressed in a brand-new tourist tweed 
 suit, a soft felt hat, a clean white shirt, and a 
 collar and cuffs as immaculate as the Marchese's. 
 Dress makes a marvelous difference, even to 
 such a degraded sot as the Colonel ; a w^eek 
 or two in England, a temporary renewal of the 
 disused habit of washing himself daily, and, 
 above all, the consciousness that he was almost 
 the master of Milworth Manor, had wrought 
 an incredible change in the shabby old 
 drunkard. Other circumstances collaborated. 
 Sir Emilius's five pounds had brought the 
 Colonel safely to London. There, a shady 
 solicitor in low water had been induced, by 
 tempting promises, to take up his case, while 
 a still shadier money-lender (relying on the 
 
Private Inquiry. 231 
 
 chance that the wife would pay) had backed it 
 at an extravagant rate of interest for a few 
 pounds of ready money. With the capital 
 thus obtained, the Colonel had proceeded to 
 rig himself out in a suit of clothes fit for a 
 gentleman ; and if you had met him in Bond 
 Street in a shiny silk hat and a long black frock 
 coat the day before, you might almost have 
 taken him at first sight for what he had once 
 been — an officer and a gentleman. 
 
 Colonel Egremont had not come down to 
 Milworth alone. He brought his suite along 
 with him. As he sat in the library awaiting 
 Hubert's arrival, he turned to the solemn- 
 looking young man in a respectable black suit 
 who had accompanied him from London. 
 *' Now remember, Fletcher," he said, in his 
 most impressive voice, gazing at him through 
 the eyeglass, " you come as my valet. Every 
 gentleman of position must have a valet. And 
 Fm not going to stand any damned nonsense 
 in this house, I can tell you. Why doesn't the 
 young jackanapes hurry up ? Eh ? eh ? Is 
 this the sort of way to treat a person who has 
 borne Her Majesty's commission ? " 
 
 The private detective whom he addressed 
 as Fletcher looked at his employer suspiciously. 
 Suspicion is part of the legitimate stock-m- 
 trade of a private detective. It is the armor 
 of the profession. And this particular client 
 was a peculiarly shady one. In the first place, 
 
232 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 he had not deigned to confide to his employe 
 the nature of the errand upon which he was 
 coming. He merely remarked, with airy 
 generality, that he was going down to Devon- 
 shire, and wished to watch a house where his 
 wife was living. " Divorce ? " the private 
 detective suggested gently. But the Colonel 
 shook his head with austere disapprobation. 
 "What's that to you, young fellow!" he 
 said. *' You mind your own business." He 
 had the exaggerated secretiveness of the semi- 
 insane, the private detective fancied ; indeed, 
 even to his lawyer and his money-lender he 
 had only confided so much of his suspicions 
 as would enable him to raise the sinews of war 
 for this important expedition. The detective 
 at first more than half suspected some attempt 
 at burglary, and as it is the first duty of every 
 intelligent private inquiry agent to look after 
 Number One, he was prepared to keep a close 
 watch of his own upon the very man who was 
 paying him to keep a close watch upon others. 
 Besides, the employer was clearly more than 
 half mad, so Fletcher also kept an eye upon 
 him as a possible lunatic. Anyhow, there was 
 something to be got out of the job. His chief 
 business was, to draw his salary and to see that 
 his chief got him into no serious trouble. 
 
 Hubert did not hurry to go into the library. 
 It was not his policy to flatter Colonel Egre- 
 mont's idea of his own importance, or to show 
 
I. ( 
 
 Private Inquiry. 233 
 
 such signs of fear as might perhaps be im- 
 pHed by too hasty an entrance, so he loitered 
 purposely. The Colonel fumed and fretted. 
 '* Disgraceful, Fletcher, disgraceful ! " he said, 
 pacing up and down with uncertain steps, like 
 one who feels his legs after a casual tumble. 
 *' I'm the master of this house — the lord of 
 Milworth Manor — and yet, I'm to give way to 
 a whipper-snapper of a boy, who has no more 
 right in the place than you — nor half as much, 
 if it comes to that, for I have brought you here 
 — and he keeps me w^aiting his pleasure in 
 this abominable fashion. A conceited upstart ! 
 A blithering idiot ! A cad of an interloper ! 
 But / shall make him smart for it." 
 
 " Perhaps he's out," Fletcher suggested 
 calmly. 
 
 " No, he isn't," the Colonel answered, " for 
 I heard his voice in the drawing-room as we 
 came in. You see, I'm master here, and I 
 know the place well. This room is the library ; 
 then outside there's the entrance hall, where 
 we passed ; and behind it, the drawing-room. 
 To the right my wife's boudoir ; to the left the 
 billiard-room." He rose and walked about, 
 examining the pictures and furniture. ** Very 
 little altered either," he went on, gazing around. 
 "The same old bookcases, the same old water- 
 colors, the same old sermons in dusty calf, the 
 same old view from the big front window. 
 No flies on that view, Fletcher. One of the 
 
234 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 best in Devonshire. Time writes no wrinkles 
 on its azure brow." He assumed his grandiose 
 air. " Devilish fine house," he went on. 
 ** Always ivas a fine house. And my wife 
 has just modernized and aestheticized it a 
 trifle." 
 
 " Good portrait, the young man in uniform," 
 Fletcher observed, glancing up at it. 
 
 "Good portrait? You think so?" the 
 Colonel answered, gazing at it affectionately. 
 ** Well, it was considered very like at the time 
 it was taken. It's one of Watts's earliest. I 
 sat for that — let me see — it must be close on 
 thirty years ago." 
 
 " You sat for it ?" the detective said incred- 
 ulously, glancing from one to the other. 
 "Why, that can't be you." He had graver 
 doubts than ever of his employer's sanity. 
 
 " It is, though," the Colonel replied, hold- 
 ing his head on one side and admiring it un- 
 affectedly. " I was an innocent young chap 
 then, wasn't I eh ? before I blossomed out into 
 the hoary old reprobate. I quite agree with 
 you, I, do look a young milksop ! We know 
 what we are, as Ophelia says, but we know 
 not what we may be. Hang it all, when I sat 
 for that portrait, Fletcher, to give my wife 
 before I married her, I didn't think I should 
 ever be kept waiting by a whipper-snapper of 
 a sawbones in my own house till he found it 
 convenient to himself to come to me. Dis- 
 
Private Inquiry. 235 
 
 graceful, I call it, to a retired officer ! If the 
 fellow don't make haste, I'll go and drag 
 him." 
 
 ** I wouldn't if I were you," the private in- 
 quirer put in. " Legal methods are safest. 
 Tis the great First Principle of private inquiry." 
 
 *' Legal methods ! " the Colonel responded, 
 in his largest style, swelling visibly before his 
 eyes like bread when it rises. "Why, who's 
 got a legal right to be here if it isn't me, I 
 should like to know ? Eh, eh ? What do 
 you make of it ? This house is mine— and 
 the park — and the manor." He waved his 
 hands about and moved over to the window. 
 " Why, damn it all, there's the whipper- 
 snapper," he cried, looking out at Hubert — 
 '* over there by the clump of evergreens, with 
 that Italian girl of his. In uiy grounds, too ! 
 By George, what insolence ! " 
 
 He opened the French window slightly, so 
 that he could catch what was passing. Hubert 
 was speaking rather low. " I must go in for 
 a while, dear," he said. " Somebody wants 
 to see me. But mother will show you round 
 the garden and grounds, and I'll come out 
 again as soon as I can and meet you." 
 
 "Will you?" the Colonel ejaculated in an 
 undertone. " Oh, will you really ! Not if I 
 know it, my young friend. Once I catch you, 
 I keep you." 
 
 He spoke in a thick but excited voice, which 
 
236 A Splendid Sin. ». 
 
 the detective didn't quite like. It suggested 
 an impartial mixture of drink and madness. 
 
 " It's sweet everywhere here," Fede an- 
 swered. " Make haste and come back to me. 
 I want you, Hubert. I want to see it all with 
 you." 
 
 *' And in a few weeks it will be yours, Fede," 
 the young man continued, with a lover's glance 
 at her. " You w^ill come back to it as its 
 mistress." 
 
 And he moved away rapidly. 
 
 '* Oh, will she ? " the Colonel murmured. 
 *' About that, Mr. Whipper-Snapper, there 
 may be two opinions. /'/;/ master in this 
 house, and I'm not at present in need of a 
 lady assistant. Though, to be sure, the 3'Oung 
 woman would suit me admirabl}^" 
 
 As he spoke, the door opened, and Hubert 
 entered. 
 
 *'Wcll?" he said slowly, surveying the 
 Colonel up and down, with a side-glance at 
 the detective. ''You have ventured to come 
 here?" 
 
 Colonel Egremont blustered a little, though 
 he felt vaguely uncomfortable. " Yes," he 
 answered ; "here I am, and here I mean to 
 remain. Restitution of Conjugal Rights is my 
 game. That's just what they call it. I've 
 come home as the master of Milworth Manor." 
 
 ** I beg your pardon," Hubert answered, 
 with chilly politeness, *' you have done nothing 
 
w 
 
 Private Inquiry. 237 
 
 of the kind. This is my mother's house — 
 neither yours nor mine — and without her per- 
 mission you shall not remain in it." 
 
 He approached him, threateningly. The 
 Colonel drew back a step. " Take care," he 
 said, turning an appealing glance towards 
 Fletcher. " I have brought my servant with 
 me as my witness, and for my personal pro- 
 tection." 
 
 Hubert eyed the man sternly. " Colonel 
 Egremont," he said, with calm disdain, " I 
 shall not permit this intrusion. If you think 
 you have any claim to urge against my mother, 
 you can urge it by legal means. I refer you 
 to her solicitor. But if you attempt to remain 
 here, against her will, I shall call the servants to 
 eject you forcibly." He moved over towards 
 the bell and placed one finger on the electric 
 knob. " Will you go?" he asked, in a very 
 quiet voice. " Or must I ring for them to re- 
 move you ? " 
 
 The Colonel, taken aback, reflected to him- 
 self that, under these painful circumstances, 
 a seeming compliance was best for all parties. 
 He had calculated, indeed, on terrifying his 
 wife by the mere fact of his presence at Mil- 
 worth Manor. This cool reception took him 
 completely by surprise. " Oh, I'll go," he 
 answered, though with some faint undertone 
 still of his accustomed bluff. " Go ? certainly ! 
 By all means ! A gentleman never obtrudes 
 
238 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 himself wlvere his society isn't wanted. You 
 wisli to hear from my solicitor — very natural 
 course— then from my solicitor you shall hear 
 — and shortly, shortly." 
 
 He retreated as he spoke, one step at a time, 
 and let his eyeglass drop ; while Hubert fol- 
 lowed him up in a threatening attitude. He 
 moved on to the door, Fletcher bringing up 
 the rear. In the hall, Hubert happened to 
 come across a servant. " Reece," he said, in 
 his quietest voice, without a trace of flurry, 
 "will you accompany this gentleman all the 
 way to the gate— see him safely out — and tell 
 them at the lodge not to let him come in 
 again ? If he attempts to re-enter, let them 
 send for the police. He is to leave the 
 grounds. You understand my instructions ? " 
 
 Reece bowed with the inflexibly unper- 
 turbed face of the well-trained man-servant. 
 " Yes, sir ; certainly, sir," he answered, with 
 promptitude. It the Colonel had been a dog, 
 Reece could not have received the order with 
 more perfect composure. 
 
 Colonel Egremont was taken aback. **Oh, 
 for the matter of that, I go," he said jauntily, 
 putting on his soft felt hat, and assuming an 
 ostentatiously nonchalant air, as though he 
 rather enjoyed this mode of ejection. ** I dis- 
 like unpleasantness. Never was a person for 
 creating scenes. I prefer to efface myself. 
 But I wish you to understand, young man," 
 
Private Inquiry. 239 
 
 — he addressed the servant — " tliat I'm the 
 master of this house ; the lord of the Manor of 
 Mihvorth : and when I eome again, I expect 
 you to obey me. Do you understand ? " He 
 tapped his chest. " I'm your master, sir — 
 your master ! " 
 
 "Yes, sir; certainly, sir," Reece replied, 
 with the same stolid indifference. It was no 
 part of his duty to be rude to the intruder. 
 
 " Then why do you take me to the gate ?" 
 the Colonel exclaimed, as Hubert stood at the 
 door to watch him retreat from it. 
 
 " Because them's my orders," Reece said, in 
 the same official tone. " You may be my 
 master — but I'm engaged by Mrs. Egremont." 
 
 " Arfd I'm her husband, fellow," the Colonel 
 cried, trying to stop, turn round, and face 
 him. 
 
 Reece drove the obnoxious visitor before 
 him down the avenue as he would have driven 
 a cow or a flock of sheep. " Yes, sir ; so I 
 hear, sir," he assented, never pausing for a 
 moment. " And young Mr. Egremont's orders 
 is to see Mrs. Egremont's husband safe off the 
 premises ; and I'm obeying them, sir ; beg 
 your pardon." 
 
 There was no withstanding this stolid unim- 
 pressionable devotion to duty. If the last day 
 had intervened, Reece would still have con- 
 tinued ejecting the Colonel, till force majeure 
 ^compelled him to desist. The Colonel recog-j 
 
240 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 nized that fact, and moved slowly before him. 
 Coin of the realm interposed in vain. The 
 Colonal walked on. An altercation with a ser- 
 vant ?— impossible, he reflected. His gait was 
 even more shaky now than it had been in 
 Switzerland. He shuffled as he walked, 
 scarcely lifting each foot half an inch above 
 the ground, and planting it again in a curious 
 uncertain groping fashion. He reeled at times 
 like an over-driven ox. But he continued, 
 uncomplaining, his head high in the air, his 
 mien overbearing. 
 
 Reece accompanied him to the gate, and 
 saw them duly out. " Good-morning, sir ; 
 beg your pardon, sir," he said, with perfect 
 politeness. He was a gentleman's servant. 
 That summed up the whole of his individual- 
 ity. Then he turned, like the perfect machine 
 that he w^as, to give his message at the lodge 
 to the gardener's wife who kept it. " If these 
 gentlemen try to come back," he said, with 
 stolid precision, " you've to bar them out, Mrs. 
 Michelmore. Them's Mr. Hubert's orders." 
 
 Hubert meanwhile had rejoined his mother. 
 She was trembling w^ith anxiety. "Well, what 
 have you done ? " she whispered. 
 
 Hubert laid one hand on her shoulder with 
 an affectionate gesture. " Sent him off," he 
 answered, low. *'He's madder and more ill, I 
 think, than ever. He won't come back, I be- 
 lieve. He's just at the last gasp, and I've re- 
 
Private Inquiry. 241 
 
 ferred him to our lawyer." He turned to his 
 
 future wife. " There, Fede," he added aloud, 
 
 did you over see anything prettier and wilder 
 
 in Its way than that bed of yellow flags by the 
 
 bridge and the river ? " 
 20 
 
242 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 VICTORY. 
 
 Outside the gate, Colonel Egremont called 
 a halt to consider the situation. Though full 
 of self-importance still, he was taken by sur- 
 prise, and even a trifle humiliated. This 
 summary ejectment entirely upset his precon- 
 ceived ideas. He had expected consternation ; 
 he found quiet resolve. That young whipper- 
 snapper had shown no disposition to parley 
 with him. The Colonel had come down to 
 his wife's estate in a heroic not to say thrasonic 
 mood, regarding himself already as the master 
 of Milworth ; and he had been ignominiously 
 expelled, like a driven dog, by a single man- 
 servant. He glanced askance at Fletcher. 
 ** Rum job," he mused tentatively. 
 
 " Very rum job," the detective assented, 
 with a distinctive flavor of distrust towards his 
 employer. 
 
 Colonel Egremont paused, and drew a small 
 leather-covered flask from his pocket. He 
 seated himself with difficulty on a fence close 
 by. He had some trouble to balance himself, 
 
Victory. 243 ^ 
 
 and even when he succeeded, his equihbriiim 
 was most unstable. " I'm run down, Fletcher," 
 he said, with a glance at the fiask. " Want 
 winding up abit. Andhere's the watch-key !" 
 He poured himself out a small glass of brandy, 
 and drank it off in meditative abstraction. 
 
 " What's the next move ? " the detective 
 asked. This odd situation piqued his curiosity. 
 
 Colonel Egremont passed him the glass with 
 a polite gesture of invitation. " Have a wind- 
 up ?" he asked. " What ; no ? Blue ribbon ? 
 I hope not. Ah, don't want a drink just now ? 
 Then we'll proceed to business." 
 
 He steadied himself on the fence with con- 
 siderable difficulty. Turning round towards 
 his satellite, he began again slowly. " Fletch- 
 er," he inquired, in an impressive voice, " do 
 you know anything about divorce ? " 
 
 The detective smiled a contemptuous smile. 
 **Do I know anything about it ? " he repeated, 
 with sarcastic emphasis. " Do I know my 
 own business ? Divorce is bread and butter 
 to me— board, lodging and washing. Why, 
 I've supported a wife and family on divorce — 
 four strapping little youngsters, as fine as they 
 make 'em." 
 
 "Well, wherever there's an intrigue — " the 
 Colonel began, in a tentative voice. 
 
 " In my experience," Fletcher broke in, 
 *' there is always an intrigue." And he spoke 
 with confidence. 
 
244 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 *' There will probably be letters," the Colonel 
 went on, without noticing the interruption. 
 
 " In Jiiy experience," the private inquirer 
 repeated pointedly, "there 2ive always letters." 
 
 Colonel Egremont hesitated. With the 
 natural secretiveness of the half-insane, he did 
 not wish to blurt out more of his case than 
 necessary. " But if an intrigue happened long 
 since," he said ; " n^any years ago, for instance 
 — say twenty or more — would the letters be 
 kept, or would the possessors burn them?" 
 
 The detective answered with the certainty 
 given by long habituation to the ways of human 
 nature. '* A man lets 'em lie about, or loses 
 'em, or burns 'em ; a woman keeps 'em." 
 
 " Ahvays keeps them, Fletcher ? " 
 
 " Invariably keeps 'em." 
 
 " For twenty-four years ? " 
 
 " For the term of her natural life. Till she 
 dies, or somebody else gets 'em." 
 
 The Colonel let himself down with difficulty 
 from his perch. His control of his limbs was 
 evidently precarious. He braced himself up 
 for a supreme effort. " Then come along," he 
 said shortly. "I'm going for those letters ! " 
 
 The detective paused and hung back. " To 
 the house again? " he inquired, with apparent 
 unwillingness. 
 
 *' Not by the front way," Colonel Egremont 
 answered. " I shall take another. Remember, 
 I'm master here, Fletcher ; I know the estate 
 
M 
 
 Victory. 245 
 
 and all the ways of it. We'll stroll in by the 
 shrubbery and the library window, without 
 passing the lodge, or ringing the bell, or trying 
 the front door. There's a side path yonder. 
 Why, man, I could find the road anywhere 
 about here in the dark. It's the same as 
 twenty years ago, only just grown up a bit." 
 
 Fletcher drew back once more. " I don't 
 quite like the look of it," he said ; " it's too 
 near a shave of burglary." 
 
 " Now, you look here, young man," the 
 Colonel broke out, in his most paternal tone ; 
 *' there's nothing to be afraid of. I'm master 
 here, and I mean to be respected. I'm the 
 lady's husband, and you saw they admitted it. 
 A man may visit his own wife's house, mayn't 
 he ? If he can't, what's the law for, and res- 
 titution of conjugal rights, I ask you ? I don't 
 want you to help me. I don't ask you to come 
 in. I only ask you to watch outside and let 
 me know if anybody else is coming. When 
 they turn up, you can cough ; and I'll promise 
 to see you safely through with it." 
 
 " What I want to know," the detective said 
 doggedly, is, what's this job ? Is it divorce or 
 isn't it ? Do you suspect your wife, or do you 
 want her money ? " 
 
 The Colonel temporized. " I suspect my 
 wife," he answered, — " of hopeless respecta- 
 bility. Though, of course, when a man's been 
 away from home for twenty-four years, why, 
 
246 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 hang it all, something's likely to have happened 
 in the interval, isn't it ? " 
 
 " Oh, if thafs your game," Fletcher answered, 
 " that's all right. The usual line of business. 
 But why didn't you say so ? " 
 
 " Because," the Colonel answered v/ith 
 dignity, " I'm the master of this house, and I'm 
 not going to be questioned by anybody with 
 impunity." As he said it, he drew himself up 
 and strutted. 
 
 " Going mad ! " the detective thought to 
 himself. " I've seen them that way before. 
 But anyhow, I'm down here, and I'd better 
 help him through with it. It may be the reg- 
 ular private inquiry business, who knows ? 
 If he pays me, well and good ; if he goes mad, 
 I can take the other side, and get it out of the 
 family in the end for watching him. I can see 
 there ain't much love lost between 'em, any- 
 how." 
 
 They put themselves in motion again. The 
 Colonel walked round by the back of the 
 shrubbery, along the high-road, not skulking 
 as he went, but more erect than usual. He 
 strutted as he walked, though with his feet 
 dragging painfully and at times almost tripping 
 him. When they had come abreast of the 
 house, under the high brick wall, he opened 
 a small sidegate with an air of authority. His 
 mien was pompous. The detective followed 
 him. They went by a mossy path, damp and 
 
\ \ 
 
 Victory. 247 
 
 matted underfoot, and completely over-arched 
 by horse-chestnut and lilac bushes. Still 
 walking very erect, the Colonel approached 
 the library window, which he had left half- 
 open when they quitted it an hour before. He 
 stalked in with some remnant of a military 
 tread, in spite of his paralysis. Still Fletcher 
 followed him. The Colonel's manner grew 
 more grandiose at each step ; he entered the 
 drawing-room, and looked haughtily about 
 him. Then he drew out his flask again. 
 
 *' What are you up to ? " the detective asked, 
 in a warning voice. 
 
 *' Only just going to oil the machinery a 
 bit," Colonel Egremont replied with a wink ; 
 and he proceeded to oil it ; after which, he 
 reflected that winking was undignified, and 
 drew himself up still more stiffly than ever. 
 
 The detective looked alarmed. " Well, the 
 sooner you get to work now," he said, " the 
 better. If it's letters you want, do you know 
 where to find them ? " 
 
 "Yes," the Colonel mused slowly, like one 
 talking in his sleep. *' In my wife's boudoir 
 There was an escritoire there — if they haven't 
 modernized andaestheticized it out of existence 
 — in which she used always to keep her most 
 private correspondence. It may be there still ; 
 . . . and again it may not." 
 
 He doddered as he talked, but his smile 
 was a smile of ineffable cunning. He moved 
 
248 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 towards tlie door. " If anyone comes," he said, 
 turning round/* cough! 77/ manage everything." 
 
 "Look here," Fletcher said again, "are you 
 going to open this escritoire, or are you not ? 
 For if you do, that's burglary." 
 
 The Colonel waved his hand. " I tell you,'* 
 he answered, with some impatience, " I'm well 
 within my rights. I'm master in this house, 
 and I can do what I like in it. I shall find 
 that woman out. Yes, I'm going to open it." 
 
 *' Well, have you anything to open it with, 
 then ? " the cautious detective inquired, more 
 practically. He spoke in a whisper. 
 
 Colonel Egremont produced a small skeleton 
 key. " I have this," he answered. 
 
 " Good ! " the detective replied, with a sat- 
 isfied nod. "Not such a fool as he looks! 
 D. T., no doubt : but still the lady may have 
 letters for all that. — Well, you'd better make 
 haste. I don't half like the hang of it." 
 
 The Colonel nodded and disappeared. 
 Fletcher gazed after him with a dubious glance. 
 " He's the oddest client I ever had," he mur- 
 mured to himself, "/don't know what to think 
 of him. If he's a burglar, he's made me an 
 accessory before the fact ; if he's not a burglar, 
 he comes about as near being a lunatic as any 
 one I ever had the pleasure of serving. He's 
 a mystery, that's what he is. Anyhow, I've got 
 to keep an eye on him. After all, Number 
 One stands first on the register ! " 
 
Victory. " 249 
 
 The Colonel, meanwhile, moved slowly into 
 the next room, and looked about him on every 
 side with the same studied air of preternatural 
 cunning. Yes, it was Julia's boudoir ! The 
 paper w^as changed, to be sure, and the curtains, 
 and the carpet ; but, with those exceptions, 
 the room and furniture remained much the 
 same as he had known them twenty-four years 
 ago. The Sheraton chairs ; the Empire lounge ; 
 the Japanese cabinet with the inlaid birds ; the 
 portrait of Julia's father, by Sir Francis Grant ; 
 above all, the escritoire ! As he looked at it, 
 he felt it contained what he wanted — the docu- 
 mentary evidence that was bound to make him 
 master of Mihvorth ! 
 
 Trembling all over with excitement, he hardly 
 knew wiiy, he approached the escritoire, and 
 began fumbling at the lock with his skeleton 
 key in a tremulous fashion. The wards yielded 
 slowly. The Colonel opened a drawer. A 
 piece of blue paper stared him in the face, with 
 a red embossed stamp of familiar aspect. He 
 took it out and looked at it. So she treasured 
 that still ! the forged draft on General Walker ! 
 He tossed it aside without a sign of care. It 
 was waste paper now ; old Walker was dead, 
 and nobody else could sw^ear to the forgery. 
 Such a capital imitation ! His fingers trembled 
 still more as he explored the rest of the drawer. 
 This was clearly where Julia kept her most 
 private papers. He pulled them out one by 
 
2So ^ A Splendid Sin. 
 
 one — bills, photographs, vouchers. Ha ! a 
 bundle of letters — faded old letters, tied with 
 green silk ribbon, and neatly folded. A seal 
 outside ! He tore open the covering. These 
 were the sort of thing now ! His heart swelled 
 with triumph. These w^ould prove what she 
 had said that day at the Rothenthal ! These 
 would dispossess the whipper-snapper — and 
 make him master of Milworth Manor ! 
 
 He turned them over and gazed at them. 
 " Now I have her in my grip ! " he cried. 
 " Marked outside with his name ! These are 
 they ! These are they ! It says, * Letters 
 from Arthur ' ! " 
 
 He drew one from the packet. " Let me 
 see," he muttered. " * My darling Julia.* 
 How's that for the Probate and Divorce Divi- 
 sion ? * A kiss to our boy.' Why, that's 
 evidence ! that's evidence ! ' Our boy,' he 
 says — here, in his own handwTiting ! * Your 
 ever devoted friend and lover,' and he's signed 
 it w^ith his name. The fool ! A poet !— a poet ! 
 She thought it >>uch romance to pick up with 
 a poet ! " 
 
 His fingers trembled as he ran through the 
 packet. He skimmed letter after letter hurried- 
 ly, just grasping their meaning, and, as he read 
 them, one thought grew uppermost all the 
 time in his mind — he w^ould be lord of Mil- 
 w^orth and revenged on Julia. 
 
 He had not even the usual barbaric feeling 
 
Victory. 251 
 
 of his class. He did not think of the slight 
 upon JiisJionor, as people phrase it ; he rejoiced 
 to know he could be revenged on Julia. Slie 
 had kept him all those years on the Continent 
 out of his own. Now, his heel was on her 
 neck, and he would crush her, crush her ! 
 And that bastard upstart, who turned him out 
 to-day ! He would turn him out in turn — to 
 beg or starve by the wayside ! 
 
 As he read and 'read, Fletcher coughed in 
 the next room. For a minute or two the Colo- 
 nel, now flushed with victory, hardly noted 
 the signal ; but when the detective coughed 
 again, somewhat more loudly than before, he 
 recollected with an effort, and bundling up the 
 letters loosely in his hand, staggered out into 
 the drawing-room. 
 
 Staggered visibly now ; Fletcher noticed 
 the change as he entered the room again. 
 *' Well, what's up ? " the Colonel inquired, 
 with an air of suppressed triumph. 
 
 The detective pointed to the park. "They're 
 coming this way," he said; " young Mr. Eg- 
 remont and some ladies and gentlemen." 
 
 " That's my wife ! " the Colonel cried ex- 
 citedly, pointing towards her. ''I've got her 
 under my foot ! I've found what I wanted, 
 Fletcher ! I've found what I wanted ! " He 
 flourished the letters over his head, and then 
 thrust them hastily here and there into his 
 pockets. " And that's the Italian brigand by 
 
252 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 her side," he went on ; ** and that's the young 
 jackanapes who's taken my phice, and the girl 
 who thinks it's a fine thing to marry him ! I 
 have them all under my thumb ! " He spoke 
 with thick, loud accents. " I've bested them, 
 Fletcher ! I've bested them ! And I mean to 
 make them pay for it." 
 
 The detective looked at him closely. The 
 Colonel's eye was shot with triumph. Was it 
 madness or success, the private inquirer won- 
 dered. Had he really found anything, or was 
 he suffering from a delusion ! " Well, you d 
 better come away now," the spy said at last. 
 " You've got what you want — and they'll be 
 back in a minute ! " 
 
 The Colonel turned to him with fierce ex- 
 ultation. " Victory ! victory !" he cried. "I've 
 crushed that woman ! " 
 
 " Then the best thing you can do," the 
 detective answered dryly, " is to clear out at 
 once, before they come back and take the 
 letters away from you ! " 
 
 *' No, no," the Colonel cried. " I'm in my 
 own house again, and I'll never clear out of it." 
 
 ** Till you go to Colney Hatch," the detective 
 murmured inaudibly. 
 
 ** I'm lord of the manor of Milworth," the 
 Colonel went on, blustering. *' As fine a place 
 as any in the county of Devon ! And now 
 I'm here, I'd have you to know, I mean to 
 stop here." 
 
Victory. 253 
 
 " If you've got the letters you want," Fletcher 
 urged, with professional common sense, " you'd 
 better go at once. They're coming back four 
 strong, and they'll make short work of you 
 and me, Colonel." 
 
 " No, no," the Colonel cried, staggering. 
 "I've found wliat I wanted, and I'm master of 
 the situation. J'y stiis, et fy rcste ! That's the 
 word for a soldier. This is my Malakoff, 
 and I won't stir out of it. Fletcher, I feel like 
 Nelson at Trafalgar ! I've carried my point ! 
 I've trampled on that woman ! " 
 
 " Nelson died at Trafalgar, I believe," the 
 detective said dryly, trying to lead him away. 
 The omen appeared to him by no means a 
 well-chosen one. 
 
 The Colonel resisted, and reeled more than 
 ever. "What's that to a soldier?" he cried. 
 He was quivering with excitement. " What's 
 death — with victory ? Do I care about dying 
 — at the moment of triumph ? Wolfe died on 
 the field ! So did Sidney— and Gordon. I'm 
 Nelson at Trafalgar. These papers settle all. 
 If she dares to turn me out, I have her at my 
 mercy ! " He drew them from his pocket 
 again and brandished them round his head, 
 '* Compromising ! compromising ! They've 
 settled her ! " he shouted. 
 
 "Well, what are they any way?" the 
 detective asked, with a quiet smile. If there 
 was anything to know, he might as well know it.. 
 
254 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 The Colonel eyed him suspiciously. "What's 
 that to you, sir ?" he said, the insane secretive- 
 ness getting the upper hand once more of the 
 insane ostentation. ** You want to know too 
 much, an underling like you. I'm the lord of 
 the manor, and I shall do as I like . . . with 
 my own women and my own papers." 
 
 He broke into a hoarse laugh. The detec- 
 tive knew what it meant, and chose his side 
 instantly. " Of course," he said, scanning him 
 up and down, and speaking in a coaxing tone. 
 " Quite right and proper. You're the King of 
 the Castle, and who shall knock you down ? 
 Still — they're coming along the avenue ! You 
 have no time to lose. They'll try to take them 
 from you — those valuable letters— those com- 
 promising letters ! Hadn't you better give 
 them to me for safe keeping ? " For he re- 
 flected that the letters were probably incrim- 
 inating ; they might prove a great deal ; and 
 if his client went mad, or had a fit on the 
 spot, he could use them himself to sell to Mrs. 
 Egremont, or to levy blackmail with. 
 
 " No," the Colonel answered firmly, clasping 
 them to his breast. ** I'll keep them, and 
 defend them ! I'm a British soldier. I'm not 
 afraid of your Italian brigands ! " He strode 
 about the room, blustering and vaporing. 
 "I'm a Royal Engineer," he said; "finest 
 corps in the world— and a match for a dozen 
 of them ! And I'll fight for it 5 I'll fight for 
 
Victory. 255 
 
 it ! I've got that woman on her knees at last. 
 I've got her on her marrow-bones— a sneaking, 
 puritanical skinflint hypocrite ? " 
 
 Fletcher seized him by the arm. " Now, 
 come away," he said, coaxing him. " You'd 
 better come away with me." 
 
 ** I won't," the madman answered, beginning 
 to hector and caper about with momentary 
 recovery of the use of his limbs. He pulled 
 out a revolver. " I shall be even with them ! " 
 he cried aloud, pointing it. " I haven't come 
 unarmed ! Trust a soldier tor that ! If they 
 touch me, hand or foot, I tell you, sergeant, 
 they'll have a warm reception ! " 
 
 Fletcher humored him quietly. He saw 
 now he had to deal with a dangerous lunatic. 
 "Is it loaded?" he asked, with a suspicious 
 glance at the deadly instrument. 
 
 " In six chambers ! " ihe Colonel answered, 
 regarding if affectionately. 
 
 The detective eyed it with apparent admira- 
 tion. " It's a nice weapon," he observed, with 
 the tone of a connoisseur. He put out his 
 hand and took it. The Colonel yielded it 
 easily. Fletcher pretended to examine it, 
 while the Colonel strutted up and down the 
 '•00m excitedly. " A very pretty instrument," 
 he said, eyeing it close. " 117/// ejector, I 
 observe ! The neatest I've handled — and we 
 sometimes have a use for them ! " He juggled 
 with it for a moment. *' Ought to settle their 
 
256 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 hash for them ! " he went on, handing it back. 
 " Though, as a man of peace, I object to 
 firearms. A court of law is safer for all parties. 
 If I were you. Colonel, I wouldn't use the re- 
 volver unless absolutely necessary. Revolvers 
 complicate private inquiry." 
 
 " Oh, never fear for me," the Colonel an- 
 swered. " I'm an old hand, you know. I'm 
 a military man ! I'm as cool as a cu- 
 cumber ! " 
 
 *' You look it, you do," the detective replied 
 grimly. " You'd better keep calm ! Remem- 
 ber, no more brandy." 
 
 The madman caught at the word. ** Brandy ! " 
 he cried. " Ha, that's good ! I am a bit ex- 
 cited. I want something to calm me down — 
 something to nerve and quiet me ! " He held 
 out his hand. It trembled violently. " By 
 Jove, this won't do," he said. '* Can't shoot 
 straight wdth that hand. Want winding up 
 again. Where's the key ? " He pulled out 
 his flask, and turned it upside down. "Not a 
 blessed drop in it ! " He stalked up and down 
 with long steps. ** Pretty position," he cried, 
 " for an officer and a gentleman ! In his own 
 house, and kept short of brandy ! Wolfe at 
 Quebec— kept short of brandy ! I niusth^xe a 
 drink. If I don't, I collapse — collapse before 
 I've had my revenge upon Julia ! I must keep 
 cool, I say, for the sake of my revenge." He 
 went up to the bell, pressed the knob hard, 
 
M 
 
 Victory. 257 
 
 and rang it violently. " Electric," he said, 
 *' electric ; put in without my consent ! But 
 I want some brandy. I'm master in this 
 house, and, by George, I tell you I shall have 
 what I want in it." 
 
 He strode up and down fiercely till the bell 
 was answered. Fletcher in the background 
 regarded him w4th cynical indifference. A 
 young footman came up, not the imperturbable 
 Reece. He stared at the Colonel in evident 
 surprise. '* I beg your pardon, sir," he said, 
 stammering. " Did you ring, sir ? " 
 
 Colonel Egremont turned upon him with a 
 scowl that made the man tremble. *'Yes, I 
 did ring, jackass," he said. " I should think 
 you heard me. I want some brandy." 
 
 The footman hesitated. *' I beg your 
 pardon, sir," he began. " Mr. Reece, sir, 
 told me " 
 
 The Colonel advanced towards him with a 
 fierce grimace, brandishing his revolver. " Mr. 
 Reece may go to hell, fool," he shouted. 
 " Do you hear what I say ? Brandy, Brandy, 
 BRANDY ! ' 
 
 The man retreated a step or two, and glanced 
 aside at Fletcher. Fletcher signed to him to 
 fetch it. A keeper, no doubt ; but still the 
 man hesitated. " I beg your pardon, sir," he 
 said again, " but— I didn't let you in ; and 
 Mr. Reece gave particular orders " 
 
 The Colonel strode towards him with two 
 17 
 
258 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 very long paces, and pointed the revolver. 
 '* Tm master in this house," he cried, ** not 
 Mr. Reece or Mrs. Egremont. I'm Colonel 
 Walter Egremont, fellow — late Royal En- 
 gineers ; and when I give an order, by George, 
 I expect to be listened to. I'm lord of the 
 manor of Milworth, and I shall be obeyed in 
 it. I'm waiting here for your mistress, who 
 happens to be my wife. And I order you 
 now to bring me some brandy." 
 
 He glared at the man savagely. The fellow, 
 cowed and terrified, answered in a feeble 
 voice, " Yes, sir ; certainly, sir ! " and retreated 
 towards the door. The Colonel glanced after 
 him. ** And mind," he cried, " if you bring 
 up that creature Reece instead of bringing the 
 brandy, I shall put a bullet through that ugly 
 fat mug of 3'ours. Do you understand, a 
 bullet — here — out of this revolver. Damned 
 cheek of the fellow ! That's the way to treat 
 them ! A military man should inspire respect. 
 And here in my own house I'm an Egremont 
 of Egremont." 
 
 He prowled about and blustered. The 
 man-servant came back with a decanter of 
 brandy, a syphon, and a tumbler. He pre- 
 sented them, shaking. " The spirit, sir," he 
 muttered. 
 
 ** I see it, idiot," the Colonel replied. 
 " What's this for, fool ? " And he snatched 
 up the syphon derisively. Then, seized with 
 
Victory. 259 
 
 a sudden impulse, he pressed the handle and 
 spurted the contents over the man's morning 
 hvery. " Take that," he exclaimed, laughing 
 He poured hmiself out half a tumblerful of 
 spirit, and tossed it off neat. " There ! That 
 makes a man of me ! " he cried. ''That washes 
 out the brain and fortifies the i^^+ellect ! I 
 can face Julia now. By Jove, this is a triumph ' 
 Victory, victory ! I'm Nelson at the Nile ' 
 I'm Wolfe at Trafalgar ! If I don't go mad 
 with it, soon I shall have them on their mar- 
 row-bones ! ' 
 
 " You'll have them pretty quick," Fletcher 
 interposed, with a dry smile. " For they're 
 coming across the lawn there." 
 
 The Colonel raised a loud laugh. ** Now to 
 disinherit that beggar ! " he cried, with fierce 
 joy. "Ha, ha, ha! I shall crush him! I 
 shall trample on him ! " 
 
26o A Splendid Sin. 
 
 CHAPTEPv XX. 
 
 HIS TRAFALGAR. 
 
 As they passed the drawing-room window, 
 Mrs. Egremont's eye caught a sudden gHmpse 
 of a man in a gray tweed suit, walking up and 
 down with evident excitement, and talking 
 loudly +0 somebody. His head was so erect, 
 his mien so soldierly, his dress so much neater 
 and more gentlemanly than was usual with 
 Colonel Egremont, that for half a minute the 
 terrified wife did not recognize her husband. 
 But Hubert at the same second caught her 
 arm with a meaning touch. " He's in there," 
 he whispered, in a voice of warning, ** Take 
 them off- to the library ! " 
 
 Mrs. Egremont's face blanched, but she 
 gave no overt sign of her intense agitation. 
 As she entered the house, she led Fede and 
 the Marchese into the room that Hubert sug- 
 gested, wiiile her son w^ent straight into the 
 drawing-room to face the Colonel. A minute 
 later, with some feminine excuse, Mrs. Egre- 
 mont followed, and confronted the man who 
 had once been her husband. As for Fletcher, 
 
His Trafalgar. 261 
 
 he had prudently disappeared for the moment 
 through the open window, and stood watching 
 the scene with attentive eyes from the clump 
 of evergreens. 
 
 Hubert looked at the sot sternly. " What 
 do you mean by this return, sir ? " he asked. 
 *' Must I drive you out again ? I told you 
 already you had no place in this house. I 
 shall send the servants now for the police to 
 expel you." 
 
 The Colonel broke into a chuckle of insane 
 delight. " Don't try to bully mc, sir," he cried, 
 in a voice of triumph, " for I'm not going to 
 stand it. The tables are turned. I have you 
 now in my grasp ! " He stretched out his 
 right hand and clenched it hard. "And I 
 mean to grip you," he continued. " I've come 
 here to stop, and I'm not going aw^ay again in 
 a hurry, I can tell you. This is my house, 
 young man ; it shall never be yours. I know 
 the truth. I have proof of it — proof of it ! " He 
 chuckled hard once more, and clapped his hand 
 to his pocket. ** A poet !" he cried. "A poet! 
 " Your ever devoted and affectionate Arthur ! " 
 Ha, ha ! so you kept them, Julia ; — his letters 
 — all these years — you kept them ! " 
 
 Mrs. Egremont gave a sudden wild scream 
 of terror. " My letters ! " she cried, darting 
 forward. " My letters ! Has that creature 
 seen them ?" 
 
 " Oh, yes, I've seen them," the Colonel an- 
 
262 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 swered, leering. *' Very nice letters, too ! 
 So refined ! so poetical ! " 
 
 She burst into the boudoir in an agony of 
 fear. The escritoire lay open, and the drawer 
 was empty. Mrs. Egremont caught her breath. 
 A pang seized on her heart. Her letters — 
 those sacred, those tender letters ! In Walter 
 Egremont's hands ! What desecration ! Her 
 blood turned sour at it. 
 
 She reeled back, half fainting. " You have 
 stolen them?" she cried. ^^ You have read 
 them?" 
 
 The Colonel assumed once more his jaunty 
 manner. " Yes, I have read them," he an- 
 sw^ered, grinning joy at her misery. " All's 
 fair in love and war. I have read them — 
 very pretty ! Such nice turns of thought ! 
 He could icrlte, that fellow ! So you fan- 
 cied you'd lay them by ? Well thumbed, 
 too, they look ! Marks of tears here and 
 there ! Most agreeable keepsakes ! . . . 
 A poet ! A poet ! You thought such a lot 
 of him ! " 
 
 Hubert sprang at the man, angrily, as he 
 stood there mocking. ** You have possessed 
 yourself of my mother's private letters ? " he 
 asked, clutching the Colonel's arm. 
 
 The Colonel shook him off. " I have, young 
 man," he answered ; '' and I mean to stick to 
 them." 
 
 " Oh, Walter, how did you get them ? " Mrs. 
 
His Trafalgar. 263 
 
 Egremont cried helplessly, clasping her hands 
 in terror. 
 
 Her husband danced about in a frenzy of 
 delight, and snapped his hngcrs. " Dupli- 
 cate key ! " he shouted. " That's all. Felt 
 sure they were there. Merc prudent fore- 
 thought ! Wisdom is justified of all her 
 children." 
 
 " You shall restore them," Hubert exclaimed, 
 holding him in his powerful hands. " They 
 are stolen, and I demand them ! You shall 
 not leave this house till you have given them 
 all up ! I say, you shall restore them ! " 
 
 " I shall not restore them," the Colonel an- 
 swered, unable to free himself, but still dancing 
 with joy in his malevolent ecstacy. " I decline ! 
 I refuse it ! They are my wife's letters— there- 
 fore mine ; and they shall be read aloud in 
 court, and reported in the papers. 'Great 
 laughter ! ' in parentheses. It's divorce and 
 bastardy— that's the name of the action. All 
 England shall know of this woman's shame. 
 And yoit shall lose your claim to the estate of 
 Milworth ! " 
 
 Hubert held him in his grasp. " Give up 
 those letters," he said sternly. With a dexter- 
 ous jerk the Colonel eluded him. " I won't," 
 he answered, dancing about. " I'll give them 
 up in court, when I read them out aloud to the 
 whole of England, and show up this saint here 
 in her true colors. Fine thing, to be sure, for, 
 
264 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 a woman like her, with her bastard son, to go 
 coming the ascetic over me for years, reading 
 me sermons with her sanctity and her purity ! 
 But I'll be even with her yet ; 77/ take it out 
 of her — and then, do you think your pretty 
 little Italian girl will care to marry a beggar 
 and a bastard ? " 
 
 He hugged himself w4th wild joy. Mrs. 
 Egremont stood facing him, as white as death. 
 **0h, Walter, Walter," she cried, " are you 
 quite inhuman ? " 
 
 Her son touched her arm. " You need not 
 fear, mother," he said, softly. " Let him 
 vapor as he likes. Let him wear this mood 
 out. It won't last long. The end is coming." 
 
 But the Colonel continued in his heroic act. 
 " She sees it ! " he cried. ** She sees it ! She 
 knows it's all up with her ! I've dispossessed 
 her son. I have ruined her character. Ive 
 exposed her intrigue. And now, I'm coming 
 back to Milworth Manor to live with her ! " 
 
 Hubert advanced once more. " Give me 
 those letters ! " he said, with calm persist- 
 ence. 
 
 "Never!" the Colonel replied raising his 
 voice to a loud shout. " Don't dare to touch 
 me, sir. I shall shoot the first man who lays 
 hand on my shoulder. I've a regiment in re- 
 serve. Up, Guards, and at *em ! " 
 
 As he spoke, the door opened, and Sir 
 Emilius entered. 
 
His Trafalgar. 265 
 
 "Tut, tut, tut, what's the matter with the 
 man ? " the great doctor said, glancing at him. 
 
 '* So ! Egremont again ? God bless my 
 soul, what's the fellow doing here ? " As he 
 looked, his manner changed abruptly from one 
 of remonstrance to pure medical concern. 
 *' Stand back, Julia," he went on, in an altered 
 voice. "The man's mad drunk — and worse 
 than that! Don't go too near him. What in 
 heaven's name brought him here ? " 
 
 "My rights!" the Colonel answered, with a 
 very thick sound in his hectoring voice. " I've 
 come to claim my own ! I'm the lord of Mil- 
 worth Manor." He strutted about as he spoke 
 and steadied himself with a chair. " I'm mon- 
 arch of all I survey," he went on. " I am the 
 Earl of Devon ! " 
 
 " You're a drunkard and a madman, my dear 
 sir, that's what's the matter with you,'' Sir 
 Emilius said coldly, yet with professional in- 
 terest. " What you want is a keeper." He 
 turned to Hubert. " This is the beginning of 
 the end," he added, in a lower voice. " I sus- 
 pected it long ago. He's rapidly approaching 
 a state of collapse. Alcoholic insanity." 
 
 " I'm the Duke of Devonshire, I say," the 
 Colonel mumbled incoherently. " I'm the lord 
 of the manor." He waved his hand towards 
 the view with an expansive air. " Im the 
 owner of the county." 
 
 Hubert touched his mother's arm, " Go 
 
266 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 away, dearest," he whispered, in a low voice. 
 " I'll get the letters hack quietly. The ex- 
 pected triumph has turned his head. He's 
 going mad before our eyes. You mustn't stop 
 to see him." 
 
 " I can't go away," the poor woman answered 
 gasping, " till I sge they're safe. And besides 
 I don't know what things he may happen to 
 blurt out before Emilius." 
 
 The doctor laid his hand gently on the lu- 
 natic's shoulder. " Come, come," he said ; 
 " you're not well : you had better go away with 
 me, Egremont. You're indisposed, I can see. 
 A little rest would be good for you." 
 
 He spoke in the persuasive professional 
 manner. But the Colonel shook off the kindly 
 hand with an indignant gesture. " Don't touch 
 me, sir ! " he broke forth, with insane indigna- 
 tion. " How dare you lay your hand upon 
 me ? I'm a soldier, I say. I'm an officer and 
 a gentleman. I'm Wolfe at Quebec. I'm the 
 Commander-in-Chief. I'm a British Field 
 Marshal. Don't venture to interfere with a 
 Royal Highness." 
 
 The doctor held out one deprecating hand. 
 But the madman drew back, with his head 
 drawn down between his shoulders. He 
 sprang at Sir Emilius's throat with a sudden 
 spring like a wild beast. *' Now, then," the 
 doctor said, shaking him off, *' this won't do, 
 you know, Egremont. You're getting ungov- 
 
His Trafalgar. 267 
 
 crnablc. Help mc to hold him, Hubert. Julia, 
 stand off : ring the bell there, quick ! We 
 must have Reece to take care of him." 
 
 The doctor gripped him. But with the 
 strange adroitness of the insane, in spite of his 
 paralysis, Colonel P^gremont wriggled suddenly 
 out of that quiet grasp, stood three paces off, 
 and drew his revolver. For a second. Sir 
 Emilius and Hubert recoiled at the sight of so 
 deadly a weapon in the madman's hands— for 
 that he was a madman indeed they had now 
 no doubt. *' If you touch me, I fire," he cried, 
 raising it, and covering Hubert as he spoke. 
 
 " Now, clear the decks for action ! Forward 
 the Light Brigade ! I'm the General in com- 
 mand. England expects every man to do his 
 duty ! " 
 
 There was no time to be lost. At all haz- 
 ards, they must secure him. Sir Emilius ap- 
 proached him cautiously from one side. Mrs. 
 Egremont shrank away with a terrified look at 
 the revolver. Hubert faced him, ready to 
 pounce. But at the same moment, Fletcher, 
 wiio had been quietly watching the develop- 
 ment of events from outside the window, saw 
 the psychological moment arrive for declaring 
 himself. He stepped into the room with an 
 air of businesslike decision. " Don't be dis- 
 mayed," he said calmly, seizing the Colonel's 
 arm. " Don't trouble to take it from him. It 
 isn't loaded. / saw to that. I took the pre- 
 
268 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 caution to withdraw the cartridges." And he 
 drew them out of his pocket and showed 
 them. 
 
 The Colonel, not noticing him, turned round 
 fiercely, and snapped the trigger at Hubert. 
 It gave an abortive little click — no more. He 
 looked at it curiously. For a second he turned 
 it over like a child, astonished. " What, no 
 cartridge ! " he cried. Then he flung it away 
 from him and rushed upon Fletcher. "You 
 villain ! " he exclaimed. ** You've betrayed 
 me!" He turned to the others. "Choke 
 him, soldiers, choke him ! " he burst out. 
 And he grasped the man's neck in his hands 
 as if to strangle him. 
 
 Hubert and Sir Emilius darted forward and 
 secured him. But the detective wa'- prepared. 
 He drew a set of handcuffs quietly from his 
 pocket. " I always carry a pair of these about 
 with me," he said, in an apologetic tone. 
 " They do come in handy. In my profession, 
 one never just know^s when one may happen 
 to want them." 
 
 The two other men held the madman's 
 wrists, Fletcher slipped on the handcuffs like 
 one well accustomed to them. The Colonel 
 raved and blustered. He hardly seemed to 
 notice the little episode now, so wild was he 
 with excitement. " What does it matter ? " he 
 cried, triumphant. " I've got the title-deeds 
 of the esta^ i this moment in my pocket ! " 
 
His Trafalgar. 269 
 
 He held up his handcuffed hands. " How 
 dare you?" he said, maundering. "I'm the 
 Duke of Devonshire ! I'm the Earl of Trafal- 
 gar ! I'm Nelson at Quebec ! I'm Wolfe at 
 Milworth Manor ! I'm— I'm— I'm the Com- 
 mander—the Commander—" He began to 
 dodder suddenly ; then all at once he collapsed 
 and fell back on the sofa. 
 
 He fell in a heap, like a drunken man. The 
 detective leaned over him. " Let me take 
 him away," he whispered. "I brought him 
 here, you know, and I disarmed him when he 
 gave me his revolver to look at. IVe been like 
 a keeper to him. He'll go quietly with me." 
 For he reflected that the letters, whatever they 
 might contain, were in the Colonel's pocket, 
 and that no other chance now remained of 
 repaying his expenses. 
 
 " No, no," Hubert answered, determined at 
 all hazards to retain the letters. "He can be 
 cared for here. You need not trouble." 
 
 Sir Emilius, meanwhile, with a doctor's in- 
 stinct, had unloosed the madman's collar, and 
 was fanning him with his handkerchief. 
 " This is a hopeless case," he said slowly. " He 
 is \n utter collapse. Give him air there, Hu- 
 bert ! Julia, quick! a fan, and sal-volatile if 
 you have any ! " He lifted the Colonel's faint- 
 ing body in his arms, and tore his coat off. 
 Hubert snatched it, and, searching the pocket 
 unobtrusively, took out the packet of letters, 
 
270 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 which he handed to his mother. Mrs. Egre- 
 mont received them without a word, shpped 
 them into her bosom, and rushed off dis- 
 tractedly to find the sal-volatile. 
 
 Sir Emilius watched his patient with close 
 attention. " He's in the very last stage," he 
 murmured. " Hold his head up, Hubert ! 
 Suppressed insanity, breaking out all at once. 
 I've always expected it. He's not fit to be at 
 large. Send Reece post-haste for any local 
 doctor. We must sign a committal order, and 
 get him into an asylum." 
 
 **An asylum," Mrs. Egremont cried, return- 
 ing, and just catching the words. "Oh, Mill, 
 is it that ? At once ? At once?" A certain 
 womanly remorse seemed to come over her 
 for a moment. 
 
 ** It won't be for long, mother," Hubert an- 
 swered, in a soft voice. " He has killed him- 
 self at last. This collapse is final. I knew it 
 was coming. Only brandy kept him up. The 
 excitement of the return, and this scene, have 
 finished him." 
 
 Sir Emilius was rubbing the Colonel's cold 
 hands meanwhile. " You're quite right, Hu- 
 bert," he answered, low. " He can't live six 
 weeks. And meanwhile, he will be nothing 
 but a helpless imbecile." 
 
 As he spoke, the Colonel's eyes opened, and 
 he stared about him vacantly. Then he lifted 
 himself on his elbows, and gazed around with 
 
His Trafalgar. 271 
 
 a distraught air. " I'm the Earl of Devon- 
 shire," he muttered feebly. " I'm Duke Nel- 
 son of Trafalgar." Then he lost his balance 
 and fell back, mumbling. 
 
 " Take those things off again ! " Sir Emilius 
 said in an authoritative voice to Fletcher. 
 
 The detective obeyed, and unfastened the 
 handcuffs. Colonel Egremont felt his hands 
 free, and lifted them up with an effort. His 
 eye caught Sir Emilius's. "Ha! Rawson, 
 old boy ! " he mumbled, smiling at him. 
 "You were always my friend, Rawson. Do 
 you remember, when we two were boys to- 
 gether at Winchester, on a half-remedy after- 
 noon, down by the playing-fields — " He broke 
 into a fatuous smile, and left off suddenly, 
 laughing. 
 
 Sir Emilius looked at him with compassion- 
 ate eyes. " Poor fellow ! Poor fellow ! " he 
 said. " He's all gone to pieces ! He has been 
 a blackguard all his life, Julia, and he has 
 treated you like a blackguard. But, 'pon my 
 soul, when one sees him now, one can't help 
 pitying him. To think a truculent bully should 
 be reduced to iliat ! He needs no asylum 
 now, my dear. He won't want restraint. 
 He's past any violence. A good home, where 
 he can be nursed and tended while he lasts, is 
 all he will require. Come this way with me, 
 Egremont," and Sir Emilius lifted him ten- 
 derly. " He'd better go to a bedroom, and lie 
 
272 A Splendid Sin. 
 
 down and rest for an hour or so. Then I'll 
 take him off myself to a home that is ht for him. 
 The collapse, when it comes, is always final." 
 
 The shadow of the Colonel rose feebly and 
 clutched Sir Emilius's arm. He was smiling 
 a bland smile. "Yes, I'll go and lie down," 
 he said with an abortive laugh. " And then 
 you'll take me home, Rawson ! Milworth's 
 looking nice ! Fine boy that of Julia's ! You'll 
 see me home, I hope. I'm a bit screwed, I 
 think, and you'll see me home, Rawson, won't 
 you ? Ha, ha, ha ! old boy ; you and I were 
 always good chums together, weren't we ? " 
 
 He tottered out of the room on the doctor's 
 arm. Hubert and Mrs. Egremont followed 
 them silently at a little distance. 
 
 " Send Reeceto help me up-stairs with him," 
 Sir Emilius said, in his quiet way. " He must 
 rest here for an hour or two ; then Dr. Wills 
 and I must take him over by road to that nurs- 
 ing home at Exeter." 
 
 They carried him up-stairs. Outside the 
 bedroom door Mrs, Egremont broke into a 
 sudden flood of tears. Hubert led her into 
 her own room. There she sat down on the 
 sofa, buried her face in her hands, and cried 
 to herself in silence. 
 
 Hubert seated himself by her side for some 
 minutes without a word, just smoothing her 
 cheek with one hand, and holding hers w4th 
 the other. 
 
His Trafalgar. 273 
 
 At last he spoke. " I know what it is, dear," 
 he whispered. " Some last tinge of needless 
 remorse — now you see him dying." 
 
 Mrs. Egremont bowed her head. " The ages 
 behind me, I suppose," she answered, half 
 sobbing. " One cannot wholly escape from 
 the false creeds of one's ancestors. Though he 
 would have told me I ought rather to feel the 
 acute disgrace of having lived for one day, as 
 wife, with that creature ! " 
 
 Hubert paused again a second. '* Mother," 
 he said earnestly, ** on the morning you first 
 told me that great secret in Switzerland, I said 
 to you, * Thank you ; ten thousand times, 
 thank you ! ' Everyday since that time, when 
 I reflect from what inheritance of vice and 
 madness you saved me, I have said again in 
 my heart, ' Oh, thank you, thank you ! ' Now 
 I see him lying there, where his own wicked 
 life has justly led him, I say to you yet more 
 fervently than ever, ' Thank you ! ' You have 
 preserved me from tJiat ; 3^ou have given me a 
 father and a heritage to be proud of. " 
 
 Mrs. Egremont clasped him in her arms. 
 *' I will go to him," she said slowly. *' I will 
 do what I can for him. Now, run down again, 
 darling, to the Marchese and Fede ! " 
 
 " I will," Hubert answered, pressing her 
 forehead with his lips. " For, more than all, 
 mother, you have given me Fede ! " 
 
Joatiy the Curate 
 
 By FLORENCE IVAKDEN 
 
 So8 pages y size 7% x^, cloth ^ s stamping s^ $1,00 
 
 The time of the story is 1748, its scene being along the seacoast of Sussex, England. 
 The doings here of the "free traders," as they called themselves, or smugglers, as the 
 government named them, had become so audacious that a revenue cutter with a smart 
 young lieutenant in command, and a brigade of cavalry, were sent down to work together 
 against the offenders. Everybody in the village seems engaged in evading the revenue 
 laws, and the events are very exciting. Joan is the parson's daughter, and so capable and 
 useful in the parish that she is called "the curate." She and the smart young lientenant 
 arc the characters in a romance, — Book Notes, May, 1899. 
 
 The author of the once immensely popular " House on the Marsh " turns in her new 
 story to the Sussex coast as it was in the middle of the last century. The time and the 
 place will at once suggest smugglers to the observant reader, and, in truth, these gentry 
 play an important part in the tale. — The Mail and Exfreis, April 11, 1899. 
 
 Miss Florence Warden in "Joan, the Curate" (F. M. Buckles & Co.) tells an or- 
 thodox tale of smugglers in the last century with plenty of exciting adventures and no de- 
 viations from the accepted traditions of a familiar pattern in fiction. 
 
 — N. r. Sun, May 6, 1899. 
 
 " Joan, the Curate " (Joan, a creamy-skinn :keyed maiden, gets her surname on 
 
 account of the part she plays in helping her fatl arson Langley, with his duties), is a 
 
 village tale of the smuggling days on the wild marsh coast of Kent and the equally lonely 
 cliffs of Sussex. The village is a hot-bed of these daring " free-traders," even the parson 
 and his daughter are secretly in sympathy with them, and young Lieutenant Tregenna, 
 who is in command of the revenue cutter sent to overawe the natives, has anything but a 
 comfortable task to perform. His difficulties only increase when he falls in love with Joan 
 and discovers her leanings towards the illegalities of the village, and when, at the same 
 time, the audacious leader of the smugglers, Ann Price, who carries en her trade disguised 
 as a man, falls in love with him herself, the complications are almost bewildering. The 
 story moves through countless adventures, sanguinary fights, and lovers' quarrels to the 
 conventionally happy ending and the partial return of the fishermen to honest ways. 
 
 — £flo* Ntwiy May, 1899, 
 
 , At all booksellers or will be sent, 
 postpaid, upon receipt of price by 
 
 F. M. BUCKLES ^ CO MP ANT 
 g-ii East 1 6 th Street, New York 
 
The Real Lady Hilda 
 
 By B. M, CROKER 
 
 266 pages, sizes, 71^ x^, doth, j stampings, $i.oo 
 
 "The Real Lady Hilda," by B. M. Croker, is a very pleasing novel, de- 
 pending for its interest not upon sensational incident, but upon a clever portrayal of 
 disagreeable traits of character in high society. The story is told by a young lady 
 who finds herself with her stepmother in obscure lodgings in an obscure country 
 town. The head of the family had been physician to a Rajah in India, had lived 
 in princely style and had entertained in princely fashion. He had died and left to 
 his widow and child nothing but a small pension, and they soon found themselves 
 in straightened circumstances. Besides the character drawing, the entertaining 
 feature of the story lies in the shabby treatment which the two impecunious 
 women receive from the people whom they have so royally entertained in India, 
 and the inability of the widow, with her Indian experience, to understand it. 
 Entertaining, too, is the fawning toadyism of the middle-class women, who disdain- 
 fully tip their noses and wag their tongues when they find that the poor women are 
 neglected by the great lady in the neighborhood. 
 
 — The Bookseller, Neivr.dealer and Stationer, June I, 1 899. 
 Mrs. Croker belongs to the group of English country life novelists. She is 
 not one of its chief members, but she succeeds often in being amusing in a quiet, 
 simple way. Her gentlefolk lack the stamp of caste, but the plots in which they 
 are placed are generally rather ingenious. Of course, in a field so assiduously 
 worked, one cannot look for originality. The present book is just what the author 
 modestly calls it— a "sketch," with the usual poor girl of good family and the 
 equally femiliar happy ending.— M/// and Express, May i, 1899. 
 
 At all booksellers or will be sent, 
 postpaid, upon receipt of price by 
 
 F, M. BUCKLES & COMPANY 
 9-11 East i6th Street, New York 
 
The Good Mrs. Hypocrite 
 
 By ''RITA " 
 
 28^ pages i size 7y2X^y cloth, j stampings^ $1,00 
 
 "Good Mrs. Hypocrite." A study in self-righteousness, is a most enjoyable 
 novel by **Rita." It has little of plot, anil less of adventure, but is the study of 
 a single character and a narration of her career. But she is sufficiently unique to 
 absorb the attention, and her purely domestic experiences are quite amusing. She 
 is the youngest daughter of a Scotch family, angular as to form and sour as to fea- 
 ture. She had an aggressive manner, was selfish, and from girlhood set herself 
 against all tenderness of sentiment. Losing her parents, she tried her hand as a 
 governess, went to her brother in Australia, returned to England and joined a sister- 
 hood in strange garb, and her quarrelsome disposition and her habit of quoting 
 scripture to set herself right made her presence everywhere objectionable. For this 
 old maid was very religious and strict as to all outward forms. Finally she went to 
 live with an invalid brother. She discharged the servant, chiefly because she was 
 plump and fair of feature, and she replaced her with a maid as angular as herself, 
 straight from Edinbro*. The maid was also religious and quoted scripture, and the 
 fun of the story lies in the manner in which the woman who had had her way so 
 long was beaten by her own weapons. 
 
 — Boohdlevy Newsdealer and Stationer, June 15, 1899. 
 
 The Scotch character is held up in this story at its worst. All its harshness, 
 love of money, unconscious hypocrisy, which believes in lip-service while serving 
 but its own self, are concentrated in the figure of the old spinster who takes charge 
 of her invalid brother's household. She finds a match, however, in the Scotch 
 servant she hires, hard like herself, but with the undemonstrative kindness that 
 seems to be a virtue of the race. The book lacks the charm that lies at the root 
 of the popularity of the books of the " Kailyard" school. In its disagreeable 
 way, however, it is consistent, though the melodramatic climax is not the ending 
 one has a right to expect. — TAe Mail and Express, June 21, 1899. 
 
 Ai all booksellers or will be sent, 
 postpaid^ upon receipt of price by 
 
 F, M. BUCKLES ^ COMPANY 
 p-ii East i6th Street^ New York 
 
Captain Jackman 
 
 By W. CLARK RUSSELL 
 
 240 pages, size 7% x^, doth, j stampings, $t.oo 
 
 Clark Russell in " Captain Jackman " lias told a good story of the strange conduct of 
 a ship's master, who starts out with a fake robbery by which he realizes £\^<X). The ac- 
 count of his peculiar courtship and the still more peculiar acceptance ot his offer by the 
 daughter of a retired naval commander is scarcely credible, but it is readable and the tragic 
 end is not improbable. It it a mere short story, expanded by large type into a volume. 
 
 — San Francisco Chronicle^ July 9, I899. 
 
 " Captain Jackman ; or, A Tale of Two Tunnels," is a story by W. Clark Russell, 
 not so elaborate in plot as some of his stories, or so full of life on the sea, but some of the 
 characters are sailors, and its incidents are of the ocean, if not on it. Its hero is dismissed 
 from the command of a ship by her owners, because of his loss of the proceeds of a voyage 
 which they evidently think he had appropriated to himself. The heroine discovers him in 
 and rescues him from a deserted smuggler's cave, where he had by some mischance im- 
 prisoned himself. He handsome, she romantic as well, they fall in love with each other. 
 Her father, a retired commander of the Royal navy, storms and swears to no purpose, for 
 she elopes with the handsome captain, who starts on an expedition to;capture a Portuguese 
 ship laden with ^old — a mad scheme, conceived ai it appears by a madman, which ac- 
 counts for his curious and unconventional ways, 
 
 — Bookseller, Newsdealer and Stationer, July> IS, 1899. 
 
 It is readable, interesting, and admirable in its technical skill. Mr. Russell, without 
 apparent effort, creates an atmosphere of realism. His personages are often drawn with a 
 few indicative strokes, but this can never be said of his central figures. In the present little 
 story the fascinating personality of Captain Jackman stands our very clearly. He is a cur- 
 ious study, and the abnormal state of his mind is made to come slowly into the recogni- 
 tion of the reader just as it does into that of old Commander Conway, R. N. This is really 
 a masterly bit of story-craft, for it is to this that the maintenance of the interest of the 
 story is due. The reader does not realize at first that he is following the fortunes of a mad- 
 man, but regards Jackman as a brilliant adventurer. The denouement is excellently brourht 
 about, although it gives the talc its sketchy character.— iV. T, times, July I, 1S99. 
 
 At all booksellers or zoill be sent, 
 postpaid^ upon receipt of price by 
 
 F. M. BUCKLES & CO MP ANT 
 g-ii East i6th Street, New York